I remember giants
born of yore
who long ago
reared and raised
me;
nine worlds I
recall,
nine ogresses,
the famed tree of
fate
beneath the earth.
At the dawn of
ages
there was nothing,
neither sand nor
sea
nor cool waves:
earth was found
nowhere
nor the heavens
above,
only the great
void
and nowhere grass.
Until the
First-born’s sons
arched up the
lands,
makers of Midgard,
famed Middle
Earth.
Sun shone from the
south
on the rock-built
earth,
then the ground
was grown
with green plants.
The sun shed from
the south,
the moon’s
companion,
with its right
hand over
the rim of the
sky.
The sun did not
know
where to seek
repose,
the stars did not
know
where they could
rest,
the moon did not
know
what might it had.
Then all the
powers met
who mete out fate,
mighty, holy gods
in consultation;
to night and its
offspring
they gave names,
called them
morning
and mid-day,
afternoon and
evening,
to be counted in
years.
The High Ones met
on Ever-Green
Plain,
they who raised
timbered
shrines and
temples,
built furnaces,
wrought precious
things,
made tongs
and forged tools.
Happily they
played
chess in the
meadow,
they lacked for
nothing
made of gold;
until three
maidens
of giants came,
full of force
from the World of
Giants.
Then all the
powers met
who mete out fate,
mighty, holy gods
in consultation:
on which one
should make
the master of the
dwarfs
from Sea-Swell’s
blood
and blue legs.
thus Sea-Mind
most renowned
became
of all the dwarfs,
Dwarfish was
second;
they made many
human forms,
the dwarfs from
the earth,
as Dwarfish told
them …[1]
…until three
mighty
and impassioned
gods
from that band
approached the
dwelling.
on the shore they
found
Ash and Elm,
capable of little,
their fate
unformed.
They had no
breath,
they had no
spirit,
neither warmth nor
voice
nor fine
complexion.
Odin gave them
breath,
Haenir gave them
spirit,
Lod gave them warm
life
and fine
complexion.
I know an ash
stands
named Yggdrasill,
a high tree,
washed
with white clay;
from it come the
dews
that fall in the
valleys,
it stands
ever-green
over the Spring of
the Past.
From there come
the much-knowing
maidens,
three from the sea
that lies under
the tree:
one was named
Past,
another Present
—they carved in
wood—
and Future the
third;
they laid down the
law,
they chose lives
for the children
of men,
people’s fates.
She remembers the
onslaught
of the world’s
first battle,
when Gold-Potion
was pierced with
spears
and in the High
One’s hall
she was burnt.
Three times burnt,
three times born,
often, unseldom,
yet she still
lives.
Bright-as-Gold
they called her
Wherever she
visited,
a seeress
far-sighted,
she conjured with
wands,
in magic she was
verses,
in magic she was
deft,
always she was
cherished
by the evil women.
Then all the
powers met
who mete out fate,
mighty, holy gods
in consultation:
as to whether the
high ones
should suffer that
scourge
or the gods should
all
seek retribution.
Odin hurled down
and shot over the
warriors,
that was yet the
onslaught
of the world’s
first battle,
the stockades were
broken
of the High Ones’
fortress,
the Vanir stamped
the ground
with their chants
of battle.
Then all the
powers met
who mete out fate,
mighty, holy gods
in consultation:
as to who had
poisoned
the air with
deceit,
or given Od’s
bride
to the race of the
giants.
Thor alone there
was stirred to
fight
—he seldom lingers
when he hear such
things—
oaths were
breached,
words and pledges,
weighty were the
statements
that passed among
them.
She knows that
what Heimdall
hears is hidden
under the sacred
tree
that spreads to
the heavens.
She sees a river
pouring
in a muddy fall
from the eye
pledged by the
Father of the Fallen.
Would you know
more— or not?
Alone she sat
outside
when the Old One
came,
forbear of the
gods
and looked her in
the eye.
What do you aks me
to tell you?
Why do you tempt
me?
—I know it all,
Odin,
where you hid your
eye,
within Mimir’s
much famed well.
Mimir drinks the
mead
every morning from
the eye
pledged by the
Father of the Fallen.
Would you know
more— or not?
The War-Father
chose for her
brooches and
necklaces,
wealth, words of
wisdom
and divinations,
she saw far and
wide
into every world.
She saw valkyries
arrive from afar,
ordained to ride
to the race of the
gods:
Future held a
shield.
Prodder was
another
War,
Battle, Weaver,
and Spear-Prodder.
Now they are
counted,
the Warmaker’s
handmaids,
valkyries ordained
to
ride the ground.
I saw fate
allotted to
Balder,
the blood-stained
deity,
child of Odin;
there it stood,
grown
higher than the
plains,
slender and
beautiful
the mistletoe.
From that tree was
made
a fatal arrow of
sorrow
though slight it
seemed:
Hod shot it.
A brother was born
early to Balder,
Odin’s son avenged
when one night
old.
He never washed
his hands
nor combed his
hair
before Balder’s
adversary
was borne to his
pyre;
in the Fen-Hall
Frigg lamented the
doom
done in
Valhalla.
Would you know
more— or not?
She saw a bound
form lying
under the grove of
springs
resembling the
body
of wily Loki;
Sigyn sat there
not full of glee
about her husband.
Would you know
more— or not?
A river falls from
the east
through poisoned
valleys
full of daggers
and swords,
Scabbard is its
name.
To the north stood
on the Plains of
Darkness
a hall of gold,
the legacy of
dwarfs;
another stood
on Ever-Warm
the giant’s
beer-hall,
his name is
Sea-Swell.
She saw standing
far from the sun
on the Shore of
the Dead,
its door facing
north.
Drops of poison
drip in through
the hatch,
that hall is
entwined
with the ridged
backs of serpents.
there she saw
wading
mighty currents
men of ill oath
and murderous
scavengers
and the beguiler
of another’s
whisperer of
secrets;
Dark-striker
sucked there
on corpses of the
departed,
a wolf tore up
men.
Would you know
more— or not?
in the east the
old ogress
sat in Iron-Wood
and there gave
birth
to the wolf’s
offspring.
of them, a certain
one will be made
to devour the sun
in a trollish
guise.
The wolf fills
with the force
of men fated to
die,
smears with red
blood
the gods’ heavenly
site,
the sunshine was
black
for summers after,
the weather
treacherous.
Would you know
more— or not?
He sat on a mound
there and smote a harp,
the ogresses’
herder,
gleeful Eggther.
Howling to him
in the nesting
reeds
a bright red
rooster,
its name Fjalar.
To the gods it
howled,
Golden-Comb,
who rouses the
heroes
of the Warring
Father.
But another howls
beneath the earth,
a crimson rooster
in the halls of
Hell.
Garm barks loud
by Gaping-Cave
the fetter will
break
and the wolf will
run free;
lore she knows in
plenty,
I see beyond the
future,
the mighty doom
of the triumphant
gods.
Brothers will do
battle
unto the death,
sons of sisters
fight their own
kin,
the world has
turned harsh,
great fornication,
an axe-age, a
sword-age,
shields are cleft,
a storm-age, a
wolf-age,
before the world
tumbles
no man will ever
spare another.
Mimir’s sons play
while fate is
kindled
by the blaring
Gjallarhorn;
Heimdall blows
loud,
his horn aloft,
Odin speaks with
Mimir’s head.
The ancient tree
groans
and the giant
breaks loose;
still standing,
the ash
Yggdrassil
trembles.
Garm barks loud
by Gaping-Cave
the fetter will
break
and the wolf will
run free;
lore she knows in
plenty,
I see beyond the
future,
the mighty doom
of the triumphant
gods.
Hrym drives from
the east,
his shield before
him.
the mighty serpent
writhes
in gigantic fury.
The snake thrashes
the waves
and the eagle
grows joyful,
pale-beak plucks
corpses,
Nail-Ship breaks
its moorings.
The ship comes
from the east,
Muspell’s band of
giants
will cross the
seas
with Loki
steering,
all the kin of
folly
will go with the
wolf,
Byleip’s brother
faring with them.
What’s with the
gods?
What’s with the
elves?
All the World of
Giants rumbles,
the High Ones
convene,
dwarfs groan
by their doors of
rock,
the wise
cliff-dwellers.
Would you know
more or not?
Surt comes from
the south
with his
wood-eating fire,
sun glints on the
sword
of the godly
warriors.
Boulders slam
together,
sending trolls
tumbling,
men tread the path
of Hell
and the heavens
cleave.
Then comes to pass
Hlin’s second woe,
when Odin goes
forth
to fight the wolf,
and Beli’s bright
slayer
to face Surt;
Frigg’s beloved
god
will fall dead
then.
Garm barks loud
by Gaping-Cave
the fetter will
break
and the wolf will
run free;
lore she knows in
plenty,
I see beyond the
future,
the mighty doom
of the triumphant
gods.
Then comes the
great son
of Victory-Father,
Vidar, to smite
the carrion beast.
With his hands he
thrusts
his spear through
the heart
of Rager’s son,
avenging a father.
Garm barks loud
by Gaping-Cave
the fetter will
break
and the wolf will
run free;
lore she knows in
plenty,
I see beyond the
future,
the mighty doom
of the triumphant
gods.
Brothers will do
battle
unto the death,
sons of sisters
fight their own
kin,
the world has
turned harsh,
great fornication,
an axe-age, a
sword-age,
shields are cleft,
a storm-age, a
wolf-age,
before the world
tumbles
no man will ever
spare another.
Mimir’s sons play
while fate is
kindled
by the blaring
Gjallarhorn;
Heimdall blows
loud,
his horn aloft,
Odin speaks with
Mimir’s head.
The ancient tree
groans
and the giant
breaks loose;
still standing,
the ash
Yggdrassil
trembles.
Garm barks loud
by Gaping-Cave
the fetter will
break
and the wolf will
run free;
lore she knows in
plenty,
I see beyond the
future,
the mighty doom
of the triumphant
gods.
Hrym drives from
the east,
his shield before
him.
the mighty serpent
writhes
in gigantic fury.
The snake thrashes
the waves
and the eagle
grows joyful,
pale-beak plucks
corpses,
Nail-Ship breaks
its moorings.
The ship comes
from the east,
Muspell’s band of
giants
will cross the
seas
with Loki
steering,
all the kin of
folly
will go with the
wolf,
Byleip’s brother
faring with them.
What’s with the
gods?
What’s with the
elves?
All the World of
Giants rumbles,
the High Ones
convene,
dwarfs groan
by their doors of
rock,
the wise
cliff-dwellers.
Would you know
more or not?
Surt comes from
the south
with his
wood-eating fire,
sun glints on the
sword
of the godly
warriors.
Boulders slam
together,
sending trolls
tumbling,
men tread the path
of Hell
and the heavens
cleave.
Then comes to pass
Hlin’s second woe,
when Odin goes
forth
to fight the wolf,
and Beli’s bright
slayer
to face Surt;
Frigg’s beloved
god
will fall dead
then.
Garm barks loud
by Gaping-Cave
the fetter will
break
and the wolf will
run free;
lore she knows in
plenty,
I see beyond the
future,
the mighty doom
of the triumphant
gods.
Then
comes the great son
of Victory-Father,
Vidar, to smite
the carrion beast.
With his hands he
thrusts
his spear through
the heart
of Rager’s son,
avenging a father.
Then comes the
famed
son of mother
Earth,
Odin’s son goes
forth
to fight the
beast,
Midgard’s keeper
hammers the
serpent.
All men strip
clear
their homes in the
world,
Earth’s progeny
moves
nine steps back
and perishes by
the serpent
unfearful of
reproach.
The sun turns
black,
and sinks into the
sea,
the bright stars
vanish from the sky.
Fire rages forth
at the life-giving
tree,
high flame will
lick
at heaven itself.
Garm barks loud
by Gaping-Cave
the fetter will
break
and the wolf will
run free;
lore she knows in
plenty,
I see beyond the
future,
the mighty doom
of the triumphant
gods.
She sees arise
a second time
Earth from the
sea,
ever-green.
Water cascades,
the eagle soars
above,
catcher of fish
on the mountains’
sides.
The gods meet
again
on
Ever-Green-Plain,
reflect on the
mighty
earth-curling
serpent
and recall there
those ultimate
deeds
and the ancient
secrets
of the Greatest
God’s runes.
Later will be
found
wondrously wrought
golden chessmen,
which in days of
yore
they had owned.
Unsown fields
will grow up then,
all sorrow will be
lifted,
Balder will
return.
Hod and Balder
will thrive,
gods in the ruins
of the Hailer’s
hall.
Would you know
more—or not?
Then Haenir will
choose
the soothsaying
wood
and the sons of
the two
brothers will
dwell
in the wide winds’
domain:
Would you know
more—or not?
She sees a hall
standing
fairer than the
sun
bedecked with gold
leeward of the
fire.
Men of worth
will dwell there,
delighting in it
for ever after.
Then the
wielder
of godly power
descends in
might
ruler of all
things.
There the dim
dragon
will come in
flight
the glittering
serpent,
from
Dark
Mountains
below.
Bearing corpses in
its feathers,
as it soars over
the plain,
the Dark-Striker.
Now she will sink
down.