The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún

VÖLSUNGAKVIÐA EN NÝJA

UPPHAF

(Beginning)

1

Of old was an age

when was emptiness,

there was sand nor sea

nor surging waves;

unwrought was Earth,

unroofed was Heaven –

an abyss yawning,

and no blade of grass.

2

The Great Gods then

began their toil,

the wondrous world

they well builded.

From the South the Sun

from seas rising

gleamed down on grass

green at morning.

3

They hall and hallow

high uptowering,

gleaming-gabled,

golden-posted,

rock-hewn ramparts

reared in splendour,

forge and fortress

framed immortal.

4

Unmarred their mirth

in many a court,

where men they made

of their minds’ cunning;

under hills of Heaven

on high builded

they lived in laughter

long years ago.

5

Dread shapes arose

from the dim spaces

over sheer mountains

by the Shoreless Sea,

friends of darkness,

foes immortal,

old, unbegotten,

out of ancient void.

6

To the world came war:

the walls of Gods

giants beleaguered;

joy was ended.

The mountains were moved,

mighty Ocean

surged and thundered,

the Sun trembled.

7

The Gods gathered

on golden thrones,

of doom and death

deeply pondered,

how fate should be fended,

their foes vanquished,

their labour healed,

light rekindled.

8

In forge’s fire

of flaming wrath

was heaviest hammer

hewn and wielded.

Thunder and lightning

Thór the mighty

flung among them,

felled and sundered.

9

In fear then fled they,

foes immortal,

from the walls beaten

watched unceasing;

ringed Earth around

with roaring sea

and mountains of ice

on the margin of the world.

*

10

A seer long silent

her song upraised –

the halls hearkened –

on high she stood.

Of doom and death

dark words she spake,

of the last battle

of the leaguered Gods.

11

‘The horn of Heimdal

I hear ringing;

the Blazing Bridge

bends neath horsemen;

the Ash is groaning,

his arms trembling,

the Wolf waking,

warriors riding.

12

The sword of Surt

smoketh redly;

the slumbering Serpent

in the sea moveth;

a shadowy ship

from shores of Hell

legions bringeth

to the last battle.

13

The wolf Fenrir

waits for Ódin,

for Frey the fair

the flames of Surt;

the deep Dragon

shall be doom of Thór –

shall all be ended,

shall Earth perish?

14

If in day of Doom

one deathless stands,

who death hath tasted

and dies no more,

the serpent-slayer,

seed of Ódin,

then all shall not end,

nor Earth perish.

15

On his head shall be helm,

in his hand lightning,

afire his spirit,

in his face splendour.

The Serpent shall shiver

and Surt waver,

the Wolf be vanquished

and the world rescued.’

*

16

The Gods were gathered

on guarded heights,

of doom and death

deep they pondered.

Sun they rekindled,

and silver Moon

they set to sail

on seas of stars.

17

Frey and Freyia

fair things planted,

trees and flowers,

trembling grasses;

Thór in chariot

thundered o’er them

through Heaven’s gateways

to the hills of stone.

18

Ever would Ódin

on earth wander

weighed with wisdom

woe foreknowing,

the Lord of lords

and leaguered Gods,

his seed sowing,

sire of heroes.

19

Valhöll he built

vast and shining;

shields the tiles were,

shafts the rafters.

Ravens flew thence

over realms of Earth;

at the doors an eagle

darkly waited.

20

The guests were many:

grim their singing,

boar’s-flesh eating,

beakers draining;

mighty ones of Earth

mailclad sitting

for one they waited,

the World’s chosen.

*