Grure Of The Werg

The infamous Werg.

Whilere, the wlonc Saxons theened, 
Frolicking with their sweg and bliss,
Within the sundry thedes of kinship,
And the oath amongst them raught.

Nathless, in the coming of a fortnight,
Their foreward fordone and their liss,
At the hands of a ruthless hinderling,
Who had broken forthwith the saught.

A wanton witherling and a clever being, 
With the name of Edwig the slaughterer,
To the burgwares he nithered and terved,
With wark and the wrackful birr of might.

And the barms of manifold women slit,
With the bairns fed to a gory wanderer,
Who drank dripping blood from a skull,
As he bathed in slaughter-dew all night.

Dreary days marred in endless darkness,
That beset the nestled thorps withinward,
As weary garths began to wrox and welk,
With a blore that blew upon the land blive. 

With every thrag the wretch overwhelmed,
The orped onsets that strode thitherward,
As the kinsfolk bived and became afeard,
And the bruckle will of the elves did rive.

Thus the gnofs grued within their ware,
The leery warnings that dretched them, 
Within the dearth of hope felt forsooth, 
Beside the swamish dwarfs hiding nigh.

His uncouth hine had quethed erewhile,
That the werg's wite bore the rethe wem,
And the querking rackles of a harsh torn,
Glowering from the overbearing berg high. 

Thenceforth his wrath had been kithed, 
Throughout all the mark and the outland,
As he benimmed the sincs of the Saxons, 
With his oll and tingreg in brath swiftness.

And Ingrei Frea sought behoveful help,
From his sister from beyond a highland, 
Who sent the til werod of swith slayers,
To blin then the werg's brazen madness.

Eighty doughty hildrinks who thraved,
With wrought swords fordoing mightily, 
A lither and hetol foe of witherwardness, 
When striding and wending as a storm.

Upon the strong back of ernes that yode,
As the men alighted in the dale readily,
And seeing with their eyes a nightmare,
Looming in a swark lurked rathe a worm.

Before the men lain the gruesome sight, 
Within a swathed swire of the fallen dead, 
When treading by the rotten flesh of liches, 
As a throng of ghastly wights strove forth. 

Bain elves, dwarfs and earls at their side,
The wigends slew them and ganged ahead,
And hastened along a path of red greaves,
Full of clegs upon lopped liths lying north. 

Thunor swept a wal-stow with his breath,
Whilst fighting the worm with their ferrow,
Bashing the keeper of the old stronghold, 
And steered by freme hands of Baldaeg.

They fought wither a row of the wraiths,
That came toward them from a barrow,
As the wraiths heaved straightway above,
When standing behind them was Edwig.

A ball of fire halted their wode onslaught,
And the bold sleights of Edwig seen heavily,
Where he sent afterwards from the brond,
The twain ents thumping the hard ground.

The trig and wate hos bilove then abiding,
Before thurses that stood tall and angrily, 
Hemming them forthright from the hurne, 
With bones and skulls of their slain found. 

Thunor wielding a sweer hammer of main,
Slew the ents sliding in an abraided hole,
That the god had opened from the earth,
As Edwig shaped himself into the werg.

The werg raised his wings fraisting to fly,
But the strale of Oswin made from a bole,
Smote the throbbing heart of the werg eft, 
And dead lain the hoary werg from a berg.

Gone was the Grure of the Werg----