The Wayfarer

I stare from a hill, home’s far away,
so far from there I’ve never been,
I found no place where I can stay,
on lonely moves my feet are keen.

It seems to me that ages ago
I left my town, on German ground,
since then I moved to and fro,
all o’er the world but nowhere bound.

My sword and axe are laid to rest,
no need for them on silent ways,
the sunny air that fills my chest
makes me sing, my lute it plays.

A chant of battles, a warrior song,
I sing aloud with my clear voice,
to Bragi’s sons I do belong,
the god of every bard’s choice.

Of giants of elves and of the dwarves,
I sing of the Aesir, the gods in the Hall,
of myth and legend and of their scarves
of kingdoms raised and of their fall.

Northern winds blow away my pain,
my tiredness fades as my voice raises,
my face it feels every drop of cool rain,
while my songs are born as Aesirs’ praises.

“You hung for nine nights on Yggdrasil,
sacrifice to yourself to fulfill your need,
now the runes respond to your will,
prithee, Odin, for some of your mead.

And Freyja, beautiful goddess of love,
put fire in my heart and on my tongue,
so that my word could be like a dove
and with magical wings my humble song.

Mighty are you, most powerful Thor,
with Mjollnir wielded in your hand,
on bloody battlefields your cry of war
makes all your enemies’ armies disband.

Baldr and Heimdall and Hödur the blind,
brothers and sons of the god of magic,
my songs will remind to all mankind
how sad was your Fate, of all the most tragic.

Son of giants but among Aesir not rejected,
Loki the Trickster, most cunning god of all,
in struggle you’re called, and the neglected,
because you’re a reminder that they will fall.

One handed Tyr, god of war and champions’ duel,
you left your right hand in the wolf’s jaws,
the price for his binding was the most cruel,
but courageuosly you sacrified for the laws.

Hel and Fenrir and Midgard’s Jormungand,
daughter and sons of a monster’s father,
you scare the gods and Ragnarök command,
under your standard death armies will gather,

to fight the last battle, at time when world ends,
against the Valkyries and men from Valhalla,
to see after fighting of whom the knee bends,
after the long sound of the great Horn of Gjallar.”

On dusty paths my feet keep walking,
where all is new and worth a song,
of men and gods my voice is talking,
a wandering Bard my whole life long.

Reviews

[Francesco Vitellini]

Thank you for reading it.
And, Beth, thank you for the note on the rhyme. It's important for me to get this kind of feedback because English is not my first language.

[patricia]

I could have read that again and again. I love all that kind of stuff. Nicely penned. The pen is mightier than the sword. Thanks.

[Beth Winter]

Very nicely told. Your progression is smooth and rhyming good. There are a few spots where the rhyme is slightly off for me but overall, it works well.