Life proves that we must dree our weird. Few can escape the binding bonds of fate. Little dreamed I that e’er my days by Ælla would be ended! what time I filled the blood hawks with his slain, what time I led my ships into his havens, what time we gorged the beasts of prey along the Scottish bays.
We hewed with our swords!
There is a never-failing consolation for my spirit: the board of Balder’s sire [Woden] stands open to the brave! Soon from the crooked skull-boughs[5] in the splendid house of Woden we shall quaff the amber mead! Death blanches not the brave man’s face. I’ll not approach the courts of Vitris[6] with the faltering voice of fear!
We hewed with our swords!
Soon would the sons of Aslaug[7] come armed with their flaming brands to wake revenge, did they but know of our mischance; even that a swarm of vipers, big with venom, sting my aged body. I sought a noble mother for my children, one who might impart adventurous hearts to our posterity.
We hewed with our swords!
Now is my life nigh done. Grim are the terrors of the adder; serpents nestle within my heart’s recesses.
Yet it is the cordial of my soul that Woden’s wand[8] shall soon stick fast in Ælla! My sons will swell with vengeance at their parent’s doom; those generous youths will fling away the sweets of peace and come to avenge my loss.
We hewed with our swords!
Full fifty times have I, the harbinger of war, fought bloody fights; no king, methought, should ever pass me by. It was the pastime of my boyish days to tinge my spear with blood! The immortal Anses[9] will call me to their company; no dread shall e’er disgrace my death.