Ealdgýðe Sang

Gúðláf the Woodsman was a great hunter,
a famed Fyrning and feller of boars
many and mighty. His match were none,
his foes the fewer, a friend in need
to kith and kin that kind man was.
His spear whistled with the speed of the hawk,
biting grimly as the greyhame’s fang.
He knew no malice, merry were his days.

Wulfrún he wedded, a woman striking
and of good blood. She guarded secrets
of the woods and dales, dancing and singing,
beloved child of the land of her fathers.
Two she bore him, both of them keen.
Eldest was Ealdgýþ, oak-strong daughter,
Youngest was Gúðmund, yielding never.
He went away, that wandering son.

The maiden was taught by mother and father
the ways of the wild, the wonts of the beasts.
Her eye saw farthest, ever was it sharp
as she roamed the realm of the red-blooded,
where in fell forests she found her mark,
never burdened. The north was her home,
fettered by frost, full-bound and crushed
by wearing winters. Yet she withered not.

She heeded the call of kinsmen in peril
when the raiders came, rowing and sailing
over the cold sea to kill and steal
their way to wealth. War they would get,
for Gúðláf’s daughter granted naught less.
The sheen shieldmaiden shone with glory,
met the murderers with mind and blade,
staying the stealers that steered for loot.

Yet more would come to mar the land,
lashing from waves, wayward and cruel,
the brood of demons. Brothers led them,
Golpa and Gífring, greedy wretches.
Their hearts unnoble, they harried and robbed,
overbearing the men mustered to face them,
shamelessly shunning shield-walls and hosts,
seeking their gains by greater numbers.

The huntress with few fought them bravely,
shielding her folk from sharp meeting.
The thieves killed the thains beside her,
the bloodthirsty banes with baleful mind
showed no honour, shot her like dastards,
struck with arrows the strong-willed maiden,
laughed with mockery, left her for dead
on the green banks of grey Ashlode.

But the foul foes were fey in pride,
For the war-maiden awoke, warded off death,
swore to settle this, the sword of her land.
Golpa and his troop she tracked down quickly,
with a single hew his head she took,
felling that foe in front of his men,
slew them as well, slaughtered with axe.
Their journey had ended at Ealdgýþ’s feet.

Gífring remained, murdering and burning
his way to shore. His ships were ready
to bear the booty and the brood that took it.
The warrior waylaid those wanton fiends,
blood-stained and brave, black-clad fury,
she killed them all, save their craven leader.
He sought to shoot her, safe from afar,
but caught her spear in his cowardly eye.

A friend to her folk that fearless woman was,
she frightened foes, fought them grimly.
Abroad she went, her brother seeking,
that beloved maiden was missed sorely.

E.F.