Poems for wargamers 11 Ragnar Lodbrok

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The Lay of Kraka is a skaldic poem consisting of a monologue in which Ragnar Lodbrok is dying in Aellas snake pit and looks back at a life full of heroic deeds

Lay of Kraka (Krákumál)

We hewed with the brand!
Long since we went to Gotaland for the slaying of the Worm,
There I won Thora and my name of Leathern-Breeches,
Since I pierced that serpent through, with my blade of inlaid steel.

We hewed with the brand!
Young was I when east of Oere-sound we made good breakfast for the wolves,
While our steels sang on the high-crested helms much food did they find,
Blood-stained the sea, the ravens waded through.

We hewed with the brand!
Ere twenty years passed o’er us, high-borne were our spears,
At Dvina’s mouth in the far east eight jarls did we lay low,
Warriors died; the crimson death coloured the sea and ravens feasted.

We hewed with the brand!
The war-queen loved us when we sent the Helsinga to Odin’s halls,
Keen bit the feathered arrow when our ships reached Iva’s flood East Baltic ,
Gay was the music of sword on breast-plate and cleft shield.

We hewed with the brand!
Great was our courage when fierce Herraudr, ‘mid his winged steeds, died.
No jarl more fearless sent his framing coursers o’er the main;
His stout heart drove him, fearless, by the sea-fowls’ haunt.

We hewed with the brand!
The brand bit sore at Scarpa-reef (Scarborough) , the sword flew from its sheath,
Crimson the borders of our moon-shields when King Raven died;
Loud roared the spear on Ulla’s field, as low lay Eystan the King.

We hewed with the brand!
O’er us was fated Herthiof to win a mighty victory,
There fell my son, bold Rognvald, before the host of spears.
His bow, unerring, shot in Sudorey Hebrides its last fatal bolt.

We hewed with the brand!
In Ireland King Marstan let not the she-wolf nor the eagle starve.
A sacrifice he made at Wetherford (Waterford) , for the steel-thorn issuing from its sheath,
Pierced to the heart of Ragnar, fearless son of mine.

We hewed with the brand!
South we played at war with three kings, the blood of the Irish dyed the sea,
Then stormed we to the sword-play at the river-mouth of Anglesey,
No kissing of a girl was it to fight as we fought there.

We hewed with the brand!
Little did I wot that at the hands of Ella my death should come!
Yet what boots it? None can withstand his fate and well is it
To quaff the mead in skull-boughs drinking horns in the great hall of Odin.

We hewed with the brand!
Before cold death does no brave man quail; no thought of fear have I.
Soon with the battle wake when Aslaug’s sons their bitter blades unsheath,
Soon will they learn the manner of my death, stout hearts of their brave mother!

We hewed with the brand!
My life is well-nigh o’er; sharp is the pang that the serpent gives.
Goinn the Snake, nests deep in my heart. No more will my children rest;
Great wrath will be theirs at the undoing of their sire.

We hewed with the brand!
Full gladly do I go! See the Valkyrjar fresh from Odin’s halls!
High-seated among heroes shall I quaff the yellow-mead.
The Aesir welcome me. Laughing gladly do I die!