# The Story of Egil Skallagrimsson/Chapter 81

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CHAPTER LXXXI.
Death of Bodvar: Egil's poem thereon.
BODVAR Egil's son was just now growing up; he was a youth of great promise, handsome, tall and strong as had been Egil or Thorolf at his age. Egil loved him dearly, and Bodvar was very fond of his father. One summer it happened that there was a ship in White-river, and a great fair was held there. Egil had there bought much wood, which he was having conveyed home by water: for this his house-carles went, taking with them an eight-oared boat belonging to Egil. It chanced one time that Bodvar begged to go with them, and they allowed him so to do. So he went into the field with the house-carles. They were six in all on the eight-oared boat. And when they had to go out again, high-water was late in the day, and, as they must needs wait for the turn of tide, they did not start till late in the evening. Then came on a violent south-west gale, against which ran the stream of the ebb. This made a ​ rough sea in the firth, as can often happen. The end was that the boat sank under them, and all were lost. The next day the bodies were cast up: Bodvar's body came on shore at Einars-ness, but some came in on the south shore of the firth, whither also the boat was driven, being found far in near Reykjarhamar.
Egil heard these tidings that same day, and at once rode to seek the bodies: he found Bodvar's, took it up and set it on his knees, and rode with it out to Digra-ness, to Skallagrim's mound. Then he had the mound opened, and laid Bodvar down there by Skallagrim. After which the mound was closed again; this task was not finished till about night-fall. Egil then rode home to Borg, and, when he came home, he went at once to the locked bed-closet in which he was wont to sleep. He lay down, and shut himself in, none daring to crave speech of him.
It is said that when they laid Bodvar in earth Egil was thus dressed his hose were tight-fitting to his legs, he wore a red kirtle of fustian, closely-fitting, and laced at the sides: but they say that his muscles so swelled with his exertion that the kirtle was rent off him, as were also the hose.
​Then said Egil, 'You do well, daughter, in that you will follow your father. Great love have you shown to me. What hope is there that I shall wish to live with this grief?" After this they were silent awhile. Then Egil spoke: "What is it now, daughter? You are chewing something, are you not?' 'I am chewing samphire,' said she, because I think it will do me harm. Otherwise I think I may live too long.' 'Is samphire bad for man? said Egil. Very bad,' said she; 'will you eat some?' 'Why should I not?' said he. A little while after she called and bade them give her drink. Water was brought to her. Then said Egil, 'This comes of eating samphire, one ever thirsts the more.' 'Would you like a drink, father?' said she. He took and swallowed the liquid in a deep draught: it was in a horn. Then said Thorgerdr: 'Now are we deceived; this is milk.' Whereat Egil bit a sherd out of the horn, all that his teeth gripped, and cast the horn down.
Then spoke Thorgerdr: 'What counsel shall we take now? This our purpose is defeated. Now I would fain, father, that we should lengthen our lives, so that you may compose a funeral poem on Bodvar, and I will grave it on a wooden roller; after that we can die, if we like. Hardly, I think, can Thorstein your son compose a poem on Bodvar; but it were unseemly that he should not have funeral rites. Though I do not think that we two shall sit at the drinking when the funeral feast is held.' Egil said that it was not to be expected that he could now compose, though he were to attempt it. 'However, I will try this,' said he.
Egil had had another son named Gunnar, who had died a short time before.
So then Egil began the poem, and this is the beginning.
SONA-TORREK (SONS' LOSS).
I.
'Much doth it task me My tongue to move, Through my throat to utter The breath of song. Poesy, prize of Odin, Promise now I may not, A draught drawn not lightly From deep thought's dwelling.
2.
'Forth it flows but hardly; For within my breast Heavy sobbing stifles Hindered stream of song— Blessed boon to mortals Brought from Odin's kin, Goodly treasure, stolen
3.
'He, who so blameless Bore him in life, O'erborne by billows With boat was whelmed. Sea-waves-flood that whilom Welled from giant's wound— Smite upon the grave-gate Of my sire and son.
4.
'Dwindling now my kindred Draw near to their end, Ev'n as forest-saplings Felled or tempest-strown. Not gay or gladsome Goes he who beareth Body of kinsman On funeral bier.
5.
'Of father fallen First I may tell; Of much-loved mother Must mourn the loss. Sad store hath memory For minstrel skill, A wood to bloom leafy With words of song.
6.
'Most woful the breach, Where the wave in-brake On the fenced hold Of my father's kin. Unfilled, as I wot, And open doth stand The gap of son rent By the greedy surge.
7.
'Me Ran, the sea-queen, Roughly hath shaken: I stand of beloved ones Stript and all bare. Cut hath the billow The cord of my kin, Strand of mine own twisting So stout and strong.
8.
'Sure, if sword could venge Such cruel wrong, Evil times would wait Ægir, ocean-god. That wind-giant's brother Were I strong to slay, 'Gainst him and his sea-brood Battling would I go.
9.
'But I in no wise Boast, as I ween, Strength that may strive With the stout ships' Bane. For to eyes of all Easy now 'tis seen How the old man's lot Helpless is and lone.
10.
'Me hath the main Of much bereaved; Dire is the tale, The deaths of kin: Since he the shelter And shield of my house Hied him from life To heaven's glad realm.
11.
'Full surely I know, In my son was waxing
The stuff and the strength Of a stout-limbed wight: Had he reached but ripeness To raise his shield, And Odin laid hand On his liegeman true.
12.
'Willing he followed His father's word, Though all opposing Should thwart my rede: He in mine household Mine honour upheld, Of my power and rule The prop and the stay.
13.
'Oft to my mind My loss doth come, How I brotherless bide Bereaved and lone. Thereon I bethink me, When thickens the fight Thereon with much searching My soul doth muse:
14.
'Who staunch stands by me In stress of fight, Shoulder to shoulder, Side by side? Such want doth weaken In war's dread hour; Weak-winged I fly, Whom friends all fail.
15.
'Son's place to his sire (Saith a proverb true) Another son born Alone can fill. Of kinsmen none (Though ne'er so kind) To brother can stand In brother's stead.
16.
'O'er all our ice-fields, Our northern snows, Few now I find Faithful and true. Dark deeds men love, Doom death to their kin, A brother's body Barter for gold.
17.
'Unpleasing to me Our people's mood, Each seeking his own In selfish peace. To the happier bees' home Hath passed my son, My good wife's child To his glorious kin.
18.
'Odin, mighty monarch, Of minstrel mead the lord, On me a heavy hand Harmful doth lay. Gloomy in unrest Ever I grieve, Sinks my drooping brow, Seat of sight and thought.
19.
'Fierce fire of sickness First from my home Swept off a son With savage blow: One who was heedful, Harmless, I wot, In deeds unblemished, In words unblamed.
20.
'Still do I mind me, When the Friend of men High uplifted To the home of gods That sapling stout Of his father's stem, Of my true wife born A branch so fair.
21.
'Once bare I goodwill To the great spear-lord, Him trusty and true I trowed for friend: Ere the giver of conquest, The car-borne god, Broke faith and friendship False in my need.
22.
'Now victim and worship To Vilir's brother, The god once honoured, I give no more. Yet the friend of Mimir On me hath bestowed Some boot for bale, If all boons I tell.
23.
'Yea he, the wolf-tamer, The war-god skilful, Gave poesy faultless To fill my soul: Gave wit to know well Each wily trickster, And force him to face me As foeman in fight.
24.
'Hard am I beset; Whom Hela, the sister Of Odin's fell captive, On Digra-ness waits. Yet shall I gladly With right good welcome Dauntless in bearing Her death-blow bide.'
Egil began to cheer up as the composing of the poem went on; and when the poem was complete, he brought it before Asgerdr and Thorgerdr and his family. He rose from his bed, and took his place in the high-seat. This poem he called 'Loss of Sons.' And now Egil had the funeral feast of his son held after ancient custom. But when Thorgerdr went home, Egil enriched her with good gifts.