# Five Pieces of Runic Poetry/Ransome of Egill the Scald

( III. )
THE
RANSOME
OF
EGILL the SCALD.
INTRODUCTION.
“THE following piece is an illustrious proof of the high reverence in which poets and their art were held among the northern nations. It was composed by Egill a celebrated Scald or poet, who having received some injury from Eric Blodox king of Norway, had in revenge killed his son and several of his friends. Being afterwards seized in Iceland by Eric’s queen, she sent him after her husband into England; which he had just before invaded, and where he then had gained some footing. Though Egill had so highly exasperated the king, he purchased his pardon by the poem, here translated; ​which, notwithstanding it is all in rhyme, and consists of a great variety of measures; and tho’ the style is uncommonly figurative, is said to have been pronounced extempore in a full assembly of Eric and his chiefs.”
Mallet Introd. a l’Hist. de Dannem. p. 247. Olaij Worm. Lit. Run. p. 195.
“The translation is made from the Islandic original, published by Olaus Wormius in his Literatura Runica, 4to. pag. 227.
“N. B. In the following poem Eric is called the English Chief, in compliment to his having gained some footing in the kingdom of ​Northumberland.———He is also intitled The Commander of the Fleet of Scots; from his having auxiliaries of that nation: it was usual for the Scots to join the Danes &c. in their irruptions into the southern parts of the island.”
THE
RANSOME
OF
EGILL the SCALD.
I Came by sea from the west. I bring in my bosom the gift of Odin. Thus was my passage: I launched into the ocean in ships of Iceland: my mind is deep laden with the songs of the gods.
I offer my freight unto the king: I owe a poem for my ransome. I present to the English chief the songs of Odin. Renown is imperfect without songs. My lays resound his praise; I ​intreat his silent attention; while he is the subject of my song.
Listen, O prince, that I may swell the strain. If I can obtain but silence, many men shall know the atchievements of the king. Odin hath seen where the dead bodies lie.
The clash of arms increased about the edges of the shield. The goddesses of war had required this of him. The king was impetuous: he was distinguished in the tumult: a torrent flowed from his sword: the storm of weapons furiously raged.
The web of spears went furiously forward; thro’ the resounding ranks of shields; among the carcasses destined to ​glad the eagles. The ship sailed in a sea of blood. Wounds resounded on all sides.
The feet of the warriors failed at the discharge of arrows. There Eric acquired deathless renown.
I shall proceed if the warriors will listen: I have heard of all their glorious renown. The wounds boiled at the king’s attack. The swords were broken against the azure shields.
The broken harness gave a crash: the helmets flashed out fire. Sharp was the sword: it was a bloody destroyer. I know that many warriors ​fell before the springing bow, in the play of weapons.
Then was there a devouring of spears, in the clash of arms. There Eric acquired deathless renown.
The king dyed his sword in crimson; his sword that glutted the hungry ravens. The weapon aimed at human life. The bloody lances flew. The commander of the Scotish fleet fed fat the birds of prey. The sister of Nara trampled on the foe: The trampled on the evening food of the eagle.
​The beaked lances flew amidst the edges of the sword. The weapons accustomed to measure wounds were imbrued in blood. The wolf mangled the festering wounds. Over their prey the ravens tumultuously assembled.
The dreadful inundation overwhelmed the secure. Eric gave the dead bodies to the wolves in the sea.
Sharp was the flying dart: then peace was lost. Bent was the bow; at which the wolf rejoiced. Broken were the lances. Sharp were the swords. The bow-strings bare away the arrows.
​The valiant provoker of warlike play sends the lances from his hand: he is prodigal of blood. It is poured forth on all sides. The song flows from my heart. The expedition of Eric is celebrated thro’ the eastern ocean.
The king bent his bow: the stinging arrows fly. Eric gave the dead bodies to the wolves in the sea.
It remains that I distinguish among the warriors the superior excellence of the king. My song will flow more rapid. He causes the goddess of war to watch upon his prow. He makes his ship to scate along the rough billows.
​The king, who breaks the shower of arrows, abounds in wealth. The shield-rending warriors resound his praise: the jocund mariners are gladdened with his gold: precious stones court the hand of the king.
There was no standing for the deluge of blood. The drawn bow twangs: it sends forth the arrow to meet the sword. The king hath gained a firm possession in his enemies land. Praise dwells beside him.
The king hath been attentive to my lays such as I could produce. I am happy that I could obtain a silent hearing. I have employed my tongue. I ​have poured forth from my soul the songs of Odin in this splendid city.
I have published the praises of the king: I have broke through the fetters of silence: I have not feared to speak in the assembly of warriors. I have poured forth from my breast the praises of Eric. They flowed forth that many might hear them.
May he abound in gold. May he enrich his subjects. May his fame be spread abroad. May all things succeed to the king’s desires.
* ↑ An Islandic phrase for death, it alludes to the ancient northern mythology. See the Edda, &c.
* ↑ An Islandic phrase for fishes of prey.
* ↑ The last stanza is in the orginal so highly figurative, and contains such obscure allusions to the northern mythology, that it would only admit of a very loose paraphrase. That here given, is founded on the notes of Olaus Wormius. pag. 140.