# The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/The Wooing Song of Jarl Egill Skallagrim

The Wooing Song of Jarl Egill Skallagrim.
Bright maiden of Orkney, Star of the blue sea! I've swept o'er the waters To gaze upon thee; I've left spoil and slaughter, I've left a far strand, To sing how I love thee, To kiss thy small hand! Fair Daughter of Einar, Golden-haired maid! The lord of yon brown bark, And lord of this blade; The joy of the ocean— Of warfare and wind, Hath boune him to woo thee, And thou must be kind. So stoutly Jarl Egill wooed Torf Einar's daughter.
In Jutland—in Iceland On Neustria's shore, Where'er the dark billow My gallant bark bore, Songs spoke of thy beauty, Harps sounded thy praise, And my heart loved thee long ere It thrilled in thy gaze; Ay, Daughter of Einar, Right tall may'st thou stand, It is a Vikingir Who kisses thy hand: It is a Vikingir That bends his proud knee, And swears by Great Freya, His bride thou must be! So Jarl Egill swore when his great heart was fullest.
Thy white arms are locked in Broad bracelets of gold; Thy girdle-stead's gleaming With treasures untold: The circlet that binds up Thy long yellow hair,
Is starred thick with jewels, That bright are and rare; But gifts yet more princely Jarl Egill bestows, For girdle, his great arm Around thee he throws; The bark of a sea-king For palace, gives he, While mad waves and winds shall Thy true subjects be. So richly Jarl Egill endowed his bright bride.
Nay, frown not, nor shrink thus, Nor toss so thy head, 'Tis a Vikingir asks thee, Land-maiden, to wed! He skills not to woo thee, In trembling and fear, Though lords of the land may Thus troop with the deer. The cradle he rock'd in So sound and so long, Hath framed him a heart And a hand that are strong:
He comes then as Jarl should, Sword belted to side, To win thee and wear thee With glory and pride. So sternly Jarl Egill wooed, and smote his long brand.
Thy father, thy brethren, Thy kin keep from me, The maiden I've sworn shall Be Queen of the sea! A truce with that folly— Yon sea-strand can show If this eye missed its aim, Or this arm failed its blow: I had not well taken Three strides on this land Ere a Jarl and his six sons In death bit the sand. Nay, weep not, pale maid, though In battle should fall The kemps who would keep thy Bridegroom from the hall. So carped Jarl Egill and kissed the bright weeper.
Through shadows and horrors, In worlds underground, Through sounds that appal And through sights that confound, I sought the Weird women Within their dark cell, And made them surrender Futurity's spell; I made them rune over The dim scroll so free, And mutter how Fate sped With lovers like me. Yes, maiden, I forced them To read forth my doom, To say how I should fare As jolly bridegroom. So Jarl Egill's love dared the world of grim shadows.
They waxed and they waned, They passed to and fro, While lurid fires gleamed o'er Their faces of snow;
Their stony eyes moveless, Did glare on me long, Then sullen they chanted: "The Sword and the Song Prevail with the gentle, Sore chasten the rude, And sway to their purpose Each evil-shaped mood!" Fair Daughter of Einar, I've sung the dark lay That the Weird sisters runed, and Which thou must obey. So fondly Jarl Egill loved Einar's proud daughter.
The curl of that proud lip, The flash of that eye, The swell of that bosom, So full and so high, Like foam of sea-billow, Thy white bosom shows, Like flash of red levin Thine eagle eye glows: Ha! firmly and boldly, So stately and free,
Thy foot treads this chamber, As bark rides the sea: This likes me—this likes me, Stout maiden of mould, Thou wooest to purpose; Bold hearts love the bold. So shouted Jarl Egill, and clutched the proud maiden.
Away and away then, I have thy small hand; Joy with me—our tall bark Now bears toward the strand; I call it the Raven, The wing of black night, That shadows forth ruin O'er islands of light: Once more on its long deck, Behind us the gale, Thou shalt see how before it Great kingdoms do quail; Thou shalt see then how truly, My noble-souled maid, The ransom of kings can Be won by this blade. So bravely Jarl Egill did soothe the pale trembler.
Ay, gaze on its large hilt, One wedge of red gold; But doat on its blade, gilt With blood of the bold. The hilt is right seemly, But nobler the blade, That swart Velint's hammer With cunning spells made; I call it the Adder, Death lurks in its bite, Through bone and proof-harness It scatters pale light. Fair Daughter of Einar, Deem high of the fate That makes thee, like this blade, Proud Egill's loved mate! So Jarl Egill bore off Torf Einar's bright daughter.