Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE TRAGEDY OF ASGARD: THE RIDING OF THE GODS, by VICTOR GUSTAVE PLARR


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE TRAGEDY OF ASGARD: THE RIDING OF THE GODS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Gladly would I my pen at once concede
Last Line: While that the immortals drew unto their doom!
Subject(s): Goddesses & Gods; Immortality; Mythology; Mythology - Norse


Gladly would I my pen at once concede
To Snorri, son of Sturla, the famed skald
of Iceland, for he wrote, upon a time,
Of these immortals and their glorious feuds,
Setting their history behind a veil
Within a mystic palace, at whose gate
There stood a jongleur tossing knives in air.
Seven knives he whirled and did enchant the king,
That Saga's hero, seeking ancient lore.
But Snorri Sturlesson low buried sleeps
Under some lichened wind-affronting cairn
Far northward, quite forgotten, and to-day,
Stuffed in this Saxon hamlet overgrown,
Which is the hugest of all cities built
By mortal men in any age or land,
This London, hooded by its cap of clouds
More terrible than Odin's, we must grope
Piously dubious for shadowy myths,
Which once were lifeblood of the heart and brain—
The creed of our forefathers at the first
Ere Hengst and Horse had sailed unto our West.
When over Bifröst unto Asgard's gates
Odin had rode, blinded, but surely borne
By Sleipnir scenting ill, the gods who thronged
About him as he halted in their midst,
Had armed themselves already, and now shone
Effulgent and perchance invincible
In harness fashioned by no mortal hands.
At once they brought their eyeless god his helm,
Forged of fine gold, and standing on tiptoe,
Set it upon his towering head, and slipped
Along his mighty arm the golden ring
Draupnir, which but of late from Hel's abode
Balder, the Beautiful, had sent him back
By Hermod's hand, and down his shoulders drew
The glimmering hauberk, link on link, and set
In his right hand Gungnir the Invincible,
The lance that should not now avail again.
Then with the clangour of immortal arms
The glorious Aesir drew unto their fate.
And first among them towered All-Father blind,
Directed by his people as was he,
The old king, who eyeless on his war-horse sate,
And to a later battle was led forth
By clustered knights to meet no doubtful doom.
How splendid in affliction Odin towered,
Odin of many epithets supreme,—
The Terrible, the Wanderer, the Calm,
The Hero, the Helm-Wearer, the Sublime,
The Shadow as of Hel, the Warrior's God,
The Joyous of the Hosts, and he that neighs
In the fight's forefront and that cries Ha, Ha!
At scent of battle—more than two-score names,
Each lofty in its kind! And next him rolled
Thor of the Chariot, Thor of the Aesir, high
Within his car swift-drawn by the two goats,
Crack-tooth and Grind-tooth, clenching in his hand
The club Miölnir (that unconquered mace,
Which oftentimes had hammered Jotun skulls,
So that in Jotun-land 'tis not forgot.)
And girded with the subtle Belt of Strength,
Called Megingiardar, which when tightlier drawn
Round the god's waist redoubles godlike power,
And mittened with those Iron Gloves renowned
Wherewith alone the Hammer's shaft he holds.
And after Thor Niördur came, the lord
Of Skadi. Master he of waves and fire,
Controller of the goings of the wind,
To whom both fishermen and mariners
Should offer prayers as patron. Wealthy he,
Giver of wealth, and lover of those shores
Made noisy with the busy sea-mews' call,
Which Skadi hated; but of this not now.
Upon a splendid horse, Gyllir or Gladr,
Gler, Skeid-brimir or Silfrin-toppr yclept—
For the Aesir have twelve steeds of race divine—
Niördur rode, and with him Freya moved
And frey, his children, beautiful of face
With gold ambrosial curls of antique song!
Freya the Huntress, Mother of the Gods,
Flashes her blue eyes and lets float her locks
From a low chariot drawn by wild cats twain,
Soft-footed emblems of prolific life.
Protectress she of increase, growth, and bloom,
Who from her lovely gardens underneath
Clear lakes and running waters of the world
Brings little babes to birth or back receives
Their innocent frail bodies crushed by life
In barbarous lands, and nurses them for aye
On her white bosom in Fensaler's halls
Beside the sand-dunes and the shore. 'Tis she
Who is accounted president of Law,
And the remembered wisdom of old time
That sits on greybeards' lips unto this day,
Custom, far mightier than written codes.
'Tis she apportioned fields, and sacred kept
Landmarks, and oft on man's meek happiness
With Odin counsel took or sat like him
In Lidskialf's solitary lodge on high
To overlook the doings of the world.
About her thronged her maidens, who preside
O'er love and lover—Fulla, golden-haired,
Her tiring-maid who holds her jewel-case;
And Gna, the fearless Amazon; and Hlyn
Who guards her votaries. But now her face
Was fierce for battle. After her there rode
A glorious galaxy of blameless gods,
Hungry for combat, wonderful in strength.
Valiant and sage rode Tyr, and Bragi, lord
Of skalds, and singing, and such eloquence
As severs men sharply from the mere brutes;
Then Heimdal, the pure god who blows the Horn;
Vidar the Silent, with the Shoe of Might;
Vali the Terrible Bowman; Bowman Ullr;
And Forset, son of Balder, judge divine,
Who in the glinting House of Glitnir deals
Justly with mortal causes; but, alas!
Balder in that high company was not,
Nor Hodur, the blind god, whom the Aesir now
Liked not to name because he threw that leaf
Which brought dear Balder down to a dark death.
Nor was the grim Betrayer Loki there.
And with the thirteen godheads, now but ten,
Went they who are accounted the gods' friends.
Three have I named, Fulla, and Gna, and Hlyn—
The rest are they not writ in Snorri's book?
All are inspirers of the world of men,—
Rain, and Tradition, and the Healer's Art,
Virginity, Affection, Love, Denial,
Assurance, and young Snodra, president
Of social grace—all rich in attributes,
And greatly to be sought in pious prayers;
And round them surged innumerable hosts
Of heroes dead in battle, such as marched
Each morn in companies from Walhall's doors
To joust in the wide court, and after rain
Of visionary bloodshed and thick blows
Innocuous in Asgard, back returned
To feast at table with the immortal gods
Through all the sounding night, till each dropped down
Even where he sat, by mead divine o'erborne.
After the fever and the wounds on earth
Should these have drunk but water? Odin's self
Lived upon wine and gave his meats at meals
To his familiar wolves and to his crows.
Glutton and Shameless, Thoughtful and Desire—
These be the names of them, and by his throne,
Amid the harp-string music and the mead,
They stretched towards his hand and watched his knife
With an old animal patience, weird to view.
For the last time Walhalla had unbarred
Full half a thousand gates; for the last time
Eight hundred thegns from each of them had poured,
Who now advanced, a host no man might count,
To the huge Plain of Wigrid. To and fro,
Beside and in among them, with red spur
Rode their bright adjutants, Valkyries named.
But now, among these heroes in the hall
Blithely they'd served, kneeling had crowned their cups
With strong immortal mead and still had kept
The knives and platters burnished for the feast,
Still tended each broad dish. Thirteen are they,
With names of war and fear, as Grimnir tells;
And other twain on white cloud-horses ride
At Odin's bidding to all foughten fields,
And there they sedulously choose the dead
Who shall return to feast in Odin's halls.
Alarm and War their names, and with them rides
Skalda, the youngest of the sister Norns,
Wild arbitress of dim Futurity.
Upon one knee they kneel in midmost fight,
Where the shafts hurtle thick, the bucklers clang,
The harness with tremendous cuts is cloven,
Upon their other take the languished head,
And catch the hero's dying breath, and shut
The fevered eyelids, and straightway arise
And bear their noble burden to their lord,
Who deals them half the dead, and keeps one half.
Intent upon such spoil, how grandly now
Along the innumerous armies' moving flanks
Spurred those bright adjutants, Valkyries called,
While that the Immortals drew unto their doom!





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