Scion of the Viking,    kneeling to no one,
Generous of spirit,    defender of Truth.

Much-loved the warrior,    comely to women,
Brother to all men,    save freedom's false foes.

Many thy wanderings    on mountain and snowfell,
The glen of the glacier,    and the heathery strand.

Cold fate hath claimed thee,    rime-gilt thy youth,
Thy fair form held fast    in Hel's icy grip.

Perilous her beauty,    thy boreal goddess,
But to gaze on her glory    was all thy heart's joy.

Thou art not hers to hold,    Golden Eagle of Göteborg,
Thy hot spirit burns free    from the flesh and the frost.

The paths of the secrets    lie open before thee;
All-Father guide thee    to the steads of the stars.

And we still on Midgard,    faith-fast to thy memory:
In the dance of the snowflakes,    in the dash of the wind.

Copyright © 2001 Janice E. Brooks.  All rights reserved.