~ Historical & Classical Poetry ~
Ragnar Lodbrok´s Death-Song
We hewed with blades.
The warrior has carried out
fifty-one host-battles.
Least of all guessed I,
that it should befall me
(who, young, took blade to redden it)
that another king should overcome me.
The gods must invite me,
one should not complain of dying.
I am joyous at ending,
the goddesses bid me home,
who, from Herjan´s hall,
Ođinn has sent to me;
gladly shall I, in high-seat,
drink ale with Ćesir:
All hope of life is gone,
laughing shall I die.
From the Krákumál
Image: Hugo Hamilton, 1830
