~ By Courtesy of Others ~
Swiftly
Goes the Sword-Play
Swiftly goes the sword-play
singing in the mountains.
Clash of steel is calling,
clanging up to heaven: --
arrows flying angry;
axes lifting skyward,
banging down on byrnies,
breaking shields and helmets.
Swiftly goes the sword-play:
Spears on hosts are raining;
men run forth in madness,
mowing ranks of foemen;
battle tumult bellows;
blod is red on axeheads;
greedily the gray wolf
gorges with the raven.
Swiftly goes the sword-play,
sweeping foemen backward
to the beach where tumult
talks with voice of metal:
belling of the brazen
beaks of cleaving axes,
smoking blood, where sea kings
sing the mass of lances.
Swiftly goes the sword-play,
storm-like in its madness:
shields are bloody shimmers,
shining moons of redness;
winds of arrows wailing,
wicked spearhead-lightning
lads will smite who lately
lay by lovely sweethearts.
Swiftly goes the sword-play!
Swinging bloodied weapons,
shields and helms to shatter,
shout the men their war-cry.
While the angry, whining,
whirring blades are sparking,
howl the wolves their hunger,
hawks stoop low for feasting.
Swiftly goes the sword-play!
Song of metal raises
din of blades for dancing
(death for eager partner).
Lur horns bray their laughter,
lads, and call to hosting.
Sweeter game was sleeping
softly with your leman.
Swiftly goes the sword-play.
Some must lose the gamble.
Norns alone are knowing
now who throws the dice best.
Winner in the wailing
weapon-game we know not,
but our foes will bitter
battle find in Alfheim.
© Poul Anderson, from the novel
"The Broken Sword"