~ By Courtesy of Others ~
Yule Night
The gate of Hel stands open;
the wind blows from the North;
the Bridge of Dread is frozen;
the Host is riding forth.
Silently their hoofsteps
hasten down the Way,
for they have far to travel
before the break of day.
Boughs of fir and holly,
candles burning bright,
and bread and boar and apples
bless your hall tonight.
Warmth and joy and friendship
bind your guests and kin;
let meat be cleared away -
let horns be carried in!
Now drink to Hár for valor,
to Njörð and Frey for gold;
boast of deeds accomplished,
and tell the tales of old;
but save the finest vintage -
strong and golden-clear -
for those who travel farthest
to reach your hall this year.
In the darkest, coldest hour,
when all is still as stone,
your guests are sweetly dreaming,
but you must watch alone.
The fire sinks to embers;
you gaze into the past
and know not grief from gladness…
'til They are here at last!
Remember! Remember! How
they lived and loved and bled,
and drink a horn - the minni-horn -
give honor to the Dead!
© 2000 Ann Gróa Sheffield, Medoburg
Kindred