She whose barley hair was cut
and changed for living gold
did bid me fare out from her hut
into the mighty cold.
My father took me down to treasure
his father passed to him,
and with my brother, we did measure
out the boons to meet the din
Of endless Winter, tundra's plains,
across whose storms we trekked.
We strove the lovely maiden gain
whose fortunes cold trolls wrecked.
And through it all, you all may see
I did it all for Blessed She.
For Blessed She, belov'd of jewels,
whose charms I heard from Sif.
Twelve trolls I challenged to a duel
upon the ice, beside my skiff
Beyond whose bounds the wretched hag
did spit out dire curses,
I downed all twelve, whose wits were lag,
then with my words did worse her.
Won back the gems the maiden 'dored
that on a golden string did thread,
then waked her brother, blessed Lord
of Harvests who had seemed near dead.
I took her then upon my schoon,
The Gods to bless I gave this boon.
A year or more the Moon did after
ride me in his ivory yacht
up to starry heaven's rafters
and there a riddle-contest fought
With scrivened geezer, throwing puns
my wit could barely answer
then found that castle kingdom run
by He, who's Heaven's Master.
He showed me all the awed estates
that glitter in that land,
with praise where he had once berate
in questions now he took my hand.
For Love he opened all his Gates,
and Blessed She became my Mate.
The sword I'd won on misty paths,
when down I went to nether lands
with blood I'd spilt in my great wrath
that ran in veins of royal Halfdan,
and on the haft of great Mjollnir,
cut its thund'ring wood in two
the Gods' retreat behind Fjolnir
made them tremble in dark rue ;
yet word upon the winds did utter
he who'd bring the blade,
the hand of She who hearts did flutter
would a match be made.
That precious edge that right my wrongs,
I gladly give to sing Her songs.
And so my Bride she'll rightful be:
I, who weathered storms for She.