I.
TRAGIC tales. Those terrifying demons
Of ancient times still amongst us
which haunt our way till all are placated
and yet depart never; the yawning chasm
between now and forever near they bring us;
and bridge both, bringing us to our deepest heart.
Of Eowine and Olwen then what ought we to say?
What demon do they die before?
None can teach another; to tell the tale is better
then that to decide; thus hear the lay.
II.
Still Eowine stood, seaward staring outward,
for the dragon ships, dreading the sight
that fierce fire would bring, foes and axes -
doom of death and blood, the Danish pirates!
Sea silk smooth, the silent horizon
showed no ship, the shore need not fear.
Then a glimpse of gold, glancing, the sun
picked it out; piercing the distance.
Eowine looked again:- it availed him little;
the mirrored glass made not even ripples.
His watch was ended; walked he homeward
to rest and meat regarding as naught
the trivia half forgotten, a trick of the light.
Lay he that night later, long after sun-down
Sleep somehow evading him, slow passing the hours.
Sat he sudden upright, in silence of night
A star singly shone in, subtle its light.
Mind turning and tumbling, as morning he longed for,
gold’s glimmer haunting him, like a glamour of wiccas.
Likewise he lay awake, hours long slow in passing.
But with sound of soft birdsong, the saving dawn
announced eternity’s ending. At once he arose.
Far in fields was he needed, though freshened was he not.
Then as hard he reaped over yonder his eye caught the
flame headed fay who full his heart had smitten.
Elfed’s fair finest - Olwen her name,
White Track was she called in the Wealas speech.
The ray of radiance; rain of Wealhall’s glory;
On Eowine’s desert emptiness all its life.
Eowine’s adored betrothed, ever fair he deemed her.
Turns she now to him- no words does she utter
trusting the unsaid trysting language of lovers.
As she embraces him his eyes turn away,
the shining of love gone; he shunning her touch.
Sudden, like a spear cruelly sparing not the weakest,
pricking and piercing heart; pain far beyond.
Closing his cold mortal eyes - clear as icy air his memories
sees again he the sea-thyrs - so fair a maiden it now seems.
All his love is given her; Olwen is lost
in infatuation unbidden! What aweful Wyrd
This dweomer deemed? Deadlike he falls
and straightway seems so stone-cold to touch,
yet breathes he but shallow. They bear him thence
to his bed. Touching his lips
Olwen calls him, anguish writ on his brow,
and silent stirs he not. Sits she yet by him,
hope yet hers remaining; hallowed by faith,
on a slender silver chain, a strange symbol:
an executed man. Ever she wears it,
her mother’s it was, made Olwen a promise
at her life’s ending, always to mind it.
Thus now she sits.
III.
Then far away,
in the dream-day stood Eowine. Still darkness he saw.
Then wind like to Wyrm-breath wildly bore him aloft,
coming to the frosty North, not as cold as his heart.
Over mountains mighty, and moors mere-bespeckled,
the Wild Wood and rank fen, the western sea.
Then into the inky darkness all beyond the Pictish lands
saw he ship struggling, small in the wild Maelstrom,
sails in sad tatters, still standing at the edge.
Then over and gone, all as one the cries
joining the thousands death’s journey have taken.
Ever northward now soared he, nearing a sea-strand,
fearsome fells beyond filling his sight.
White sand under ebony sky where Woden may have trod,
no mortal mountains these, from before Midgeard was made.
Ancient Ash’s root, all connecting,
sprung at once from the speech of the All-Father
to which even the sisters of Wyrd must bow.
A raven sitting regarding the intruder
cawing rose skyward cutting callously the quiet.
Eowine walked now; under his feet a path
revealed itself as he went. Wreathing, a fog
rose all round him, rolling about his feet.
Till then to a cave, terrifying its countenance,
sounds cutting the silence spoke to his ears.
Sorrowful wailing so sad and so keening,
but drew him downwards, as dream-walkers will.
Down only led the path, dread filled his heart.
This way led thence only; walked by all soon
Hel’s horrid domain, harsh deathly air.
People he perceives, pain in their faces,
chained to the walls, charity begging.
One calls out to him “Wait, hear my tale!”
Eowine stops; all about the man
a great green moulded chain, growing ever more noisome.
Likewise a loathly crown, low forcing his head,
as an aweful weight anchoring him down.
Thus went his words: “Wielded I great power.
Thought I nothing to throw lives unto war.
Terror was my title, Tiw my patron.
Great was my might; grew it ever stronger.
Subdued I the Scythians, slew I the Huns,
the Goths slain in gore, and the glory that was Rome”.
Thus Eowine then said: “Those deeds were seemly!
Why wert thou not chosen Woden’s chase to join?
Such strength as thine, servant of Tiw,
Thy swift sword unquiet, thou a stranger to cravenness?”
Answered the other “Avaricious I became;
greedy for gains - great to the plunder.
War I made when folk were not my enemies
and lives I laid low to line my coffers.
Gold about me, but a gory end
for those who this won for me - that was my crime!
Great groweth the weight of the gold I must wear”
“But mould is thy chain! what maketh it so?
Gold decayeth not- what dweomer is this?”
“Here all rotteth.” Then away he turned,
his doom to do and death to endure.
Onward Eowine went, others he saw
each had his own tale, all eager to unburden.
But Eowine passed over them and eventually came
to an opening evil all. Over it runes told
of the end of hope and eternity’s death.
Eowine passed through.
IV
A pain hit his back
and crushed him to the cold ground. Now craning his neck
he looked round; leering over him
the greatest Wolf grim nightmares could grow.
“Thy living soul lightens great Loki’s darkness
with thy vital presence. Of this I should rid thee!”
“Seek I counsel and since so dire my doom
to this dark domain I come deeming it meet”
“Thou comest here for counsel? Cruel must be thy plight.
I freed not fair Bealder; fear thou not I shall hold thee?”
“Yea, I fear it, but yet not the most.
My terror is not thy tongue’s words that taketh me here.
Couldst thou comprehend the keening of the heart?
No; methinks it maketh not any meaning in thy cold soul.
’Tis for lore I look to thee, longing for freedom”
“Love, thou sayest soothly, lack I this nonsense,
but thy courage even the cold should come to admire.
Speak on; if thy story pleaseth, spare thee I might,
for shall none say of Fenris ‘Slim honour knoweth he.’”
Then spoke Eowine boldly of the sight he had seen
and the callous coldness, of Olwen, the cut to his heart.
Fenris laughed long loud in the darkness,
his howling heard far in the hailstorms of the North.
“The SeaWife seen hast thou! Seldom she cometh,
but a new captive now she knows that she needeth.
Once was she mortal when the world was young
and the gods gave more ear to the goings of men.
Dwelt she with Dweorgas long dark hard years
The Trade of the smith to take on herself
Then metal she made and mail she would cast;
its like had little seen light before.
Hauberks hard as rock yet having lightness like down
dweomers deep enruned - even dragons met their bane.
But proud was her prosperity and pretence to godhood
and Wealhall’s wild heroes she willed to arm.
Thus wrathful the gods raged, that rue her boast she might.
This doom they decreed - the dreadful judgement -
that her beauty’s blessing to men should be now a curse,
and clad her so comely in the clothing of fishes -
yea, mail indeed meet, but more was to come.
Looketh on her a man, then all his love
to her ever is held. Hear now this lore:
if thou shouldst free thyself and thine own love be restored
then thou shouldst slay the Sea-Wife; thrice must thou defeat her,
else forget thine own hopes, fail thou the final test,
and give thyself to her. Save great strength thou hast,
greater than the gods, to grow above the curse,
thou canst not kill the SeaWife, caught by a doom
stronger than thy strength. So a succour I offer:
yield thyself to me! Yea, swiftly I will slay thee
and thou shalt forget. This is my counsel”.
Then baying and bawling, beside himself with mirth,
with laughter rocked Loki’s whelp, the largest of wolves,
at Eowine’s anguish and Olwen’s loss.
“Soon again I shall see thee!” So then saying,
breathed he but foully before Eowine’s face,
and a swoon came swift on him, as strength left his bones.
V
After age-long oblivion awoke he in Midgeard,
dim his dark chamber, downcast his soul.
Long lay he in quiet, lying unstirring,
then arose and awaited the air of the sea
to come caress his senses, cruel though it seemed.
Loathed he and loved he it; little hope now he had,
Fenris’ foul laughter filling his mind.
Then entered in Olwen, awake she saw him,
and hope kindled in her; her heart leapt within.
Turned away Eowine, tell her he must
of the deathly doom befallen, all their dreams to destroy.
Reading his anguish right the radiance left her face;
sat she down sorrowful, the story to hear.
Then Eowine with anger at once told the tale.
With spite of gods he spoke, who spare not the innocent.
In that dark hour all ill seemed his paths,
and resolved he wrothly to right Fenris’ scorn.
Strength to show to the Aesir and slay their accursed!
This then his counsel:- girded then he his sword
an oath then to Olwen he announced on that blade:
“though thou not now the one who thrills my heart
through the malice of the mighty, still may I do right.
And she who on the shore in shape unseemly
my love hath left for dead shall look death in the face
from my hand. For then the spell
and jealous gods’ power justly may be ended.
Come thou not with me; if can I do this not
then thy eyes should thou not that sight suffer to see.”
So went forth the warrior, wearing with pride
the Hewer, handed down his by his birth.
Rune enscored it rusted not; dull red its steel.
He slid it in its scabbard safe for its part.
Then stepped he on the strand and straightway arose
a wave and salt water foam wetting him through.
Stepped forth the Sea-Wife, strange weeds her garment,
a sight of such beauty, a spell to enchant.
But strong still his resolve, solid his heart,
brought he his blade round. Blocking him the Sea-Wife
thrust through her trident. Throwing himself forward
Eowine dodged; the aweful points made their mark,
but no great wound. Seized he now the trident
and the Sea-Wife he unbalanced; swung he his sword.
A wound wide he opened, weeping into the sea,
crimson the water colour. Crying out the Sea-Wife
leapt in the livid foam “I leave thee now!
But tomorrow mine thou shalt be. Mark thou this well.”
Olwen watching well saw what passed,
but feared she the force of the fish woman’s wiccacræft;
home returned Eowine haggard and wan.
Silent sat Eowine:- succour she offered
But cold her caress; Eowine cared not for it.
Counsel she had called on came to her thoughts:
silent she stood up and started away.
VI.
Slept not soundly Eowine ’till sunrise came.
Then to Sea Strand once more his salvation to find,
or doom to die:- but dreaded he more
to carry on in this coldness - to be killed he would rather.
This dark thought fuelled him, daring the task.
Stepped forward the Sea-Wife; seeing her with fear
Eowine was bewitched. The wound he had given
was not to be seen, nor weakness nor pain
showed him the Sea-Wife; but still his own wound,
small though it seemed, smarted him sharply.
Seeing his suffering, smiled grimly the nicor
and stabbed at him stoutly. Though standing aside,
the points pierced him; but peering through the haze
of red pain and rage, rightly saw he his enemy,
and struck sharply out at the sight so loathsome
and a second blow he struck. Slay it should have,
but the Sea-Wife still living slid back under the waves.
Eowine’s wound was grievous, and when next day come
Little hope had he left to hold to his life.
VII
Next day, dawn still a way off, dressed herself early,
then Olwen went walking, up from the homestead,
to mounds made anciently - moss grown and green.
Found she first a foul-wyrded entrance,
shut by a stone and sealed from the living.
None came now hither - dared not any
Gasts gathered there and greatly were feared -
so some folk said. Shaking, her hand
the grey granite she touched. Grim her mood,
with warrior’s strength then, which she had not known,
she leaned on the lych-gate, levering it open.
And brave she the barrow boldly went in.
In an ancient passage Olwen now entered
slowly she stepped, still fearing each footfall,
to an earthen opening yet all stone roofed.
There men mourning loss many ages before
their slain lord set down sadly sighing.
Lay he here long light never coming
to disturb his death-sleep or derange his bones.
From lands far-off, a feond wandering,
cast from its coil by Christ himself,
to here he came, had made his abode.
Olwen reached out for an aged blade,
a sword, sigil encrusted, shining in the dark.
This blade she believed might bite the Sea-Wife,
and her bane be, to buy back her lover.
But, as Olwen seized it, an icy grip
of bone feond-bedevilled bit her throat
and lifted her lofty as if light as snow.
Then death-doom seemed near her - desperate she grasped
the hand which held her - so hard its grip.
Then day dawned outside, and down the old passage
the lance of light stabbed, like love in a cold heart.
Glanced glimmering on the trinket given Olwen by her mother,
shone straight at the orcthyrs. Then sound as of keening,
the feond’s bane before it. Black now its fate,
and the bones betrayed it before the light crumbling.
VIII.
Seeing the sunlight she fled from the tomb,
like lightning her speed: little time left.
Came she to the sea-strand, the Sea-Wife and Eowine
fighting before her- then fear filled her heart.
Away slung he the sword, the spell completed,
strength sapped from him the sea he entered.
Then Cymric cry of war came from Olwen’s lips,
the blade to bloody as the Sea-Wife’s bane.
Even as the eoten, in eager victory,
cried out cruelly with cackling triumph,
through her heart, Olwen, all her hate thrusting
the slaying sword took her. But shouted as she floundered:
“Eowine! Avenge me!” the wiccacræft still working
stayed Eowine’s sight! Thus slew he Olwen;
his beloved’s blood bedyeing the sand.
Thus so the Sea-Wife stuttered her last breath,
and even as the eoten died his eyes were opened.
The steely spell lifted, sanity restored to him;
the measure of malice of murder was revealed
from the loss of his love to loss of his lover,
his beloved’s body to his breast he held.
And at the great evil he had done, to grief was he given.
Held he her long there hands trembling with madness,
then bore he the body back to the cliff-top.
A grave there he made and a great cairn of stones.
Long he lingered, pondering his lot
“A curse has carried me, killing all I have
and what weregild can I pay for what I have done?
Vengeful Vanir! For valour ye care not!
Now soon sin’s price will soothly be paid!
Though a thousand times over this death should sate you,
now nears the end, no more can I do”
So saying, went he straight to the peak
of the headland. He stood on high above the sea.
Thence he threw himself and there he ended,
and the rocks red with blood roughly took him,
to unite him with Olwen; his only wish left,
beyond Bifrost’s bridge, to be with her.
Thus Wyrd is well sated. Whither they went,
and whether united in wild lands beyond lands,
no man may say- thus must end this tale.
© K R Thornley MCMXCVI
Note:
There are some unusual words in this poem; they are explained below:
Aesir - one group of gods
Bifrost - the Rainbow Bridge. This links the lands of men with the lands of the gods, and is crossed by the souls of the dead.
Elfed - the ancient Celtic kingdom of Elmet, around what is now Leeds. This was for a time a British enclave within hostile Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. The F is pronounced as a V.
Cymric - the language of the Britons; the direct ancestor of Welsh.
Dweomer - Magic
Eoten - a giant or other monster
Fenris - a great wolf, offspring of Loki. At the end of time Fenris will swallow the sun.
Feond - a demon
Hel - the guardian of the world of the Dead.
Loki - although this is a Saxon poem, Loki is a Norse god. He is the trickster of the gods and the father of Hel and Fenris
Nicor - a sea-monster
Orcthyrs - a dead body animated by a demon
Thyrs - a giant or monster
Tiw - god of war.
Vanir - another group of gods.
Wealhall - translation of Norse Valhalla into Anglo-Saxon. The halls of the dead slain in battle, where they feast all night and fight all day. Germanic heaven.
Weregild - a sum of money payable if one person slew another under Anglo-Saxon law.
Wiccas - magicians; Wiccacraeft - magic
Woden - chief of the gods and god of the dead. He is sometimes called the All-Father, sometimes the son of the All-Father.
Wyrd - Fate; Sisters of Wyrd - the Fates - Past, Present and Future