Poem In Honor of Leif Greyfox and Olaf Blodhox
| Wyndreth Berginsdottir |
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Chosen Champions to his Stellar Highness Sigfried Schneepanther and Her Stellar Highness Therica Pembroke of Stonegate Manor
Hear now Northshield --kinsmen treasured more than gold or horses sleek! Far we have traveled here to come; hear these words of now and past: Dafydd Mayhawk --great and noble as eagle ever cut the sky. First, our Prince. First, our teacher. First, our war-chief. First, our heart. Gwyneth, Princess --wife of Mayhawk— skillful wove us fine as linen. She, beloved by each and every. Star-heart, she; pure light shining. Conn, Prince, cometh after Mayhawk— king-blood born into his veins. Brings he wisdom, grace and singing. Brings he what men strive to be. Wins the Star-Throne for Kassandra— Princess, she; both fierce and fair. Strong as storm-wind; born on horseback; gird in mercy; armed with steel. Next, the panther Sigfried hight wins the right to Stellar Seat. Northshield born and blooded, he. Northshield son. Northshield prince. Therica, Princess, reigns beside him— needle-wielder she --sews the future with silk and steel in Byfrost hues, by her hand for Northshield, bright. Turns their eyes to Northshield’s future; their hearts, to lead; their hands, to serve; to light a path as those before them made the road we march upon to war, victorious: Mighty Northshield! Who, then, watches, keeps Their safety dear as blood, winter-fierce? Who, then, stands and fights and dies? Who stands and fights and victories wins? Who every call and challenge answers so Stellar Thrones in safety serve? A champion each with wisdom high does choose the panther and his princess. A champion each to bear Their names and word and honor; to uphold, defend; to serve, protect. Comes Leif Greyfox, Olaf Blodhox— Helm-oaks, War-trees; wolf-strong, steadfast. From South and West they ride the storms to stand beside the Stellar Thrones. Rich in wordfame; their honor stands as true as oak, as firm as stone. Their steel makes skalds for dying men when tread they the war-road. Odin’s sons, they; Valfather notes them, marks their names for Valkyries. Benches wait them in Valhalla, when Norns decree and Midgard mourns. Come they now as sword and spear, both, as shield to turn, to break the blades of all who would disgrace Sigfried Panther, Therica Princess— bone and blood of Northshield home. Look then: See the faces of fate they wear! This is where treachery comes to die! © 1997—K.Kahan |
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