by G. R. Grove
Prices two-fold paid you,
pain for knowledge gainful;
sight you gave for seeing
stronger, deeper, longer.
Rough the cost of rune-craft,
riding nine nights, pride-bound,
self’s own gift made sacred,
spear-pierced, wind-wracked, fearless.
Name-rich roamer knowing,
night-dark-cloaked, foe-frightener,
raven-lord, blood-rager,
riding corpse-steed Sleipnir.
Blood-made mead’s swift-bringer
bought from giant’s daughter,
pleased by night of pleasure,
poetry sweet-flowing.
Seiðr-working, skald-craft,
shape-change, death-escaping,
web of false truth-weaving,
wait you still day fated.
Binder and unbinder
bound the wolf who soundless
howls – awaits his hunger.
High one, hail, O Viður!
