Master of the Hunt
by Sir Egil Njalsson
(June 1993)

(Note: this poem was written using the viking "draupa" method. Each stanza is eight lines; each half-line has two stressed syllables and a small number of unstressed ones; each set of four half-lines is joined by alliteration of at least three stressed syllables. All vowels are considered to alliterate with each other. Kennings, a viking two-word metaphor technique, are also used. Best if read slowly, with pauses between half-lines.)

Now will I sing   of sons and hunts Where came one man   to Dragonspine's sight A woodsman, fresh   from innocence leapt To find his ring-giver   and follow his fate He knew no guile   nor treachery of men But trusted all   to lead him true But of those who dwelt   in this new land Within dark woods   strange creatures, these By Solm'riah asked   to send this crew Unto their spear-use   he led them aright Though to him was not   the trail-power known Yet tracking he tried   their prey to find Across still waters   and through the scrub This newly-made scout   traipsed and scurried At times in the lead   at others alone His yew-bow singing   its long-winded song As the prey slipped slowly   through slinging of war-hail Retrieving his bow-twigs   often caused him to slip His clothes newly sewn   were ripped by the brush One thread-scar may still   be seen in the arm Foot-guardians never yet   tasting chase nor quarry Not quite his size   but catching his fancy Cloth-cape streaming out   in slightest of breezes Unto the conquest   he entered the fray Far beyond sight   of boars and foxes Through fen and desert   he led aright His followers doubting   his untested skills Their answers belittle   his honest intentions At last not seeing   any sign of a kill Sausage proposed   as dinner for all Seemed to the tracker   reason for quitting He could not call it   the hunt must continue Finally finding   a fox in the scrub-brush Calling his liege   to follow and kill Waiting with arrow   tensed for piercing The time seemed eternal   no team-mates would come Then came the new ring-giver   with champion rear-guard A boar bristle ripped   the life of them both Breaking the pressure   of no hope of living Bush-tail killed hero   no bow-stem was loosed Yet in this Amtgard   can life spring anew Healing came early   all life restored Such giving of life   seemed a great wonder No words could woodsman   wield to her praise Yet healer seemed   familiar to him He muttered thanks   she moved away That evening was scout   honored by baron A new title created   Master of the Hunt

Return to Egil's home page