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Archive for June, 2009

NOW, when Ivar arrived, they went out to meet him as a mark of honour, and received him joyfully. Either brother then aksed the other for tidings and Ivar inquired of Hreidar where he had been through the winter. Hreidar told him he had been in Iceland, and then Ivar asked no more about the matter; “but tell me,” said he, “is that great rough lump I see there a man, or is it some animal?” Eyiolf answered, “I am a man of Iceland, my name is Eyiolf, and I intend to be here all the winter.” “I guess one thing,” said Ivar; “we shall not be without mischief of some kind, if an Icelander is here.” Hreidar replied, “If you deal badly with him, so that he cannot stay here, the affection between us, as near kinsmen, will suffer.” “It was a bad voyage of yours to Iceland,” said Ivar, “if we on that account are to be dependent on Icelanders, or cast off our own friends and kindred: nor do I know why you chose to visit that most hateful people; and then too you have escaped telling me what has happened to you.” (1) “It is very different from what you suppose,” said Hreidar; “there are many good fellows there.” “Well,” replied Ivar, “at any rate that rough and shaggy beast does not look particularly well on the high seat.” But when he saw that his brother set great store by Eyiolf he did not speak so strongly as before against Icelanders. “What can I call him,” said he, “except “Lump?’” and Eyiolf did not seem to object to the name; but they made the worst of everything that he did.

~ Viga-Glum’s Saga, Chapter 3:Paragraph 1

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Great the evils once that grew, With the dawning sad of the sorrow of elves; In early morn awake for men The evils that grief to each shall bring.

Not now, nor yet of yesterday was it, Long the time that since hath lapsed, So that little there is that is half as old, Since Guthrun, daughter of Gjuki, whetted Her sons so young to Svanhild’s vengeance.

“The sister ye had was Svanhild called, And her did Jormunrek trample with horses, White and black on the battle-way, Gray, road-wonted, the steeds of the Goths.

“Little the kings of the folk are ye like, For now ye are living alone of my race

~ Hamthesmol, stanzas 1 through 4

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