The Lady Ermingerd of Narbonne
The Lady Ermingerd of Narbonne serves him drink from a golden bowl. He takes her on his knee
Vísts, at frá berr flestu
Fróða meldrs at góðu
vel skúfaðra vífa
vǫxtr þinn, konan svinna.
Skorð lætr hár á herðar
haukvallar sér falla
– átgjǫrnum rauðk erni
ilka – gult sem silki.
Who else hoards such yellow
hair, bright lady – fair as
your milk-mild shoulders,
where milled barley-gold falls?
Chuck the cowled hawk, harry
him with sweets. Crimsoner
of eagles’ claws, I covet
cool downpours of silk; yours.
The Lady and the Castle
Vín bar hvít in hreina
hlað-Nipt alindriptar;
sýndisk fegrð, es fundumsk,
ferðum Ermingerðar.
Nú tegask ǫld með eldi
eljunfrœkn at sœkja
– ríða snǫrp ór slíðrum
sverð – kastala ferðir.
Chaste Ermingerd hastens
to serve – the snow-curve of
her broidered brow silvered –
poured-wine beauty shining.
So swung swords gleamed – tempered
in fire’s sheath, warm-flame wreathed –
when war-hardened heroes
assaulted that castle.
Still in thrall to Ermingerd, they leave Narbonne. Rǫgnvaldr composes a verse to her, and the skalds Ármóðr and Oddi inn litli Glúmsson follow suit
Orð skal Ermingerðar
ítr drengr muna lengi;
brúðr vill rǫkk, at ríðim
Ránheim til Jórðánar.
Enn, es aptr fara runnar
unnviggs of haf sunnan,
rístum, heim at hausti,
hvalfrón til Nerbónar.
I’ll recall words – Ermingerd’s –
urging heroes’ surging
foam’s-stallions to follow
the fluked horde to Jordan.
Don’t doubt it – come autumn
home-bound sea-plunderers
– tired of south-flung mares’ tails –
will track back to Narbonne.
…Then Ármóðr recited:
Ek mun Ermingerði,
nema ǫnnur skǫp verði,
margr elr sorg of svinna
síðan aldri finna.
Værak sæll, ef ek svæfa,
sýn væri þat gæfa,
brúðr hefr allfagrt enni,
eina nótt hjá henni.
Ah fate, I fear you tear
my heart from Ermingerd’s.
That rare man’s matched with her’s
must live a slave to love.
Where is beauty’s lair? There
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