Here you will find the Long Poem The Longbeard's Saga: A.D. 400 of poet Charles Kingsley
Over the camp-fires Drank I with heroes, Under the Donau bank, Warm in the snow trench: Sagamen heard I there, Men of the Longbeards, Cunning and ancient, Honey-sweet-voiced. Scaring the wolf cub, Scaring the horn-owl, Shaking the snow-wreaths Down from the pine-boughs, Up to the star roof Rang out their song. Singing how Winil men, Over the ice-floes Sledging from Scanland Came unto Scoring; Singing of Gambara, Freya's beloved, Mother of Ayo, Mother of Ibor. Singing of Wendel men, Ambri and Assi; How to the Winilfolk Went they with war-words,- 'Few are ye, strangers, And many are we: Pay us now toll and fee, Cloth-yarn, and rings, and beeves: Else at the raven's meal Bide the sharp bill's doom.' Clutching the dwarfs work then, Clutching the bullock's shell, Girding gray iron on, Forth fared the Winils all, Fared the Alruna's sons, Ayo and Ibor. Mad at heart stalked they: Loud wept the women all, Loud the Alruna wife; Sore was their need. Out of the morning land, Over the snow-drifts, Beautiful Freya came, Tripping to Scoring. White were the moorlands, And frozen before her: Green were the moorlands, And blooming behind her. Out of her gold locks Shaking the spring flowers, Out of her garments Shaking the south wind, Around in the birches Awaking the throstles, And making chaste housewives all Long for their heroes home, Loving and love-giving, Came she to Scoring. Came unto Gambara, Wisest of Valas,- 'Vala, why weepest thou? Far in the wide-blue, High up in the Elfin-home, Heard I thy weeping.' 'Stop not my weeping, Till one can fight seven. Sons have I, heroes tall, First in the sword-play; This day at the Wendels' hands Eagles must tear them. Their mothers, thrall-weary, Must grind for the Wendels.' Wept the Alruna wife; Kissed her fair Freya:- 'Far off in the morning land, High in Valhalla, A window stands open; Its sill is the snow-peaks, Its posts are the waterspouts, Storm-rack its lintel; Gold cloud-flakes above Are piled for the roofing, Far up to the Elfin-home, High in the wide-blue. Smiles out each morning thence Odin Allfather; From under the cloud-eaves Smiles out on the heroes, Smiles on chaste housewives all, Smiles on the brood-mares, Smiles on the smiths' work: And theirs is the sword-luck, With them is the glory,- So Odin hath sworn it,- Who first in the morning Shall meet him and greet him.' Still the Alruna wept:- 'Who then shall greet him? Women alone are here: Far on the moorlands Behind the war-lindens, In vain for the bill's doom Watch Winil heroes all, One against seven.' Sweetly the Queen laughed:- 'Hear thou my counsel now; Take to thee cunning, Beloved of Freya. Take thou thy women-folk, Maidens and wives: Over your ankles Lace on the white war-hose; Over your bosoms Link up the hard mail-nets; Over your lips Plait long tresses with cunning;- So war-beasts full-bearded King Odin shall deem you, When off the gray sea-beach At sunrise ye greet him.' Night's son was driving His golden-haired horses up; Over the eastern firths High flashed their manes. Smiled from the cloud-eaves out Allfather Odin, Waiting the battle-sport: Freya stood by him. 'Who are these heroes tall,- Lusty-limbed Longbeards? Over the swans' bath Why cry they to me? Bones should be crashing fast, Wolves should be full-fed, Where such, mad-hearted, Swing hands in the sword-play.' Sweetly laughed Freya:- 'A name thou hast given them, Shames neither thee nor them, Well can they wear it. Give them the victory, First have they greeted thee; Give them the victory, Yokefellow mine! Maidens and wives are these,- Wives of the Winils; Few are their heroes And far on the war-road, So over the swans' bath They cry unto thee.' Royally laughed he then; Dear was that craft to him, Odin Allfather, Shaking the clouds. 'Cunning are women all, Bold and importunate! Longbeards their name shall be, Ravens shall thank them: Where women are heroes, What must the men be? Theirs is the victory; No need of me!' Eversley, 1852. From Hypatia.