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A PAGE FROM THE CODEX REGIUS COMPRISING VERSES 31 TO 45 OF THE VOLUSPO

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THE POETIC EDDA

TRANSLATED FROM THE ICELANDIC WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES
BY
HENRY ADAMS BELLOWS

TWO VOLUMES IN ONE

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Copyright, 1923, by The American-Scandinavian Foundation

C. S. Peterson, The Regan Press, Chicago, U. S. A.

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This series of Scandinavian Classics is published by The American-Scandinavian Foundation in the belief that greater familiarity with the chief literary monuments of the North will help Americans to a better understanding of Scandinavians, and thus serve to stimulate their sympathetic coöperation to good ends.

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To George Lyman Kittredge

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SCANDINAVIAN CLASSICS
VOLUMES XXI AND XXII

THE POETIC EDDA

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ESTABLISHED BY NIELS POULSON

THIS VOLUME IS ENDOWED IN PART BY CHARLES S. PETERSON OF CHICAGO [[vii]]

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CONTENTS[1]

[General Introduction] xi

[Lays of the Gods]

[Lays of the Heroes]

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[1] For the phonetic spellings of the proper names see the [Pronouncing Index]. [↑]

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

The General Introduction mentions many of the scholars to whose work this translation owes a special debt. Particular reference, however, should here be made to the late William Henry Schofield, Professor of Comparative Literature in Harvard University and President of The American-Scandinavian Foundation, under whose guidance this translation was begun; to Henry Goddard Leach, for many years Secretary of The American-Scandinavian Foundation, and to William Witherle Lawrence, Professor of English in Columbia University and Chairman of the Foundation’s Committee on Publications, for their assistance with the manuscript and the proofs; and to Hanna Astrup Larsen, the Foundation’s literary secretary, for her efficient management of the complex details of publication. [[xi]]

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GENERAL INTRODUCTION

There is scarcely any literary work of great importance which has been less readily available for the general reader, or even for the serious student of literature, than the Poetic Edda. Translations have been far from numerous, and only in Germany has the complete work of translation been done in the full light of recent scholarship. In English the only versions were long the conspicuously inadequate one made by Thorpe, and published about half a century ago, and the unsatisfactory prose translations in Vigfusson and Powell’s Corpus Poeticum Boreale, reprinted in the Norrœna collection. An excellent translation of the poems dealing with the gods, in verse and with critical and explanatory notes, made by Olive Bray, was, however, published by the Viking Club of London in 1908. In French there exist only partial translations, chief among them being those made by Bergmann many years ago. Among the seven or eight German versions, those by the Brothers Grimm and by Karl Simrock, which had considerable historical importance because of their influence on nineteenth century German literature and art, and particularly on the work of Richard Wagner, have been largely superseded by Hugo Gering’s admirable translation, published in 1892, and by the recent two-volume rendering by Genzmer, with excellent notes by Andreas Heusler, 1914–1920. There are competent translations in both Norwegian and Swedish. The lack of any complete and adequately annotated English rendering in metrical form, based on a critical text, and profiting by the cumulative labors of such scholars as Mogk, Vigfusson, [[xii]]Finnur Jonsson, Grundtvig, Bugge, Gislason, Hildebrand, Lüning, Sweet, Niedner, Ettmüller, Müllenhoff, Edzardi, B. M. Olsen, Sievers, Sijmons, Detter, Heinzel, Falk, Neckel, Heusler, and Gering, has kept this extraordinary work practically out of the reach of those who have had neither time nor inclination to master the intricacies of the original Old Norse.

On the importance of the material contained in the Poetic Edda it is here needless to dwell at any length. We have inherited the Germanic traditions in our very speech, and the Poetic Edda is the original storehouse of Germanic mythology. It is, indeed, in many ways the greatest literary monument preserved to us out of the antiquity of the kindred races which we call Germanic. Moreover, it has a literary value altogether apart from its historical significance. The mythological poems include, in the Voluspo, one of the vastest conceptions of the creation and ultimate destruction of the world ever crystallized in literary form; in parts of the Hovamol, a collection of wise counsels that can bear comparison with most of the Biblical Book of Proverbs; in the Lokasenna, a comedy none the less full of vivid characterization because its humor is often broad; and in the Thrymskvitha, one of the finest ballads in the world. The hero poems give us, in its oldest and most vivid extant form, the story of Sigurth, Brynhild, and Atli, the Norse parallel to the German Nibelungenlied. The Poetic Edda is not only of great interest to the student of antiquity; it is a collection including some of the most remarkable poems which have been preserved to us from the period before the pen and the printing-press replaced the poet-singer and oral tradition. It is above all else the desire [[xiii]]to make better known the dramatic force, the vivid and often tremendous imagery, and the superb conceptions embodied in these poems which has called forth the present translation.

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WHAT IS THE POETIC EDDA?

Even if the poems of the so-called Edda were not so significant and intrinsically so valuable, the long series of scholarly struggles which have been going on over them for the better part of three centuries would in itself give them a peculiar interest. Their history is strangely mysterious. We do not know who composed them, or when or where they were composed; we are by no means sure who collected them or when he did so; finally, we are not absolutely certain as to what an “Edda” is, and the best guess at the meaning of the word renders its application to this collection of poems more or less misleading.

A brief review of the chief facts in the history of the Poetic Edda will explain why this uncertainty has persisted. Preserved in various manuscripts of the thirteenth and early fourteenth centuries is a prose work consisting of a very extensive collection of mythological stories, an explanation of the important figures and tropes of Norse poetic diction,—the poetry of the Icelandic and Norwegian skalds was appallingly complex in this respect,—and a treatise on metrics. This work, clearly a handbook for poets, was commonly known as the “Edda” of Snorri Sturluson, for at the head of the copy of it in the Uppsalabok, a manuscript written presumably some fifty or sixty years after Snorri’s death, which was in 1241, we find: “This book is called Edda, which Snorri Sturluson composed.” This work, well known as the Prose Edda, Snorri’s Edda or the [[xiv]]Younger Edda, has recently been made available to readers of English in the admirable translation by Arthur G. Brodeur, published by the American-Scandinavian Foundation in 1916.

Icelandic tradition, however, persisted in ascribing either this Edda or one resembling it to Snorri’s much earlier compatriot, Sæmund the Wise (1056–1133). When, early in the seventeenth century, the learned Arngrimur Jonsson proved to everyone’s satisfaction that Snorri and nobody else must have been responsible for the work in question, the next thing to determine was what, if anything, Sæmund had done of the same kind. The nature of Snorri’s book gave a clue. In the mythological stories related a number of poems were quoted, and as these and other poems were to all appearances Snorri’s chief sources of information, it was assumed that Sæmund must have written or compiled a verse Edda—whatever an “Edda” might be—on which Snorri’s work was largely based.

So matters stood when, in 1643, Brynjolfur Sveinsson, Bishop of Skalholt, discovered a manuscript, clearly written as early as 1300, containing twenty-nine poems, complete or fragmentary, and some of them with the very lines and stanzas used by Snorri. Great was the joy of the scholars, for here, of course, must be at least a part of the long-sought Edda of Sæmund the Wise. Thus the good bishop promptly labeled his find, and as Sæmund’s Edda, the Elder Edda or the Poetic Edda it has been known to this day.

This precious manuscript, now in the Royal Library in Copenhagen, and known as the Codex Regius (R2365), has been the basis for all published editions of the Eddic poems. A few poems of similar character found elsewhere [[xv]]have subsequently been added to the collection, until now most editions include, as in this translation, a total of thirty-four. A shorter manuscript now in the Arnamagnæan collection in Copenhagen (AM748), contains fragmentary or complete versions of six of the poems in the Codex Regius, and one other, Baldrs Draumar, not found in that collection. Four other poems (Rigsthula, Hyndluljoth, Grougaldr and Fjolsvinnsmol, the last two here combined under the title of Svipdagsmol), from various manuscripts, so closely resemble in subject-matter and style the poems in the Codex Regius that they have been included by most editors in the collection. Finally, Snorri’s Edda contains one complete poem, the Grottasongr, which many editors have added to the poetic collection; it is, however, not included in this translation, as an admirable English version of it is available in Mr. Brodeur’s rendering of Snorri’s work.

From all this it is evident that the Poetic Edda, as we now know it, is no definite and plainly limited work, but rather a more or less haphazard collection of separate poems, dealing either with Norse mythology or with hero-cycles unrelated to the traditional history of greater Scandinavia or Iceland. How many other similar poems, now lost, may have existed in such collections as were current in Iceland in the later twelfth and thirteenth centuries we cannot know, though it is evident that some poems of this type are missing. We can say only that thirty-four poems have been preserved, twenty-nine of them in a single manuscript collection, which differ considerably in subject-matter and style from all the rest of extant Old Norse poetry, and these we group together as the Poetic Edda. [[xvi]]

But what does the word “Edda” mean? Various guesses have been made. An early assumption was that the word somehow meant “Poetics,” which fitted Snorri’s treatise to a nicety, but which, in addition to the lack of philological evidence to support this interpretation, could by no stretch of scholarly subtlety be made appropriate to the collection of poems. Jacob Grimm ingeniously identified the word with the word “edda” used in one of the poems, the Rigsthula, where, rather conjecturally, it means “great-grandmother.” The word exists in this sense nowhere else in Norse literature, and Grimm’s suggestion of “Tales of a Grandmother,” though at one time it found wide acceptance, was grotesquely inappropriate to either the prose or the verse work.

At last Eirikr Magnusson hit on what appears the likeliest solution of the puzzle: that “Edda” is simply the genitive form of the proper name “Oddi.” Oddi was a settlement in the southwest of Iceland, certainly the home of Snorri Sturluson for many years, and, traditionally at least, also the home of Sæmund the Wise. That Snorri’s work should have been called “The Book of Oddi” is altogether reasonable, for such a method of naming books was common—witness the “Book of the Flat Island” and other early manuscripts. That Sæmund may also have written or compiled another “Oddi-Book” is perfectly possible, and that tradition should have said he did so is entirely natural.

It is, however, an open question whether or not Sæmund had anything to do with making the collection, or any part of it, now known as the Poetic Edda, for of course the seventeenth-century assignment of the work to him is negligible. [[xvii]]We can say only that he may have made some such compilation, for he was a diligent student of Icelandic tradition and history, and was famed throughout the North for his learning. But otherwise no trace of his works survives, and as he was educated in Paris, it is probable that he wrote rather in Latin than in the vernacular.

All that is reasonably certain is that by the middle or last of the twelfth century there existed in Iceland one or more written collections of Old Norse mythological and heroic poems, that the Codex Regius, a copy made a hundred years or so later, represents at least a considerable part of one of these, and that the collection of thirty-four poems which we now know as the Poetic or Elder Edda is practically all that has come down to us of Old Norse poetry of this type. Anything more is largely guesswork, and both the name of the compiler and the meaning of the title “Edda” are conjectural.

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THE ORIGIN OF THE EDDIC POEMS

There is even less agreement about the birthplace, authorship and date of the Eddic poems themselves than about the nature of the existing collection. Clearly the poems were the work of many different men, living in different periods; clearly, too, most of them existed in oral tradition for generations before they were first committed to writing. In general the mythological poems are strongly heathen in character, and as Christianity became generally accepted throughout Norway and Iceland early in the eleventh century, it is altogether likely that most of the poems dealing with the Norse gods antedate the year 1000. On the other hand, Hoffory, Finnur Jonsson and others have shown pretty conclusively from linguistic evidence that [[xviii]]these poems cannot have assumed anything like their present form before the ninth century. As for the poems belonging to the hero cycles, one or two of them appear to be as late as 1100, but most of them clearly belong to the hundred years following 950. It is a fairly safe guess that the years between 900 and 1050 saw the majority of the Eddic poems put into shape, but it must be remembered that many changes took place during the long subsequent period of oral transmission, and also that many of the legends, both mythological and heroic, on which the poems were based, certainly existed in Norway, and quite possibly in verse form, long before the year 900. In considering such poems it is essential to forget the present mode of composition, whereby a poet at once fixes his thought and his style by means of writing, and to remember that for at least two centuries, and possibly much longer, the correct transmission of many of the Eddic poems depended solely on accurate hearing and retentive memory.

As to the origin of the legends on which the poems are based, the whole question, at least so far as the stories of the gods are concerned, is much too complex for discussion here. How much of the actual narrative material of the mythological lays is properly to be called Scandinavian is a matter for students of comparative mythology to guess at. The tales underlying the heroic lays are clearly of foreign origin: the Helgi story comes from Denmark, and that of Völund from Germany, as also the great mass of traditions centering around Sigurth (Siegfried), Brynhild, the sons of Gjuki, Atli (Attila), and Jormunrek (Ermanarich). The introductory notes to the various poems deal with the more important of these questions of origin. [[xix]]

Of the men who composed these poems,—“wrote” is obviously the wrong word,—we know absolutely nothing, save that some of them must have been literary artists with a high degree of conscious skill. The Eddic poems are “folk-poetry,”—whatever that may be,—only in the sense that some of them strongly reflect racial feelings and beliefs; they are anything but crude or primitive in workmanship, and they show that not only the poets themselves, but also many of their hearers, must have made a careful study of the art of poetry.

Where the poems were composed is almost equally uncertain. The claims of Norway have been extensively advanced, but the great literary activity of Iceland after the settlement of the island by Norwegian emigrants late in the ninth century makes the theory of an Icelandic source for most of the poems plausible. The two Atli lays, with what authority we do not know, bear in the Codex Regius the superscription “the Greenland poem,” and internal evidence indicates that this statement is correct. Certainly in one poem, the Rigsthula, and probably in several others, there are marks of Celtic influence. During a considerable part of the ninth and tenth centuries, Scandinavians were active in Ireland and in most of the western islands inhabited by branches of the Celtic race. Some scholars claim nearly all the Eddic poems for these “Western Isles,” in sharp distinction from Iceland; their arguments are commented on in the introductory note to the Rigsthula. However, as Iceland early came to be the true center of this Scandinavian island world, it may be said that most of the evidence concerning the birthplace of the Eddic poems in anything like their present form points in that direction, [[xx]]and certainly it was in Iceland that they were chiefly preserved.

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THE EDDA AND OLD NORSE LITERATURE

Within the proper limits of an introduction it would be impossible to give any adequate summary of the history and literature with which the Eddic poems are indissolubly connected, but a mere mention of a few of the salient facts may be of some service to those who are unfamiliar with the subject. Old Norse literature covers approximately the period between 850 and 1300. During the first part of that period occurred the great wanderings of the Scandinavian peoples, and particularly the Norwegians. A convenient date to remember is that of the sea-fight of Hafrsfjord, 872, when Harald the Fair-Haired broke the power of the independent Norwegian nobles, and made himself overlord of nearly all the country. Many of the defeated nobles fled overseas, where inviting refuges had been found for them by earlier wanderers and plunder-seeking raiders. This was the time of the inroads of the dreaded Northmen in France, and in 885 Hrolf Gangr (Rollo) laid siege to Paris itself. Many Norwegians went to Ireland, where their compatriots had already built Dublin, and where they remained in control of most of the island till Brian Boru shattered their power at the battle of Clontarf in 1014.

Of all the migrations, however, the most important were those to Iceland. Here grew up an active civilization, fostered by absolute independence and by remoteness from the wars which wracked Norway, yet kept from degenerating into provincialism by the roving life of the people, which brought them constantly in contact with the culture [[xxi]]of the South. Christianity, introduced throughout the Norse world about the year 1000, brought with it the stability of learning, and the Icelanders became not only the makers but also the students and recorders of history.

The years between 875 and 1100 were the great spontaneous period of oral literature. Most of the military and political leaders were also poets, and they composed a mass of lyric poetry concerning the authorship of which we know a good deal, and much of which has been preserved. Narrative prose also flourished, for the Icelander had a passion for story-telling and story-hearing. After 1100 came the day of the writers. These sagamen collected the material that for generations had passed from mouth to mouth, and gave it permanent form in writing. The greatest bulk of what we now have of Old Norse literature,—and the published part of it makes a formidable library,—originated thus in the earlier period before the introduction of writing, and was put into final shape by the scholars, most of them Icelanders, of the hundred years following 1150.

After 1250 came a rapid and tragic decline. Iceland lost its independence, becoming a Norwegian province. Later Norway too fell under alien rule, a Swede ascending the Norwegian throne in 1320. Pestilence and famine laid waste the whole North; volcanic disturbances worked havoc in Iceland. Literature did not quite die, but it fell upon evil days; for the vigorous native narratives and heroic poems of the older period were substituted translations of French romances. The poets wrote mostly doggerel; the prose writers were devoid of national or racial inspiration.

The mass of literature thus collected and written down [[xxii]]largely between 1150 and 1250 may be roughly divided into four groups. The greatest in volume is made up of the sagas: narratives mainly in prose, ranging all the way from authentic history of the Norwegian kings and the early Icelandic settlements to fairy-tales. Embodied in the sagas is found the material composing the second group: the skaldic poetry, a vast collection of songs of praise, triumph, love, lamentation, and so on, almost uniformly characterized by an appalling complexity of figurative language. There is no absolute line to be drawn between the poetry of the skalds and the poems of the Edda, which we may call the third group; but in addition to the remarkable artificiality of style which marks the skaldic poetry, and which is seldom found in the poems of the Edda, the skalds dealt almost exclusively with their own emotions, whereas the Eddic poems are quite impersonal. Finally, there is the fourth group, made up of didactic works, religious and legal treatises, and so on, studies which originated chiefly in the later period of learned activity.

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PRESERVATION OF THE EDDIC POEMS

Most of the poems of the Poetic Edda have unquestionably reached us in rather bad shape. During the long period of oral transmission they suffered all sorts of interpolations, omissions and changes, and some of them, as they now stand, are a bewildering hodge-podge of little-related fragments. To some extent the diligent twelfth century compiler to whom we owe the Codex Regius—Sæmund or another—was himself doubtless responsible for the patchwork process, often supplemented by narrative prose notes of his own; but in the days before written records existed, it was easy to lose stanzas and longer passages [[xxiii]]from their context, and equally easy to interpolate them where they did not by any means belong. Some few of the poems, however, appear to be virtually complete and unified as we now have them.

Under such circumstances it is clear that the establishment of a satisfactory text is a matter of the utmost difficulty. As the basis for this translation I have used the text prepared by Karl Hildebrand (1876) and revised by Hugo Gering (1904). Textual emendation has, however, been so extensive in every edition of the Edda, and has depended so much on the theories of the editor, that I have also made extensive use of many other editions, notably those by Finnur Jonsson, Neckel, Sijmons, and Detter and Heinzel, together with numerous commentaries. The condition of the text in both the principal codices is such that no great reliance can be placed on the accuracy of the copyists, and frequently two editions will differ fundamentally as to their readings of a given passage or even of an entire poem. For this reason, and because guesswork necessarily plays so large a part in any edition or translation of the Eddic poems, I have risked overloading the pages with textual notes in order to show, as nearly as possible, the exact state of the original together with all the more significant emendations. I have done this particularly in the case of transpositions, many of which appear absolutely necessary, and in the indication of passages which appear to be interpolations.

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THE VERSE-FORMS OF THE EDDIC POEMS

The many problems connected with the verse-forms found in the Eddic poems have been analyzed in great detail by Sievers, Neckel, and others. The three verse-forms [[xxiv]]exemplified in the poems need only a brief comment here, however, in order to make clear the method used in this translation. All of these forms group the lines normally in four-line stanzas. In the so-called Fornyrthislag (“Old Verse”), for convenience sometimes referred to in the notes as four-four measure, these lines have all the same structure, each line being sharply divided by a cæsural pause into two half-lines, and each half-line having two accented syllables and two (sometimes three) unaccented ones. The two half-lines forming a complete line are bound together by the alliteration, or more properly initial-rhyme, of three (or two) of the accented syllables. The following is an example of the Fornyrthislag stanza, the accented syllables being in italics:

Vreiþr vas Vingþórr, | es vaknaþi

ok síns hamars | of saknaþi;

skegg nam hrista, | skǫr nam dýja,

réþ Jarþar burr | umb at þreifask.

In the second form, the Ljothahattr (“Song Measure”), the first and third line of each stanza are as just described, but the second and fourth are shorter, have no cæsural pause, have three accented syllables, and regularly two initial-rhymed accented syllables, for which reason I have occasionally referred to Ljothahattr as four-three measure. The following is an example:

Ar skal rísa | sás annars vill

fé eþa fjǫr hafa;

liggjandi ulfr | sjaldan láer of getr

né sofandi maþr sigr.

In the third and least commonly used form, the Malahattr (“Speech Measure”), a younger verse-form than [[xxv]]either of the other two, each line of the four-line stanza is divided into two half-lines by a cæsural pause, each half-line having two accented syllables and three (sometimes four) unaccented ones; the initial rhyme is as in the Fornyrthislag. The following is an example:

Horsk vas húsfreyja, | hugþi at mannviti,

lag heyrþi orþa, | hvat á laun máeltu;

þá vas vant vitri, | vildi þeim hjalpa:

skyldu of sáe sigla, | en sjǫlf né kvamskat.

A poem in Fornyrthislag is normally entitled -kvitha (Thrymskvitha, Guthrunarkvitha, etc.), which for convenience I have rendered as “lay,” while a poem in Ljothahattr is entitled -mol (Grimnismol, Skirnismol, etc.), which I have rendered as “ballad.” It is difficult to find any distinction other than metrical between the two terms, although it is clear that one originally existed.

Variations frequently appear in all three kinds of verse, and these I have attempted to indicate through the rhythm of the translation. In order to preserve so far as possible the effect of the Eddic verse, I have adhered, in making the English version, to certain of the fundamental rules governing the Norse line and stanza formations. The number of lines to each stanza conforms to what seems the best guess as to the original, and I have consistently retained the number of accented syllables. In translating from a highly inflected language into one depending largely on the use of subsidiary words, it has, however, been necessary to employ considerable freedom as to the number of unaccented syllables in a line. The initial-rhyme is generally confined to two accented syllables in each line. As in the original, all initial vowels are allowed to rhyme interchangeably, [[xxvi]]but I have disregarded the rule which lets certain groups of consonants rhyme only with themselves (e.g., I have allowed initial s or st to rhyme with sk or sl). In general, I have sought to preserve the effect of the original form whenever possible without an undue sacrifice of accuracy. For purposes of comparison, the translations of the three stanzas just given are here included:

Fornyrthislag:

Wild was Vingthor | when he awoke,

And when his mighty | hammer he missed;

He shook his beard, | his hair was bristling,

To groping set | the son of Jorth.

Ljothahattr:

He must early go forth | who fain the blood

Or the goods of another would get;

The wolf that lies idle | shall win little meat,

Or the sleeping man success.

Malahattr:

Wise was the woman, | she fain would use wisdom,

She saw well what meant | all they said in secret;

From her heart it was hid | how help she might render,

The sea they should sail, | while herself she should go not.

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PROPER NAMES

The forms in which the proper names appear in this translation will undoubtedly perplex and annoy those who have become accustomed to one or another of the current methods of anglicising old Norse names. The nominative ending -r it has seemed best to omit after consonants, although it has been retained after vowels; in Baldr the [[xxvii]]final -r is a part of the stem and is of course retained. I have rendered the Norse þ by “th” throughout, instead of spasmodically by “d,” as in many texts: e.g., Othin instead of Odin. For the Norse ø I have used its equivalent, “ö,” e.g., Völund; for the ǫ I have used “o” and not “a,” e.g., Voluspo, not Valuspa or Voluspa. To avoid confusion with accents the long vowel marks of the Icelandic are consistently omitted, as likewise in modern Icelandic proper names. The index at the end of the book indicates the pronunciation in each case.

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CONCLUSION

That this translation may be of some value to those who can read the poems of the Edda in the original language I earnestly hope. Still more do I wish that it may lead a few who hitherto have given little thought to the Old Norse language and literature to master the tongue for themselves. But far above either of these I place the hope that this English version may give to some, who have known little of the ancient traditions of what is after all their own race, a clearer insight into the glories of that extraordinary past, and that I may through this medium be able to bring to others a small part of the delight which I myself have found in the poems of the Poetic Edda. [[xxix]]

THE POETIC EDDA

VOLUME I

LAYS OF THE GODS

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VOLUSPO

The Wise-Woman’s Prophecy

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Introductory Note

At the beginning of the collection in the Codex Regius stands the Voluspo, the most famous and important, as it is likewise the most debated, of all the Eddic poems. Another version of it is found in a huge miscellaneous compilation of about the year 1300, the Hauksbok, and many stanzas are included in the Prose Edda of Snorri Sturluson. The order of the stanzas in the Hauksbok version differs materially from that in the Codex Regius, and in the published editions many experiments have been attempted in further rearrangements. On the whole, however, and allowing for certain interpolations, the order of the stanzas in the Codex Regius seems more logical than any of the wholesale “improvements” which have been undertaken.

The general plan of the Voluspo is fairly clear. Othin, chief of the gods, always conscious of impending disaster and eager for knowledge, calls on a certain “Volva,” or wise-woman, presumably bidding her rise from the grave. She first tells him of the past, of the creation of the world, the beginning of years, the origin of the dwarfs (at this point there is a clearly interpolated catalogue of dwarfs’ names, stanzas 10–16), of the first man and woman, of the world-ash Yggdrasil, and of the first war, between the gods and the Vanir, or, in Anglicized form, the Wanes. Then, in stanzas 27–29, as a further proof of her wisdom, she discloses some of Othin’s own secrets and the details of his search for knowledge. Rewarded by Othin for what she has thus far told (stanza 30), she then turns to the real prophesy, the disclosure of the final destruction of the gods. This final battle, in which fire and flood overwhelm heaven and earth as the gods fight with their enemies, is the great fact in Norse mythology; the phrase describing it, ragna rök, “the fate of the gods,” has become familiar, by confusion with the word rökkr, “twilight,” in the German Götterdämmerung. The wise-woman tells of the Valkyries who bring the slain warriors to support Othin and the other gods in the battle, of the slaying of Baldr, best and fairest of the gods, through the wiles of Loki, of the enemies of the gods, of the summons to battle on both sides, and of the mighty struggle, till Othin is slain, and “fire leaps high [[2]]about heaven itself” (stanzas 31–58). But this is not all. A new and beautiful world is to rise on the ruins of the old; Baldr comes back, and “fields unsowed bear ripened fruit” (stanzas 59–66).

This final passage, in particular, has caused wide differences of opinion as to the date and character of the poem. That the poet was heathen and not Christian seems almost beyond dispute; there is an intensity and vividness in almost every stanza which no archaizing Christian could possibly have achieved. On the other hand, the evidences of Christian influence are sufficiently striking to outweigh the arguments of Finnur Jonsson, Müllenhoff and others who maintain that the Voluspo is purely a product of heathendom. The roving Norsemen of the tenth century, very few of whom had as yet accepted Christianity, were nevertheless in close contact with Celtic races which had already been converted, and in many ways the Celtic influence was strongly felt. It seems likely, then, that the Voluspo was the work of a poet living chiefly in Iceland, though possibly in the “Western Isles,” in the middle of the tenth century, a vigorous believer in the old gods, and yet with an imagination active enough to be touched by the vague tales of a different religion emanating from his neighbor Celts.

How much the poem was altered during the two hundred years between its composition and its first being committed to writing is largely a matter of guesswork, but, allowing for such an obvious interpolation as the catalogue of dwarfs, and for occasional lesser errors, it seems quite needless to assume such great changes as many editors do. The poem was certainly not composed to tell a story with which its early hearers were quite familiar; the lack of continuity which baffles modern readers presumably did not trouble them in the least. It is, in effect, a series of gigantic pictures, put into words with a directness and sureness which bespeak the poet of genius. It is only after the reader, with the help of the many notes, has familiarized himself with the names and incidents involved that he can begin to understand the effect which this magnificent poem must have produced on those who not only understood but believed it.

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[1]. Hearing I ask | from the holy races,

From Heimdall’s sons, | both high and low;

Thou wilt, Valfather, | that well I relate

Old tales I remember | of men long ago.

[2]. I remember yet | the giants of yore,

Who gave me bread | in the days gone by;

Nine worlds I knew, | the nine in the tree

With mighty roots | beneath the mold.

[[4]]

[3]. Of old was the age | when Ymir lived;

Sea nor cool waves | nor sand there were;

Earth had not been, | nor heaven above,

But a yawning gap, | and grass nowhere.

[4]. Then Bur’s sons lifted | the level land,

Mithgarth the mighty | there they made;

The sun from the south | warmed the stones of earth,

And green was the ground | with growing leeks.

[5]. The sun, the sister | of the moon, from the south

Her right hand cast | over heaven’s rim;

No knowledge she had | where her home should be,

The moon knew not | what might was his,

The stars knew not | where their stations were.

[[5]]

[6]. Then sought the gods | their assembly-seats,

The holy ones, | and council held;

Names then gave they | to noon and twilight,

Morning they named, | and the waning moon,

Night and evening, | the years to number.

[7]. At Ithavoll met | the mighty gods,

Shrines and temples | they timbered high;

Forges they set, | and they smithied ore,

Tongs they wrought, | and tools they fashioned.

[8]. In their dwellings at peace | they played at tables,

Of gold no lack | did the gods then know,—

Till thither came up | giant-maids three,

Huge of might, | out of Jotunheim.

[[6]]

[9]. Then sought the gods | their assembly-seats,

The holy ones, | and council held,

To find who should raise | the race of dwarfs

Out of Brimir’s blood | and the legs of Blain.

[10]. There was Motsognir | the mightiest made

Of all the dwarfs, | and Durin next;

Many a likeness | of men they made,

The dwarfs in the earth, | as Durin said.

[a]11]. Nyi and Nithi, | Northri and Suthri,

Austri and Vestri, | Althjof, Dvalin,

Nar and Nain, | Niping, Dain,

Bifur, Bofur, | Bombur, Nori,

An and Onar, | Ai, Mjothvitnir.

[[7]]

[12]. Vigg and Gandalf, | Vindalf, Thrain,

Thekk and Thorin, | Thror, Vit and Lit,

Nyr and Nyrath,— | now have I told—

Regin and Rathsvith— | the list aright.

[a]13]. Fili, Kili, | Fundin, Nali,

Heptifili, | Hannar, Sviur,

Frar, Hornbori, | Fræg and Loni,

Aurvang, Jari, | Eikinskjaldi.

[14]. The race of the dwarfs | in Dvalin’s throng

Down to Lofar | the list must I tell;

The rocks they left, | and through wet lands

They sought a home | in the fields of sand.

[15]. There were Draupnir | and Dolgthrasir,

Hor, Haugspori, | Hlevang, Gloin, [[8]]

Dori, Ori, | Duf, Andvari,

Skirfir, Virfir, | Skafith, Ai.

[a]16]. Alf and Yngvi, | Eikinskjaldi,

Fjalar and Frosti, | Fith and Ginnar;

So for all time | shall the tale be known,

The list of all | the forbears of Lofar.

[17]. Then from the throng | did three come forth,

From the home of the gods, | the mighty and gracious;

Two without fate | on the land they found,

Ask and Embla, | empty of might.

[18]. Soul they had not, | sense they had not,

Heat nor motion, | nor goodly hue;

Soul gave Othin, | sense gave Hönir,

Heat gave Lothur | and goodly hue.

[[9]]

[19]. An ash I know, | Yggdrasil its name,

With water white | is the great tree wet;

Thence come the dews | that fall in the dales,

Green by Urth’s well | does it ever grow.

[20]. Thence come the maidens | mighty in wisdom,

Three from the dwelling | down ’neath the tree;

Urth is one named, | Verthandi the next,—

On the wood they scored,— | and Skuld the third.

Laws they made there, | and life allotted

To the sons of men, | and set their fates.

[[10]]

[21]. The war I remember, | the first in the world,

When the gods with spears | had smitten Gollveig,

And in the hall | of Hor had burned her,—

Three times burned, | and three times born,

Oft and again, | yet ever she lives.

[22]. Heith they named her | who sought their home,

The wide-seeing witch, | in magic wise;

Minds she bewitched | that were moved by her magic,

To evil women | a joy she was.

[[11]]

[23]. On the host his spear | did Othin hurl,

Then in the world | did war first come;

The wall that girdled | the gods was broken,

And the field by the warlike | Wanes was trodden.

[a]24]. Then sought the gods | their assembly-seats,

The holy ones, | and council held,

Whether the gods | should tribute give,

Or to all alike | should worship belong.

[25]. Then sought the gods | their assembly-seats,

The holy ones, | and council held,

To find who with venom | the air had filled,

Or had given Oth’s bride | to the giants’ brood.

[[12]]

[26]. In swelling rage | then rose up Thor,—

Seldom he sits | when he such things hears,—

And the oaths were broken, | the words and bonds,

The mighty pledges | between them made.

[27]. I know of the horn | of Heimdall, hidden

Under the high-reaching | holy tree;

On it there pours | from Valfather’s pledge

A mighty stream: | would you know yet more?

[[13]]

[28]. Alone I sat | when the Old One sought me,

The terror of gods, | and gazed in mine eyes:

“What hast thou to ask? | why comest thou hither?

Othin, I know | where thine eye is hidden.”

[29]. I know where Othin’s | eye is hidden,

Deep in the wide-famed | well of Mimir;

Mead from the pledge | of Othin each morn

Does Mimir drink: | would you know yet more?

[30]. Necklaces had I | and rings from Heerfather,

Wise was my speech | and my magic wisdom;

. . . . . . . . . .

Widely I saw | over all the worlds.

[[14]]

[31]. On all sides saw I | Valkyries assemble,

Ready to ride | to the ranks of the gods;

Skuld bore the shield, | and Skogul rode next,

Guth, Hild, Gondul, | and Geirskogul.

Of Herjan’s maidens | the list have ye heard,

Valkyries ready | to ride o’er the earth.

[32]. I saw for Baldr, | the bleeding god,

The son of Othin, | his destiny set: [[15]]

Famous and fair | in the lofty fields,

Full grown in strength | the mistletoe stood.

[33]. From the branch which seemed | so slender and fair

Came a harmful shaft | that Hoth should hurl;

But the brother of Baldr | was born ere long,

And one night old | fought Othin’s son.

[34]. His hands he washed not, | his hair he combed not,

Till he bore to the bale-blaze | Baldr’s foe.

But in Fensalir | did Frigg weep sore

For Valhall’s need: | would you know yet more?

[35]. One did I see | in the wet woods bound,

A lover of ill, | and to Loki like; [[16]]

By his side does Sigyn | sit, nor is glad

To see her mate: | would you know yet more?

[36]. From the east there pours | through poisoned vales

With swords and daggers | the river Slith.

. . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .

[37]. Northward a hall | in Nithavellir

Of gold there rose | for Sindri’s race;

And in Okolnir | another stood,

Where the giant Brimir | his beer-hall had.

[[17]]

[38]. A hall I saw, | far from the sun,

On Nastrond it stands, | and the doors face north;

Venom drops | through the smoke-vent down,

For around the walls | do serpents wind.

[39]. I saw there wading | through rivers wild

Treacherous men | and murderers too,

And workers of ill | with the wives of men;

There Nithhogg sucked | the blood of the slain,

And the wolf tore men; | would you know yet more?