Ismaer

The Tale of Ísmær

Dróttkvætt by Petronilla de Chastelerault

In the ancient skald-songs Stories of the north-land, Told by swift-tongued elders, Tell of mighty giants And of hero’s valor, Valhalla and Asgard. And the ice-born Ísmær, Snow-maid, clever, fairest.

By the northern sea-gate, There dwelled lovely Ísmær . Daughter of no mortal, Time, not woman, birthed her. Lived she in the snow-lands, Lonely, on an island, Blissful, and not seeing Sorrows of the far-world.

Ísmær sat on south-shore, Summer months beginning. Sky above did darken, Dragon dropped from earth-ends! Long as seven warships, Scales like hard-forged iron. Sent by death-bound Hela, Dark-world’s overseer.

Hela, in her death-hall, Had four carven marble Seeing-stones of power. Saw eye-tale inside stone, ÍSmær’s god-wrought beauty. Sent forth dragon northward, Want-rage creeping through her. Hers great beauty would be!

Ísmær, fear-sense rising, Snatched by dragon’s talons, Thought of how to life-keep, To her island return. “How have I offended? Have I given insult? if I have, forgive me,” Forth spoke to her captor. Then did turn the dragon, to its heart her words went. Said it then unto her, “No insult have you given. Hela Death-Queen sent me, That she might have beauty. Now I regret greatly Going to her service.”

Hela, in her death-hall, Heard the conversation. Anger rose within her, Raged she at her servant. Cried she of his falseness, Sent she forth a fell-storm, Sea to water-walls turned, Winds to icy hammers!

Ísmær and the dragon, Rising on the soft-winds, From the north the storm came, Thor-force wind surrounded. Ísmær forth to Hela Told her this, “O Lady, You storm-toss the faultless. This, it makes you happy?”

Hela, in her death-hall, Heard the words of Ísmær. Stopped she then the dark-storms, Thor-force winds no longer. Danger there deserted, Dragon flew on freely. Landed it on white-sand Down it laid fair Ísmær.

In the ancient Skald-Songs Stories of the north-land Tell of maiden’s valor- Lucky man can best it. In the well-built mead-hall Toast they the Ice-Maiden. “Hail,” cry worthy warriors, “Won her life with words!”

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