Ismaer

The Tale of Ísmær

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!”

• I couldn’t give up the great line, but I couldn’t find a rhyme either.

You can find the rules for writing a Dróttkvætt here [Svensdrapa]