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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You can find the rules I used for writing a Dróttkvætt here: Svensdrapa.