large/11252/spc166_1704_librivox_64kb_mp3/spc166_egilssagasonsloss_h43_64kb_25
large/11252/spc166_1704_librivox_64kb_mp3/spc166_egilssagasonsloss_h43_64kb
English
11252
strong> 'Of father fallen First I may tell; Of much loved mother Must mourn the loss. Sad store hath memory For minstrel skill, A wood to bloom leafy With words of song. R OF FATHER FALLEN FIRST I MAY TELL OF MUCH LOVED MOTHER MUST MOURN THE LOSS SAD STORE HATH MEMORY FOR MINSTREL SKILL A WOOD TO BLOOM LEAFY WITH WORDS OF
ad had another son named Gunnar, who had died a short time before. So then Egil began the poem, and this is the beginning. <strong>SONA-TORREK (SONS' LOSS).</strong> <strong>1.</strong> 'Much doth it task me My tongue to move, Through my throat to utter The breath of song. Poesy, prize of Odin, Promise now I may not, A draught drawn not lightly From deep thought's dwelling. <strong>2.</strong> 'Forth it flows but hardly; For within my breast Heaving sobbing stifles Hindered stream of song Blessed boon to mortals Brought from Odin's kin, Goodly treasure, stolen From Giant-land of yore. <strong>3.</strong> 'He, who so blameless Bore him in life, O'erborne by billows With boat was whelmed. Sea-wavesflood that whilom Welled from giant's wound Smite upon the grave-gate Of my sire and son. <strong>4.</strong> 'Dwindling now my kindred Draw near to their end, Ev'n as forest-saplings Felled or tempest-strown. Not gay or gladsome Goes he who beareth Body of kinsman On funeral bier. <strong>5.</ N'S LOSS FROM CHAPTER EIGHTY ONE OF EGEL SAGA TRANSLATION BY W C GREEN READ FOR LIBER BOX DOT WARG MY HAT AND FORTY THREE LOG DE LA KANZAEN DOT WORD PRESS DOG KO THE CONTEXT OF THE POEM IS THAT EGEL HAS JUST LOST HIS SON BODVAR IN A STORM AT SEA HAVING PREVIOUSLY LOST HIS SON GUNNA MUCH DOTH IT TASK ME MY TONGUE TO MOVE THROUGH MY THROAT TO UTTER THE BREATH OF SONG POSEY PRIZE OF ODIN PROMISE NOW I MAY NOT A DRAUGHT DRAWN NOT LIGHTLY FROM DEEP THOUGHT'S DWELLING FORTH IT FLOWS BUT HARDLY FOR WITHIN MY BREAST HEAVING SOBBING STIFLES HINDERED STREAM OF SONG BLESSED BOON TO MORTALS BROUGHT FROM ODIN'S KING GOODLY TREASURE STOLEN FROM GIANT LAND OF YORE HE WHO SO BLAMELESS BORE HIM IN LIFE O'ER BORNE BY BILLOWS WITH BOAT WAS WOUND SEA WAVES FLOOD THAT WILL OOM WELL FROM GIANT'S WOUND SMITE UPON THE GRAVE GATE OF MY SIREN SON DWINDLING NOW MY KINDRED DRAW NEAR TO THEIR END EVEN AS FOREST SAPLINGS FELLED OR TEMPEST STROWN NOT GAY OR GLADSOME GOES HE WHO BEARETH BODY OF KINSMAN ON FUNERAL BEE
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