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Woden Rides
Through the sky, through the trees,
Through the long winter nights,
Flies the wind howling.
Now to the gate of Hel,
Blackened and bloodied,
Run the dogs growling.
Down comes the Wild Hunt,
Over wood, over hill,
Woden is leading.
Fearless and peerless,
Eight-footed furious,
Sleipnir is speeding.
Host of the newly dead,
Fresh from the barrow's bed,
Maddening, thundering,
Raging and plundering,
Screaming their Yule yell,
Black horses riding.
Onward, till all are passed,
Then drops the wind at last,
Gently subsiding.
Now all...
Is changed...
© Stormerne Hunt-Anschütz, 2001
Skvala - Good collection of heathen-related articles, by Arlea and Stormerne.