~ Poetry by me ~
The Song of the Mill
To Frodhi the King came Fenja and Menja,
two giant maidens, made to be slaves.
He set them to work at a wondrous mill;
no peace nor pause he promised to them.
"Grind me my fortune, my fate and my wishes!
The mill is of magic; men call it Grotti."
"Come, my sister, the king has need of us:
Jotuns´ might will move the huge stone.
"We grind, we grind for him gold in abundance:
‚Frodhi´s Flour' henceforward they call it.
Sweden shall prosper and praise his name
in a golden age, which all will remember.
"The stone is heavy, let´s stop for a while
to gather strength and straighten our backs."
- "Turn the millstone, maidens, and hurry!
Quit less long than a cuckoo stops singing."
"We grind, we grind a gift for his people:
‚Frodhi´s Peace' will be famous forever.
A ring that is lost lies long on the road;
no man slays his foe, though in fetters he´d find him.
"Our arms are tired, and torn our feet:
Let us relieve our limbs now, sister."
- "Be lively, girls, don´t loaf at your work!
Sleep less long than a lull of the sea-wind."
"A fool you are, Frodhi, to force to drudgery
- dull are your wits -, daughters of giants!
No friends of you are Fenja and Menja,
little you thought of our thurses´ blood.
"We´re Thiazi´s kin and crag-etins´ brides!
My wrath is rising, with rage I seethe:
Grasp now the handle, push harder, my sister!
We´ll mill him allright, but more than he bargained.
"We grind, we grind him not gold now, but iron:
An army rises to rob him of fortune.
Frodhi will lose his luck and his throne -
lo, there I see the soldiers approaching!
"Not squeamish we are about slaughter and
To pieces we shatter the peace we have made.
Forth from the east fire is spreading,
burning his hall, blighting the land.
"Grotti is groaning from grinding too much,
the stone is cracking, crashing apart:
Burst now, beam, break all asunder!
My mother´s maiden has milled enough."
© 2006 Michaela
License: This poem may be freely distributed, provided it remains
unchanged, including the copyright notice and this License:
This work by
(www.odins-gift.com) is licensed
Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives License.
Poetic form: Fornyrðislag (Old Meter)