~ Historical & Classical Poetry ~
Sixteen wounds have I, slit is my byrnie,
all is dark before my eyes, I cannot see to tread.
Angantyr´s blade has struck against my heart,
the keen weapon, hardened with poison...
A raven flies from eastward, from the high gallows-tree,
after him flies the eagle.
This will be the last eagle I feed,
thus he shall drink my blood.
From the Saga of Arrow-Oddr
Image: "Sigmunds Tod" (Sigmund´s Death),
Johannes Gehrts 1883