Over the meadhall rose, the mighty sun,
Morning breaking, on men rejoicing
The fragrant fire, for feast prepared.
As skillful servants, service attend
The hearty hunters, on the hearth setting,
Bringing their joy-burden, the tender hart,
The brilliant berries, as bright rubies,
On the table trimmed, the tankards laid.
Generous gold-giver, great-hearted Guthleoth
Well loved lord, battle leader
Many tireless times, triumph winning,
Twisted torcs, and treasure giving,
Silver-clad Sigilflaed, graciously smiling,
Praiseworthy wife, peace-weaver,
Plentifully pouring, the peerless mead,
Of wives wisest, for wit renowned.
The women weaving, the finest wool,
Laughing at their labour the lissom maidens,
Skillfully spinning, on spindle dancing,
The merry musicians mellifluous songs
For tales telling tune their harps,
Watchful Leothwise with winters crowned
Once shrewd shieldmaiden now scop honoured.
Softly singing, a song of old.
Many valourous men, the vigilant guards,
On city walls stood, ceaselessly watching,
The bold sun blinding, the brilliant helms,
In towers tall, for trouble looking,
Over the plain, open and wide,
To noon rose the sun, naught was seen,
From the high towers, but herds below
and wheat in the wind waving its gold
In fields fair the farsighted see
The even gathers the eesome flowers
In garlands gay grace the hall
But keen-eyed Coenburg cunning sighted
The baker’s boy beardless yet
Valour of manhood though voice yet high
Nor haltered he heeding the watch
Though sleeping seemed the silent plain
Of fire afar a flash he saw,
And shadowy shapes shamble close,
Drawing nearer distant yet,
Their march he watches a moment tarries,
Until hideous gape inhuman faces,
And foul the feet over fields coming,
The tranquil grain, from tromping feet,
In torment twists for terror grim.
Then fleet he flies to find the hall
His thane to warn of threat that comes
though throat is dry and thundering boots
Echo in his mind etched in terror
Written by Leothwise.
Part one of (probably) three.
