Mound-Alf

Around me, earth
above me roots, turf;
darkness encircles
and the scent of moist soil,
mould
with a freshness of new life
as seeds stir in soil
waiting rebirth,
a fresh spring, a new year.

Here is silence.

Yet now I turn, to hear the clamour
of hall bright-beaconed;
laughing and boasting,
feasting with noisy cheer
those who wait with me,
laid in this mound, or come
from where they fell
to join their kin,
each as in life,
fair women and proud
bearing goblet or horn
to the weaponed men

who yet fall silent
to the harp strings as I play.

I sing to them of heroes.
Sigurdh,
Helgi,
Somerled,
songs they know well;
The old tales are still best.
I know each song shall end
to noisy acclamation
and fierce bragging
that they will rival all those dead

chatter, chatter, chatter,
how often have these words been said?

And now I turn, to hear the ringing
hammer on anvil.
Fires glow in the encircling darkness,
bellows-blown;
deep in the earth
a dwarf-smith forges gold.

And turn again:

Around me, earth,
above me, roots, turf,
before me, bright blaze,
clear light of day where once was wall.
Here stand I in entrance,
Seeing and unseen, I gaze
over plain, bush, road,
to where white-caps tip the waves.
The land is changed from when I lived before.

On the road they pass
singing and talking;
a child skips, clasping parent's hand,
her face bright, fair,
proud
as before.
I know them all, blithe children,
lovers, mothers
warriors, weavers
poets or partisans
I knew them when they lived
or waited in the mound
Proud or boastful, now I hear them clearly,
promising hope, a world of brightness,
a world of promises

chatter, chatter, chatter
This time, will they be true?

Around me earth
above me roots, turf;
darkness encircles
and the scent of moist soil,
mould
with a freshness of new life
as seeds stir in soil
waiting rebirth
in spring of a new year.

And here is silence.