Völuspá
The
Prophecy of the Völva (Seeress)
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2001 Bernard Scudder
Völuspâ: The Prophecy 


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Published as a independent pocket-edition of the poem, the original 96-page text is beautifully illustrated by Norwegian artist Dagfinn Werenskjold.  The book, which makes a fine gift, contains a table of contents, a preface, a synopsis of the poem,  and three informative appendixes, including a brief introduction to the heroes and antiheroes of the poem, a presentation of the dwarf-list in Icelandic and English, and a key to names and references helpful to understanding the current translation. This book may still be purchased reasonably in either hardcover or paperback, and is well-worth the price. This is an excerpt from the text.

   
Purchase the Prophecy

   

 

 

 

The PROPHECY

More than 1000 years old

 

 
 

A hearing I ask

of all humankind

the higher and lower

kin of Heimdall;

They, Father of the Fallen,

wanted me to recount

the ancient deeds of heroes

I recall from time’s dawn.

 

I remember giants

born of yore

who long ago

reared and raised me;

nine worlds I recall,

nine ogresses,

the famed tree of fate

beneath the earth.

 

At the dawn of ages

there was nothing,

neither sand nor sea

nor cool waves:

earth was found nowhere

nor the heavens above,

only the great void

and nowhere grass.

 

Until the First-born’s sons

arched up the lands,

makers of Midgard,

famed Middle Earth.

Sun shone from the south

on the rock-built earth,

then the ground was grown

with green plants.

 

The sun shed from the south,

the moon’s companion,

with its right hand over

the rim of the sky.

The sun did not know

where to seek repose,

the stars did not know

where they could rest,

the moon did not know

what might it had.

 

Then all the powers met

who mete out fate,

mighty, holy gods

in consultation;

to night and its offspring

they gave names,

called them morning

and mid-day,

afternoon and evening,

to be counted in years.

 

The High Ones met

on Ever-Green Plain,

they who raised timbered

shrines and temples,

built furnaces,

wrought precious things,

made tongs

and forged tools.

 

Happily they played

chess in the meadow,

they lacked for nothing

made of gold;

until three maidens

of giants came,

full of force

from the World of Giants.

 

Then all the powers met

who mete out fate,

mighty, holy gods

in consultation:

on which one should make

the master of the dwarfs

from Sea-Swell’s blood

and blue legs.

 

thus Sea-Mind

most renowned became

of all the dwarfs,

Dwarfish was second;

they made many

human forms,

the dwarfs from the earth,

as Dwarfish told them …[1]

 

…until three mighty

and impassioned gods

from that band

approached the dwelling.

on the shore they found

Ash and Elm,

capable of little,

their fate unformed.

 

They had no breath,

they had no spirit,

neither warmth nor voice

nor fine complexion.

Odin gave them breath,

Haenir gave them spirit,

Lod gave them warm life

and fine complexion.

 

I know an ash stands

named Yggdrasill,

a high tree, washed

with white clay;

from it come the dews

that fall in the valleys,

it stands ever-green

over the Spring of the Past.

 

From there come

the much-knowing maidens,

three from the sea

that lies under the tree:

one was named Past,

another Present

—they carved in wood—

and Future the third;

they laid down the law,

they chose lives

for the children of men,

people’s fates.

 

She remembers the onslaught

of the world’s first battle,

when Gold-Potion

was pierced with spears

and in the High One’s hall

she was burnt.

Three times burnt,

three times born,

often, unseldom,

yet she still lives.  

 

Bright-as-Gold they called her

Wherever she visited,

a seeress far-sighted,

she conjured with wands,

in magic she was verses,

in magic she was deft,

always she was cherished

by the evil women.

 

Then all the powers met

who mete out fate,

mighty, holy gods

in consultation:

as to whether the high ones

should suffer that scourge

or the gods should all

seek retribution.

 

Odin hurled down

and shot over the warriors,

that was yet the onslaught

of the world’s first battle,

the stockades were broken

of the High Ones’ fortress,

the Vanir stamped the ground

with their chants of battle.

 

Then all the powers met

who mete out fate,

mighty, holy gods

in consultation:

as to who had poisoned

the air with deceit,

or given Od’s bride

to the race of the giants.

 

Thor alone there

was stirred to fight

—he seldom lingers

when he hear such things—

oaths were breached,

words and pledges,

weighty were the statements

that passed among them.

 

She knows that what Heimdall

hears is hidden

under the sacred tree

that spreads to the heavens.

She sees a river pouring

in a muddy fall from the eye

pledged by the Father of the Fallen.

Would you know more— or not?

 

Alone she sat outside

when the Old One came,

forbear of the gods

and looked her in the eye.

What do you aks me to tell you?

Why do you tempt me?

—I know it all, Odin,

where you hid your eye,

within Mimir’s much famed well.

Mimir drinks the mead

every morning from the eye

pledged by the Father of the Fallen.

Would you know more— or not?

 

 

The War-Father chose for her

brooches and necklaces,

wealth, words of wisdom

and divinations,

she saw far and wide

into every world.

 

She saw valkyries

arrive from afar,

ordained to ride

to the race of the gods:

Future held a shield.

Prodder was another

War, Battle, Weaver,

and Spear-Prodder.

Now they are counted,

the Warmaker’s handmaids,

valkyries ordained

to  ride the ground.

 

I saw fate

allotted to Balder,

the blood-stained deity,

child of Odin;

there it stood, grown

higher than the plains,

slender and beautiful

the mistletoe.

 

From that tree was made

a fatal arrow of sorrow

though slight it seemed:

Hod shot it.

A brother was born early to Balder,

Odin’s son avenged

when one night old.

 

He never washed his hands

nor combed his hair

before Balder’s adversary

was borne to his pyre;

in the Fen-Hall

Frigg lamented the doom

done in Valhalla.

Would you know more— or not?

 

 

She saw a bound form lying

under the grove of springs

resembling the body

of wily Loki;

Sigyn sat there

not full of glee

about her husband.

Would you know more— or not?

 

 

A river falls from the east

through poisoned valleys

full of daggers and swords,

Scabbard is its name.

 

 

To the north stood

on the Plains of Darkness

a hall of gold,

the legacy of dwarfs;

another stood

on Ever-Warm

the giant’s beer-hall,

his name is Sea-Swell.

 

She saw standing far from the sun

on the Shore of the Dead,

its door facing north.

Drops of poison

drip in through the hatch,

that hall is entwined

with the ridged backs of serpents.

 

 

there she saw wading

mighty currents

men of ill oath

and murderous scavengers

and the beguiler of another’s

whisperer of secrets;

Dark-striker sucked there

on corpses of the departed,

a wolf tore up men.

Would you know more— or not?

 

in the east the old ogress

sat in Iron-Wood

and there gave birth

to the wolf’s offspring.

of them, a certain

one will be made

to devour the sun

in a trollish guise.

 

The wolf fills with the force

of men fated to die,

smears with red blood

the gods’ heavenly site,

the sunshine was black

for summers after,

the weather treacherous.

Would you know more— or not?

 

He sat on a mound there and smote a harp,

the ogresses’ herder,

gleeful Eggther.

Howling to him

in the nesting reeds

a bright red rooster,

its name Fjalar.

 

To the gods it howled,

Golden-Comb,

who rouses the heroes

of the Warring Father.

But another howls beneath the earth,

a crimson rooster

in the halls of Hell.

 

Garm barks loud

by Gaping-Cave

the fetter will break

and the wolf will run free;

lore she knows in plenty,

I see beyond the future,

the mighty doom

of the triumphant gods.

 

Brothers will do battle

unto the death,

sons of sisters

fight their own kin,

the world has turned harsh,

great fornication,

an axe-age, a sword-age,

shields are cleft,

a storm-age, a wolf-age,

before the world tumbles

no man will ever

spare another.

 

Mimir’s sons play

while fate is kindled

by the blaring

Gjallarhorn;

Heimdall blows loud,

his horn aloft,

Odin speaks with Mimir’s head.

 

The ancient tree groans

and the giant breaks loose;

still standing, the ash

Yggdrassil trembles.

 

Garm barks loud

by Gaping-Cave

the fetter will break

and the wolf will run free;

lore she knows in plenty,

I see beyond the future,

the mighty doom

of the triumphant gods.

 

Hrym drives from the east,

his shield before him.

the mighty serpent writhes

in gigantic fury.

The snake thrashes the waves

and the eagle grows joyful,

pale-beak plucks corpses,

Nail-Ship breaks its moorings.

 

The ship comes from the east,

Muspell’s band of giants

will cross the seas

with Loki steering,

all the kin of folly

will go with the wolf,

Byleip’s brother

faring with them.

 

What’s with the gods?

What’s with the elves?

All the World of Giants rumbles,

the High Ones convene,

dwarfs groan

by their doors of rock,

the wise cliff-dwellers.

Would you know more or not?

 

Surt comes from the south

with his wood-eating fire,

sun glints on the sword

of the godly warriors.

Boulders slam together,

sending trolls tumbling,

men tread the path of Hell

and the heavens cleave.

 

Then comes to pass

Hlin’s second woe,

when Odin goes forth

to fight the wolf,

and Beli’s bright slayer

to face Surt;

Frigg’s beloved god

will fall dead then.

 

Garm barks loud

by Gaping-Cave

the fetter will break

and the wolf will run free;

lore she knows in plenty,

I see beyond the future,

the mighty doom

of the triumphant gods.

 

 

Then comes the great son

of Victory-Father,

Vidar, to smite

the carrion beast.

With his hands he thrusts

his spear through the heart

of Rager’s son,

avenging a father.

 

 

Garm barks loud

by Gaping-Cave

the fetter will break

and the wolf will run free;

lore she knows in plenty,

I see beyond the future,

the mighty doom

of the triumphant gods.

 

Brothers will do battle

unto the death,

sons of sisters

fight their own kin,

the world has turned harsh,

great fornication,

an axe-age, a sword-age,

shields are cleft,

a storm-age, a wolf-age,

before the world tumbles

no man will ever

spare another.

 

Mimir’s sons play

while fate is kindled

by the blaring

Gjallarhorn;

Heimdall blows loud,

his horn aloft,

Odin speaks with Mimir’s head.

 

The ancient tree groans

and the giant breaks loose;

still standing, the ash

Yggdrassil trembles.

 

Garm barks loud

by Gaping-Cave

the fetter will break

and the wolf will run free;

lore she knows in plenty,

I see beyond the future,

the mighty doom

of the triumphant gods.

 

Hrym drives from the east,

his shield before him.

the mighty serpent writhes

in gigantic fury.

The snake thrashes the waves

and the eagle grows joyful,

pale-beak plucks corpses,

Nail-Ship breaks its moorings.

 

The ship comes from the east,

Muspell’s band of giants

will cross the seas

with Loki steering,

all the kin of folly

will go with the wolf,

Byleip’s brother

faring with them.

 

What’s with the gods?

What’s with the elves?

All the World of Giants rumbles,

the High Ones convene,

dwarfs groan

by their doors of rock,

the wise cliff-dwellers.

Would you know more or not?

 

Surt comes from the south

with his wood-eating fire,

sun glints on the sword

of the godly warriors.

Boulders slam together,

sending trolls tumbling,

men tread the path of Hell

and the heavens cleave.

 

Then comes to pass

Hlin’s second woe,

when Odin goes forth

to fight the wolf,

and Beli’s bright slayer

to face Surt;

Frigg’s beloved god

will fall dead then.

 

Garm barks loud

by Gaping-Cave

the fetter will break

and the wolf will run free;

lore she knows in plenty,

I see beyond the future,

the mighty doom

of the triumphant gods.

 

 Then comes the great son

of Victory-Father,

Vidar, to smite

the carrion beast.

With his hands he thrusts

his spear through the heart

of Rager’s son,

avenging a father.

 

Then comes the famed

son of mother Earth,

Odin’s son goes forth

to fight the beast,

Midgard’s keeper

hammers the serpent.

All men strip clear

their homes in the world,

Earth’s progeny moves

nine steps back

and perishes by the serpent

unfearful of reproach.

 

The sun turns black,

and sinks into the sea,

the bright stars vanish from the sky.

Fire rages forth

at the life-giving tree,

high flame will lick

at heaven itself.

 

 

Garm barks loud

by Gaping-Cave

the fetter will break

and the wolf will run free;

lore she knows in plenty,

I see beyond the future,

the mighty doom

of the triumphant gods.

 

She sees arise

a second time

Earth from the sea,

ever-green.

Water cascades,

the eagle soars above,

catcher of fish

on the mountains’ sides.

 

The gods meet again

on Ever-Green-Plain,

reflect on the mighty

earth-curling serpent

and recall there

those ultimate deeds

and the ancient secrets

of the Greatest God’s runes.

 

Later will be found

wondrously wrought

golden chessmen,

which in days of yore

they had owned.

 

Unsown fields

will grow up then,

all sorrow will be lifted,

Balder will return.

Hod and Balder will thrive,

gods in the ruins

of the Hailer’s hall.

Would you know more—or not?

 

Then Haenir will choose

the soothsaying wood

and the sons of the two

brothers will dwell

in the wide winds’ domain:

Would you know more—or not?

 

She sees a hall standing

fairer than the sun

bedecked with gold

leeward of the fire.

Men of worth

will dwell there,

delighting in it

for ever after.

 

Then the wielder

of godly power

descends in might

ruler of all things.

 

There the dim dragon

will come in flight

the glittering serpent,

from Dark Mountains below.

Bearing corpses in its feathers,

as it soars over the plain,

the Dark-Striker.

Now she will sink down.  

 

 



[1] Appendix 2: The following tally of dwarfs, which various scholars have regarded as a somewhat later addition to the original prophecy, occurs in some manuscripts between the verses printed here on pp. 27 and 29. Some of the translations of the names are conjectural.

 

 

 

Names of the Dwarfs:

 

Waxer and Waner

North and South

East and West,

All-thief, Dormant

Shaker, Shiverer,

Squat, Shorty,

Foreborn Forebearer,

Forebear, Mead-Wolf.

 

Force and Wand-Elf,

Wind-Elf, Stubborn,

Darer and Stiff,

Nice, Wise and Coloured,

Corpse and New-Fangled,

Mighty and Wise-Counsel;

Now I have counted

the dwarfs truly.

 

Filer, Planer

Finder, Nailer,

Handle, Toil,

Craftsman, Shrinker,

Swift, Horn-Driller,

Renowned and Drifter

Swamp, Warrior,

Oaken-Shield.

 

It is time to trace

for the sons of men

Dormant’s host

of dwarfs to Lofar,

those who brought

the swamp-dwellers

from the rock-built earth

to Battlefield.

 

There were Dripper

and Firm-in-Battle,

One-Eye, Mound-Treader,

Lee-Field, Glower,

Whittler, Twister,

Slant-Finn, Forebear.

 

Elf and King,

Oaken-Shield,

Much-Wise and Frost,

Finn and Trickster;

As long as men live

it will always last,

the long tally

of Lofar’s line.

 

 

 

   

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