Classic Poem

I dwell in mountain caverns,
Deep-hid from daylight,
Where never Odin's eye can
Pierce through the darkness.
I hate the white-skinned strangers,
The sons of Askur,
Who bow the knee to gods that
My heart despises.

My joy it is to ride on
The storm at midnight.
I trample down the harvest,
The ships I shatter.
I lead astray the wand'rer
Who seeks his cabin,
And I exult to see him
Quake at my laughter.

But I can bear the day too,
Though ne'er so dazzling,
If the Valkyries wave their
Blood-stained pinions.
How fine! when bow-sped swallows
Flit o'er the army,
And broadswords chill full many
A heart hot-beating.

“What wouldst thou with innocence,
Daughter of Embla?”
See! in the troll's embraces
The bloom is withered.
“Why shouldst thou fight for country,
O youthful Norseman?”
He sold his father's grave for
A golden pittance.

A sage sat in a valley
And spoke such wisdom
As Odin might have heard from
The head of Mimer.
I flung a mist around him
As there he pondered.
How fine! The fool denies now
The great All-Father.

I hate the dreams of poets,
Those Valhall fancies
Of fatherland and honor,
Of gods and virtue.
I can't entice the fool in
His cloudland roaming;
Yet there's no need: on earth he
Is disregarded.

Thor comes now with his hammer,
I smile to see him;
I set a mountain peak on
My head for helmet.
Let heroes come to fight me,
Let shine the sunlight!
For Evil is immortal
Even as Good is.