Guðrúnarkviða II Hin Forna, a reading
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Harmful content
Misogyny
2
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Hate speech
14
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Summary
Guthrunarkvitha II in Forna, the Second or Old Lament of Guthrun, is one of the most famous poems in the saga of Sigurd. It tells the tale of the death of the king, Atli, and the grief of his wife, Guthrin.
Transcript
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Guthrunarkvitha II in Forna, the second or old lay of Guthrun.
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It has already been pointed out, introductory note to Guthrun Articula 1, that the tradition
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of Guthrun's laments was known wherever the Sigurd's story existed, and that this lament
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was probably one of the earliest parts of the legend to assume verse form.
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Whether it reached the Norse as verse cannot, of course, be determined, but it is at least
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possible that this was the case, and in any event, it is clear that by the 10th and 11th centuries
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there were a number of Norse poems with Guthrun's laments as the central theme.
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Two of these are included in the Edict collection, the second one being unquestionably much the older.
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It is evidently the poem referred to by the annotator in the prose note following the Brot
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to date it as early as the first half of the 10th century,
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whereas Guthrun Ark 501 belongs a hundred years later.
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The poem has evidently been preserved in rather bad shape,
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with a number of serious omissions and some interpolations,
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But in just this form, it lay before the compilers of the Volsunga Saga, who paraphrased it faithfully and quoted five of its stanzas.
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The interpolations are, on the whole, unimportant.
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The omissions, while they obscure the sense of certain passages, do not destroy the essential continuity of the poem,
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in which Guthrin reviews her sorrows from the death of Sigurd
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through the slaying of her brothers to Atli's dreams
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It is indeed the only Norse poem of the Sigurd cycle
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which has come down to us in anything approaching complete form.
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Only a short bit of the long Sigurdlae remains, and others, Grpispah, Guthronarkvitha I and III, Sigurdarkvitha in Skama, Helrath Brindhildar, Odrunagrater, Guthronarkovot, Hamthismal, and the two Atleleys are all generally dated from the 11th and even the 12th centuries.
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An added reason for believing that Guthronokvitha II traces its origins to a lament which reached
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the north from Germany in verse form is the absence of most characteristic Norse additions
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to the narrative, except in minor details. Sigurð is slain in the forest, as German men say.
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The urging of Guthrin by her mother, second brothers, to become Atli's wife
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The slaying of the Gjöckings, here only intimated, for at that point something seems to have been lost
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In the Codex Regius, the poem is entitled simply Guðrnarkvitha.
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The numeral has been added in nearly all editions to distinguish this poem from the other two Guðrn lays.
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And the phrase, the old, is borrowed from the annotator's comment in the prose note at the end of the Brot.
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King Theothraek was with Atri and had lost most of his men.
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Theothraek and Guthrun lamented their griefs together.
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So cigarettes rose o'er geeky suns, As the leek grows green above the grass,
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O'er the stag o'er all the beasts doth stand, Or as glow-red gold above silver-grey.
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Till my brothers let me no longer have The best of heroes my husband-to-be,
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Sleep they could not or quarrel settle, Till Sigurth they at last had slain.
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From the thing run Grani with thundering feet, But thence did Sigurth himself come nether,
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Covered with sweat was the saddle-bearer, Won't the warriors wait to bear?
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Weeping I sought with Grani to speak, With tear-wet cheeks for the tale I asked.
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The hud of Grani was bowed to the grass, The steed knew well his master was slain.
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Long I waited and pondered well, Erever the king for tidings to ask.
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His head bowed Gunnar, but Hogni told, The nooseful sore of Sigurd's slain.
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Here to death, at our hands he lies, Gothworm's slayer given to wolves.
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On the southern road, thou shalt Sigurd see, Where hear thou canst the ravens cry.
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The eagles cry as food they crave, And about thy husband wolves are howling.
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Why dost thou, Hogni, such a horror? Let me hear all joyless left. Ravens ye let, thy
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heart shall rend, In a land that never thou hast known.
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Few the words of Hogni were, Bitter his heart from heavy sorrow.
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Dear Guthrum, thy grief shall be, If the raven's soul my heart shall rend.
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From whom he spake I turned me soon, In the woods to find what thy wolves had left.
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Tears I had not nor wrung my bonds, Nor wailing went as other women,
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Ever so black had seemed the night, As when in sorrow, by cigarettes I set,
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Best of all me thought would be, If I my life could only lose,
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Or like to birch wood burned my bee, From the mountain forth five days I fared,
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Seven half years with Dora I stayed, Håkon's daughter in Denmark then.
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With gold she broidered to me bring joy, Southern Halls and Danish swans.
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On the tapestry wove we warriors' deeds, And the heroes' things on our handiwork.
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flashing shields and fighters armed, sword throng, helm throng, the host of the king.
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Sigmund's ship by the land was sailing, gold in the figurehead gave the beaks.
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On board we wove the warriors faring, Sigar and Sigir south to Fjong.
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Grimherd asked the Gothic queen whether willingly would I.
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Her needlework cast she aside and called, her sons to ask with stern resolve, who amends
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to their sister would make for her son, or the wife requite for her husband killed.
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Steady was Gunnar, gold to give, Amends for my heart, and Hogni, too.
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Then would she know who now would go, The horse to saddle, the wagon to harness,
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The horse to ride, the hawk to fly, And shafts from bows of ewe to shoot.
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Maldar, king of the Danes, was come, with Yarazleth, Aymoth, and Yarazcar.
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In like princes came they all, the long-beardmen with mantles red.
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Short with mailcoats, mightied their helms, swords at their belts, and browned their hair.
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Speech to give me gifts was fain, Gifts to give and goodly speech.
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Comforts though, for my sorrows great, To bring they tried, but I trusted them not.
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A draught did Grimhild give me to drink, Bitter and cold I forgot my cares,
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For mingled therein was magic earth, Ice-cold sea, and the blood of swine.
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In the cup were runes of every kind, Written and reddened, I could not read them,
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A heather-fish from the Hodding's land, A ear uncut, and the entrails of beasts.
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Which evil was brewed within the bier, Blossoms of trees and acorns burned,
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Dew of the hearths and holy entrails, The liver of swine all grief to allay.
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Then I forgot when the draught they gave me, There in the hall my husband slain,
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On their knees the kings all three did kneel, As she herself to speak began.
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Guthra and gold, to thee I give The wealth that once thy fathers was,
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The reigns to have in Hlothver's halls, And the hangings all that the monarch had.
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Hanish woman, skilleted in weaving, Who gold make fair to give thee joy,
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And the wealth of Boothli thine shall be, Gold-decked one as Otli's wife.
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Gutherin spake, A Hanish now I will not have,
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Nor wife of Brynhild's brother be, It beseems me not with Boothli's sons,
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To avenge thy sorrows, Though the blame at first with us hath been.
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Happy shalt be, as if both shalt live, Sigurd and Sigmund, if sons thou bearest.
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Guthrun spake, Grimhild I may not gladness find,
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Nor hold forth hopes to heroes now, Since once the raven and ravening wolf,
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Grimhild spake, Noblest of birth is the ruler now,
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I have found of thee, and foremost of all, Him shalt thou have, while life thou hast,
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Or husbandless be, if him thou wilt choose not, Guthrun spake.
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Seek not so eagerly me to send, To be a bride of yon baneful race.
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And Gunnar first his wrath shall fall, And the heart will be teared from Hogni's breast.
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Weeping Grimhild heard the words, The fateful sore for her sons foretold,
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Vingborg is thine, and Vobjorg too. Have them forever, but hear me, daughter.
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So must I do as the kings besought, And against my will for my kinsmen wed.
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Ne'er with my husband joy I had, And my sons by my brothers fate were saved not.
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I could not rest till of life I had robbed, The warrior bold, the maker of battles.
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Soon on horseback each hero was, And the foreign women in wagons faring,
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A week through lawns so cold we went, And a second week the waves we smote,
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The warders now on the lofty walls, Open the gates and in we rode.
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Otley woke me forever I seemed, Of bitterness full for my brother's death.
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Now from sleep the Norris have waked me, With visions of terror to thee will I tell
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them, Bethought thou Guthrun, Gyrki's daughter, With poison-blade disperce my body.
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Guthrun spake, Fire a dream of steel shall follow,
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And willful pride one of women's wrath, A baneful sore I shall burn from thee,
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Of plants I dreamed in the garden drooping, That vain would I have for high to grow,
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Plucked by the roots and red with blood, They brought them hither and bade me eat.
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I dreamed my hawks from my hand had flown, Eager for food to an evil house,
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I dreamed their hearts with honey I ate, Soaked in blood, and heavy my sorrow.
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Hounds I dreamed from my hand are loosed, Loud in hunger and pain they howled.
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Their flesh, methought, was eagerness food, And their bodies now I needs must eat.
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Gutheran spake, Men shall soon of sacrifice speak,
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And off the heads of beasts shall hew, Die they shall ere day is dawned,
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A few nights hence, and the folk shall have them.
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On my bed I sank, nor slumber sought, wary with woe, for well I remember.