Ealdor Of The Saxons - Poem by Franc Rodriguez
The far tidings of the wrath of the king,
had reached the thorps of the Norsemen.
And forty years had dwined into the mist,
since a wanton madness before was felt.
The dread had suddenly become a threat,
which was to frighten women and children.
It was said in the darken abode of the dead,
the wretched thurse no longer there dwelt.
And thus under the might of King Afvaldr,
the kingdoms of the clans were wielded.
And through his ruthless greed and need,
he crushed his foes within the fortnight.
He unfastened the wicked ent of berserker,
as the kinsfolk through fear folded.
His baleful drights would slay and shend,
without ruth and thus wrecked with might.
Under the wroth behest of a wode heathen,
his evil grip on the clans made them fret.
But soon from beyond the broad wealds,
would come a heleth amidst the warriors.
From the clans a mettlesome waif rose up,
and durst the drights of wearg they met.
A young Saxon weaned amongst the clans,
stirred the freemen to become his followers.
He would egg the throngs of thanes as well,
to follow him as he began to slay the drights.
The word of his sigs over the evil heres,
raught therefore the kinsfolk and the king.
Shamed and wearisome of the losses he sent,
his most beloved fierd beyond the heights.
And upon the knoll of one wistful morning,
they would meet them as the men would sing.
Agmundr the kemp came to free the thorps,
from the bloody grasp of the King Afvaldr.
Only the kingdom from within the tall firgen,
stood left as the stronghold of his kingdom.
And swiftly the guth began and the knolls,
strew with the dead as it became colder.
Agmundr then stood before the bold heathen,
who in the end was to lack much wisdom.
His name was Ulfarr and the grette of an ent,
who was a berserker found among the cove.
He would stare down upon his smaller foe,
and glared then into his eyes with a tease.
The daring Saxon then durst him to a clash,
that became much bolder as they strove.
And the foolish thurse chuckled and warned,
that the Saxon’s heart he would seize.
The Saxon did not cowered amid his brawn,
and he once again durst the thurse to fight.
He laughed at the ent and wielded his sword,
as he grabbed his hilt to slay the heathen.
The fiery ent was not skented any more,
for his anger would be felt upon the light.
He grabbed his axe to smash the youngling,
as he had come to do with his brethren.
He then came toward him with a loud roar,
as he sought to slay the brazen Saxon.
The breme Saxon sliced the toe of the ent,
and thus he slew him with his whetted axe.
The mighty thurse would tumble and fall,
onto the ground as his yell would waxen.
And his dright then scurried into the mist,
as the body of the ent lain after two hacks.
Dead was the mighty thurse who agrised,
the thorps with his evil drights once before.
A strong thump and soon a bellowing roar,
he heard as the men lifted up their swords.
They drunk upon the sundry horns of mead,
as they then reached the kingdom of Alfvadr.
Alfvadr was slain and therefore a new king,
bore the frithstool foretold in words.
The souls of the slain were to be wreaked,
by a great hiel from the ilk of the kinsmen.
Hence Agmundr had become the new king,
as he bonded the Saxons, Jutes and Frisians.
For sixty long years he would come to wield,
the everlasting lands of the brave Norsemen.
His name would live in the lore of the elders,
as thus was begotten, the ealdor of the Saxons.
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