Jonas Hallgrimsson Poems

Our land of lakes forever fair
below blue mountain summits,
of swans, of salmon leaping where
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am the speeding
spark of light
flung by God
from the forge of Chaos.
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The star of love
over Steeple Rock
is cloaked in clouds of night.
It laughed, once, from heaven
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Iceland, fortunate isle! Our beautiful, bountiful mother!
Where are your fortune and fame, freedom and virtue of old?
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I just don't enjoy Moon Island,
jolly though it can be
when boisterous breakers wallop
the beach right next to me.
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Queen of all our country's mountains,
crowned with snow sublime and pure!
Once you poured from fiery fountains
floods of lava down the moor.
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Brimming springtime brings from sleep
brooks with jaunty prattle,
shaping life anew in sheep --
shepherds too! -- and cattle.
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They left their sad young sister
and sailed for many a mile:
brothers going birding
and bound for Kolbeinn's Isle.
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The sun climbs
from cool streams
of eastern seas
to oust the night.
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Out under Eagle Mountain,
where ice lies broad and bright --
don't imagine I dreamed this! --
some Danes made camp last night
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