The Great Heathen Army Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The 'Old Boar' fell in Northumbria's mud,
But the 'piglets' arrived for a river of blood.
No longer a raiding, a hit-and-run strife,
They came for the land; they came for the life.

From the mist of the East, the dragon-heads rose,
A forest of masts where the cold current flows.
Not dozens, but thousands, with shields painted red,
By the sons of the Hairy-Breeched legend they're led.

Ivar the strategist, bone-less and cold,
With a mind like a trap and a spirit so bold.
Bjorn of the Ironside, Halfdan and Ubba,
Carving their names into Wessex and Luba.

Through York's stone gates and the East Anglian grain,
The 'Raven Banner' flew over the slain.
The kingdoms of England, once fractured and small,
Felt the weight of the Northmen, the rise of the thrall.

The Danelaw was carved with the edge of the blade,
A new map of Britain in iron was made.
For Ragnar they marched, for the saga they bled,
A nation reborn from the ghost of the dead.

T.M.Solvang