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We were roaming through the Black head |
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Hungry and tired looking for food, |
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When we saw an old and thin deer |
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And we dreamt cooked flesh with beer, |
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We held in tight in our hand the spear, |
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Like the mind it fled with its fear. |
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Nine warriors were at my side, |
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Everyone incarnation of pride |
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Together with my two hounds for that day, |
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Still no food we had found, |
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With our usual defiance |
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The hunt carried on for more preys |
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Thirsty spears shone. |
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Warrior and bard poetry |
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Runs through your heart |
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Enchant and dazes you |
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Lower your blade. |
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On our path we boldly walked forth |
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When a red braded deer |
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From the north swiftly stood |
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Before eager eyes, |
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To attack we all mobilized, |
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But even the hounds stood still at my cry: |
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"Leave that deer for he should die!" |
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Baffled eyes turned towards me |
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All admired my pure ecstasy, |
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With calm I sang my poetry |
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For its beauty my will should let be, |
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With my words all hearts were bestowed, |
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Poetry's power I mystically showed. |
