United States or Yemen ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Smiled from the cloud-eaves out Allfather Odin, Waiting the battle-sport: Freya stood by him. 'Who are these heroes tall Lusty-limbed Longbeards? Over the swans' bath Why cry they to me? Bones should be crashing fast, Wolves should be full-fed, Where'er such, mad-hearted, Swing hands in the sword-play.
He shook his head. "They are in the hands of the true Allfather," he answered. "I cannot tell more than that. It is enough." "I have heard it said," I went on, for here was somewhat which troubled me, "that you Christians hold that we worship fiends that the Asir are such." "That were to wrong the heroes of the past, my son," he answered.
Smiles out each morning thence Odin Allfather; From under the cloud-eaves, Smiles out on the heroes, Smiles out on chaste housewives all, Smiles on the brood-mares, Smiles on the smith's work: And theirs is the sword-luck, With them is the glory So Odin hath sworn it Who first in the morning Shall meet him and greet him. Still the Alruna wept 'Who then shall greet him?
Royally laughed he then; Dear was that craft to him, Odin Allfather, Shaking the clouds. 'Cunning are women all, Bold and importunate! Longbeards their name shall be, Ravens shall thank them: Where the women are heroes, What must the men be like? Theirs is the victory; No need of me! 'There! said Wulf, when the song was ended; 'is that cool enough for you?
Rolling and reeking decks have known him, and falling walls, and shrieks, and flames mounting skyward, and viking sagas, and drinking-songs roared from brass throats, and terrible hymns to Odin Allfather in the midwatches of Northern nights. He had called upon me shortly after his arrival, his ostensible reason being my work among his mill-people. I think he liked me, later.
In the "Prose Edda," Hor replies to Gangler who is asking him about the board and lodgings of the heroes who had gone to Odin in Valhalla, and whether they had anything but water to drink in huge disdain, inquiring of Gangler whether he supposed that the Allfather would invite kings and jarls and other great men, and give them nothing to drink but water.
There she sat from age to age, listening to the thunder of ten thousand thousand tramping feet, and watching the fierce faces of the chosen as they marched out in armies to do battle in the meads. And as she sat, at length a one-eyed man, clad in gleaming garments, drew near and spoke to her. He was glorious to look on, and old, and she knew him for Odin the Allfather.
Father, Word and Holy Breath. Allfather, the heavenly man. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the beautiful, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment. This verily is that. I am the fire upon the altar. I am the sacrificial butter. Dunlop, Judge, the noblest Roman of them all, A.E., Arval, the Name Ineffable, in heaven hight: K.H., their master, whose identity is no secret to adepts.
Once more we grow respectful in the presence of pure womanhood, or melancholy before the sorrows and problems of life, or humbly confident, looking up to the God whom they dared to call the Allfather. All these and many more intensely real emotions pass through our souls as we read the few shining fragments of verses that the jealous ages have left us. It is so with any age or people.
Word Of The Day