Bode of the soothsayer Poem by Franc Rodriguez
From beyond the knolls of the wider dale,
was born a bairn from within the Saxons.
The might of the Saxons overcame soon,
the brazen uprisings of the Picts still left.
The blood of the Picts was strewn amain,
by the coming of the horde of Frisians.
And the sons of Agmundr became greedy,
as they opened amongst the clans a cleft.
But through the dwale of their selfish greed,
they would soon come to be overwhelmed.
And the wise elders had come to warn them,
about a dright that would shend their abode.
They bespoke the coming of a soothsayer,
as they would wither but be whelmed.
He would foretell of the rise of a new king,
and bring upon the Saxons a dreaded bode.
And before the kings would come one day,
a sedeful freeman by the name of Gunnvaldr.
He thus would warn the Kings of the Saxons,
that doom would befall as they feared.
And the almighty Gods would swench them,
for the great lost of wuldor of Agmundr.
His highborn sons would not dare to listen,
to his foreshadowing of the Saxon’s werd.
For fifty days and nights their ruthless fierds,
burned the thorps of the Picts onto barrows.
And a blustery storm would strike the shale,
as the storm would bring the fearsome flood.
Their wrath would be wrecked by the Gods,
through the whetted swords and arrows.
Henceforth the hierds of the baleful lords,
agrised in gryre as they would shed blood.
The harrowing flood overflooded the ground,
and the thorps of the Saxons were doomed.
For forty days and nights the waters flowed,
onto the lands like huge whirlpools of death.
The wails of the drown souls became so shrill,
as they wafted in the sea with bodies strewed.
The sons of Agmundr would seek the freeman,
as their homes were swallowed up by the earth.
They sought to end at last the dreadful curse,
and they beseeched him to lift the ugly spell.
The freeman would come to tell them first,
that they would have to forego their wealth,
They scoffed and spurned the thorfast words,
that the freeman had come to warn and tell.
Thenceforth the curse stayed and dretched,
and it wrested what was left their health.
Quickly they found themselves much frow,
that they had wallowed like poor wretches.
Dishevelled they called on the freeman anew,
to lift upon the kinsfolk the spell at once.
The freeman would come to queth the same,
and the Gods would glower from the ledges.
But this time they would fathom his words,
and the Gods spared the Saxons for nonce.
Yet it would not come within the long years,
to shirk the coming of a new mighty fierd.
It was a fierd that would overswithe them,
and stride rathe upon the winds of the brine.
And the bode of the soothsayer would come,
to foresee the truth that lain beyond their erd.
The doleful sooth of their mighty downfall,
as the ealdor of the Saxons ended in time.
Franc Rodriguez's Other Poems
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