Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Rune - Robert E. Howard

Gods of heather, gods of lake,
Bestial fiends of swamp and brake;
White god riding on the moon,
Jackal-jawed, with voice of loon;
Serpent god whose scaly coils
Grasp the Universe in toils;
See the Unseen Sages sit;
See thee council fires alit.
See I stir thee glowing coals,
Toss on manes of seven foals.
Seven foals all golden shod
From thee herds of Alba's god.
Now in numbers one and six?,
Shape and place the magic sticks,
Scented wood brought from afar,
From the land of Morning Star.
Hewn from limbs of sandal-trees,
Brought for o'er thee Eastern Seas.

Sea-snake fangs, see how I fling,
Pinions of a sea-gull's wing.
Now the magic dust I toss,
Men are shadows, life is dross.
Now the flames crawl, ere they blaze,
Now the smokes rise in a haze.

Fanned by far off ocean blast
Leaps the tale of distant past.
Dimly, dimly, glimmers thee starlight,
Over thee heather-hill, over the vale.
Gods of the, Old Land broodo'er the far night,
Things of the darkness ride on the gale.
Now while the fire smolders, while smoke enfolds it,
Now ere it leaps in clear, mystic flame,
Harken once more (else the dark gods withold it)
Hark to the tale of the race without a name.

3.5 out of 5