The Wild Ride of Yule

ASGAARDSREIEN

by

Johan Sebastian Welhaven

Sounds through the air at night a train

on foaming black horses.

In storm-driven rush the wild throngs go;

they have only clouds for foothold.

They go over valley, over field and moor,

through darkness and weather; they notice it not.

The traveler throws himself terrified on the road.

Hear what roaring — it is the Wild Ride of Asgard!

Thor, the strong, with lifted hammer,

stands high in his chariot, at the front of the host;

he strikes on his shield, and red flames

light up the nightly procession at the front.

Then horns blow, then there is a clamor

of bells and jingling riding gear;

then the swarming host howls and the people listen

with growing fear in their trembling huts.

The Wild Ride of Asgard in battle array rides

in harsh nights of autumn and winter,

but especially it travels at Yuletide;

then it holds revel with trolls and giants,

then it sweeps low over meadow and path

and races past the noisy countryside —

so watch yourself, farmer, keep custom and order;

for the Wild Ride of Asgard is soon at the farm!

When the ale works in the living-room beam

and awakens the heathen Yuletide customs,

and the fire casts its glow from the hearth

on drawn knives and wild eyes,

then a shudder goes through the tumult often;

then are heard the nightly host’s rides,

then the wall creaks, then the mug dances;

for the Wild Ride of Asgard makes a ring around the house.

There was a wedding at Upper Flage

that lasted through three holy Yuletide days.

Among the bridesmaids was no kinswoman of the bride,

and among the young men no kin of the groom.

There stood a splendor in the polished hall

of laid tables and precious metal,

there was a treasure, as has come to be told,

of copper on the walls and of silver on the tables.

And merrily drummed the drums and fiddles,

and the groom stepped his dance manfully;

he led his bride between young men and girls —

then, suddenly, Grim fell over.

And blood streamed widely from his breast.

The harder the two others wrestled

and held each other by the scruff.

At last the groom was set down on the ground,

and the knife already at his throat.

But Wolf held back and stood stunned,

and quavered and trembled like aspen leaves.

For through the air in the gloom rushed

a whooshing train on snorting horses;

it sped over the forest toward the bridal house,

and intended to visit the bloody feast.

Then horns blew, then there was a clamor

of bells and jingling riding gear.

Now it was near — it came over the moor —

there was a scream: “It is the Wild Ride of Asgard!”

Then there was a storm between earth and heaven,

that threw terror into every breast;

it hurled along in increasing throngs,

it struck with wings, it seized with arms.

Then it was Wolf who was dragged by his hair,

and flung in the air and taken from the farm,

yes, taken over forest, over mountain peaks —

he was not asked again, he was not to be found.

When the tumult died down at the scene of terror,

Grim lay curled up from his death struggle,

but the groom was led inside from the snow

and set upon a couch in the guest room.

His head wavered, his bloodstream flowed,

he hovered a while between life and death;

but he was tended and well bandaged,

and by spring he had regained all.

Now he sits bent and well old,

and can gather his kin about the hearth,

now he often sits with tales in the company

and shortens time for young and old.

So it was that last Yuletide eve,

when the youth cried: “Tell, tell!”

Then his eyes flamed, then he looked back,

then he recounted his wedding days.