War Poetry

The Teuton´s Battle Song

The mighty Woden laughs upon his throne,
And once more claims his children for his own.
The voice of Thor resounds again on high,
While arm’d Valkyries ride from out of ths sky:
The Gods of Asgard all their pow’rs released
To rouse the dullard from his dream of peace.
Awake! Ye hypocrites, and deign to scan
the actions of your “brotherhood of Man”.
Could your shrill pipings in the race impair
The warlike impulse put by nature there?
Where now the gentle maxims of the school,
The cant of preachers, and the Golden Rule?
What feeble word or doctrine now can sway?
Too long restrain’d, the bloody tempest breaks,
And Midgard ‘neath the tread of warriors shakes,
On to death, Beserker bold! And try
In acts of Godlike bravery to die!
Who cares to find the heaven of the priest,
When only warriors can with Woden feast?
The flesh of Schrimnir, and the cup of mead,
Are but for him who falls in martial deed:
You luckless boor, that passive meets his end,
May never in Valhalla’s court contend.
( Slay, brothers, slay! And bathe in crimson gore... )