Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Ottar’s Tribute- Jon Cyr


This poem was presented to a local group of heathens by Jon Cyr along with the great Icelandic sheep that sired his flock.  The sheep was sacrificed in blót and this poem was dedicated to him.  His horns were fashioned into drinking horns that are used only for ceremony purpose.
Curling and wide,
His crown of power,
Guarded in wool,
The wide muscled chest.
Holding his head,
Both high and proud,
A noble beast,
Now borne away.

The one dethroned,
Though worthy still,
The guardian strong,
Gone to the knife.
I’ll miss those eyes,
Always watching,
Bright golden orbs,
Brilliantly staring.

The coveted locks,
By crafters wanted,
His coat of warmth,
The weavers’ desire.
Deep bellied voice,
Valiant and pure,
No longer the song,
Sung to his ewes.

I cannot conceive,
Or call to mind,
A better way,
This one to thank.
Gods and Goddess,
Gifted with feast,
A tribute to Ottar,
To honor the lord.

Evergreen sprig,
Dipped into the bowl,
His regal blood,
Around the horg.
On God-staves flecked,
And gathered folk,
Luck you will bring,
Lending us strength.

I’ll toast my kin,
And call the names,
Of Ancestors gone,
To All-father’s halls.
The mead so sweet,
The memory drink,
In twisted horns,
Of hallowed ram.