Stories are told about the great Sea Kings
Who braved bitter strife in the years of our elders;
The sons of the Mighty, not once drawing back,
Their blood-whetted swords stirring war's Phyrric pitch.

Dreaded in battle, the Sea Kings of old
Poured molten death upon ashen-faced strangers
And built to the heavens goodfires of conquest
That sent crimson sparks dancing upward in triumph!

Spent weapons, once wielded by valorous princes,
fed fires that feasted on spear shaft and helmet.
Brasen shields, throbbing hot, swooned in weak, fevered fealty
To gush flaming streams down their pyres of joy.
Burning steel sifted through ruby fingers of flame
To find rest in the earth with shieldbearer and thane.

The greatest of Healf-Scylfs, the chief of their kind,
King Vigmarr grew strong in the land of the Sea Kings.
He hunted the hills of the harsh mountain coastlands
And waxed great in wisdom, in honor and strength.

Hope melted like wax before Vigmarr's dread hosts
As if breathed on by fire, and the strength
Of his victims poured out with their lives
Into the waterways, mingled with burnings.
Detritus of kingdoms, bones, ashes, and blood,
Slid to the sea with the dust of their dreams.

Holding by hand the young and the helpless
Vigmarr sheltered the weak and encouraged the strong;
Leading his hosts to the homelands of strangers,
He conquered strong kings to make sport with their crowns.

Many a good night was spent in the mead hall
Recounting his battles in light's golden glow.
Lulled by the warmth, safe from the howling
As snow-billows roared on the ocean of night,
The mighty men rested within the fair haven:
Moored to the food-board, full-stocking their mead-holds,
They took weighty ballast, shared in his abundance.
A generous man and a good king was he!

No valiant earl wanted for armor or gems
When Ingeld's son, Vigmarr, shared treasure and mead!