This poem is excerpted from Jewel of the Mind, a novel set in northern Europe in the ninth century A.D.

In the novel, the dirge-like "Woe and Behold" is presented by the pop poet, Sylvain. A sophisticated performer (or 'scop,' as the ancient minstrels were called), Sylvain is a wildly popular Southern European artist who periodically tours the barbaric lands of the north. To his many fans, Sylvain is considered to be an expert at the newly-rediscovered art of poetic rhyme. "Woe and Behold" is the superscop's feeble attempt to produce a masterwork that mimics the grandeur of traditional Norse poesy.

This lyric is intended to be comical by virtue of the composer's tin ear... and his outrageously inept mishandling of Norse poetic traditions.

The winter ice my hair-bib froze, and
Sore festooned with bitter snows,
I stood at watch and shook full-free,
My grab-foot iced unto the mast.

Fair land was lost, the storm closed in; no hope
Was left for hearth or kin.
For twenty days the storm cleaned house:
Cloud-clods clocked wanderer on chin.

My sight orbs failed fair earth to see, and thoughts
Hailed back to seasons past.
My mind took tiller in her beak and flew
To pleasant seasons past...
I had to flee, to leave the sea, to sail off -
Borne by tale-wind's blast
T'when life was warm and I, at ease, was just
A lad whipped 'fore the mast.

The tears welled up and turned to ice.
They burned like splinters in my eyes.
My mind flapped loose like yonder sail and
Scattered like the wind or hail
Or maybe not, these present woes.

I said good-bye to sorrows past, to pain
Held fast like walrus pie,
Then, straining, saw beyond the clouds of
Stormy brine a bluer sky.
The sun was warm, and comrade's cries rang out,
And yet I stood, aghast.
How could I flee, and leave the sea,
And sail away to seasons past?
How could I go and say hello except
I die before the mast?

I wrenched me back to here and now, where I,
Who once stood tall and proud,
Shook like green tree-hands in the blow that had
This bull so fully cowed.

Yet I was Reglac, Son of Argulon,
Bane of Bildash the Red-Bearded Scylf,
Scion of Hegelic, Geat-Friend and War-Wielder,
Killer of Dragons,
Untangler of Kelp,
Cousin of Threadgild who stole Otto's hammer.
That was a good trick, ye Warrior of Old!

But my lineage was useless to save me from sea ice;
The cowardly storm's hospitality stank!
Assaulting my post with glass-dart and blow-hammer,
It corked up my bottle: no hope of escape.

I searched the sky, the rain, for signs,
But only yawning gray remained.
And then my eyes fell on the pine: the mast,
Sore lashed by frozen rain.
There I, amazed, rejoiced to find dark runes
Cut deep in hidden folds.

The ice I scraped with frozen blade to
Tell the tell-tale picture-full.
Then to my light-bulbs were revealed these simple words,
"Woe and Behold!"

"Woe and behold," the writhing rune declared
Before my flickering gaze.
My neck-ball whirled; I wot that soon
I now was bound to pass away.
Or was I? Still I read these words:

        Woe and behold who reads these lines
        If all alone he sails and swerves
        Alone,
        Unloved,
        Upon the brine.

"O, this is me! O wretch!" I cried "'Tis I who left my hearth and kin
to take this life-long stormy ride past hope's last reef and back again!"
The bearded mast, still dumb, foretold my foolish end...
Woe and Behold!

My sitting-blubber numb, my furs availing naught,
The wind a blur,
I fell upon my padded side and
Forked an eye toward frozen sky.
A mournful rent did dent my stint, and
I in grief prepared to die.

I drifted long as I did die,
Rain-rocks full-clogging cold face-pearls.
I hardly heard the hearty cries
Of Frisian traders sailing by.
They boarded and bore up my frame, then placed me down
Before a flame
Below their deck, on brasen stilts,
I scarcely saw, or breathed, or felt.

A ruddy prince then bowed to hear
And my lips moved as he drew near.
"An ancient chant," he told his men, and then
Drew close to hear again
And I, my lips blanched blue with cold,
Groaned in his ear, "Woe and Behold!"

At this point, we will let the curtain fall mercifully upon this wretched work.

To view the source of this epic lay, visit the novel, Jewel of the Mind.