Eyvandr strode upon the field
To honor all the lists—
And challenged Woodsende’s mighty blade
That once won him the Mists.
Now, while Eyvandr’s shield was strong
And stout was his defense,
Sir Robert finally laid him low
To end the round’s suspense.
With mortal wound, he rose again,
Half dead upon his feet,
And to the field he turned his steps
For Leothulf he’d meet.
His sword flew hard ‘gainst white wolf’s leg,
And lamed would slay him dead,
But wolf swung true with higher aim
And took Eyvandr’s head.
Eyvandr laid upon the field
For all the Mists to mourn.
He nobly lived and nobly fought
And from us he was torn.
But do not weep and do not fret,
Though here he cannot dwell—
For, with the Valk’ries tender care,
Valhalla’s far from Hell.
"Mists Fall Coronet, October A.S. 38" -- Leah Raedaelf of Pagham
The West Kingdom History Website was created by and is maintained by Hirsch von Henford (mka Ken Mayer).