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The Norwegian Rune Poem

Here you have both alliterative Fornyrðislag meter, and end rhyme.

Fé vældr frænda róge;
fðesk ulfr í skóge.

Úr er af illu jarne;
opt lypr ræinn á hjarne.

Þurs vældr kvinna kvillu;
kátr værðr fár af illu.

Óss er flæstra færða för;
en skalpr er sværða.

Ræið kveða rossom væsta;
Reginn sló sværðet bæzta.

Kaun er barna bölvan;
böl görver nán fölvan.

Hagall er kaldastr korna;
Kristr skóp hæimenn forna.

Nauðr gerer næppa koste;
nöktan kælr í froste.

Ís köllum brú bræiða;
blindan þarf at læiða.

Ár er gumna góðe;
get ek at örr var Fróðe.

Sól er landa ljóme;
lúti ek helgum dóme.

Týr er æinendr ása;
opt værðr smiðr blása.

Bjarkan er laufgroenstr líma;
Loki bar flærða tíma.

Maðr er moldar auki;
mikil er græip á hauki.

Lögr er, fællr ór fjalle foss;
en gull ero nosser.

Ýr er vetrgroenstr viða;
vænt er, er brennr, at sviða.

Translation:

Wealth is a source of discord among kinsmen;
the wolf lives in the forest.

Dross comes from bad iron;
the reindeer often races over the frozen snow.

Giant causes anguish to women;
misfortune makes few men cheerful.

Estuary is the way of most journeys;
but a scabbard is of swords.

Riding is said to be the hardest for horses;
Reginn forged the finest sword.

Ulcer is fatal to children;
death makes a corpse pale.

Hail is the coldest of grain;
Christ created the world of old.

Need gives scant choice;
a naked man is chilled by the frost.

Ice we call the broad bridge;
the blind man must be led.

Harvest is a boon to men;
I say that Froði was generous.

Sun is the light of the world;
I bow to the divine decree.

Týr is a one-handed God;
often has the smith to blow.

Birch has the greenest leaves of any shrub;
Loki was fortunate in his deceit.

Man is an augmentation of the dust;
great is the talon-span of the hawk.

Waterfall is a River falling from a mountain;
but ornaments are of gold.

Yew is the greenest of trees in winter;
it is wont to crackle when it burns.
"Ragnarök"
    It sates itself on the life-blood
    of fated men,
    paints red the powers' homes
    with crimson gore.
    Black become the sun's beams
    in the summers that follow,
    weathers all treacherous.

    Do you still seek to know? And what?
    
Brothers will fight
    and **** each other,
    sisters' children
    will defile kinship.
    It is harsh in the world,
    whoredom rife
    —an axe age, a sword age
    —shields are riven—
    a wind age, a wolf age—
    before the world goes headlong.
    No man will have
    mercy on another.
Sometimes wish it will come already

— The End —