The Shield-Wall



Five hundred men are by my side-
And each with fury rising-
Against a foe we shall decide-
The Powers thus dividing.

Each of us are ready here-
To fight until the end-
A Deathly shadow that they fear-
And each of us a friend.

My Wallace Blade is at my waist-
Its size shall not but stall me-
Instead, with saxe I lay waste-
To rivals all who call me.

This day I stand with blade in hand-
My shield firm I'm gripping-
So here we make a final stand-
At corpses Serpents ripping.

The call is sounded, I prepare-
The shields interlocking-
The spears all held before them there-
So perfect then, for blocking.

And as we all charge madly forth-
The following rows are ready-
We are the Viking sons of North-
Our courage holding steady.

At first the impact harsh and sick-
My shield takes an axe-
A fast return, the blow is quick-
My shield boss attacks.

The Song of Sword and Axe and Hammer-
Ringing loud and clear-
A pommel strikes, and back I stammer-
A sword cuts close and near.

Forced right back up my shield firm-
My axe it hooks and pulls-
Shields taken down, a term-
On bones the steel dulls.

A Moment passes quickly by-
As ten more fall down dead-
My comrades laughing as they die-
The rivers running red.

In Agony, the screams they sound-
My saxe cuts and slashes-
As more dead bodies hit the ground-
And as my hammer crashes.

The soil turns a grotesque mud-
As people slip and fall-
Slipping in the gore and blood-
The Horror seen by all.

And as I raise my hammer high-
Crushing people under-
Heavy steel, as they die-
The bodies torn asunder.

The terrifying, wretched screams-
In agony they wonder-
They clash of blades, at least it seems-
Booming loud like thunder.

Against an axe, the chain male breaks-
And rips apart like water-
An arrow that a jerkin takes-
Continuing the slaughter.

The primal thing that is called "Man"-
An enemy recovers-
The walls are pressing closer than-
Young adolescent lovers.

And as we struggle, gaining ground-
And they that Life forsakes-
Our battle cry, the only sound-
As their shield wall breaks.

From that point on, now unrelenting-
By hundreds they are wasted-
My long-sword drawn, I kill unending-
The Blood on Steel tasted.

I throw away my shield fast-
Both hands to wield my blade-
My sword cuts down and kills the last-
My fame in slaughter made.

And when it at last, is finally done-
Eight-hundred men lie dead-
And Glorious, the battle won-
A Legacy of dread.