the shining lord of harvest's fresh cut glowing
'neath summer's green boughs speeding came, as shot
from stretched yew sprung from woodland bowers
held fast to the hearts of the glowering boulder's scions
to tumble down, merry down in the downing, the towered tyrants
fall from ruthless grip of hapless men
who held in hapts of fearful fetters
burdened wept, no customs called
to join the breeze's pollen song
on air incense in sweet spring's bliss
to dance the merry Mayful round, in Priap raised,
to praise the prowess of their pleasures
whence all beasts and birds do shake
the frost of wintery rime from coats
and call back in the Floral Queen, the Maiden of Our Heart's Delight,
Sweet Lady of the loins' kiss heartened.
Unknowing, unlivened, their hearts in terror toiled, or dullness
braised in fitless funk and haze,
bogged and swamped and swallowed near-whole,
they trudged and tramped on through the chain-gang.
We were once thus thralled, a state of soul, to which some still do pittance.
Bright Ing's Land's Lord slung thunked zinged shot straight
at chunky fist Damocles-raised above the folk.
Called in, "body guards", strong fists of ruthless kings
abandoned murky desert frosts for pastures green of man's land
now no-man's landed at the terror
of cruel might enraged
and holding lasso o'er the led.
Men forget. So many times, forgetting, trampled over
plains of Balder's broadly bright,
and joy so rightly succulent, ripe,
falls abandoned, bumbling, ungleaned right.
For men remember shadows of once-great lights
and beg the shadows for forgiveness
costly paid in penance ever growing
boldly strapping sinews
debts done never. Frodi filled the folk with loathing
for such wretched grasp of shadows! Boldly! rather, free thyself,
in one fell swoop rejoicing.
Thus, the trains, a trickle first, soon
cavalcades of revels riot
glory's wanton luscious bounty
dancing through the streets unbound
and burnings books of debt and fraud,
accounts of kings were kicked down dust
and kicked the feet in mid-air clicking,
harlequins and gleemen led
the folk in May-rounds uprise moving,
monsters' miser-chains undoing.
From land to land, unbound and blossom,
Zephyr's seed sown past all boundaries,
rollicking, the rise of freedom
surged and mowed down every tyrant.
Proud King Frodi! Antlered crown,
raised the charge, and summer-led the frith-charged revels.
The call of freedom's frith will not be held back
by land nor sea, flag nor forest,
lust, life luscious, surges, roils,
froths afoamy like ocean wave
or loins' sweet, fresh, unstoppable spray.
Breathe. The festival is life,
the soil's toil but sweet foreplay.
Roll in the fields, a lovers' romp ;
the work of joining hands with Nerthus
bringing forth the bosom's fruits
is made more merry by the boasts
and toasts of banquet's heartfelt oaths of love.
Frodi calls. Hear the horn, Njord's conch-shell given,
echo deep in cavern's dark thrall trogs.
Hear the clarion call.
Robin wants the sheriff's downfall.
It's time for mirth, it's time for glee.
The monster's devil schedules damned!
Break down the fortress! Revel's clan
calls, calls, calls. Would you blaspheme Frodi?
Worldwide freedom wakes from slumber
out from toil, into empires
of peace and plenty, joy and jolly, sex
These are the empires worth serving. All else falls
before the call.
Hail Frodi! Blessed, antlered, shining Freyr!!