{"collection":"Classics","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/cla/north/havamal.htm","path":"cla/north/havamal.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/cla/north/havamal.htm","text":"Young and alone on a long road,\nOnce I lost my way:\nRich I felt when I found another;\nMan rejoices in man,\nA kind word need not cost much,\nThe price of praise can be cheap:\nWith half a loaf and an empty cup\nI found myself a friend,\nTwo wooden stakes stood on the plain,\nOn them I hung my clothes:\nDraped in linen, they looked well born,\nBut, naked, I was a nobody\nToo early to many homes I came,\nToo late, it seemed, to some:\nThe ale was finished or else un-brewed,\nThe unpopular cannot please,\nSome would invite me to visit their homes,\nBut none thought I needed a meal,\nAs though I had eaten a whole joint,\nJust before with a friend who had two\nThe man who stands at a strange threshold,\nShould be cautious before he cross it,\nGlance this way and that:\nWho knows beforehand what foes may sit\nAwaiting him in the hall?\nGreetings to the host,\nThe guest has arrived,\nIn which seat shall he sit?\nRash is he who at unknown doors\nRelies on his good luck,\nFire is needed by the newcomer\nWhose knees are frozen numb;\nMeat and clean linen a man needs\nWho has fared across the fells,\nWater, too, that he may wash before eating,\nHandcloth's and a hearty welcome,\nCourteous words, then courteous silence\nThat he may tell his tale,\nWho travels widely needs his wits about him,\nThe stupid should stay at home:\nThe ignorant man is often laughed at\nWhen he sits at meat with the sage,\nOf his knowledge a man should never boast,\nRather be sparing of speech\nWhen to his house a wiser comes:\nSeldom do those who are silent Make mistakes;\nmother wit Is ever a faithful friend,\nA guest should be courteous\nWhen he comes to the table\nAnd sit in wary silence,\nHis ears attentive,\nhis eyes alert:\nSo he protects himself,\nFortunate is he who is favoured in his lifetime\nWith praise and words of wisdom:\nEvil counsel is often given\nBy those of evil heart,\nBlessed is he who in his own lifetime\nIs awarded praise and wit,\nFor ill counsel is often given\nBy mortal men to each other,\nBetter gear than good sense\nA traveller cannot carry,\nBetter than riches for a wretched man,\nFar from his own home,\nBetter gear than good sense\nA traveller cannot carry,\nA more tedious burden than too much drink\nA traveller cannot carry,\nLess good than belief would have it\nIs mead for the sons of men:\nA man knows less the more he drinks,\nBecomes a befuddled fool,\nI-forget is the name men give the heron\nWho hovers over the fast:\nFettered I was in his feathers that night,\nWhen a guest in Gunnlod's court\nDrunk I got, dead drunk,\nWhen Fjalar the wise was with me:\nBest is the banquet one looks back on after,\nAnd remembers all that happened,\nSilence becomes the Son of a prince,\nTo be silent but brave in battle:\nIt befits a man to be merry and glad\nUntil the day of his death,\nThe coward believes he will live forever\nIf he holds back in the battle,\nBut in old age he shall have no peace\nThough spears have spared his limbs\nWhen he meets friends, the fool gapes,\nIs shy and sheepish at first,\nThen he sips his mead and immediately\nAll know what an oaf he is,\nHe who has seen and suffered much,\nAnd knows the ways of the world,\nWho has travelled', can tell what spirit\nGoverns the men he meets,\nDrink your mead, but in moderation,\nTalk sense or be silent:\nNo man is called discourteous who goes\nTo bed at an early hour\nA gluttonous man who guzzles away\nBrings sorrow on himself:\nAt the table of the wise he is taunted often,\nMocked for his bloated belly,\nThe herd knows its homing time,\nAnd leaves the grazing ground:\nBut the glutton never knows how much\nHis belly is able to hold,\nAn ill tempered, unhappy man\nRidicules all he hears,\nMakes fun of others, refusing always\nTo see the faults in himself\nFoolish is he who frets at night,\nAnd lies awake to worry'\nA weary man when morning comes,\nHe finds all as bad as before,\nThe fool thinks that those who laugh\nAt him are all his friends,\nUnaware when he sits with wiser men\nHow ill they speak of him.\nThe fool thinks that those who laugh\nAt him are all his friends:\nWhen he comes to the Thing and calls for support,\nFew spokesmen he finds\nThe fool who fancies he is full of wisdom\nWhile he sits by his hearth at home.\nQuickly finds when questioned by others .\nThat he knows nothing at all.\nThe ignorant booby had best be silent\nWhen he moves among other men,\nNo one will know what a nit-wit he is\nUntil he begins to talk;\nNo one knows less what a nit-wit he is\nThan the man who talks too much.\nTo ask well, to answer rightly,\nAre the marks of a wise man:\nMen must speak of men's deeds,\nWhat happens may not be hidden.\nWise is he not who is never silent,\nMouthing meaningless words:\nA glib tongue that goes on chattering\nSings to its own harm.\nA man among friends should not mock another:\nMany believe the man\nWho is not questioned to know much\nAnd so he escapes their scorn.\nAn early meal a man should take\nBefore he visits friends,\nLest, when he gets there,\nhe go hungry,\nAfraid to ask for food.\nThe fastest friends may fall out\nWhen they sit at the banquet-board:\nIt is, and shall be, a shameful thing\nWhen guest quarrels with guest,\nThe wise guest has his way of dealing\nWith those who taunt him at table:\nHe smiles through the meal,\nnot seeming to hear\nThe twaddle talked by his foes.\nThe tactful guest will take his leave Early,\nnot linger long:\nHe starts to stink who outstays his welcome\nIn a hall that is not his own.\nA small hut of one' s own is better,\nA man is his master at home:\nA couple of goats and a corded roof\nStill are better than begging.\nA small hut of one's own is better,\nA man is his master at home:\nHis heart bleeds in the beggar who must\nAsk at each meal for meat.\nA wayfarer should not walk unarmed,\nBut have his weapons to hand:\nHe knows not when he may need a spear,\nOr what menace meet on the road.\nNo man is so generous he will jib at accepting\nA gift in return for a gift,\nNo man so rich that it really gives him\nPain to be repaid.\nOnce he has won wealth enough,\nA man should not crave for more:\nWhat he saves for friends, foes may take;\nHopes are often liars.\nWith presents friends should please each other,\nWith a shield or a costly coat:\nMutual giving makes for friendship,\nSo long as life goes well,\nA man should be loyal through life to friends,\nTo them and to friends of theirs,\nBut never shall a man make offer\nOf friendship to his foes.\nA man should be loyal through life to friends,\nAnd return gift for gift,\nLaugh when they laugh,\nbut with lies repay\nA false foe who lies.\nIf you find a friend you fully trust\nAnd wish for his good-will,\nexchange thoughts,\nexchange gifts,\nGo often to his house.\nIf you deal with another you don't trust\nBut wish for his good-will,\nBe fair in speech but false in thought\nAnd give him lie for lie.\nEven with one you ill-trust\nAnd doubt what he means to do,\nFalse words with fair smiles\nMay get you the gift you desire.\nTo a false friend the footpath winds\nThough his house be on the highway.\nTo a sure friend there is a short cut,\nThough he live a long way off.\nHotter than fire among false hearts burns\nFriendship for five days,\nBut suddenly slackens when the sixth dawns:\nFeeble their friendship then.\nThe generous and bold have the best lives,\nAre seldom beset by cares,\nBut the base man sees bogies everywhere\nAnd the miser pines for presents.\nThe young fir that falls and rots\nHaving neither needles nor bark,\nSo is the fate of the friendless man:\nWhy should he live long?\nLittle a sand-grain, little a dew drop,\nLittle the minds of men:\nAll men are not equal in wisdom,\nThe half-wise are everywhere\nIt is best for man to be middle-wise,\nNot over cunning and clever:\nThe fairest life is led by those\nWho are deft at all they do.\nIt is best for man to be middle-wise,\nNot over cunning and clever:\nNo man is able to know his future,\nSo let him sleep in peace.\nIt is best for man to be middle-wise,\nNot over cunning and clever:\nThe learned man whose lore is deep\nIs seldom happy at heart.\nBrand kindles brand till they burn out,\nFlame is quickened by flame:\nOne man from another is known by his speech\nThe simpleton by his silence.\nEarly shall he rise who has designs\nOn anothers land or life:\nHis prey escapes the prone wolf,\nThe sleeper is seldom victorious.\nEarly shall he rise who rules few servants,\nAnd set to work at once:\nMuch is lost by the late sleeper,\nWealth is won by the swift.\nA man should know how many logs\nAnd strips of bark from the birch\nTo stock in autumn, that he may have enough\nWood for his winter fires.\nWashed and fed,\none may fare to the Thing:\nThough one's clothes be the worse for Wear,\nNone need be ashamed of his shoes or hose,\nNor of the horse he owns,\nAlthough no thoroughbred.\nAs the eagle who comes to the ocean shore,\nSniffs and hangs her head,\nDumfounded is he who finds at the Thing\nNo supporters to plead his case.\nIt is safe to tell a secret to one,\nRisky to tell it to two,\nTo tell it to three is thoughtless folly,\nEveryone else will know.\nOften words uttered to another\nHave reaped an ill harvest:\nTwo beat one, the tongue is head's bane,\nPockets of fur hide fists.\nModerate at council should a man be,\nNot brutal and over bearing:\nAmong the bold the bully will find\nOthers as bold as he.\nThese things are thought the best:\nFire, the sight of the sun,\nGood health with the gift to keep it,\nAnd a life that avoids vice.\nNot all sick men are utterly wretched:\nSome are blessed with sons,\nSome with friends,\nsome with riches,\nSome with worthy works.\nThe halt can manage a horse,\nthe handless a flock,\nThe deaf be a doughty fighter,\nTo be blind is better than to burn on a pyre:\nThere is nothing the dead can do.\nIt is always better to be alive,\nThe living can keep a cow.\nFire, I saw, warming a wealthy man,\nWith a cold corpse at his door.\nA son is a blessing, though born late\nTo a father no longer alive:\nStones would seldom stand by the highway\nIf sons did not set them there.\nHe welcomes the night who has enough provisions\nShort are the sails of a ship,\nDangerous the dark in autumn,\nThe wind may veer within five days,\nAnd many times in a month.\nThe half wit does not know that gold\nMakes apes of many men:\nOne is rich, one is poor\nThere is no blame in that.\nCattle die, kindred die,\nEvery man is mortal:\nBut the good name never dies\nOf one who has done well\nCattle die, kindred die,\nEvery man is mortal:\nBut I know one thing that never dies,\nThe glory of the great dead\nFields and flocks had Fitjung's sons,\nWho now carry begging bowls:\nWealth may vanish in the wink of an eye,\nGold is the falsest of friends.\nIn the fool who acquires cattle and lands,\nOr wins a woman's love,\nHis wisdom wanes with his waxing pride,\nHe sinks from sense to conceit.\nNow is answered what you ask of the runes,\nGraven by the gods,\nMade by the All Father,\nSent by the powerful sage:\nlt. is best for man to remain silent.\nFor these things give thanks at nightfall:\nThe day gone, a guttered torch,\nA sword tested, the troth of a maid,\nIce crossed, ale drunk.\nHew wood in wind-time,\nin fine weather sail,\nTell in the night-time tales to house-girls,\nFor too many eyes are open by day:\nFrom a ship expect speed, from a shield, cover,\nKeenness from a sword,\nbut a kiss from a girl.\nDrink ale by the hearth, over ice glide,\nBuy a stained sword, buy a starving mare\nTo fatten at home: and fatten the watch-dog.\nTrust not an acre early sown,\nNor praise a son too soon:\nWeather rules the acre, wit the son,\nBoth are exposed to peril,\nA snapping bow, a burning flame,\nA grinning wolf, a grunting boar,\nA raucous crow, a rootless tree,\nA breaking wave, a boiling kettle,\nA flying arrow, an ebbing tide,\nA coiled adder, the ice of a night,\nA bride's bed talk, a broad sword,\nA bear's play, a prince' s children,\nA witch' s welcome, the wit of a slave,\nA sick calf, a corpse still fresh,\nA brother's killer encountered upon\nThe highway a house half-burned,\nA racing stallion who has wrenched a leg,\nAre never safe: let no man trust them.\nNo man should trust a maiden's words,\nNor what a woman speaks:\nSpun on a wheel were women's hearts,\nIn their breasts was implanted caprice,\nTo love a woman whose ways are false\nIs like sledding over slippery ice\nWith unshod horses out of control,\nBadly trained two-year-olds,\nOr drifting rudderless on a rough sea,\nOr catching a reindeer with a crippled hand\nOn a thawing hillside: think not to do it.\nNaked I may speak now for I know both:\nMen are treacherous too\nFairest we speak when falsest we think:\nmany a maid is deceived.\nGallantly shall he speak and gifts bring\nWho wishes for woman's love:\npraise the features of the fair girl,\nWho courts well will conquer.\nNever reproach another for his love:\nIt happens often enough\nThat beauty ensnares with desire the wise\nWhile the foolish remain unmoved.\nNever reproach the plight of another,\nFor it happens to many men:\nStrong desire may stupefy heroes,\nDull the wits of the wise\nThe mind alone knows what is near the heart,\nEach is his own judge:\nThe worst sickness for a wise man\nIs to crave what he cannot enjoy.\nSo I learned when I sat in the reeds,\nHoping to have my desire:\nLovely was the flesh of that fair girl,\nBut nothing I hoped for happened.\nI saw on a bed Billing's daughter,\nSun white, asleep:\nNo greater delight I longed for then\nThan to lie in her lovely arms.\n\"Come\" Odhinn, after nightfall\nIf you wish for a meeting with me:\nAll would be lost if anyone saw us\nAnd learned that we were lovers.\"\nAfire with longing\" I left her then,\nDeceived by her soft words:\nI thought my wooing had won the maid,\nThat I would have my way.\nAfter nightfall I hurried back,\nBut the warriors were all awake,\nLights were burning, blazing torches:\nSo false proved the path\nTowards daybreak back I came\nThe guards were sound asleep:\nI found then that the fair woman\nHad tied a bitch to her bed.\nMany a girl when one gets to know her\nProves to be fickle and false:\nThat treacherous maiden taught me a lesson,\nThe crafty woman covered me with shame\"\nThat was all I got from her.\nLet a man with his guests be glad and merry,\nModest a man should be\"\nBut talk well if he intends to be wise\nAnd expects praise from men:\nFimbul fambi is the fool called \"\nUnable to open his mouth.\nFruitless my errand, had I been silent\nWhen I came to Suttung's courts:\nWith spirited words I spoke to my profit\nIn the hall of the aged giant.\nRati had gnawed a narrow passage,\nChewed a channel through stone,\nA path around the roads of giants:\nI was like to lose my head\nGunnlod sat me in the golden seat,\nPoured me precious mead:\nIll reward she had from me for that,\nFor her proud and passionate heart,\nHer brooding foreboding spirit.\nWhat I won from her I have well used:\nI have waxed in wisdom since I came back,\nbringing to Asgard Odrerir,\nthe sacred draught.\nHardly would I have come home alive\nFrom the garth of the grim troll,\nHad Gunnlod not helped me, the good woman,\nWho wrapped her arms around me.\nThe following day the Frost Giants came,\nWalked into Har's hall To ask for Har's advice:\nHad Bolverk they asked, come back to his friends,\nOr had he been slain by Suttung?\nOdhinn, they said, swore an oath on his ring:\nWho from now on will trust him?\nBy fraud at the feast he befuddled Suttung\nAnd brought grief to Gunnlod.\nIt is time to sing in the seat of the wise,\nOf what at Urd's Well I saw in silence,\nsaw and thought on.\nLong I listened to men\nRunes heard spoken, (counsels revealed.)\nAt Har's hall, In Har's hall:\nThere I heard this.\nLoddfafnir, listen to my counsel:\nYou will fare well if you follow it,\nIt will help you much if you heed it.\nNever rise at night unless you need to spy\nOr to ease yourself in the outhouse.\nShun a woman, wise in magic,\nHer bed and her embraces:\nIf she cast a spell, you will care no longer\nTo meet and speak with men,\nDesire no food, desire no pleasure,\nIn sorrow fall asleep.\nNever seduce anothers wife,\nNever make her your mistress.\nIf you must journey to mountains and firths,\nTake food and fodder with you.\nNever open your heart to an evil man\nWhen fortune does not favour you:\nFrom an evil man, if you make him your friend,\nYou will get evil for good.\nI saw a warrior wounded fatally\nBy the words of an evil woman\nHer cunning tongue caused his death,\nThough what she alleged was a lie.\nIf you know a friend you can fully trust,\nGo often to his house\nGrass and brambles grow quickly\nUpon the untrodden track.\nWith a good man it is good to talk,\nMake him your fast friend:\nBut waste no words on a witless oaf,\nNor sit with a senseless ape.\nCherish those near you, never be\nThe first to break with a friend:\nCare eats him who can no longer\nOpen his heart to another.\nAn evil man, if you make him your friend,\nWill give you evil for good:\nA good man, if you make him your friend\"\nWill praise you in every place,\nAffection is mutual when men can open\nAll their heart to each other:\nHe whose words are always fair\nIs untrue and not to be trusted.\nBandy no speech with a bad man:\nOften the better is beaten\nIn a word fight by the worse.\nBe not a cobbler nor a carver of shafts,\nExcept it be for yourself:\nIf a shoe fit ill or a shaft be crooked\"\nThe maker gets curses and kicks.\nIf aware that another is wicked, say so:\nMake no truce or treaty with foes.\nNever share in the shamefully gotten,\nBut allow yourself what is lawful.\nNever lift your eyes and look up in battle,\nLest the heroes enchant you,\nwho can change warriors\nSuddenly into hogs,\nWith a good woman, if you wish to enjoy\nHer words and her good will,\nPledge her fairly and be faithful to it:\nEnjoy the good you are given,\nBe not over wary, but wary enough,\nFirst, of the foaming ale,\nSecond, of a woman wed to another,\nThird, of the tricks of thieves.\nMock not the traveller met On the road,\nNor maliciously laugh at the guest:\nScoff not at guests nor to the gate chase them,\nBut relieve the lonely and wretched,\nThe sitters in the hall seldom know\nThe kin of the new-comer:\nThe best man is marred by faults,\nThe worst is not without worth.\nNever laugh at the old when they offer counsel,\nOften their words are wise:\nFrom shrivelled skin, from scraggy things\nThat hand among the hides\nAnd move amid the guts,\nClear words often come.\nHeavy the beam above the door;\nHang a horse-shoe On it\nAgainst ill-luck, lest it should suddenly\nCrash and crush your guests.\nMedicines exist against many evils:\nEarth against drunkenness, heather against worms\nOak against costiveness, corn against sorcery,\nSpurred rye against rupture, runes against bales\nThe moon against feuds, fire against sickness,\nEarth makes harmless the floods.\nWounded I hung on a wind-swept gallows\nFor nine long nights,\nPierced by a spear, pledged to Odhinn,\nOffered, myself to myself\nThe wisest know not from whence spring\nThe roots of that ancient rood\nThey gave me no bread,\nThey gave me no mead,\nI looked down;\nwith a loud cry\nI took up runes;\nfrom that tree I fell.\nNine lays of power\nI learned from the famous Bolthor, Bestla' s father:\nHe poured me a draught of precious mead,\nMixed with magic Odrerir.\nWaxed and throve well;\nWord from word gave words to me,\nDeed from deed gave deeds to me,\nRunes you will find, and readable staves,\nVery strong staves,\nVery stout staves,\nStaves that Bolthor stained,\nMade by mighty powers,\nGraven by the prophetic god,\nFor the gods by Odhinn, for the elves by Dain,\nBy Dvalin, too, for the dwarves,\nBy Asvid for the hateful giants,\nAnd some I carved myself:\nThund, before man was made, scratched them,\nWho rose first, fell thereafter\nKnow how to cut them, know how to read them,\nKnow how to stain them, know how to prove them,\nKnow how to evoke them, know how to score them,\nKnow how to send them\" know how to send them,\nBetter not to ask than to over-pledge\nAs a gift that demands a gift\"\nBetter not to send than to slay too many,\nThe first charm I know is unknown to rulers\nOr any of human kind;\nHelp it is named,\nfor help it can give In hours of sorrow and anguish.\nI know a second that the sons of men\nMust learn who wish to be leeches.\nI know a third: in the thick of battle,\nIf my need be great enough,\nIt will blunt the edges of enemy swords,\nTheir weapons will make no wounds.\nI know a fourth:\nit will free me quickly\nIf foes should bind me fast\nWith strong chains, a chant that makes Fetters spring from the\nfeet,\nBonds burst from the hands.\nI know a fifth: no flying arrow,\nAimed to bring harm to men,\nFlies too fast for my fingers to catch it\nAnd hold it in mid-air.\nI know a sixth:\nit will save me if a man\nCut runes on a sapling' s Roots\nWith intent to harm; it turns the spell;\nThe hater is harmed, not me.\nIf I see the hall\nAblaze around my bench mates,\nThough hot the flames, they shall feel nothing,\nIf I choose to chant the spell.\nI know an eighth:\nthat all are glad of,\nMost useful to men:\nIf hate fester in the heart of a warrior,\nIt will soon calm and cure him.\nI know a ninth:\nwhen need I have\nTo shelter my ship on the flood,\nThe wind it calms, the waves it smoothes\nAnd puts the sea to sleep,\nI know a tenth:\nif troublesome ghosts\nRide the rafters aloft,\nI can work it so they wander astray,\nUnable to find their forms,\nUnable to find their homes.\nI know an eleventh:\nwhen I lead to battle Old comrades in-arms,\nI have only to chant it behind my shield,\nAnd unwounded they go to war,\nUnwounded they come from war,\nU unscathed wherever they are.\nI know a twelfth:\nIf a tree bear\nA man hanged in a halter,\nI can carve and stain strong runes\nThat will cause the corpse to speak,\nReply to whatever I ask.\nI know a thirteenth\nif I throw a cup Of water over a warrior,\nHe shall not fall in the fiercest battle,\nNor sink beneath the sword,\nI know a fourteenth, that few know:\nIf I tell a troop of warriors\nAbout the high ones, elves and gods,\nI can name them one by one.\n(Few can the nit-wit name.)\nI know a fifteenth,\nthat first Thjodrerir\nSang before Delling's doors,\nGiving power to gods, prowess to elves,\nFore-sight to Hroptatyr Odhinn,\nI know a sixteenth:\nif I see a girl\nWith whom it would please me to play,\nI can turn her thoughts, can touch the heart\nOf any white armed woman.\nI know a seventeenth:\nif I sing it,\nthe young Girl will be slow to forsake me.\nI know an eighteenth that I never tell\nTo maiden or wife of man,\nA secret I hide from all\nExcept the love who lies in my arms,\nOr else my own sister.\nTo learn to sing them, Loddfafnir,\nWill take you a long time,\nThough helpful they are if you understand them,\nUseful if you use them,\nNeedful if you need them.\nThe Wise One has spoken words in the hall,\nNeedful for men to know,\nUnneedful for trolls to know:\nHail to the speaker,\nHail to the knower,\nJoy to him who has understood,\nDelight to those who have listened.","title":"Havamal (Words of the High one)","type":"page"}