This is the recently redrafted version of my poem, 'Hrothgar and the Trolls'. It is written in Old English alliterative verse, which I learned after reading the unfinished work by J. R. R. Tolkien, 'The Fall of Arthur', and the accompanying essay on Old English alliterative verse. I do not pretend that my attempt at this old alliterative style is perfect, given that I've learnt it from a short essay, but there is something attractive about it that makes it my favourite poetic style. It is a very Anglo/Germanic style of poetry, with rhyme being introduced later by the Normans, and it is fantastic for telling stories of epic heroes and legends. In this poem, I haven't focused a whole lot on the narrative itself, choosing instead to try and get the poetic style right, but I hope you still enjoy this first section of my poem about a young hero pitting himself against the terrible trolls!
The dawn arrived with deepening
mists,
River running cold, rill
trickling slow,
Grey mantle blanketing the moors
around;
Sun’s countenance skulking behind
clouds.
Between the boughs of bowing
trees,
A groaning gale gusty blew.
Down below the bowels of earth,
Three monstrous maws did
man-flesh crave!
The rushing wind winging brought
The flying scent of the flesh
they desired.
Tusked mouths gaped and tongues
lolled
With thoughts of human heads
rolling
Off a gory trunk. Grizzled all
over,
Tawny, towering torsos shaggy
Had they, with muddy, muffled
feet.
Slimy nostrils out of stubbed
noses flared,
As eyeballs dull stared angry out
From rutted wrinkles ‘neath
rancid brows.
The humans lived then in humble
dwellings;
Yet nonetheless they yearned for
little;
Merry they went in mirth and
cheer,
Innocent of the troubles that
plague our age.
Hrothgar alone heeded the signs:
Daring to see the danger about.
That same morning, murky dawning
He wandered through woodlands
chill,
A sapling still, but strongly
growing,
Stealthy sliding o’er scrub and
brush
While still the village slumbered
on.
Not knowing of all to know there
was,
Monsters did ne’er to his mind
occur –
The wild may bring a wolf or
bear,
Or a stumbling stag straying
haply.
He considered not that coming his
way
Were trolls through trees
trampling hard.
Under cover of the cloudy dawn,
The trolls travelled together on.
Their tree trunk legs the forest
trashing,
Village climes closer drawing.
Haply Hrothgar, the hurricane
noise,
Timely heard and turned around,
With bow bravely brought about.
On the delicate curved bringer of
death,
He fitted a dart, feathered and
sharp.
Lying down in lofty grass,
He watched the trolls go
wallowing past,
Tearing about them ancient trees,
Quashing earth with quaking
steps.
Hesitating not Hrothgar went,
Tracking the trail the trolls had
left,
Running with a ready bow,
Valiantly surging for village
dear.
Ahead through leaves appeared a
hide!
He aimed an arrow to arc towards
The fur and thickly folded skin,
Lodging fast. Loudly roaring,
The troll stumbled. Turning,
Hrothgar
Sideways rolled, as with strides checked
The trolls stopped. Stillness
descended.
His breathing Hrothgar bound with
chains,
Sniffing, the trolls snorting
waited.
Meaty mountains, mighty swaying:
Five great foes, furious all,
And burning with hunger for human
flesh.
Blood slipped down the big one’s
hide,
The arrow lodging ever deep;
An irritant, an irksome pain –
This foul brute was not yelled
felled.
Then shooting again from shadowed
leaves
Hrothgar aimed higher this time.
A flashing sting flew truly
Into a loutish, lumpy skull.
A deadly wound dealt at least;
Brought low the beast to bracken
fell.
Slyly skipping, slipping clear,
Hrothgar evaded the hands of his
foes,
As they turned again for the town.
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