Thou art Aelfscyne

Introduction

This poem is based on early Anglo-Saxon elves.

The reader is asked to imagine the mind of a lad that has traveled to a distant village. On his arrival he sits down exhausted from the long hot walk and has a bite to eat, then spies a young lady……

Glossary

Wifman = woman

Aelfheim = the realm of the light elves

Wyrm bed = golden in this context

Middangeard = the realm of man

Aelfscyne = elf beauty or as beautiful as an elf.

Wyrd = fate                        

Alfcynno = of the elfin race

Weaponmen = men

Aelfsiden = elfin magic

Gif thu waere scoten = if you were shot

Aelfadled = any illness caused by an elf

Smithas = supernatural beings that forged the elf shot

Galdor = a spell which would have been sung, from galen = to sing, compare Nightinggale =   night singer

Galdor-craeft = conjuring spirits by chanting, singing or spell crafting.

Aelfthone = elf vine, a herb which causes mind-altering experiences.

Thou art aelfscyne

The youthful wifman, Aelfflad be her name,

As if out of bright, aelfheim she doth came.

Long flowing blond hair, of the wyrm bed corn,

Into Middangeard, human realm was born.

Tall and slender, as a willow she be,

Brilliant sunny sapphire, eyes to see.

Wearing her long, aelfscyne gossamer dress,

With elfin enchantment, wilt thee impress.

Immaculate skin, and of perfect health,

She hast Aelfscyne beauty, as a wood elf.

The way of Wyrd, hast made her fare of face,

Is she Alfcynno? of the elfin race.

Alvingham Weaponmen, they doth admire,

Her fair dainty face, the best in the shire.

Forged with Aelfsiden, the magic of elves,

I think they want to keep her, for themselves.

Gif thu waere scoten, by her splendour,

Then thee be aelfadled, forever more.

An Alfcynno, or an illusion be,

Or hast Aelfsiden, put a hex on me.

With Aelfsiden magic, of elves to forge,

Didst the smithas spin, this pie to gorge.

Aelfflad fast of fare foot, and long in gate,

How I wouldst like to have her, as my mate.

A galdor hast been spun, with me as bait,

To be Aelfadled, surely is my fate.

Didst the grey beard, with Galdor-craeft create,

Or was it Aelthorn, in the pie I ate.

Copyright Andrew Rea 2009