The Tale of Glam
(full version, modified Anglo Saxon style)

Synopsis: The Tale of Glam
The Tale of Glam: Documentation for an Original Poem
Original poem: The Tale of Glam (shorter version), stricter Anglo Saxon verse form (performance version)

I dedicate my original poem to the people of medieval Iceland, who gathered around the fires at night to tell ghost stories, and who firmly closed their sturdy doors against the coming of the night.

Wealthy was Thorhall when winter struck
hard the fruitful glades of fertile Shady-vale.
The thane had no fear, though thick twined the mists
through rock and hollow. Rich was he through many winters,
sky-wailed blasts shattered not his lands.
Cattle and sheep had he, Clustered in herds
forest-thick. Fearless his shepherds
against all villains victory against any harm.

Happened one year that Hell's pit groaned
and vomited out an evil ghost.
Death-walked the wight in wretched Shady-vale
cursing the living with lonely death,
green-cloaked valleys grim and stained
with shepherds' blood. Sun that shone on
Thorhall's good land lost to the glooming
and darkness wild wraith-rode ruin.
Shepherds fled the sad hold and none
would linger to die alone on bloody hills.

In springtime Thorhall to Althing came
seeking wisdom from Skapti the Lawspeaker.
Skilled in foretelling the son of Thorodd
sure-handed judge. Skapti harkened
to Thorhall's tale as trembling he told it.
Speaker-of-law spake out a name:
Glam the shepherd, great in stature
wolf-grey of hair and glaring eye.
Glam feared no thing Nor heaven nor hell.
Thorhall sought him. Soon Glam stood silent,
steel-grey, grim-faced before the thane.
Spoke he of the wight but no warning Glam heeded.
"No fright have I for fearful sight"
said Glam growling, "Gladder is life
for the seeing." His shepherd found,
Straightway they sped to Shady-vale.

Thorhall's folk shrank at shepherd's rude coming.
Ill-natured was Glam godless and surly
loather of church-song. Loved by none
nor caring thereby. But courage had he
and cared not Thorhall for his cursings.
That summer and fall silent were the vales
where Glam kept watch, no ghostly foeman
assaulting men and scattering sheep.

Came Yule-eve. To church every man
went save one, only the shepherd,
wolfish-grey Glam worship neglected.
Ate meat in the fire-hall as men should not
on this holy eve. Evil-shadowed,
unbaptized, unshriven, strode the shepherd
into the darkness. Deep was the snow
and mist lay thick on moor and wood.
Dire voice cried in deep black night
where hell-spawn wight waited winter-born.

Glam returned not that night nor any
as living man. Come morning the men
of Thorhall-stead searched for the shepherd.
In hills found they first his scattered
flock, astray and shepherdless.

Beyond in a higher vale of unhallowed earth
came the searchers to see and fear.
Thorhall-stead's folk foundered, stared
at the dire sight of dead earth-pit
beaten and seared, ravaged with battle.
Of the wight, no sign save bloody footprints
big as barrels hobbling down rocky
slope, where they shrank and vanished.
Of Glam they found more than footprints.
Shepherd's body lay blue and swollen,
great as a bull blood icy cold.
Tried they to drag the daugr but
earth-bones held fast forced them to drop
Glam hard on cold ground. Went they down
to fetch the priest Father Úlfr
a holy servant of heaven's lord.
Climbed they back up high escarpment
but no sight saw they of Glam.
Naught to be seen soon the priest left
to return below. Belied they had been,
for as Father quit the field, Glam
did then return. Three times tried they
to drag that cursed corpse down to church
and holy ground. But Glam could not
be moved, and so his mourners buried
him deep on the high hill. But Glam would
not be still. Another shepherd
Thorhall found, Thorgaut by name
a strong man and sure. Kinsman was he
to Thorhall, and thought nothing
of an evil wight; "Of wraithlings,"
said the shepherd, "I show no fear."
Yet one year later at Yule Eve time
Thorgaut went out, walking snowy
paths to shield sheep from harm.
But a monster met him on the hill
and shrieking curses, Thorgaut slew, snapped
neck, smashed bones, battered to nothing.
So the brave man, broken, came not back
that sad night nor any other.
Upon sunrise a score of men
searched for the shepherd and found
him dead, as they had curséd Glam a
twelve-month before. But Thorgaut died
a good man of God, and his body
proved light as they lifted him down the
rough hill-ways. Right quickly did
they come to the church where they laid
Thorgaut's body down and Thorhall mourned
his fallen kinsman. Faithful had he proved.

No more would any man watch the sheep
but ran from haunted hills. Thorhall
searched no more for any shepherd,
but for a hero brave to rid Thorhall-
stead of its foul foe. For Glam stayed
no more to the wastes but walked abroad
in darkness and in day. The draugr rode
on houses as if they were horses,
and shook and shivered fire-halls
of peasant and thane. Thorhall bade his
family to fly, so fled his beloved
wife and daughter from dreaded Glam.
Followed the servants fearful of the wight
leaving Shadyvale shadowed and empty.
Only Thorhall stayed, a thane true in
hall's defense against dreaded foe.

The call for a hero heralded far, for
Thorhall's retainers raised the alarm.
Many heard tale told but none would
come, fearful for their lives.
Then one man heard and hearing, came.

Grettir the Strong was he, no shepherd far
from lonely mere and mountain stream.
But a hero of men hardy and fearless.
Grettir headed his horse northward to
Shadyvale. Saw he a sad land and
empty, the sheep scattered and
the town empty. Torn were the roofs
from Glam's hell-damned dancing and
splintered the doors from draugr's haunts.
Went Grettir in search of the thane of
Shadyvale, found him in Thorhall-stead.
Rimmed with shadows, red with waking
were Thorhall's eyes. Hard those eyes as
he looked at Grettir, and grim his face.
"Glam," he said, "The grim wight, will kill
you by morn. Not man nor beast are
long for the living here, for Glam
will knead your bones like bread." At this
Grettir raised his head and swore to heaven
it was not Grettir but Glam who will die.
Thorvald felt heart's hope, the first such
stirring in many months of despair.

That night Grettir to Thorhall's house
came and hid himself in the
rafters of the high hall. At midnight
the monster came clawing at the
carved hall door wounding the wood
with deep rents. And then the draugr
laid hold of the lintel and tore it
flinging the doors into the darkness.
From his hiding place high up in the
hall Grettir saw with amaze the
creature below. Glam was swollen
and blue, and strong with the strength of
the giant Ymer, ill-favored beast.
Galled was Grettir at Glam's boldness.
Grettir loathed what lurked below him,
and with fiery curse crashed to the floor.
His strong arms grasped the draugr
to shatter and break its bones, but no
mere man was Glam. The monster roared
and seized Grettir to snap his back.
Grettir the Strong strove against
The creature's hold but harder than
iron bands were the bull-strong arms.
The hero could only hold himself
straight against Glam's killing hold
or be bowed and broken upon
cold stones. And so they struggled in
the fire-hall, and the fair timbers were
splintered and torn. The two at last
fell together towards the gaping
doorway. Outside, dead-walker and
man stumbled to the street as one.
And then Glam stopped, was still. The wight's
dead eyes stared up at the sky-disk,
pale as bones and pallid it shone,
filling wight's eyes with white moonlight.
Glam looked at Grettir with eyes
all silvery-pale and saw that the
second death was soon to come. But
Glam would not stay silent and cursed him.
"Glam is strong, but Grettir is stronger.
You will best me, broken I will be.
Yet fell is your fate, for ever
after this night, abroad you shall
walk in terror of the twilight
and the dark. You will dread the night
for my gaze will go before you
until in death damned are you."
As Glam cursed him Grettir's strength
returned and he hewed the head from
Glam's shoulders.

Thorhall came and thanked Grettir well,
and gave thanks to God. They burned the
draugr to cold coals and wrapped it
in an beast's skin, and buried it far
from places where people dwell. And
Grettir Asmundson grew in fame, and
many praised his prowess. But ever
after his fate was fearful, for the
darkness he alone would never dare.

Synopsis: The Tale of Glam
The Tale of Glam: Documentation for an Original Poem
Original poem: The Tale of Glam (shorter version), stricter Anglo Saxon verse form (performance version)