The Twelve Wizards

At Dovrefield over on Norway's reef
Were heroes who never knew pain or grief.

There dwelt there many a warrior keen,
The twelve bold brothers of Ingeborg queen.

The first with his hand the storm could hush,
The second could stop the torrent's rush.

The third could dive in the sea as a fish,
The fourth never wanted meat on dish.

The fifth he would strike the golden lyre.
And old and young to the dancing fire.

The sixth on his horn would blow a blast,
Who heard it would shudder and stand aghast.

The seventh go under the earth could he,
The eighth he could dance on the rolling sea.

The ninth tamed all that in greenwood crept,
The tenth not a nap had ever slept.

The eleventh the grisly lindworm bound,
And will what he would, the means he found.

The twelfth he could all things understand,
The done in a nook of the farthest land.

Their equals were never seen there in the North,
Nor any where else on the face of the earth.