Thiudareiks submitted a poem to the Tales of the Troth Contest that was part of our Goldfest activities.. and I thought it was definitely worth reposting in this group... So here is his post again:


This is a poem I composed in the language of my tribe, the Ostrogoths. It is about Wulfilas - "Little Wolf" - who became known as 'The Apostle to the Goths'. Before him our language was rarely written down, only in short runic inscriptions. He created an alphabet and preserved the Gothic language for the centuries, so this poem is dedicated to him and to the language he saved from extinction

I will give it first in Gothic, then in English and then in the calligraphic style of our people:


WULFILALIUTHIS

Rekista razdo, rodida in Guthaimai
Thos skaunos stibnos, saggweis unluhtidai
Sai! Mikils slaws, sigisrohsna fulljith
Munthaujodus maurgjada, manwuba standith
Sa liuthareis listeigs, in laiseinai thuidos
Is hauheinos hausjaina, harpo fagrstibna
Is waurda wairtha, waurmleika windando
Ut in dauhtrohsna, daufata nist kuni
Sildaleika is stibna, sifandei in mahtai

Afardagis in akram, ahanai jah ahsam hindar
Thos maujos mildons, mith auhjondans filu
Filuwaurdein jah frijonskipa, fulljand tho kaurnhusa
Jah in galgastadim, gudjans birodjand
So runa razda, reika ansawaurda
Jah in badufahedai, in brakjai jah sakjon
Ahtagumans auhjond, aitham hildai

Wulfila wairths, waurda tho huzdides
Sa bokareis in bokom, bandwida tho tuggon
Thos skaunos stibnos, saggweis in unliuhtidai
Reikista razdo, rodida in Guthaimai.



THE SONG OF WULFILAS

Mightiest of languages, spoken in Gothlands
Beautiful voices, songs in darkness.
Lo! A great silence, fills the victory-hall
mouth-tulmult subsides, in readiness stands
The poet, crafty, in the lore of the tribe
His praises are heard, his harp is sweet voiced
His words are worthy, winding serpent-like
Out into the feast hall, the kindred is not deaf
Wonderful is his voice, rejoicing in their power.

Next day in the fields, amongst chaff and ears of corn
The mild maidens, with great chattering
Much talking and fellowing, fill up the barns.
And in the gallows-places, the priests murmur
The hidden language, the powerful god-words.
And in battle-joy, in fighting and strife
Ferocious warriors shout, oaths of war

Worthy Wulfila, these words hoarded
The scribe in letters, signified the tongue
The beautiful voices, songs in darkness
Mightiest of languages, spoken in Gothlands.