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"Helga, Helga!" shouted the fighters
In the battlefield and wrestle stage
With their brawny arms, with fierce bright eyes,
Crashing sacra in feral combat rage.

"Olga, Olga!" screamed the honey-haired
Drevlians inside the burning bath
Scratching walls with wounded fingers in despair
To escape the unforgiving widow's wrath.

Yet beyond the faraway seas of legend
Broke the same restless tones
Striking in the same sonorous name unaging
Varangian steel against Byzantine bronze.

All the Christian names I used to know
Sound Greek now to my mind.
But your name alone, Olga, still delights my throat
Sweeter than most precious aged wine.

Year by year with a louder pressure
Older ages brew in my blood.
Nordic backbone's returning passion
Captured me in a tidal flood.

Strayed from ancient raiding armies,
To the present days I promised to resist,
I am longing for Valhalla archways,
Rage, and glory, and Odin's feast.

I see fervid beer in a skull bowl,
Playing bulls' pink ridges on the ride
And my Walkyrie, no stumble,
Olga, Olga, patrolling beside.

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