The race of blue eyed blonds lived in the cold northern European forests. They sailed their clinker-built ships to all parts of the world, crossing the North Sea to Ireland, the North Atlantic to Greenland and Nova Scotia, across the Baltic and up the great Russian rivers, founding trading posts that became the cities of Kiev and Moscow, to name but a few. Norway answered the call to Crusade, and a Viking fleet set out for Jerusalem in the Year of Grace 1107, along the way touching, but not lightly, England, Spain and Sicily before arriving in the Holy Land, where they defeated a Muslim fleet at Sidon, after which they sailed for the Bosporus and Constantinople, where crewmen carved their initials on the backs of the pews of the Hagia Sofia, where they remain to this day. Then to the Black Sea to return to the Baltic by river and portage and thus back to Norway, though some would say the Viking ships were given to Alexios, the Byzantine emperor, in exchange for horses, and a trip overland for home. I am skeptical of the ships for horses deal, for no self-respecting Viking would have given up his beloved longship for a horse. They were men, whose clinker built ships feared no sea and whose crews feared no man. Yet today, the descendants of those men sit idly by and watch the world their fathers built come tumbling down around them, as the third-world, western hating immigrant descendants of the Muslims their ancestors defeated a thousand years ago take their country from them, and Europe recedes into the deep, dark pit of Islamization.

Strong winds from the fierce northern gods
Drove the ships to the farthest far land
To triumph despite all the odds
From ice to the hot desert sand
The ghosts of those men still appear
Seen dimly in forests at night
Still armed with a rust covered spear
They vanish with coming of light
They cry in their sleep ‘neath the snow
And wonder at what has become
Of all that they knew, that they know
And weep at the actions of some
Who say that the world’s never still
That nothing on Earth ever lasts
That Islamic children will fill
Up the forests and Arctic’s cold blasts
The ghosts see the end drawing nigh
They see their descendants don’t care
They see well the darkening sky
And empty eyed sigh in despair