ered the patron god of the sword, it was
deemed indispensable to engrave the sign or rune representing him
upon the blade of every sword--an observance which the Edda enjoined
upon all those who were desirous of obtaining victory.

"Sig-runes thou must know,
If victory (sigr) thou wilt have,
And on thy sword's hilt rist them;
Some on the chapes,
Some on the guard,
And twice name the name of Tyr."

Lay of Sigdrifa (Thorpe's tr.).

Tyr was identical with the Saxon god Saxnot (from sax, a sword),
and with Er, Heru, or Cheru, the chief divinity of the Cheruski,
who also considered him god of the sun, and deemed his shining sword
blade an emblem of its rays.

"This very sword a ray of light
Snatched from the Sun!"

Valhalla (J. C. Jones).

Tyr's Sword

According to an ancient legend, Cheru's sword, which had been fashioned
by the same dwarfs, sons of Ivald, who had also made Odin's spear,
was held very sacred by his people, to whose care he had entrusted it,
declaring that those who possessed it were sure to have the victory
over their foes. But although carefully guarded in the temple, where
it was hung so that it reflected the first beams of the morning sun,
it suddenly and mysteriously disappeared one night. A Vala, druidess,
or prophetess, consulted by the priests, revealed that the Norns had
decreed that whoever wielded it would conquer the world and come
to his death by it; but in spite of all entreaties she refused to
tell who had taken it or where it might be found. Some time after
this occurrence a tall and dignified stranger came to Cologne, where
Vitellius, the Roman prefect, was feasting, and called him away from
his beloved dainties. In the presence of the Roman soldiery he gave
him the sword, telling him it would bring him glory and renown, and
finally hailed him as emperor. The cry was taken up by the assembled
legions, and Vitellius, without making any personal effort to secure
the honour, found himself elected Emperor of Rome.

The new ruler, however, was so absorbed in indulging his taste for
food and drink that he paid but little heed to the divine weapon. One
day while leisurely making his way towards Rome he carelessly left it
hanging in the antechamber to his pavilion. A German soldier seized
this opportunity to substitute in its stead his own rusty blade, and
the besotted emperor did not notice the exchange. When he arrived