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Sing to me, old lute,

Of mighty deeds by warriors old,

Who boldly fought,

And fear knew not,

Of Odin's children feasting wild

In darkness deep of ages past,



Sing to me of Asgard,

And the mighty Gods who dwelt therein,

Whose sons and daughters,

Fair and strong, sailed on ships

To distant lands unknown,



Sing how Thor, in countless times,

Hastely raced with ruthless rage,

Across the Bifrost Bridge

The spiteful giants for to slay,



Sing to me of treacherous Loky,

And the blood-stained fields at Ragnarok,

Where the Garm watch-dog madly crushed

Odin's hopes, Aesirs' dreams,



Tell me of that primal elm

Whence Emla, our mother came,

Through Odin's will,

In the night of immemorial times,



Sing to me of handsome Tyr, stout-hearted god,

whose dreadful sword his foes could not endure,

How his hand was lost in Fenris wolfe's heinous fangs,



Sing to me, Old lute,

From those antipodes where your song must be,

Sing to me and let me see, those visions

of the worlds you've been,

Now forever lost in dark of ages past.