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geri and freki does heerfather feed, |
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the far-famed fighter of old. |
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but on wine alone does the one-eyed god, |
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wuotan, forever live. |
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o'er midgard hugin and munin both |
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each day set forth to flay. |
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for hugin i fear lest he come not home, |
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but for munin my care is more. |
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there valgrind stands, the sacred gate, |
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and behind're the holy doors. |
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old is the gate, but few there are |
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who can tell how it's tightly locked. |
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five hundred doors and forty there are, |
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i ween, in walhall's walls. |
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eight hundred fighters through one door fare |
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when to war with the wolf they go. |
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five hundred rooms and forty there are |
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i ween, in bilskirnir built. |
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of all the homes who'se roofs i beheld, |
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my son's the greatest meseemed. |
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there is folkvang, where freyja decrees |
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who shall have seats in the hall. |
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the half of the dead each day does she choose, |
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the other half does othin have. |
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there is gladsheim, and golden-bright |
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there stands walhall stretching wide, |
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there does othin each day choose |
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all those who fell in fight. |
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now am i othin, ygg was i once, |
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ere that did they call me thund. |
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wodan and oden, and all, methinks, |
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are the names for none but me. |
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hail to thee, for hailed thou art |
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by the voice of veratyr. |
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where valgrind stands, the sacred gate |
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ye will find nine golden doors. |
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|
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hail to thee, for hailed thou art |
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by the voice of veratyr. |
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old is the gate, but few there are |
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who can tell how it's tightly locked. |
