I shall bid the lady to be in great tune,
While descending the sun and ascending the moon;
Take the rocks from my veins and my heart
And build a house - wall by wall, part by part.
No quietness for the flying eagles now
It's that time when my soul takes its bow
The hunting season starts in midafternoon
My ancient spirit is chanting the monthly rune.
Whom do I call to my table, whom do I cry for,
Whom do I speak to, who do I wait for on the shore?
Too many questions into this midseason of spring
While the answers are burning onto my left wing.
My right wing is praying to the Gods of the North,
Quiet - the rivers, and my chant from this time forth,
Only you at my table and this mountain - the priest,
The sky's opening its gates; tamed are the beasts.
