Branches as high as vigilant eye could see,

Magic runes, once scratched into this tree.

An old man sat down at this mighty oak,

Every morning, day by day...

And he closed his eyes

While a gasp blew through its leaves...

And he began to speak...



Land er heilact, er ec liggia s©

¡som oc ¡lfom n¦r;

enn ­ žrêàheimi scal îãrr vera,

unz um riêfaz regin.



Ydalir heita, îar er Ullr hefir

s©r um gorva sali;

lfheim Frey g¡fo ­ ¡rdaga

t­var at tannf©.



Roots as deep as the very depths of heart,

Man of wisdom and knowledge great,

With hair as white as snow...

The young amongst them in a circle sat

And listened to his voice.

...While he began to speak...



Land er heilact, er ec liggia s©

¡som oc ¡lfom n¦r;

enn ­ žrêàheimi scal îãrr vera,

unz um riêfaz regin.



Ydalir heita, îar er Ullr hefir

s©r um gorva sali;

lfheim Frey g¡fo ­ ¡rdaga

t­var at tannf©.