Hail to the beautiful God,
Máni, son of Mundilfari,
master of glamour, seduction
and all the numerous arts of deception
whose power causes young love
to blossom, and old love to feel
new again. With a smile in your eyes
and wise counsel clinging like honey
to your lips, you have seen it all
and are surprised by nothing
the heart can contain or the mind contrive;
whatever it is we desire, you can help us
attain it – and if that’s not possible,
cause forgetfulness to settle upon us like a fog,
and stir up longing for the novel in our breast.
When is better for the singing of love songs,
or strolls through the park, a fine dinner out
or dancing with friends at the club
than when the fair face of Máni
shines down upon us? Friend of Freyja,
confidant of Frigg, and wingman of Óðinn
when he goes courting alliances in the nine realms,
yours is the power of fantasy – especially the
shadowy, forbidden kind we dare not speak of
in polite company – sweet dreams that linger
in the morning light, sexual personae
and games of chance and chase which make
embodied existence so much fun. All this
is your domain, O gleaming Trickster,
and so I pray, always help keep things interesting
and exciting for me, and for those whom I love.