Hail Angrboða, O mother of monsters
and guileful mate of Laufey’s son, dreadful one
who knows all the ways that a heart may grieve,
and how to afflict measureless suffering on mortal men,
regardless of how high they were born, or what luck
the Norns have spun for them. Mistress of the Ironwood,
queen of the trollwives who dwell therein, hard and cruel
did you come into the world, prophesied to be the cause
of great mischief and harm to the Gods in far off, gleaming Ásgarðr.
Lachrymose Giantess with eyes that can turn mountains
to smoldering rubble, sharp teeth to tear flesh and crush bone,
fingers stained with gore and the poison plants
you use in your witcheries, whose beauty stirs lust
to the point of madness though you yourself are never desire’s subject,
potent one who bows the head to no one, she who protects what is hers
with terrifying savagery, schemer and spitter of venomous words,
I pray, fill me with fortitude for the facing of life’s hardships,
help me to learn the lessons I must, and overcome every fear
and calumny flung my way, that I may grow strong and fiercer
and become a cause of great woe for my enemies.
For this I will ever remember you,
and keep your shrine full of offerings.