Hail brave Baldr, Prince of Ásgarðr
and Lord of the glorious hall Breidablik
which was always full of the sounds
of feasting, drinking and fighting
until you were sent on your long journey
from which you have not returned,
and now the place sits empty
and quiet as a sepulcher, O Baldr,
awaiting your return. Delight of the Ásynjur,
Ás bright as the treasure of the Dvergr,
greatly feared by the Jötnar, mighty hunter
among the Álfar, friend of Rán and Ægir
and their many daughters who ensured
you had fine conditions whenever
you went to sea in your finely-wrought
vessel Hringhorni, eager to see
what exotic wonders distant lands might hold.
O beloved of Nanna, noble son of Frigga
who hates the mistletoe, they say that once
you rode through the woods with Óðinn
the seiðmaðr, Mundilfari’s daughter Sinthgunt
whom the night-walkers cry out to,
Volla and her sister the incantation-weaver,
when your mount took a terrible strain
and threw you to the ground.
Not for your own pain, Baldr whose heart
is kind, but that of your steed
were you concerned with,
and so the group encanted a mighty healing charm,
voices entwining to magnify the power
and Phol’s foal was restored, and made better than ever.
And so it is when we humans come together
to pray in your beautiful name, O shining Baldr
of the battlefield, brother of Váli the avenger.