Hail to you Skírnir, shining prince
of the tree-loving Álfar, clever messenger
of the Gods, Freyr’s wise counselor
and loyal liegeman, wielder of the
terrifyingly powerful gambanteinn
and the sword that once belonged
to your Lord, which never ceases to thirst
for blood once it has been unsheathed.
Handsome seducer, who loves to laugh
and pluck the strings of the harp
while Bragi sings, but can be strong
and domineering when the situation
calls for it, as when you threatened
to beat the maiden Gerðr, and make
her watch as you murdered her father
if she would not accept your very reasonable
proposition, or when you journeyed to the halls of the
underhill Dverger and persuaded them, as only you can,
to forge the unbreakable fetter Gleipnir so that the Æsir
could bind that giant hellish hound Fenrir, sired
by Loki and Angrboða, Mistress of the Ironwood.
Hail Skírnir, rider of the wind-horse
and master of your mound, I pray,
bring the glad tidings of Yngvi to his people
in due season, and you shall be remembered too.