O road-rambling, wide-wandering traveler, you

Who’ve dwelled in fell fortress and humblest byre,

You who have climbed among the highest crags

Of the most forbidding, snow-choked mountains,

Down to the sea’s turbulent edge; you who move

From mighty, ancient city to forest wilderness,

With perfect confidence into the vast unknown,

Teach me to go too wherever I must go

With courage and faith, and without fear

Of those things which I must say when I arrive.

 

O song-making skald whose magnificent voice

Brought down mountains and scattered armies

And has shattered a heart of stone; you who

Sing sunlight and shadow into solid gold,

Who commands the winds to abruptly cease

And the birds to fall silent and breathless,

Who tames the beast and stills the swinging sword,

Teach me to raise my voice in speech and song

For joy’s sake and without any self-conscious shame,

And to foster my own skald’s magic from thin air.

 

O friend of friends, friend of all, who has been a guest

In Vanaheim’s verdant hills and the wild Iron Wood,

Who is welcome in Alfheim, both light and dark,

Nidavellir’s deep caverns and Midgard’s villages,

The lands of primal ice and fire, and Death’s own hall,

You who have spread your glorious tales and songs

From world to world, giving freely to all hearers,

Teach me to lay aside my mistrust and hatred

And to go among others in peace and friendship

To share the gifts with which I have been blessed.

 

O Bragi, mighty tale-teller, song-spinner, best of poets,

Share your great wisdom so that I may serve you

With whatever tools I possess, and with skill and grace.