Branches as high as a vigilant eye could see,
Magic runes, once scratched into this tree
An old man sat down at this mighty oak,
Every morning, day by day
And he closed his eyes
While a gasp blew through it's leaves
And he began to speak

Land er heilact, er ec liggia sé
ásom oc álfom nær;
Enn í Þrúðheimi scal þórr vera,
Unz um riúfaz regin

Ydalir heita, þar er Ullr hefir
Sér um gorva sali;
Álfheim Frey gáfo í árdaga
Tívar at tannfé

Roots as deep as the very depths of heart,
Source for those who know what's still to come
Man of wisdom and knowledge great,
With hair as white as snow
The young amongst them in a circle sat
And listened to his voice
while he began to speak

Land er heilact, er ec liggia sé
ásom oc álfom nær;
Enn í Þrúðheimi scal þórr vera,
Unz um riúfaz regin

Ydalir heita, þar er Ullr hefir
Sér um gorva sali;
Álfheim Frey gáfo í árdaga
Tívar at tannfé