At the full of the moon I make a fire
in honour of the Apple-queen;
for the gentle goddess a gift of flame,
for Thiazi’s booty a blazing.

By poetry’s potion - the power of your spouse –
Loki’s load I call;
as the fruit of the hazel you flew from Thiazi’s,
filched by the Father of Hel.

Hasten you now here, leave heaven awhile,
the girl the gods depend on;
bear your basket and on Bifrost tread
so your bubbling joy is about me.

As floods rise in February, fill this horn,
this ale of the apple with blessings;
so this lake of your luck is lavished in sprinkling
and blessings blossom from drinking.

Take well with this draught Grim’s daughter-in-law
who cures Othinn’s kin of old age!
This apple-drink I offer to you,
the apple of Bragi’s eye!

© P.D.Brown      The Storyteller´s Homepage

Poetic form: Ljóðaháttr (Song Meter)