Viking on a spring evening
Watches over the rivers
The ripe fruit
he cuts with his scythes
Baldur is the farmer
who wields these scythes
Times of peace, beautiful night
His family sleeps
A nice and warm piece of hey
he gives to the lamb
Baldur is the farmer
who feeds the stocky lamb
Pleases both gods and men
He is granted with luck
His wife is suitable
Watches over sons
Baldur is the farmer
who lives among these sons
He owns this heathen land
Hills, fields and rivers
Baldur is the farmer
which collects his stackings
He thanks the Gods for the peaceful times of long
The giving land stretches from the mountains all the way to the headlands
His long-sword has for a long time hung
vertical by the wall for there is no need to draw
A cool breeze and soon the winds of change will
blow through the land bleak and cold
By Urðarbrunnur Dept now ties the knots of destiny
for an unsuspecting man, and that man's name is Baldur