Hearing I ask from all the tribes,
greater and lesser, the offspring of Heimdall;
Father of the Slain, you wished me well to declare
living beings’ ancient stories, those I remember from furthest back.
Early in time Ymir made his settlement,
there was no sand nor sea nor cool waves;
earth was nowhere nor the sky above,
a void of yawning chaos, grass was there nowhere
The sun turns black, land sinks into the sea,
the bright stars vanish from the sky;
steam rises up in the conflagration,
hot flame plays high against heaven itself.
Brother will fight brother and be his slayer,
sister’s sons will violate the kinship-bond.
The ancient tree groans and the giant gets loose,
Yggdrasill shudders, the tree standing upright.
Now Garm bays loudly before Gnipa-cave,
the fetter will break and the ravener run free,
much wisdom she knows, I see further ahead
to the mighty Doom of the Gods, of the victory-gods.
She sees, coming up a second time,
earth from the ocean, eternally green;
the waterfalls plunge, an eagle soars above them,
over the mountain hunting fish.
A hall she sees standing, fairer than the sun,
thatched with gold, at Gimle;
there the noble fighting-bands will dwell
and enjoy the days of their lives in pleasure.