Resurrect Seeress

1 All together the Æsir came in council*
and all the Asynior in consultation,
and what they debated, those dauntless gods,
was why Baldr was having baleful dreams.

2 Up rose Odin, Gaut of men,*
and on Sleipnir he laid a saddle;
down from there he rode to Mist-hell,
there he met a whelp coming from hell.*

3 Bloody it was on the front of its chest
and long it barked at the father of magic;
on rode Odin, the earth-road resounded,
he approached the high hall of Hel.

4 Then Odin rode east of the doors,
where he knew the seeress’s grave to be;
he began to speak a corpse-reviving spell for the magic-wise woman,*
until reluctantly she rose, spoke these corpse-words:

5 ‘Which man is that, unknown to me,
who makes me travel this difficult road?
I was snowed upon, I was rained upon,
dew fell on me, dead I’ve been a long time.’

6 ‘Way-tame is my name, I’m the son of Slaughter-tame;
tell me news from hell—I bring it from the world:
for whom are the benches decked with arm-rings,
is the dais so fairly strewn with gold?’

7 ‘Here mead stands, brewed for Baldr,
clear liquor; a shield hangs above,
and the Æsir are in dread anticipation.
Reluctantly I told you, now I’ll be silent.’

8 ‘Don’t be silent, seeress! I want to question you,
until all is known, I want to know more:
who will be Baldr’s killer
and who’ll rob Odin’s son of life?’

9 ‘Hod will dispatch the high glory-tree to this place;*
he will be Baldr’s killer
and rob Odin’s son of his life.
Reluctantly I told you, now I’ll be silent.’

10 ‘Don’t be silent, seeress! I want to question you,
until all is known, I want to know more:
who’ll achieve vengeance on Hod for this wickedness,
who’ll bring Baldr’s killer to the funeral pyre?’

11 ‘Rind will give birth to Vali in western halls,*
Odin’s son will fight when one night old;
he won’t wash his hands nor comb his hair
until he’s brought to the pyre Baldr’s enemy.
Reluctantly I told you, now I’ll be silent.’

12 ‘Don’t be silent, seeress! I want to question you,
until all is known, I want to know more:
who are those girls who weep for their pleasure*
and who throw up to the sky the corners of their neckerchiefs?’

13 ‘You are not Way-tame, as I thought,
rather you are Odin, the old Gaut.’
‘You are not a seeress nor a wise woman,
rather you’re the mother of three ogres.’

14 ‘Ride home, Odin, and be proud of yourself!
May no more men come to visit me,
until Loki is loose, escaped from his bonds,
and the Doom of the Gods, tearing all asunder, approaches.’*


- Poetic Edda, Baldrs draumar