lenctenléoþ
ingwine húnfriþ
þá gewítaþ wintres wéan of þǽre lyfte
þá léoflíce lenctenes léoþ ic ágale
tó ósum ⁊ ielfum inges sigeþéode·
moldan mægnu myrgiþe sáwaþ
forðý ic gréne þráge grétan wille·
wes hál hréðe hréþsigores rícen
frostbane fýrenu · on þissum fréolse lenctenes
þínne cyme geond foldan sceal ic cýðan hlúde·
ingelǽde þá hǽte hléowþ of cíele
þætte ielda bearn blissian scoldon·
hál wes éastre ǽringes síþbode
golde gewǽdod glǽm brǽdende
of þǽm néolan næsse nihthelm út ácnyssende·
onǽlaþ wé nú éastweardes héahfýr
⁊ dægrǽd meldiaþ manna gehwelcum·
Springsong
As winter’s woes depart from the air
gladly I sing the song of spring
to the gods & the elves, Ing’s glorious people.
The Powers of the earth are sowing delight,
so I wish to greet the green season.
Hail Hréðe, goddess of glorious victory,
fiery frost-bane. On this spring festival
your coming over the land shall I loudly herald.
Usher in the heat, a warm shelter from the cold,
so the children of the people may rejoice.
Hail Éastre, early morn’s march-herald,
clothed in gold, spreading splendor
from the low horizon, expelling the shroud of night.
Now we are kindling high flames eastwards
& declaring the dawn’s light to every person.