Oh, listen, friends, so you may know
The fates of gods from long ago
Of Baldr, prince of purity
And of dark Loki's treachery.

Fair Baldr, son of Frigg the true:
The goddess loved his godly youth,
And purity, and innocence.
With all these things fair Baldr's blessed!

Loki, lie smith, plotted to end
The days in which the gods and men
Would walk and wander through Midgard

Only one thing could harm the bard.
No part of nature was his foe,
None but the leaf of mistletoe.

What of good Frigg, his poor mother?
What would her son's death be to her?
In what mind is res'rection kept
For he for whom creation wept?

Listen, friends, to this oration
On the death of all creation.
Baldr, born of beauty and grace
All time he wore unblemished face
At birth good Frigg begged all the world
And to her will all nature curled
As she called them all out by name.

One forgotten plant would be to blame
The dread weapon of the age of snow
The thin leaf of the mistletoe.

I tell you now, as I'm alive
These are the words of the old scribe
Who now rests in what's after life
Freed now from the poet's strife.
To men of ice and earth he spoke
And now his wisdom I evoke
And Munin, bird of memory
Let my thoughts to fly with thee.

Beauteous Baldr was so hated
By Loki, so the lier bated
Poor Hodr, blind brother, to throw
A fateful dart of mistletoe.
Baldr fell to Hodr's arrow
And with his death the gods did know
Hodr would be the grave warlock
Who would ring in the Ragnarök:

Six winters covered all the land
When no man could stay their hand
But to make war on his brother
So they could eat one another
Boats with dead men come to the dock,
These are the days of Ragnarök.

Loki was, by gods, resented.
Hodr, oh! How he lamented
“My poor brother, I am demise
Destruction of your azure eyes
Your flow'r white brow is like snow
So dead, you are, gone with the crow.
Oh! Hugin, raven of deep thought
How to make right what I have wrought?
There must be some that can halt
The end of days, that is my fault!”

Hugin spoke not to blind Hodr.
In silence, he thought he did hear
Hugin telling him a way
That he could stop the end of days.

And as the Aesir bound the traitor
Hodr was bound for something greater
Than anything those gods could know
For he would stop the coming snows.
At night Hodr gathered up a staff
And Loki, seeing him, did laugh,
“My brother is not your ally
After you he sends Vali,
Giant born just for your doom
On the horizon death does loom.”

“If death does dwell on my horizon
Preform for me just one orison
How can I waylay the ending
And set our family back to mending?”

“Far south of here are lands forgot
From where, ago, all things were brought
Not east nor west, not fire nor ice,
Oh Hodr, please, heed this advice,
To southern lands you must now go
To far away lands with no snow
Where sand scatters where rock should be
Off to these lands Hodr must flee
Here you shall find a dying land
And ask for Utnapishtim's hand
For he who survived flood can show
How to survive the coming snow
But leave now, for in just one day
Vali shall be ready to slay.”

So faraway blind Hodr trod
With no guide but a walking rod
O'er plains and strange lands unknown
Now far from his beloved home
In sands of Byzantium he cried
“Cruel fate was it, my brother died!
And I, the blind god of dark and night
Should live my final days in flight
How am I to know if there are ways
To stop the coming end of days!"
And panicked so the blind god ran
To follow traitor Loki's plan.

In a hot land with snow for dirt,
A dwelling place for Burning Surt,
In the heart of the worst places
Hodr had found an oasis.
And here there lay a man so old
Resting upon a bed of gold.

Hodr could see not this great sight,
He was the old blind god of night.
Though he was blind he could still smell
The freshness of the water well
And strode towards it to refresh
Himself and bathe his sandy flesh.
As he trod on he heard breathing
Of the old man, slowly wheezing.
He asked the old man “are you him;
The one they called Utnapishtim?
He who resides so faraway,
Whose old hand can a mighty storm stay?”

The old man gasped and coughed and said
“I am he who lives with the dead
I am he who survived the flood
I am he who spared innocent blood
I am he who stayed through the rain
I am the one who lived again.
I cannot help you outlast this battle.”
With that, he gave his dieing rattle.

Hodr had been had again
And through the desert came a rain
Of giant's footsteps in pursuit
For Hodr knew his point was moot
And would not run from Vali more
He deserved his destruction for
The death of his brother Baldr.

Vali would kill him and survive
To see the end of days alive
And the afterwords as well
Vali would not go off to Hel
In the next age Vali reigns
A patron of the dead and slain.

And so, though with intentions pure
There would be no success for Hodr
Instead would come the fate he feared;
No man nor god escapes the weird.
Fate always binds both gods and man
None can stray from the weird word's plan.

This epic tale was translated
By Ryan, a poet fated
To survive these dark days of snow
And write the tale from long ago
Of how the days did come to fall,
And that, my friends, is all of all.