The Sorcerer: „Do you remember our homeland, older than time? Do you remember the sacred groves and the monuments of stone? Do you remember what once was?“ An Initiate: „Yes. I do remember...“

… I remember the peaks, I remember the depths, When the wild wind whipped my face, And the water swallowed the radiance. I remember the monument, Sunk beneath the sea. Legacy of ancient times, An eve-burning flame. I remember the will of gods, Eternal war for a golden age. I remember the sword and the shield For the homeland where I am meant to be (forever) I remember the roots, The golden crowns of the trees, When I walked through the ancient woods, And my steps followed the sun. I remember the cold glow of moon In that lake so crystal clear. Movement of the cosmos restless By the power of the One, being endless. I remember the realm of the gods At the top of the cosmic tree. I remember a full horn of mead To the king of the worlds of Yggdrasil.

There in the homeland of ancient, Under the tree crowns, In the depths of the ancient forest, Whose roof glows golden, The ground is gripped by tough roots. They drink from a red well. As if they have stood here since forgotten ages Feels the one who touches the trunk and looks up speechles. Underneath one of them, the hill lays dormant, Coldly in the shadows, the monument rears up. One is made of black clay, the other is carved from stone. Under the moonlight, under a stone in the dark, a young flower shivers. The arriver gazed into its symbols, A secret was revealed quietly in the presence of the most holy gods. In the background, the depth is deep and cold, but it sings softly. A song about great deeds, the honorable, and the famous, About the glittering streams that come together in the rushing rivers. About the noble waterfalls, the eternal seas, the kind forests, and the cruel peaks. In the depths, it rests quietly and patiently, a pale vessel of the son of man. He watches off into unknown distances, motionless and staring. His sword in his hands, defending his bed of cold stone, As he had once defended, everything that was honorable. He lies still, but sings softly The song of great deeds, honorable and glorious. Of the glittering streams that come together in the rushing rivers. Of noble waterfalls, eternal seas, kind forests, and cruel peaks. In the depths, he rests quietly and patiently, With a perpetual smile on his face, gazing intently. Empty eye sockets saw the eyes of the son of a man. The one who had been selected to come back to life again. The judgments were already rendered by the most holy gods; The arriver already entered this tomb long ago. The arriver holds his sword tightly, Bending over his old form, And reciting the words of the oath. The solar disc rises on the horizon, Its warmth pours blood into the veins. The son of man rises, In one hand, the sword; in the other, the memory he wields, He stands solemn, silent, and accepts his destiny proudly.

Hávamál: stanza 138 &139 138. I ween that I hung on the windy tree, Hung there for nights full nine; With the spear I was wounded, and offered I was To Othin, myself to myself, On the tree that none may ever know What root beneath it runs. 139. None made me happy with loaf or horn, And there below I looked; I took up the runes, shrieking I took them, And forthwith back I fell.

Ent: When spring unfolds the beechen-leaf and sap is in the bough, When light is on the wild-wood stream, and wind is on the brow, When stride is long, and breath is deep, and keen the mountain air, Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is fair! Entwife: When Spring is come to garth and field, and corn is in the blade, When blossom like a shining snow is on the orchard laid, When sun and shower upon the earth with fragrance fill the air, I'll linger here, and will not come, because my land is fair! Ent: When Summer lies upon the world, and in a noon of gold Beneath the roof of sleeping leaves the dreams of trees unfold, When woodland halls are green and cool, and wind is in the West, Come back to me! Come back to me, and say my land is best! Entwife: When Summer warms the hanging fruit and burns the berry brown; When straw is gold, and ear is white, and harvest comes to town; When honey spills, and apple swells, though wind be in the West, I'll linger here beneath the Sun, because my land is best! Ent: When Winter comes, the winter wild that hill and wood shall slay; When trees shall fall and starless night devour the sunless day; When wind is in the deadly East, then in the bitter rain I'll look for thee, and call to thee; I'll come to thee again! Entwife: When Winter comes, and singing ends; when darkness falls at last; When broken is the barren bough, and light and labour past; I'll look for thee, and wait for thee, until we meet again: Together we will take the road beneath the bitter rain! Both: Together we will take the road that leads into the West, And far away will find a land where both our hearts may rest.