For wooing, the sons of Bele may well 
Travel far and wide through the field:
I shall betake myself to Baldur's grove,
There is my place of choice, my world.
And nevermore shall I look back 
To the revenge of princes and the concerns of earth;
For I drink the happiness of blessed gods,
United with my Ingeborg.

  As long as the sun, in warm celebration,
Fills the valley with crimson radiance,
As the veil of the beloved rosily shrouds
The flower-world of her bosom;
Thus long I wander solitary along the shore,
Consumed by the lively pain of longing,
And, sighing, write there upon the sand
Her dear name with my sword.

  How sluggishly the long hours stride by!
Why do you hesitate, oh son of Delling? --
Have you not seen mountain and valley since time immemorial,
[Seen] sea and land for a long time already? --
Does no maiden, all aglow, wait there 
In the west to receive you:
Who, in your arms, with blushing cheeks,
Speaks to you of love both early and late.

  But finally wearied by the road
He strides down into his golden house,
And, for the pleasure of the gods, the evening
Spreads out its bed of roses.
Aflame with the blaze of deep yearning,
Breeze and wave breathe the fire of love;
Be welcome, night, mother of the gods! --
With pearls about your bridal garb.

  The lofty stars glide only gently,
As quietly as a lad creeps to his beloved. --
Swell at the side of Ellida, speeding us on,
Ye river, so that the goal is soon achieved:
We are steering towards the groves of the god,
Confidently over to the good gods --
I already see Baldur's temple gleaming,
The goddess of love dwells therein.

  Ha! joyfully I already step upon the land,
I kiss you, beloved shore,
[Kiss] you, delicate flowers white and red
That border the winding path.
As you, oh moon! quietly wandering, tarry
High over temple, grove, and monument,
You shine so silvery mild and dream,
Like Saga somewhere in a bridal hall!

Who taught you the murmuring of emotion,
Ye water-spring that swells about flowers,
Who gave you, Nordic nightingales, 
The sound that pours forth from my bosom? --
With the evening glow the elders paint 
Her image upon the horror of the nocturnal clouds;
But Freya wishes to exceed it in radiance,
And enviously extinguishes it again.

  May it then pale upon the heavenly meadows --
As lovely as hope, she herself already nears. --
As faithful as the images of childhood,
She brings the reward of true love.
Beloved, come! -- that I may press you
Upon this heart that is filled with you;
The wish of my soul -- the happiness of my life,
I hold it here in my arms.

  In sweet abundance [you are] like the rose,
A lily-stalk, blossoming in slenderness,
You are pure, like the will of the gods,
And nevertheless fervent, as Freya flames.
Kiss me, oh lovely one, let the waves
Of my desire flood through you as well!
The earthly globe, the arch of heaven
Vanish for me upon your breast.

  Why do you tremble? -- Fear no dangers,
Björn has been placed to keep watch over us,
With strong warriors to protect us
Against a whole world, if it were necessary.
I myself, as I now embrace you,
Would equally gladly fight for you here,
From out of your arms to Valhalla I would
Gladly go, if you would be my Valkyrie.

  Why do you whisper of Baldur's wrath?
Whom has the devout one ever threatened?
Loving us, if we follow the voice of
The loving one who decreed thus.
The god, with eternal faithfulness in his heart,
Upon his brow a heavenly light,
Like us, does he not love purely and faithfully, 
In joy and pain, his Nanna? --

  Here stands his image, and I perceive
His nearness, as [the image] gazes [upon me] so mildly!
Oh, that he might look down upon us,
Into our hearts, enraptured with love! --
Bend your knees with me, upon the altar 
No more worthy offering burns for him 
Than love that originates in heaven,
And faithfulness, as firm as his was.

   Yes, my loving does not testify of its
Earthly origin -- it glows through me purely;
It was suckled in heaven
And yearns to return to its homeland.
Oh, he who could already dwell up yonder!
Who, leaving [earthly] faults and griefs behind,
Could hasten to the gods, a victor,
With his pale love in his arms! --

  When then the other warriors are riding
Through the silver gate to the leas of Valhalla:
I would sit quietly and faithfully by your side,
Happy just to look into your eyes.
And if Valhalla's maids were to carry
The horn of golden foam around the circle,
We would quietly clink our glasses and
Sweetly exchange caresses in the dream of love.

  And I would build a bower for us
Upon the shore of a dark blue bay,
Where balsam-scents waft down like dew
From groves full of golden fruit.
And if under Valhalla's sun
(How clear and glorious is its beaming!)
We even shared the nearness and bliss of the gods,
Our valley would nevertheless remain our favourite place.

  I would like to wreath stars about
Your silk-soft golden curls;
Dancing in Vingolf's hall I would twirl [you],
My pale lily, until you turned into a rose.
If I then were permitted to lead you to the bower,
The temple of sweet, faithful love;
Upon his golden strings, Braga would
Strum a new bridal song every evening.

  Do you hear the call of the quail in the grove!
Its song rings forth from the shore of Valhalla,
The waters sparkle in the moonlight,
[The moon] shines from out of the land of souls.
And both, song and light, proclaim
The world of love, free from care:
Ah, could I but soon look upon it
United with you, with you, oh Ingeborg!

  Oh, do not weep! For life still flows
In my veins -- weep no more! --
But love and manly dreams gladly
Waft about in the blue expanse --
Ah, when you spread your arms for me,
When you merely turn your gaze upon me,
You may easily lead the enraptured one back
To yourself from out of the halls of the gods!

  "Quiet! It is the lark!" -- no, in the grove
A dove is cooing in its dreams for sheer joy.
The lark still sleeps along the green marge
In its warm nest upon its beloved's breast.
The day cannot bring you separation,	
Ye happy ones, when it approaches and recedes,
While paired, freely winging your way,
You rise whirling into the skies.

  "Lo, day is already dawning!" -- Nay, the beacons
Of watchmen on high may well flame up in the east --
But we are still sweetly conversing together,
The intimate night is not yet ending.
May you oversleep upon the canopy of heaven
Today -- you golden star of day;
And if your shimmer slept till Ragnarök,
For Frithiof's sake it might gladly do so!

  But in vain; the cool morning wind
Cruelly disturbs the caresses of love.
The roses of the east are already budding
As fresh as your cheeks are.
The jubilant song of the flocks of birds
Brightly greets the new day,
While before its louder stirrings 
Shadows and love take flight.

  Yonder it shines forth from the sea! --
Forgive, oh sun, that for which I prayed! –
I greet you, you beautiful, lofty one,
And I perceive that a godhead nears.
Oh, he who could tread the path as augustly
And mightily as you do now,
And could wander as joyfully and gloriously,
Surrounded like you by the sparkle of light and victory!

  Here, golden sun, stands the most beautiful thing
Upon which ever your beams shone in the north.
Protect the bliss of my life,
Your image upon the green of the earth.
Her heart is as pure as your beams,
Her eyes [are] your heaven, blue and clear,
And your brow cannot boast of
A brighter gold than this her hair.

  Farewell, my love, accept ere we part
My kiss upon your brow and lips! --
Soon for us two, twilight shall give way
To a night that must not end so hastily.
Sleep now and dream of me -- and, like me,
Count the hours when you waken late,
With a soul filled with the fire of love! --
Now good morning, good night!