Crazed battle-daughter,       blaze of Herran,
Wild Wyrd-dealer,             weapon-fields hunting,
From gore-swan's harvest      one Hero to reap.
Bearing masked helm,          busked for the edge-gale,
In a ringed byrnie            risted with red runes,
Aloft she holds blood-fire    the awesome mound-hastener,
Arms upraised                 from elk-sedge marshes,
Like a swan rising            from the reed-brands,
Like Laerath lofty            with limbs lifted
Through a fine mist           of falling rain,
She hails Asgard:             above tattered clouds
Bifrost shimmers,             a bow of fire.
The Sun's late rays           show her the last
Of a wise raven:              wending true
Through dark marsh            to Mimameith's roots
Where the shining span        stoops to Midgarth,
Her steed leads she there,    with slack-limbed cargo
Climbing the causeway         clothed in brightness
As daylight blends            with darkness
They lift above Earth's rim,  leaving below
Nightfall and stormwrack,     and nigh on Heafon
Are gilded by the light       of golden Gladsheim:
Gladly are they greeted       at the gates:
For the Hero has earned       Har's welcome

The Prose Edda