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To Aegir

Hail to Aegir, best of brewers, best of hosts!
Deep-dwelling husband of fearsome, beautiful Ran;
father of the nine daughters, nine fair maids whose dance
and play set ships to roll upon the sea. Aegir,
your generosity and openheartedness
are known to all, your great and spacious hall
often filled with fond friends, with noble company.
We know you in fragrant hops and thick, sweet malt;
in a welcoming horn of mead or ale, offered
to any who pass through the door; in a warm hearth-fire;
in tables weighed down with meat and bread, enough for all;
in guest-beds piled thick with quilts and soft pillows;
in tales told long into the night, in the laughter
of companions old and new, in comfort and in frith.
Hail the host of gods, the god of hosts! Hail Aegir!

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