Sittaen Aet Symbel

The hall is ready with ale, mead

And music, and the hearth is glowing

On the faces of those who attend.

Solemnly, a man speaks of his ancestor,

Connecting with him through the web of Wyrd.

'Sittaen Aet Symbel

A beot I read

Of my great-grand-father's deeds

Of the life he betrothed me

He cut through the flax

With his ready tongue

Sweet mead from his lips

Flowed in yellow paths'

'Sittaen aet symbel

Come brothers and maids'

'We drink!

To Woden, for victory,

To Njord and Freo

For the qualities of ice and gold.'

'We drink!'

'Sittaen Aet Symbel

Raise the horn to your lips

Taste the secrets behind the staves

Between measured sips

A toast to the dead

That see at the symbel

And a declaration

Of their intent in our flesh

Sittaen Aet Symbel

A gielp to the hall

Around this table of ash

That has known the nine worlds

Witness my wyrd

I will craft it to this end'.

One by one those attending shout their appreciation

'Hail!'

The Symbel is done,

The beots and gielps made.

A voice sings over the mead bench

And the crackling fire,

Whilst those present drink to the past,

Present and their future...