Listen, my friends, the winter wind’s a-howling.
Light all the torches, fasten all the doors.
We must not wander in the woods tonight,
Nor dare to tread upon the misty moors.
Stay safe inside, get all the Yule fires lit,
Drink mead together, sing brave songs of old,
For outside there’s a rustling and a moaning,
The trees have leaves of ice, the moon is cold.
Snow shrouds the hills and frozen is the lake.
The stars are stifled in the cloud-choked sky.
But in the Hall with fire and ale and holly,
We shall not see a fearsome sight pass by.
Play the glad harp, then we may never hear
The stamp of hooves, the barking of fell hounds.
The homeless dead across the sky go shrieking,
But in the Hall let us make merrier sounds.
Woden Allfather, god of wind and fury,
He sweeps across the sky and gathers the dead,
And while he leads the Wild Hunt, full of terror,
Let each of us be safely home in bed.