Passing obscure vales of shadows By the wooded inland meadows Facing the green trails to the lake Sloping down by the trees awake Curious creatures of illusion; My brain is stunned in confusion In wind, sounds of solitude, singing; Heralds misfortunes proclaiming I am a harmonious one; I am a clear singer; I will indulge in feasting I am steel; I am a druid I will make wonderful cries; I am an artificer; I am a scientific one I am not a confused bard driveling I am a serpent; I am love When songsters sing a song by memory I love the trees, the protection above And a bard that composes, without earning anger; I love not him, that causes contention; He that speaks ill of the skillful shall not possess mead It's the fifth time, that we go to drink It's the sixth time, that we go to drink It's the seventh time, that we go to drink It's the eighth time, that we go to drink The rock wave-surrounded, by great arrangement Will convey for us a defense, from the enemy The rock of the chief, the head of tranquility The intoxication of meads will cause us to speak Like making light for the blind Like sharing clothes to the naked Like spreading buttermilk on the sands Like feeding fish upon milk Like reaching the sky with a hook Like roofing a hail with leaves Like seeking for ants in the heat Like an instrument of foolish spoil Like the retinue of an army without a head Like feeding the unsheltered on lichen Like ridging furrows from the country Like deprecating with the blood of thistles