I call to Taranis, master of the rumbling sky,
who holds the fearful thunderbolt and hurls it
with full force, with a true eye and a strong arm
you grant this gift. You send the havoc of the storm
to earth, you send as well the life-giving rains,
the lightning that gives breath to the soil. Taranis,
sky-god, the wheel of the sun is yours; in times long gone
your people held it as a token of your might,
keeping it close when all was well, clutching it tight
in desperate hours. Across the broad plains, within
the deep wood, so long ago your name was known,
was spoken in prayer–I speak it now, O ancient one!