I call to good and gracious Cobba of the heath,
of a ground once torn by ice, once rich in peat,
O goddess of the pleasant lands, of gentle winds,
of summers warm and heartening, of fields so green,
so gold; the merchant and the farmer have known
your blessing. Yours is the river broad, the piney wood,
yours the ancient city, once held against all foes.
Cobba of uncertainty and shadow,
your tales so long untold, your songs so long unsung,
your might recalled in root and stone, your presence felt
in blood and bone, I call your name in reverence
and praise; O glorious goddess, I honor you.