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Kaster vore skibe mod klipperne

Havet har ført os til en ukendt kyst
Brødre vi mistede til Ægirs luner
Vi har fundet nyt land
Hvor træer står frodige
Snedækkede fjelde knejser
Så lang øjet rækker

Vi har mistet vore skibe, men ej vort håb
Så længe Njords vind blæser ufortrødent

Synger en hymne til moder natur
Hun hvorfra alt smukt udspringer
Eviggrøn og frodig asken står
Skal i mands minde aldrig visne

Hvo som sine forfædre ære vil
Må fatte sværd fra gamle tider

Forfædres kald gjalder fra det høje!
Det genlyder i dale og mellem bjergenes tinder!

The Forging of the Sword
I was told of a great chief
A man of honour and pride
He ruled the land of Gardariki
With firm and just hand

One day deep into the forest he rode
But as the sun went down over the treetops
He saw by a huge and age-old rock
The silhouettes of two dwarves

Sigrlami drew his sword over them
And demanded of them their names
One was Dulin, the other Dvalin
Renowned were they for their craftsmanship

Sigrlami spoke:
“Forge me a sword that will bring victory
It shall bite iron like cloth
And never rust!”

The dwarves reluctantly accepted the task
For they held their lives dear
They went to their ancient smithy
To begin the work on the enchanted blade

Day and night they worked
The hammers fell heavily on the anvil
And on the final day when the sword was complete
Sigrlami claimed what was rightfully his

This curse Dvalin spoke:
“May that sword be a man’s bane
each time it is drawn!
It will be the death of your kin!”

Furious with this treachery
Sigrlami attacked the dwarves
But they sprang back into the rock
From whence they had come

Sigrlami took with him the cursed blade
He gave it the name Tyrfing

Never could Tyrfing be wielded without killing a man
Always covered in warm blood it would be sheathed

– Thus the forging of the sword came to be –

Ask og Embla
Hil, du menneskers stamfader
Som af guder blev gjort
Hil, du slægters moder
Æter af dit skød blev født

Sagnet om vor oprindelse
For evigt i sten står skrevet

Før himmel og jord
Var frost og flamme
Før mand og kvinde
Var gud og jætte

Hil, du menneskers stamfader
Som af guder blev gjort
Hil, du slægters moder
Æter af dit skød blev født

”Tre Aser
af Asaskaren,
stærke, gode
Guder kom gående,
fandt ved Stranden
svage og arme
Ask og Embla
uden Skæbne.

Ånde de drog ej,
Ånd de ej havde,
ej Liv, ej Farve,
ej Blod, som leved’.
Ånde gav Odin,
Ånd gav Høner,
Lød gav Loder
og Blod, som leved’”*

Slægter fødtes, blev talrige
Midgård blev deres hjem

Før himmel og jord
Var frost og flamme
Før mand og kvinde
Var gud og jætte

*Taget fra Vølvens Spaadom – oversat ved Thøger Larsen (1914)

Arngrim’s Quest
From the deep northern forests where vikings ruled
Hailed a man named Arngrim
Famous he was and in him the Gods had faith
He was in search of greater glory

Far eastwards he travelled
Crossed vast plains and long rivers
He wanted to reach the realm of Gardariki
Where the great chief Sigrlami ruled

Fought many battles with Gods on his side
Shedding the blood of every foe
The golden blade cleaved many shields
Pierced the hearts of many men

Word had reached Sigrlami
That a war chief to his realm would come
And when Arngrim finally arrived
A great feast was held in his honour

Arngrim fought many battles
And when he had proved his worth
He was made general
And trusted with the sword Tyrfing

Fought many battles with gods on his side
Shedding the blood of every foe
The golden blade cleaved many shields
Pierced the hearts of many men

Fought and conquered
Favoured by the gods
He was given Eyfura as his wife
For she was fair and wise
Together they travelled
back to the northlands
Where the ravens soar
And the wolves howl

Fought many battles with gods on his side
Shedding the blood of every foe
The golden blade cleaved many shields
Pierced the hearts of many men

Lone Warrior
Legend tells of a man
A warrior without a name
On the path that he walked
There was no beauty to behold

On a cold and starry night
Amidst trees in an old forest he stood
Crying out his longing to the winds
Cursing the gods up high

A lone warrior he was
His heart destined to break
Memories of gruesome deeds
Embedded into his mind

Longing for the infinite sea
He would rush to the shores
But nothing could satisfy
The desire deep in his soul

His sword cut down many men
No living foe was beyond his skill
Yet mighty though he was
He could not quell the conflict within

A lone warrior he was
His faith bound to falter
Memories of gruesome deeds
Embedded into his mind

Longing for the infinite sea
He would rush to the shores
But nothing could satisfy
The desire deep in his soul

Days turned into months
As he waited for salvation
Though it would never come
Months turned into years
No one could save
His poor lonely soul

Legend tells of a man
A warrior without a name
Who led a life of the sword
And left behind him a bloody trail

Standing now a faithless man
He had invoked the wrath of the gods
He recklessly went to fight a losing battle
The battle that would finally claim his life

A lone warrior he was
His heart destined to break
Memories of gruesome deeds
Embedded into his mind

He lived a life of the sword
And as a warrior he would die
Slain on the field of battle
That was his sad fate

Twelve Berserks
Twelve were the berserks
Sons of Arngrim
Born in the northlands
Where wolves roam
Great fear they spread
Where they came
Strongest of them
Was mighty Angantyr

Hjorvard was one of twelve
He swore that he would have
The daughter of king Ingjald
For her beauty and skill she was renowned

Twelve were the berserks
Sons of Arngrim
Born in the northlands
Where wolves roam
Great fear they spread
Where they came

To the realm of king Ingjald
The twelve brothers went
And before the king’s table
Hjorvard spoke these words:
“Far I have come, lord Ingjald
An oath I have sworn
That I will have your daughter
Or no other woman”

Two men were there with Ingjald
Hjalmar and his companion Od
Hjalmar had heard Hjorvard’s speech
And these words he spoke to the king:
“Do you remember, my lord
How I have served you all these years?
The battles I have won for you?
I deserve your daughter!”

Hjorvard was immensely angered by these words
He stood up and challenged Hjalmar to holmgang

Hjalmar accepted the challenge
They agreed to meet on a far-away island
This duel would decide
Who was to have the king’s daughter

Twelve were the berserks
Sons of Arngrim
Born in the northlands
Where wolves roam
Great fear they spread
Where they came

The Path to Victory
From the north they came with metal and fire
A host of more than a thousand men
An oath of blood they had sworn
That they would slay those who had wronged them

Clear it was that blessed they were
By the mighty gods themselves
For fear they had not in their hearts
And their heads they proudly held high

Through the power bestowed upon them
They struck down their enemies
Lightning from a sky dark as night
Cleared their path to victory

Their eyes flamed with a thirst for vengeance
As they approached their wretched foes
Those who had burned down their villages
And slain the ones they held dear

Dusk was not yet upon them
When in spite a warrior threw the first spear
Yelling out a fierce cry of battle
Dedicating the enemy to the one-eyed god

Arrows and spears rained down
Upon their powerless foes
And the screams of the fallen
Echoed throughout the valley

The two sides clashed in fierce battle
And only one could be victorious
The fields were drowned in crimson
As the blood of noble warriors was shed

Through the power bestowed upon them
They struck down their enemies
Lightning from a sky dark as night
Cleared their path to victory

On this day of vengeance
Many lives were put to an end
And when finally the battle was over
The banner of the righteous was raised for all to see

Through the power bestowed upon them
They struck down their enemies
Lightning from a sky dark as night
Cleared their path to victory

Holmgang
The sky grew darker
As the battle drew near
On that desolate island
Warriors would face their final doom

Angantyr had been given Tyrfing
And with this mighty blade
He took on Hjalmar the bold one
And fought as a true berserk

Od crossed blades with the remaining eleven
And one after one he slew the mighty berserks
There they lay bleeding and he stood victorious

There on the hill, Angantyr fought Hjalmar
And thus, they dedicated each other to Valhal

As Hjalmar lay bleeding he spoke these words to Od:
“Sixteen wounds I have suffered
Now I go to Alfader’s hall”

One great warrior and twelve berserks
Met on this island their demise
Now they feast in Odin’s hall
Drink up my brothers!

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