Текст песни Sonatorrek - Wardruna

Sonatorrek

Mjǫk erum tregt
tungu at hrœra
eða loptvætt
ljóðpundara;
esa nú vænligt
of Viðurs þýfi
né hógdrœgt
ór hugar fylgsni.
Esa auðþeystr,
þvít ekki veldr
hǫfugligr,
ór hyggju stað
fagnafundr
Friggjar niðja,
ár borinn
ór Jǫtunheimum,
lastalauss
es lifnaði
á Nǫkkvers
nǫkkva bragi.
Jǫtuns hals
undir þjóta
Náins niðr
fyr naustdyrum.
Þvít ætt mín
á enda stendr,
hræbarnir
sem hlynir marka;
esa karskr maðr
sás kǫggla berr
frænda hrørs
af fletjum niðr.
Þó munk mitt
ok móður hrør
fǫður fall
fyrst of telja,
þat berk út
ór orðhofi
mærðar timbr
máli laufgat.
Grimmt vǫrum hlið,
þats hrǫnn of braut
fǫður míns
á frændgarði;
veitk ófullt
ok opit standa
sonar skarð,
es mér sær of vann.
Mjǫk hefr Rǫ́n
ryskt um mik,
emk ofsnauðr
at ástvinum;
sleit marr bǫnd
minnar ættar,
snaran þǫ́tt
af sjǫlfum mér.
Veizt, ef þá sǫk
sverði of rækak,
vas ǫlsmiðr
allra tíma;
hroða vágs brœðr,
ef vega mættak,
fórk andvígr
ok Ægis mani.
En ek ekki
eiga þóttumk
sakar afl
við sonar bana,
þvít alþjóð
fyr augum verðr
gamals þegns
gengileysi.
Mik hefr marr
miklu ræntan,
grimmt es fall
frænda at telja,
síðan's minn
á munvega
ættar skjǫldr
aflífi hvarf.
Veitk þat sjalfr,
at í syni mínum
vasa ills þegns
efni vaxit,
ef randviðr
røskvask næði,
unz her-Gauts
hendr of tœki.
Æ lét flest
þats faðir mælti,
þótt ǫll þjóð
annat segði,
mér upp helt
of verbergi
ok mitt afl
mest of studdi.
Opt kømr mér
mána bjarnar
í byrvind
brœðraleysi,
hyggjumk um,
es hildr þróask,
nýsumk hins
ok hygg at því,
hverr mér hugaðr
á hlið standi
annarr þegn
við óðræði;
þarfk þess opt
of þvergǫrum;
verðk varfleygr,
es vinir þverra.
Mjǫk es torfyndr,
sás trúa knegum
of alþjóð
Elgjar galga,
þvít niflgóðr
niðja steypir
bróður hrør
við baugum selr.
Þat's ok mælt,
at engi geti
sonar iðgjǫld
nema sjalfr ali
enn þann nið,
es ǫðrum sé
borinn maðr
í bróður stað.
Erumka þekkt
þjóða sinni,
þótt sér hverr
sǫ́tt of haldi;
burr’s Bileygs
í bœ kominn,
kvánar sonr,
kynnis leita.
En mér fens
í fǫstum þokk
hrosta hilmir
á hendi stendr;
máka'k upp
jǫrðu grímu,
rýnnis-reið,
réttri halda,
síz son minn
sóttar brími
heiptugligr
ór heimi nam,
þanns ek veit
at varnaði
vamma varr
við vámæli.
Þat mank enn,
es upp of hóf
í Goðheim
Gauta spjalli
ættar ask,
þanns óx af mér,
ok kynvið
kvánar minnar.
Áttak gótt
við geirs dróttin,
gerðumk tryggr
at trúa hǫ́num,
áðr vinan
vagna rúni,
sigrhǫfundr,
of sleit við mik.
Blœtka því
bróður Vílis,
goðjaðar,
at gjarn séak,
þó hefr Míms vinr
mér of fengnar
bǫlva bœtr,
ef et betra telk.
Gǫ́fumk íþrótt
ulfs of bági
vígi vanr
vammi firða
ok þat geð,
es ek gerða mér
vísa fjandr
af vélǫndum.
Nú erum torvelt:
Tveggja bága
njǫrva nipt
á nesi stendr;
skalk þó glaðr
með góðan vilja
ok óhryggr
heljar bíða.
My tongue is sluggish
For me to move
My poem’s scales
Ponderous to raise
The god’s prize
Is beyond my grasp
Tough to drag out
From my mind’s haunts
Since heavy sobbing
Is the cause —
How hard to pour forth
From the mind’s root t
He prize that Frigg’s
Progeny found
Borne of old
From the world of giants
unflawed, which Bragi
Inspired with life
On the craft
Of the watcher-dwarf
Blood surges
From the giant’s wounded neck
Crashes on the death-dwarf's
Boathouse door
My stock
Stands on the brink
Pounded as planar-trees
On the forest’s rim
No man is glad
Who carries the bones
Of his dead kinsman
Out of the bed
Yet I shall
First recount
My father’s death
And mother’s loss
Carry from my word-shrine
The timber that I build
My poem from
Leafed with language
Harsh was the rift
That the wave hewed
In the wall
Of my father’s kin;
I know it stands
Unfilled and open
My son’s breach
That the sea wrought
The sea-goddess
Has ruffled me
Stripped me bare
Of my loved ones:
The ocean severed
My family’s bonds
The tight knot
That ties me down
If by sword I might
Avenge that deed
The brewer of waves
Would meet his end;
Smite the wind’s brother
That dashes the bay
Do battle against
The sea-god's wife
Yet I felt
I lacked the might
To seek justice against
The killer of ships
For it is clear
To all eyes
How an old man
Lacks helpers
The sea has robbed
Me of much
My kinsmen’s deaths
Are harsh to tell
After the shield
Of my family
Retreated down
The god’s joyful road
Myself I know
That in my son
Grew the makings
Of a worthy man
Had that shield-tree
Reached manhood
Then earned the claim
Of war’s arms
Always he prized
His father’s words
Highest of all, though
The world said different
He shored me up
Defended me
Lent my strength
The most support
My lack of brothers
Often enters my thoughts
Where the winds
Of moon-bears rage
I think of the other
As the battle grows
Scout around
And wonder justification
which other valiant
Warrior stands
By my side
In the peril;
I often need him
When facing foes
When friends dwindle
I am wary to soar
It is rare to find
One to trust
Amongst men who dwell
Beneath Odin’s gallows
For the dark-minded
Destroyer of kin
Swaps his brother’s
Death for treasure
It is also said
That no one regains
His son’s worth
Without bearing
Another offspring
That other men
Hold in esteem
As his brother’s match
I do not relish
The company of men
Though each of them might
Live in peace with me;
My wife’s son
Has come in search
Of friendship
To One-Eye's hall
But the lord of the sea
Brewer of storms
Seems to oppose me
His mind set
I cannot hold
My head upright
The ground of my face
My thoughts' steed
ever since the raging
Surf of heat
Snatched from the world
That son of mine
Whom I knew
To shun disgrace
Avoid words
Of ill repute
I remember still
When the Gauts' friend
Raised high
To the gods' world
The ash that grew
From my stock
The tree bearing
My wife’s kin
I was in league
With the lord of spears
Pledged myself loyal
To believe in him
Before he broke off
His friendship with me
The guardian of chariots
Architect of victory
I do not worship
Vilir’s brother
Guardian of the gods
Through my own longing
Though in good ways too
The friend of wisdom
Has granted me
Redress for affliction
He who does battle
And tackles the hell-wolf
Gave me the craft
That is beyond reproach
And the nature
That I could reveal
Those who plotted against me
As my true enemies
Now my course is tough:
Death, close sister
Of Odin’s enemy
Stands on the ness:
With resolution
And without remorse
I shall gladly
Await my own