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Description

Hafs létum vér hesta
hlýr stinn á brim renna,
meðan á bjartar brynjur
blóði dreif um síður;
ylgr gein, arnar, mönnum,
eyddist gráðr, of svíra,
harðmeldr gátum heiðan
hveðnu, blóði roðna.

Vestr fór ek of ver,
en ek Viðris ber
munstrandar mar,
Svá 's mitt of far;
drók eik á flot
við ísabrot,
hlóðk mærðar hlut
míns knarrar skut.

Heilir hildar til, heilir hildi frá,

Koma þeir heilir hvaðan

I really need to get off this early middle ages and Vendel- and Viking era stuff... It's just so fascinating.
Oh, and the lyrics are parts of the so called Hávamál.

We let the strong cheek

of the horses of the sea,

run to the waves, the sides of

our bright mail splattered with blood.

The she-wolf feasted, the hunger

of the eagles was sated on the

blood from men’s reddened necks,

while we seized the hard meal of the sh’s land.

By sun and moon

I journeyed west,

My sea-borne tune

From Odin's breast

My sing-ship packed

With poet's art:

It's word-keel cracked

The frozen heart.

Whole to the field of fight,

Whole from the field of fight,

And whole they come thence home.

It's late and I seriously need to go to bed soon. Holy heck.

ᛁ ᚢᛊᛖ ᚱᚢᚾᛖᛊ ᚾᛟᚹ...

Description

Hafs létum vér hesta
hlýr stinn á brim renna,
meðan á bjartar brynjur
blóði dreif um síður;
ylgr gein, arnar, mönnum,
eyddist gráðr, of svíra,
harðmeldr gátum heiðan
hveðnu, blóði roðna.

Vestr fór ek of ver,
en ek Viðris ber
munstrandar mar,
Svá 's mitt of far;
drók eik á flot
við ísabrot,
hlóðk mærðar hlut
míns knarrar skut.

Heilir hildar til, heilir hildi frá,

Koma þeir heilir hvaðan

I really need to get off this early middle ages and Vendel- and Viking era stuff... It's just so fascinating.
Oh, and the lyrics are parts of the so called Hávamál.

We let the strong cheek

of the horses of the sea,

run to the waves, the sides of

our bright mail splattered with blood.

The she-wolf feasted, the hunger

of the eagles was sated on the

blood from men’s reddened necks,

while we seized the hard meal of the sh’s land.

By sun and moon

I journeyed west,

My sea-borne tune

From Odin's breast

My sing-ship packed

With poet's art:

It's word-keel cracked

The frozen heart.

Whole to the field of fight,

Whole from the field of fight,

And whole they come thence home.

It's late and I seriously need to go to bed soon. Holy heck.

ᛁ ᚢᛊᛖ ᚱᚢᚾᛖᛊ ᚾᛟᚹ...