Wardruna – Sonatorrek
Sonatorrek Mjǫk erum tregt tungu at hroera með loptvétt ljóðpundara; esa nú vænligt of Viðurs þýfi, né hógdroegt ór hugar fylgsni. Esa auðþeystr, þvít ekki veldr hǫfugligr, ór hyggju stað fagna fundr Friggjar niðja, ár borinn ór Jǫtunheimum, Lastalauss es lifnaði á nǫkkvers nǫkkva bragi; jǫtuns hals undir þjóta náins niðr fyr naustdurum. Þvít ætt mín á enda stendr, hreggbarnir 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. Grimt vǫrum hlið, þat ’s hrǫnn of braut fǫður míns á frændgarði; veitk ófult ok opit standa sonar skarð, es mér sær of vann. Mjǫk hefr Rǫ́n of rysktan mik, emk ofsnauðr at ástvinum; sleit marr bǫnd minnar ættar, snaran þǫ́tt af sjǫlfum mér. Veizt ef sǫk sverði rækak, vas ǫlsmið allra tíma, hroða vábroeðr, ef viða mættak, fórk ægis andvígr mani. En ek ekki eiga þóttumk sakar afl við sonar bana; þvít alþjóð fyr augum verðr gamals þegns gengileysi. Mik hefr marr miklu ræntan, grimt es fall frænda at telja, síðan ‘s minn á munvega ættar skjǫldr af lífi hvarf. Veitk þat sjalfr, í syni mínum vasa ills þegns efni vaxit, ef randviðr røskvask næði, unz hergauts hendr of toeki. Æ lét flest, þat ‘s faðir mælti, þótt ǫll þjóð annat segði; mér upp helt of herbergi ok mitt afl mest of studdi. Opt kømr mér mána brúðar í byrvind broeðraleysi; hyggjumk umb, es hildr þróask, nýsumk hins ok hygg at því, hverr hugaðr á hlið standi annarr þegn við óðræði; þarfk þess opt við þrágǫrum. Verðk varfleygr, es vinir þverra. Mjǫk ‘s torfyndr, sás trúa knegum of alþjóð elgjar galga, þvít niflgóðr niðja steypir bróður hrør við baugum selr. [Excluded. Missing, incomplete verse.] Þat ‘s ok mælt, at mangi getr sonar iðgjǫld, nema sjalfr ali, né þann enn, es ǫðrum sé borinn maðr í bróður stað. Erumka þekt þjóða sinni, þótt sér hverr sǫ́tt of haldi; burr ‘s býskeyðs í boe kominn, kvánar sonr, kynnis leita. En mér fens í fǫstum þokk hrosta hǫfundr á hendi stendr; máka upp í aroar grímu, rýnnis reið, réttri halda Síz son minn sóttar brími heiptugligr ór heimi nam, þanns ek veit, at varnaði vamma vanr við námæli. 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. Bloetka því bróður Vílis, goðjaðar, at gjarn séak, þó hefr Míms vinr mér of fengnar bǫlva boetr, es et betra telk. Gǫfumk íþrótt Ulfs of bági, vígi vanr, vammi firða, ok þat geð, es gerðak mér vísa fjandr af vélǫndum. Nú erum torvelt. Tveggja bága njǫrva nipt á nesi stendr; skalk þó glaðr góðum vilja ok ó-hryggr heljar bíða. | Loss of Sons 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 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 [Excluded. Missing, incomplete verse.] 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 |