English

1. SNEPPAN

The sun is setting in the evening
over village and land.
The pan is cooled, the bench is cold,
the ravens sit down on the sand.

In the pitch black valley of death
the light of life expired.
Life has lost the game,
hour of the black death

The abandoned village laid by the sea,
it’s quiet behind the doorstep.
Deserted and deadly quiet is the bay.
Sorrowful is the killing plague.

A single life is only just alive
in the hut inside the stone wall
The norn spins the thread that simultaneously
will also receive an end.

In the pitch black valley of death
the light of life expired.
Life has lost the game,
hour of the black death

In the pitch black valley of death
the light of life expired.
Life has lost the game,
hour of the black death

I will hold the death watch
over the community and family.
When my last word is spoken
can you, death, easily come in.

In the pitch black valley of death
the light of life expired.
Life has lost the game,
hour of the black death

1. SNEPPAN

Sólin setur seg í kvøld
yvir bygd og land.
Grýtan er kólnað og bríkin er køld
ravnarnir setast á sand

Í deyðans døkka dimma dali
Ljós lívsins er sløkt.
Lív í leikidystin tapti
Svarta deyðans økt

Oyðin bygd við havið lá
Kvirt er innan húsagátt.
Manntóm blikandi still er vág.
Døpur er tann drepandi sótt.

Eittans lív her anir enn
í máttu innan garð  
Nornan hon kvettir ein tráð í senn
ein enda hesin eisini fær.

Í deyðans døkka dimma dali
Ljós lívsins er sløkt.
Lív í leikidystin tapti
Svarta deyðans økt

Í deyðans døkka dimma dali
Ljós lívsins er sløkt.
Lív í leikidystin tapti
Svarta deyðans økt

Sita skal eg sorgavakt
Yvir fjøld og ætt.
Tá mítt síðsta orð er sagt,
deyðin stíg tú innar lætt.

Í deyðans døkka dimma dali
Ljós lívsins er sløkt.
Lív í leikidystin tapti
Svarta deyðans økt

2. SNÆBJØRN

Snæbjørn wakes up on Christmas day,
now, that winter has come.
Shall I sit here all alone,
freezing and hungry in the mountain’s cave,
freezing in the mountain’s cave.

Four scarfs they have come
between me and the king.
Shall I suffer for my love,
and be chained in iron,
chained in iron.

The high mister who came here,
who should fill his plate here.
Wanted me to climb on narrow ledges
and putting my life in danger,
my life in danger.

I was taken to court in front of the island ting
for the gift from my heart
and I was convicted after the Danish law.
But I mortally wounded the bailiff,
they made me an outlaw.

A hunted man on the island I was,
but they couldn’t catch me,
in holes and cliffs I will hide.
A freely born Faroese I was,
freely Faroese I was.

Early in the morning a boat vanished
from the boathouses.
Fled from Skálamøl,
farewell my land, my wife, my child,
Snæbjørn went away. Farewell my land, my wife, my child,
Snæbjørn went away.

2. SNÆBJØRN

Snæbjørn vaknar jóladag,
nú vetur komin er.
Skal eg sita einsamallur her,
kaldur og svangur í fjalsins lon,
kaldur í fjalsins lon.

Fýra turrikløð tey komu
Í millum meg og kong.
Skal eg bøta fyri mín kærleika
og verða settur í bolt og jarn,
settur í bolt og jarn.

Høgi harrin í higar kom.
Hann fylla skuldi sítt trog.
Vildi meg at klintra í dúvurók
Og seta mítt lív í vandaferð,
mítt lív í vandaferð.

Stevndur fyri oyggjating
Fyri hjartans gávu bleiv eg
og dømdur eftir danalóg.
Men, fútanum gav eg banasár,
teir friðleysan gjørdu meg.

Jagsraður maður í oynni var eg,
Men teir fáa meg ei,
Í holum og rókum eg goyma meg vil.
Eg frælsur føddur føroyingur var,
frælsur føroyingur var.

Tíðliga á morgni ein bátur horvin
var í neystagrund.
Flýddur út av Skálamøl,
Farvæl mitt land, mitt fljóð, mítt barn,
Snæbjørn farin er. Farvæl mitt land, mitt fljóð, mítt barn,
Snæbjørn farin er.

3. EXILE

My thoughts search their way home to you,
you are far away out of sight.
My longing awakes, fastened in my thoughts
I miss you… now.

When the sun sets in the evening,
my heart burns although the night is cold.
My song of sorrow I will send to you with a breeze
a tender kiss from me.

In the dream during the night, when my heart beats anxiously,
you calm me down…

When the waves smash hard against the rocks,
my soul hardens, my sword is sharp
I had to flee under murder and force
anger inflamed and power awakened

Outlawed I am sitting here alone,
without you, and you are alone.
My song of sorrow I send with the waves over the sea
to my homeland, while the sun sinks.

3. ÚTLEGD

Tankar mínir leita heim til tín,
langt burtur ert tú handan sýn.
Vakti mína trá, festi í mín hug,
sakni teg…nú.

Tá sólin setir seg í kvøld,
brennur mít hjarta, hóast náttin er køld.
Mítt sálarkvæði vil við lotinum senda tær
eymleikans koss frá mær.

Í dreyminum á nátt, tá mítt hjarta ókyrt slær,
ver tú í logn við mær…

Tá bylgjur bróta móti bergi fast,
harðnar sál mín, svørð mítt er hvast.
Rýma mátti eg, under morð og makt,
Øði tendrað og megi vakt.

Friðleysur eg siti eina nú
Uttan teg, og eina ert tú.
Mín sorgasang eg sendi við alduni um hav
til heimland mítt, tá sól fer í kav.

4. SINKLARS VÍSA

Lord Sinclair crossed the salty sea,
to Norway his course was set;
among Gudbrand’s cliffs he found his grave,
there a bloody forehead awaited him.

Well up before dawn,
they’re coming across the heath.

Lord Sinclair went over the wavy blue
to battle for Swedish money;
may God help you, you certainly must
bite the dust in front of the northern men.

The moon shines in the pale night,
the waves so cheerful warble,
a mermaid out of the water rose
she predicted Lord Sinclair evil:

“Turn around, turn around, you Scottish man!
It’s about your life so fair,
when you come to Norway, I tell you truthfully
that you will never return!”

“Wicked is your song, you venomous troll,
always you are telling misfortune;
if I ever get you under my force,
I will let you be chopped in pieces!”

He sailed during the days, he sailed of them three,
with all his hired soldiers,
on the fourth morning he may Norway have seen
I do not want to conceal.

At the coasts of Romsdal he landed,
declared himself an enemy;
with him followed fourteen hundred men,
all of whom had evil intentions.

They pillaged and burned wherever they came,
all avails of law they violated;
frailty of age did not move them,
they mocked the weeping widow.

The child was slain on the mother’s lap
no matter how mild it smiled;
but rumours about this misery and distress
reached the core of the land.

And the bonfire shone and the gathering word ran
from neighbour to the nearest neighbour;
the sons of the valley did not hide in hide-outs,
that had Lord Sinclair to realize

“The soldiers are away on the King’s convoy,
we must defend the land by ourselves;
cursed be the worthless knave,
that now will spare his own blood.”

The farmers of Våge, Lesje and Lom
with sharp axes on the shoulder
came together in Bredebøjgd
with the Scotts they wanted to talk

Right under the hillside a path runs
men would call it Kringen;
the company hastened past the place;
here shall the enemy fall

The rifles are no longer hanging on the wall
here you see a gray-haired rifleman;
the Nix lifts his wet bearded head
and waited longing for his bite.

The first shot optained Lord Sinclair,
he screamed and gave up his breath;
every Scott shouted, when the colonel fell:
“God free us from this woe!”

“Forward farmers, forward you Norwegian men!
Strike down, strike them all down!”
Then the Scott wished to be home again,
he was not feeling so happy.

With dead bodies was Kringen strewn,
the ravens got enough to eat,
the blood of youth, that here was spilled,
was mourned for by the Scottish girls.

No living soul came home,
who could his countrymen tell,
how dangerous it is to visit those,
who live among the Norwegian mountains.

Still stands a column on that same place,
that Norway’s foes would threaten.
Woe to every Norwegian who is not moved,
when his eyes behold it!

Well up before dawn,
they’re coming across the heath.

4. SINKLARS VÍSA

Hr. Sinklar drog over salten Hav,
til Norrig hans Kurs monne stande;
blandt Gudbrands Klipper han fandt sin Grav,
der vanked saa blodig en Pande.

Vel op før Dag,
de kommer vel over den Hede.

Hr. Sinklar drog over Bølgen blaa
for svenske Penge at stride:
Hjælpe dig Gud, du visselig maa
i Græsset for Nordmanden bide.

Maanen skinner om Natten bleg,
de Vover saa sagtelig trille;
en Havfru op af Vandet steg,
hun spaaede Hr. Sinklar ilde:

“Vend om, vend om, du skotske Mand!
det gælder dit Liv saa fage;
kommer du til Norrig, jeg siger for sandt,
ret aldrig du kommer tilbage!”

“Led er din Sang, du giftige Trold,
altidens du spaar om Ulykker;
fanger jeg dig engang i min Vold,
jeg lader dig hugge i Stykker.”

Han sejled i Dage, han sejled i tre
med alt sit hyrede Følge,
den fjerde Morgen han Norrig mon se,
jeg vir det ikke fordølge.

Ved Romsdals Kyster han styred til Land,
erklærede sig for en Fjende;
ham fulgte fjorten Hundrede Mand,
som alle havde ondt i Sinde.

De skændte og brændte, hvor de drog frem,
al Folkeret monne de krænke;
Oldingens Afmagt rørte ej dem,
de spotted den grædende Enke.

Barnet blev dræbt i Moderens Skød,
saa mildelig det end smiled;
men Rygter om al denne Jammer og Nød
til Kærnen af Landet iled.

Bavnen lyste, og Budstikken løb
fra Grande til nærmeste Grande;
Dalens Sønner i Skjul ej krøb,
det maatte Hr. Sinklar sande.

“Soldaten er ude paa Kongens Tog,
vi selv maa Landet forsvare;
forbandet være det Niddingsdrog,
som nu sit Blod vil spare.”

De Bønder af Vaage, Lesje og Lom
med skarpe økser paa Nakke
i Bredebøjgd tilsammen kom,
med Skotten de vilde snakke.

Tæt under Lide der løber en Sti,
som man monne Kringen kalde;
Laagen skynder sig der forbi;
i den skal Fjenderne falde.

Riflen hænger ej mer paa Væg,
hist sigter graahærdede Skytte;
Nøkken opløfter sit vaade Skæg
og venter med Længsel sit Bytte.

Det første Skud Hr. Sinklar gjaldt,
han brøled og opgav sin Aande;
hver Skotte raabte, da Obersten faldt:
“Gud fri os af denne Vaande!”

“Frem, Bønder, frem, I norske Mænd,
slaar ned, slaar ned for Fode!”
Da ønsked sig Skotten hjem igen,
han var ej ret lystig til Mode.

Med døde Kroppe blev Kringen strø’d,
de Ravne fik nok at æde, –
det Ungdomsblod, som her udfiød,
de skotske Piger begræde.

Ej nogen levende Sjæl kom hjem,
som kunde sin Landsmand fortælle,
hvor farligt det er at besøge dem,
der bo blandt Norriges Fjælde.

End knejser en Støtte paa samme Sted,
som Norges Uvenner mon true.
Vé hver en Nordmand, som ej bliver hed,
saa tit hans øjne den skue!

Vel op før Dag,
de kommer vel over den Hede.

5. A SHORT AND BRIEF WHILE

It is a brief and short while,
so we walk out of this world;
in the kingdom of Heaven we will meet again
those we have lost here
like you, my dearest father,
who leads me merciful home to you.

Close to God they happily await us,
blissful passes time for them.
Oh father! Give us strength to fight,
until the merry hour has come,
when we, freed from life’s hardship and worry
make it home to your castle.

When all our heavy effort is forgotten,
when Jesus dries each tear;
in the joy of endless breathing
we live there for uncounted years;
so we sing so glad and happy:
God created everything so wonderful!

5. EIN STUTT OG STOKKUT LØTA

Tað er ein stutt og stokkut løta,
so fara vit úr hesi verð;
í himmiríki aftur møtast
vit teimum, sum vit mistu her,
sum tú algóði faðir mín
í náði leiddi heim til tín.

Hjá Guði glað tey okkum bíða,
í sælu teimum tíðin fer.
O, faðir! gev oss kraft at stríða,
til fagnarstundin komin er,
tá loyst frá lívsins neyð og sorg
vit vinna heim í tína borg.

Tá gloymd er øll vár svára møði,
tí Jesus turkar burt hvørt tár;
í endaleysu andans frøi
vit liva har í ótald ár;
tá syngja vit so glað og sæl:
Guð gjørdi alt so sera væl!

6. THE FRISIANS

The lineage of the Frisians was strong in the Faroese lands,
on the southernmost end of the land they settled down,
honoured on land, honoured on the sea,
were the Frisians.

But the black death let the castle of the Frisians become cold.
it doesn’t spare you nor me.
Run away quickly, don’t turn back,
the black death!

Cast off to the sea!
Leave the land behind!
Your course is set, leave the land behind!

You shall escape this storm of death,
that deserts every living thing around you.
The pot has cooled down, the voice became silent
the death is black.

My son, come sit down here on my meager camp
now that cold Helheim calls for me.
Gone heroes cross my mind,
hear me!

Cast off to the sea!
Leave the land behind!
Your course is set, leave the land behind!

Cast off to the sea!
Leave the land behind!
Your course is set, leave the land behind!

Although we decline in numbers, our soul will
live on through you in this place.
Burn the bridge, take your cattle,
walk your path!

6. FRÍSARNIR

Frísaættin sterk í Føroyar landi var,
á syðsta landsins endi setti seg.
Virdur á landi, virdur á havi
Frísin var.

Men sóttin svarta legði kalda frísanna borg,
Hon sparer ei teg, ei sparer meg.
Renn nú skjótt, vend ei við
Sóttin svørt!

Legg tú út í havið!
Legg tú landi frá!
Sett er kósin tín, legg tú landi frá!

Slepp tær undan hesI deyðans ódn,
ið oyðir alt livandi um teg.
Grúgvin kólnað, røddin tagnað,
sóttin svørt.

Sonur mín kom set her við mítt neyðars ból,
Nú helheimur kaldi kallar meg.
Fornir frægir, renna gjøgnum sinni,
Hoyr tú meg!

Legg tú út í havið!
Legg tú landi frá!
Sett er kósin tín, legg tú landi frá!

Legg tú út í havið!
Legg tú landi frá!
Sett er kósin tín, legg tú landi frá!

Fækkast vit í talið, men sál okra vil
Liva gjøgnum teg á hesum stað.
Brenn tú brýr, tak títt fæ,
Far tú tín veg!

7. BALLAD OF THE HARGABROTHERS

I, aged, sit here alone,
In the last night of the year,
but the memory about the heroic time
gives me new strength.
It feels as if those, who fell
in the middle of their lives’ path,
were now here inside the room
and talked with me.

We went through many dangers,
when the storm raged in the mountains
with snowstorms and rowing against the wind,
and Røstin turbulent flew;
often we went to the sea
when noone else did it.
When all on the island waded in spume
we landed there.

Sat I at the rowlock, you pushed yourself,
and he at the rudder,
no place was safer than on bord,
in the storm on the planks:
near Tormansmið, when the high waves broke
broad over boat and man
it bolt upright on the top of the waves
run nearly empty.

And the one time, as we rowed in a race
during a grind on the long way.
With real man we executed the game,
they did not spare themselves:
we took off from Sumbiamøl
– did not give us a break –
when the breakers leveled up with the upper plank
and into the Hvalbafjord.

When „Vaagen“ did this attested trip,
we set the sails on the knar,
and thirty rowers
we led home over the fjord.
In the storm all lost their courage
but brother, you gave advice
stood bound to the oar for hours,
approached the bay of Tórshavn.

You, younger brother, reached
the top of Beinisvørð
the cliff seven fathoms high
and high on green Beinisvørð,
150 fathoms high
you looked into the deep blue sea,
although courageous, without protection you went
between air and sea.

With rope, cord and pole,
we performed this heroic deed:
where no foot has been set before
we created a path;
we took 20 fathoms of air
and narrow paths only few would take,
on beaks of rocks one could bend
Deep below laid the sea.

We didn’t know motor nor car,
and although many things were hard
with the years on the outhernmost fishing grounds
and burden over mountain and pass.
We did not forget delight and game,
and happy gatherings,
at all occasions we sang ballads,
even in the greatest danger.

Now all talk about heroic sportive deeds
on the sports field and in the sports halls,
but life taught us games
on the sea, in the cliffs and on the hills.
When death was standing before one’s face,
we went to dance.
We didn’t think about press awards,
trophy cups or laurel wreath.

7. KVÆÐIÐ UM HARGABRØÐUR

Eg gamal siti eina her
á ársins síðstu nátt,
men minnini frá bragdartíð
mær bera nýggjan mátt.
Tað er sum tit, ið fullu frá
á miðjum lívsins veg,
nú vóru her í stovuni
og tosaðu við meg.

Vit vóru manga vandaferð,
tá ódn av fjøllum brann
við kavarok og andróðri,
og Røstin rísin rann;
tí ofta løgdu vit í hav,
tá eingin annar var,
– um oyggin øll í skúmi vóð,
vit lendu fullvæl har.

Sat eg við skeytið, dragið tú,
og hann við stýrisvøl,
ei tryggari var innanborðs
í ódn á bátafjøl:
Av Tormansmið tá brotið bratt
breyt yvir bát og mann,
hann snórabeint um aldurøð
seg næstan tóman rann.

Og hinaferð vit róðu kapp
í grind tað longu leið
við rættar menn, vit framdu leik,
og teir seg eirdu ei:
Vit løgdu út av Sumbiarmøl
–  ei linnaðu ein vørr –
so brotið javnt við æsing stóð,
og inn á Hvalbiarfjørð.

Tá “Vaagen” fór ta gitnu ferð,
vit vundu segl á knørr,
og tríati útróðrarmenn
vit førdu heim um fjørð.
Í ódnini fell alt í fátt,
men bróðir, tú tók ráð,
stóð róðurbundin ættmál tvey,
vann inn á Havnarvág.

Tú, yngri bróðir, lesti teg
til tops á Beinisvørð
um sjeyti favna meitilberg
og upp á grønan svørð,
hálvtriðja hundrað favnar hátt
tú sá í kolblátt hav,
tó djarvur, leyshentur tú fór
ímillum loft og hav.

Við línu, lesningi og stong
vit intu kappabrøgd:
har eingin fótur troddi fyrr
av okkum rás varð løgd;
vit tóku tjúgu favna loft
og mjógvar, bert ein tá
á knaddar kundi krøkjast inn.
Djúpt undir havið lá.

Vit kendu ei motor og bil,
so tungt mangt takið var
við ár av ytstu havmiðum
og burð um berg og skarð.
Tó gloymdu vit ei lyst og leik,
ei kátan veitslufund,
í øllum førum kvóðu vit,
sjálvt verstu vandastund.

Nú tosa øll um ítróttsbrøgd
á vøll’ og fimleikshøll,
men lívið lærdi okkum leik
á sjógv, um berg og fjøll.
Um deyðin fyri eygum stóð
vit fóru sum til dans,
vit tonktu ei um blaðmansrós,
ei steyp og laurberkrans.