Elmord's Magic Valley

Software, lingüística e rock'n'roll. Sometimes in English.

Land

2016-06-11 22:50 -0300. Tags: music, life, mind

Eu ia escolher um verso para usar como título do post, mas a letra é toda épica demais pra escolher.

Týr – Land (YouTube)

Homeland we're leaving
We are retrieving
Our right to stand alone
We cannot stay here
Leave this bay
Fear not what must be
We must cross the sea

On our own
Standing alone
Always we got by on our own
Under stormy skies
Through rain, wind and raging sea
Head into the Unknown

Leave behind
Bonds that may bind
Circumstance that keep us behind
Rise to meet the day
Hold high torches passed through time
Fear not what you might find

Ver sterk mín sál á køldu náttarvakt
Har eingi altarljós til gudar brenna
Har hvør ein vón av fannkava var takt
Og hjarta ongan hita meir kann kenna
Ver stór mín sál sum rúmdar kalda tøgn
Ið eina er, tá sloknar lívsins søgn.

[Translation]
Be strong, my soul, on thy night vigil cold
Where to the gods no altar candle burns
Where every hope the snowy drifts enfold
And ne'er a trace of heat my heart discerns
Be great, my soul, as those still spaces cold
Which lone remain, when life's brief tale is told

Roads are long and oceans far and wide
Nights are cold and skies are dark and gray
Ride the autumn wind and evening tide
Time is long and land is far away

Out on the sea
Waiting for me
Storms are raging violently
Still we sail on silently
We seek to tame the torrrents and tides
Master the mights

Sail with me across the raging sea
Write your tale into eternity
Still we've sighted only sea till now
As we sail, I sometimes wonder how

* * *

Rest in the twilight
I have gained insight
Since the deeds of younger days
Now I am wiser
Raise my eyes
Gaze across the sea
And recall when we

Sailed away
Sought a new way
How I longed for far, far away
In the sunset glow
I dreamt of another land
A thousand years from that day

[from the Hávamál]
Cattle die
Kinsmen will die
I myself must die too some day
All are mortal men
But fair fame will never fade
For the man who wins it

Ver sterk mín sál á mjørkatungu ferð
Har tættar fylkjast um teg gráar gátur
Tín barnaflokkur
Úttærdur hann er
Og sárur kennist hans sólsvangi grátur
Ver stór mín sál í dagsins royndar stund
Holl veitir nátt hin dreymaleysa blund.

[Translation]
Be strong, my soul, upon thy darkling way
Where grey mysterious forms about thee run
Thine offspring, who their weariness display
In piteous weeping for the absent sun
Be great, my soul, with the day's griefs oppressed
A long night comes, to grant the dreamless rest.

Roads are long and oceans far and wide
Nights are cold and skies are dark and gray
Ride the autumn wind and evening tide
Time is long and land is far away

Out on the sea
Waiting for me
Storms are raging violently
Still we sail on silently
We seek to tame the torrents and tides
Master the mights

Sail with me across the raging sea
Write your tale into eternity
Still we've sighted only sea till now
As we sail, I sometimes wonder how far to Asgaard.

[Letra tomada deste site, com pequenas correções.]

Comentários (3)

Vacão, 2016-06-13 19:20:33 -0300 #

"Cattle die[...]
All are mortal men"


Vítor De Araújo, 2016-06-13 23:01:07 -0300 #

Gado também é gente, tá? :P
(Por sinal, essa linha do "all are mortal men" não tem no Hávamál. :P)


El Mui Mal Afamado Bromeador de San Catlapin, 2016-06-14 14:31:29 -0300 #

Há vá? Mal?
Há Há Há!


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