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Across the brigde of colours born |
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Of fire water and air |
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Dressed in crimson armours |
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In hand are bloodwet spears |
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Reach the entrance heavens gate |
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Honoured by the brave |
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See the hall with golden roof |
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The home allfather gave |
|
|
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Welcome to the hall of death |
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Great Odin we hail him |
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Come in, enjoy the glorious afterlife, my friend |
|
Here we fill the ranks of Tyr |
|
Battle is our way |
|
Every morning day and night till the winter fiercest come |
|
|
|
Cattle die |
|
All men are mortal |
|
But word-fame never dies |
|
Nor a noble name |
|
Kinsmen die |
|
All men are mortal |
|
But one thing never dies |
|
The glory of the great dead |
|
|
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Enough of tears, enough of wail! |
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Not to lament in was Valhalla made |
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The wind as fresh as the air is clear |
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The greatest of men are here |
|
All einherjer in Odin's court |
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Fare to fight each day |
|
Select the slain, then leave the battle |
|
Sit after at peace in the hall. |
|
|
|
Welcome to the hall of death |
|
Great Odin we hail him |
|
Come in, enjoy the glorious afterlife, my friend |
|
Here we fill the ranks of Tyr |
|
Battle is our way |
|
Every morning day and night till the winter fiercest come |
|
|
|
Cattle die |
|
All men are mortal |
|
But word-fame never dies |
|
Nor a noble name |
|
Kinsmen die |
|
All men are mortal |
|
But one thing never dies |
|
The glory of the great dead |
