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Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages

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Lausavísur — BjRagn LvVIII (Ragn)

Bjǫrn Ragnarsson

Bjǫrn Ragnarsson, Lausavísur — Vol. 8 — Rory McTurk

Rory McTurk (forthcoming), ‘ Bjǫrn Ragnarsson, Lausavísur’ in Margaret Clunies Ross (ed.), Poetry in fornaldarsögur. Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages 8. Turnhout: Brepols, p. . <https://skaldic.org/m.php?p=text&i=3175> (accessed 27 April 2024)

 

1.
Upp hrundu vér ópi
(ór bitu meir en þeira)
— satt mun ek til þess segja —
(sverð) í Gnipafirði.
Knátti hverr, er vildi,
fyr Hvítabæ útan
— né sitt spari sveinar
sverð — manns bani verða!
 
‘We raised a war-cry in Gnipafjǫrðr; our swords had more bite than theirs; I will tell the truth of the matter. Everyone who was willing could slay a man outside Hvítabœr; may the lads not spare their sword! ’
2.
Duga mun hugr ok hjarta
í hugsnöru brjósti,
þó at miðr um þat mæli,
manni innan rifja.
Eigi er oss í augum
ormr né fránir snákar;
bræðr gæddu mik mínir;
man ek stjúpsonu þína.
 
‘Courage will serve a man well, as will a heart within the ribs in a courage-swift breast, even though he may speak rather little about it. There is no snake in our eyes, nor glittering serpents; my brothers enriched me; I remember your stepsons. ’
3.
Hér flýgr hverjan morgin
hress um borgir þessar
(læz heill munu af hungri)
heiðar valr (of deyja).
Hann fari suðr um sanda
ok sé, hvar vér létum
(þar fær hann dauðs manns) dreyra
(dögg) ór skýlihöggum.
 
‘A falcon of the heath [RAVEN/EAGLE] flies here every morning, full of life, around these strongholds; the healthy one says he’ll die of hunger. Let him go south over the sands and let him see where we let blood flow from oblique axe-strokes; there he’ll obtain the dew of a dead man [BLOOD]. ’
4.
Þat var fyrst, er fórum,
— Freys leika tók ek heyja —
þar er einiga áttum
öld, í Rómaveldi.
Þar lét ek of grön grána
— gall örn of valfalli —
at mannskæðu morði
mitt sverð dregit verða.
 
‘The first thing was that we went into the realm of Rome, where we had no allies; I proceeded to conduct the games of Freyr <god> [BATTLES]. There I let my sword be drawn across a grey moustache in man-harming combat; an eagle screamed above fallen slain. ’
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