| |
Translated by William Sidney Walker
TO Norway, mother of the brave, | |
| We crown the cup of pleasure, | |
| And dream our freedom come again, | |
| And grasp the vanished treasure. | |
| When once the mighty task ’s begun, | 5 |
| The glorious race is swift to run. | |
| |
| Drink to the children of the rocks, | |
| To Norway’s honest bosoms! | |
| For him alone who breaks our chains | |
| Our wreath of glory blossoms; | 10 |
| And when did mountain-youth deny | |
| For Norway’s cause to live and die? | |
| |
| One glass to faith and friendship flows, | |
| One to Norwegia’s daughters; | |
| Drink each the girl his heart adores, | 15 |
| And shame on him who palters! | |
| Shame on the wretch who welcomes chains, | |
| And woman, wine, and song disdains. | |
| |
| Drink to Norway’s hills sublime, | |
| Rocks, snows, and glens profound; | 20 |
| “Success!” her thousand echoes cry, | |
| And thank us with the sound. | |
| Old Dofra mingles with our glee, | |
| And joins our shouts with three times three. | |
| |
