For Norway, birthplace of giants,
we this Toast will empty!
And when finally our blood boil,
we sweetly of liberty dream.
Though we will someday wake up
and break chains, ties, and force.
For Norway, birthplace of giants,
we this Toast will empty!
Each brave hero, among cliffs born, we
will drink to his honour!
Each honest Norwegian, who chains broke,
will for ever be loved!
The wrathful guard’s crackling guns,
most likely explains Norwegians’ grievance.
Each honest Norwegian, among cliffs born,
We will drink to his Honour!
A toast to you, my jolly friend,
and to Norwegian lasses!
If you have one, then a toast to that,
and shame on he, who betrays!
Yes, shame on he who loves force,
and hates girls, wine and song!
A toast for you, my jolly friend,
and for Norwegian lasses!
And yet a toast for Norway’s mountains,
for cliffs, snow and hills!
Hear Dovre's echoes shout: “Hail!"
for the Toast a threefold thanks.
Yes, triple threefolds to all the mountains,
for sons of Norway shout "Hail!"
Still yet a toast for you, my mountain,
for cliffs, snow and hills!