Moirai - Völuspa I [official]

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MOIRAI specialise in the musical treasures of the middle ages with a focus on what has been lost in time, long before current notation systems came into use and of which only tantalising glimpses remain. The unique trio use original written sources and oral traditions, which they artistically interpret and respectfully recombine.

"Völuspá, the prophecy of the seeress, offers a reflection on the force of creation, the flame of inspiration, the creative spark that brings the birth of the world. The simple rhythmical pattern of the early medieval lyre accompanies this meditative chant on the mythological creation of the world."

To be released on the upcoming album of the ensemble Moirai: "Blood Treasure, Woven Fates".
On their new album, MOIRAI bring an ancient story back to life that they have extracted from Old Icelandic manuscripts and perform in the original language. On eight of the ten album tracks they sing of the hero Sigurd, who kills the dragon Fafnir and wins a cursed treasure of red gold. They also sing of a bitter feud between two powerful women, Brynhild and Gudrún, and deadly intrigues at the Burgundian court that finally lead to three kings meeting their terrible fate in the halls of Atli, king of the Huns.

Video: Clara de Asís & Mara Winter
Audio recorded and mixed by Tobias Häußler and mastered by Fredy Schnyder Hiedl.

TEXT (TRANSLATION BELOW):
Hlióðs bið ec allar helgar kindir
meiri oc minni mögo Heimdalar.
Vildo at ec Valföðr
vel fyrtelia forn spioll fira
þau er fremst um man.

Ec man iotna ár um borna
þá er forðom mic foedda höfðo.

Nío man ec heima nío íviði
miotvið maeran fyr mold neðan.

Ár var alda þar er Ymir bygði
vara sandr né sær né svalar unnir
iorð fannz æva né upphiminn
gap var ginnunga enn gras hvergi.

Áðr Burs synir bioðom um ypþo
þeir er miðgarð maeran scópo.

Sól scein sunnan á salar steina
þá var grund gróin groenom lauki.

Sól varp sunnan sinni mána
hendi inni hoegri um himinioður
sól þat né vissi hvar hon sali átti
stiornor þat né visso hvar þær staði átto
máni þat né vissi hvat hann megins átti.

Þá gengo regin öll á röcstóla
ginnheilog goð oc um þat gættuz:
nótt oc niðiom nöfn um gáfo
morgin héto oc miðian dag
undorn oc aptan árom at telia.

Þrír qvómo ór því liði
öþgir oc ástgir æsir at húsi.

Fundo á landi lítt megandi
Asc oc Emblo ørlöglausa.

Önd þau né átto óð þau né höfðo
lá né læti né lito góða.

Önd gaf Óðinn óð gaf Hoenir
lá gaf Lóðurr oc lito góða.

Asc veit ec standa heitir Yggdrasill
hár baðmr ausinn hvítaauri.
Þaðan koma döggvar þærs í dala falla
stendr æ yfir groenn Urðar brunni.

Þaðan koma meyiar margs vitandi
þriár ór þeim sæ er und þolli stendr.

Urð héto eina aðra Verðandi
– scáro á scíði – Sculd ina þriðio.

Þær lög lögðo þær líf kuro
alda bornom ørlög seggia.

TRANSLATION:
Attention I ask from all the sacred people, greater and lesser, the offspring of Heimdall. Odin, you wished that I should declare the ancient histories of men and gods—those which I know.

I, born of giants, remember them who nurtured me then.

I remember nine worlds, and nine roots, and the mighty Measuring Tree down below the earth.

In ancient times when Ymir lived, there was no sand nor sea nor cool waves.
Earth was nowhere nor the sky above, chaos yawned, grass was nowhere there.

First the sons of Bur brought up the earth, the glorious ones who shaped the world between.

The Sun shone from the south on the ground of stones, then the soil was grown over with green plants.

From the south, Sun, companion of the Moon, threw her right hand 'round the edge of the heaven, Sun did not know where her hall might be, the stars did not know where their place might be, Moon did not know what power he had.

Then all the Powers went to the thrones of fate and considered this. To night and her children they gave names: morning they named and midday, afternoon and evening, to reckon up the years.

Three Aesir, strong and loving, came to the Sea.

They found on land Ash and Embla, capable of little, lacking fate.

They had no spirit, no life, neither warmth nor voice, nor fresh complexions.

Life gave Odin, spirit gave Hænir, warmth gave Lodur, and fresh complexions.

I know that an ash-tree stands, called Yggdrasill, a high tree, soaked with shining loam. From there come the dews which fall in the valley, ever green, it stands over the well of Fate.

From there come three wise young women, from the lake which stands under the tree.

Fated one is called, Becoming another, the third Must-Be, they carved runes on the wood.

They set down laws, they chose lives for the sons of men, the fates of men.