I
Der er et yndigt land,
Det står med brede bøge
𝄆 Nær salten østerstrand. 𝄇
Det bugter sig i bakke, dal,
Det hedder gamle Danmark
𝄆 Og det er Frejas sal. 𝄇
II
Der sad i fordums tid
De harniskklædte kæmper,
𝄆 Udhvilede fra strid. 𝄇
Så drog de frem til fjenders mén,
Nu hvile deres bene
𝄆 Bag højens bautasten. 𝄇
III
Det land endnu er skønt,
Thi blå sig søen bælter,
𝄆 Og løvet står så grønt. 𝄇
Og ædle kvinder, skønne møer
Og mænd og raske svende
𝄆 Bebo de danskes øer. 𝄇
IV
Hil drot og fædreland!
Hil hver en danneborger,
𝄆 Som virker, hvad han kan! 𝄇
Vort gamle Danmark skal bestå,
Så længe bøgen spejler
𝄆 Sin top i bølgen blå. 𝄇 |
1
[tɛɐ̯ ɛɐ̯ e̝t ˈøn.tit lænˀ]
[te̝ ˈstɒˀ með ˈpʁeː.ðə ˈpøː.jə]
𝄆 [nɛɐ̯ˀ ˈsæl.tən ˈøs.tɐ.ˌstʁɑnˀ] 𝄇
[te̝ ˈpɔk.tɐ sɑj i ˈpɑ.kə tɛˀl]
[te̝ ˈhe̝.ðˀɐ ˈkɑm.lə ˈtæn.mɑk]
𝄆 [ʌ te̝ ɛɐ̯ ˈfʁɑ.jæs sɛˀl] 𝄇
2
[tɛɐ̯ sæðˀ i ˈfɒː.tɔms tsʰiðˀ]
[ti ˈhɑː.nisk.ˌkʰleˀ.tə ˈkʰem.pɐ]
𝄆 [ˈuð.ˌviˀ.lə.ðə fʁɑ stʁiðˀ] 𝄇
[sʌ tʁoˀ ti fʁæmˀ tsʰe̝l ˈfje.nɐs me̝ˀn]
[nu ˈviː.lə ˈtɛɐ̯.ɐs ˈpe̝ː.nə]
𝄆 [pɛˀj ˈhʌ.jəns ˈpɑw.tæ.ˌste̝ˀn] 𝄇
3
[te̝ lænˀ e.ˈnu ɛɐ̯ skœnˀt]
[tsʰi plɔˀ sɑj søˀ.jən ˈpel.tɐ]
𝄆 [ʌ(w) ˈløˀ.vəð stɒˀ sʌ kʁɶnˀt] 𝄇
[ʌ(w) ˈɛˀð.lə ˈkve̝.nɐ skœ.nə møˀɐ]
[ʌ(w) menˀ ʌ(w) ˈʁɑs.kə ˈsve.nə]
𝄆 [pe̝.ˈpoˀ ti ˈtæns.kəs øˀɐ] 𝄇
4
[hilˀ tʁʌt ʌ(w) ˈfeð.ʁɐ.ˌlænˀ]
[hilˀ vɛɐ̯ˀ e̝n ˈtæ.nə.ˌpɒː.wɐ]
𝄆 [sʌm ˈviɐ̯.kɐ væð hæn kʰænˀ] 𝄇
[vɒːt ˈkɑm.lə ˈtæn.mɑk ˈskæl pe̝.ˈstɔˀ]
[sʌ ˈle.ŋə ˈpøː.jən ˈspɑj.lɐ]
𝄆 [sin tsʰʌp i ˈpøl.jən plɔˀ] 𝄇 |
I
There is a lovely country
it stands with broad beech-trees,
𝄆 near the salty eastern shore 𝄇
It bends itself in hill, valley,
its name is old Denmark
𝄆 and it is Freya's hall. 𝄇
II
There sat in former times,
the armour-suited warriors,
𝄆 rested from conflict. 𝄇
Then they went forward to the enemies' injury,
now resting are their bones
𝄆 behind the mound's menhir. 𝄇
III
That country is still lovely,
because the sea waves so blue frolic,
𝄆 and the foliage stands so green 𝄇
And noble women, beautiful maidens,
and men and brisk swains
𝄆 inhabit the Danes' islands. 𝄇
IV
Hail king and fatherland!
Hail every honourable citizen,
𝄆 who works, what he can 𝄇
Our old Denmark shall endure,
as long as the beech-tree mirrors
𝄆 its top in the blue wave! 𝄇 |
I
There is a land we love
with shady beech-trees aspread
𝄆 The briny shores above. 𝄇
Its hills and valleys gently fall,
'Tis the name of ol' Denmark,
𝄆 'Tis good ol' Freya's hall. 𝄇
II
There in the days of yore
Sat armoured giants rested
𝄆 'Tween their frays of gore 𝄇
Then they went forth the foe to face,
Now found in stone-set barrows,
𝄆 Their final resting place. 𝄇
III
This land is still as fair,
The sea is blue around it,
𝄆 And peace is cherished there. 𝄇
Strong men and noble women still
Uphold their country's honour
𝄆 With faithfulness and skill. 𝄇
IV
Hail king and fatherland!
Hail citizens of honour,
𝄆 Who do the best they can. 𝄇
Our ancient Denmark shall remain,
As long as beech tops mirror
𝄆 In waves of blue their chain! 𝄇 |