Vil man se fagre piger i mengde,
da skal man øverst i Hallingdal gå.
Fagre som roser, skjønne som liljer,
gullgule lokker og øyne så blå.
En sådan var min,
med gruber på kinden
den falske til malurt forvandlede vin.
Skulle jeg sørge, da var jeg en dåre.
Skulle jeg gråte, da var jeg en narr.
Skulle jeg la kvinnfolk mitt hjerte bedåre,
da var det skitt å vera vaksin som kar.
Takk og ære for meg!
Den pige skal aldri,
nei, aldri i verden min kjæreste bli.
Will you see fair maids, fair maids a-plenty,
high up in Hallingdal’s where you should be.
Fair as fine roses, lovely as lilies,
fine golden locks, eyes as blue as the sea.
A like girl was mine,
with dimpled cheeks rosy
the false one to wormwood did turn the sweet wine.
Were I to grieve now, with fools you’d compare me
Were I to weep now, a numskull I’d be.
Were I to let every woman ensnare me,
it would be hard as a man to stay free.
Thank goodness, say I!
That girl, she will never,
no, never my sweetheart become by and by.
To hear Alf Cranner sing the song in the 1960s, go to here
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