A hundred servants surrounded

A hundred kings made vows

A hundred they are that went

A hundred they are that came

A hundred minstrels sang

And he foretold of them

A river follows the flow

I know its length

I know when it fades

I know when it refills

I know when it spills

I know when it wanes

I know which foundation

There is under the sea

This is the weird of a world old folk

That not ‘til, the last link breaks

Not ‘til the night is blackest

The blood of Hengist awakes

When the sun is black in heaven

The moon as blood above

And the earth is full of hatred

This People tell its love

Deep grows the hate of kindred

Its roots take hold on hell;

No peace or praise can heal it

But a stranger heals it well

Seas shall be red as sunsets

And kings' bones float as foam

And heaven be dark with vultures

The night our son comes home

I know the figure

Between heaven and earth;

When an opposite hill is echoing

When devastation urges onward

When the silvery is shining

When the deli shall be gloomy

The breath when it is black

When it’s best that has been

In the deep it will cease from ire;

It will be excessively angry;

In the deep, below the earth;

In the sky, above the earth

In change, eclipse and peril

Under the whole world's scorn

By blood and death and darkness

The Saxon peace is sworn;

That all our fruit be gathered

And all our race take hands

And the sea be a Saxon river

That runs through Saxon lands

Lo! Not in vain we bore him;

Behold it! Not in vain

Four centuries dooms of torture

Choked in the throat, restraint