Father with his golden hair, he leaves his horn a-blowing,
Passes through the rolling plains, O where are you going?
I go to tame the wild from hill to deeping comb,
When the East takes I, the Young, set evermind to my tomb.
We are naught but farmers, yet we will ride today,
The cunning fang will try to bite, but we outlive the fray.
The worm has shown himself and he was cast out of our door,
This clever-minded servant has just driven us to war.
Knocked off of our mounts, no rest for the triumphant weary,
The shadow clouds our victory, and none can see too clearly.
We flee not from danger, for it is never us to yield,
We will ride to the East and South to defend our brothers’ fields.
Of that blessed house are three like a golden trinity,
The father, future, and one who rides unbidden to destiny.
In their blood the strength of men, merciful and strong,
But no blind eye are visions of mercy, you will pay for every wrong.