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(Nord/Traditonal)
Translation 3E213 Atheneum Monks at Old Anthel
Fifty Nights from home I last awoke
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- Upon a sky-flung cliff in Hjaalmarch Hold
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Though my flesh had died and gone to ground
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- My Vision went on, from body unbound
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Winking there in the vale whence I came
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- This dead man's eyes saw pale flame
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Where men the same who took life away
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- Sung high their battle-glory and praise
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Wafting went I, a shade or a wight
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- Through stoic pines, pitched ink of night
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Ere I came upon the pyre-burning throng
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- I heard carried on wind's wing their song
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"Sing high and clear, bandsmen born of sky
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- Let Sovngarde hear and join our cry"
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"These honored dead shed blood upon the fen
"Your spirit went unto and filled their heart
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- You sped them to glory, Hail Spirit Wulfharth"
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Then oil from urns fed greedy flames
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- Burning what few my legion and I slayed
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Wordlessly they chanted then until dawn
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- Every flake of ash gathered ere they marched on
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Swept along unseen, so too went I
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- Meekly haunting these Children of the Sky
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Tireless they went, over hearth and hill
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- Exhaustion seemed only to spur them still
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Unflagging they went, a whorl of rage
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- Soon finding our camp, bloated with prey
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My dead heart ached for I knew men within
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- Doomed, never knowing how close was their end
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Again the Nord chests swelled up in refrain
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- I screamed unheard. I wept with horror plain
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"Hear us, our ancestor, Ash King, Ysmir
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- Honor this warband as we to glory repair"
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"Those dead to whom you spoke and heard
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- We bear them upon us, Your valor conferred"
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And so it was, to the man each was smeared
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- With ash of a Brother's bone, blood and beard
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These ashen brutes, the Askelde Men
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- Set to a gruesome task, each bowstring bent
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I bellowed then, a cry of desperate rage
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- A futile howl among those men, an empty page
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Yet one elder turned and unblinking, stared
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- Into the vapor-soul of me, his nostrils flared
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He bellowed ancient words, his beard aflame
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- And my vision fell away, Peace at last came
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