Only the weak believe

That what they do in battle

Is who they are as men

Far in the north neath hills of stone

In caverns black there was a throne

By flame encircled there the smoke

In coiling collumns rose to choke

Slowly his shadow like a cloud

Rode from the north and on the proud

That would not yield his fell;

To death or thraldom under hell

With fire and sword his ruin red

And all that would not bow the head

Like lightning fell the northern land

Lay groaning neath his ghastly hand

Only the weak believe

That what they do in battle

Is who they are as men

Far in the north neath hills of stone

In caverns black there was a throne

By flame encircled there the smoke

In coiling collumns rose to choke

Slowly his shadow like a cloud

Rode from the north and on the proud

That would not yield his fell;

To death or thraldom under hell

With fire and sword his ruin red

And all that would not bow the head

Like lightning fell the northern land

Lay groaning neath his ghastly hand