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