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