Die Schlacht

Der teils wirre Text dieses Lieds ist sicherlich den Anstrengungen der Schlacht geschuldet, die der Dichter noch nicht überwunden hatte.

 

In the early dawn the Lugarians shivered in the damp.

But the shiver came not from the cold and spread throughout the camp.

The trembling horses sensed the fear of silent, thoughtful men

Who prayed that wifes and families might see them once again.

 

The Lugarians sent a down patrol to investigate the weight

Of forces that Jarkhans command enclosed behind the gate

The ground missed high the patrols approached as they drew close enough to show

The sentries on the battlement and an archer drew his bow.

 

From the topmost tower a sentry fell as an arrow pierced his skull

And his headlong flight into the moat seemed of a gull.

The patrol reported little, there was nothing much to see

But the strong and silent castle, a symbol of the free.

 

The Wali hailed Höggr as the first rays of the sun

Shone on Eadgils warriors, the fateful day begun.

From the castle green the rooks took flight to the high trees in the east

For their carrion mind the battlefield set the table for a feast.

 

A tide of white the Lugarians, trusting in their might

Swarmed like ants across the will, their aim at last in sight.

The Wali in brown coats were driven back by force

And the fighting grew more violent as the battle took it's course.

 

Eadgil gave the order no mercy to be shown

The sacrifice will reap awards when the Jarkhan is overthrown

The sicht of children lying dead made hardened warriors weep

The outer walls began to fall, they moved towards the keep.

 

The rooks surveyed the battlefield. Their hungry beady eyes

Revelled in the sight of death showing no surprise

The pressure mounted steadily as the Lugarians neared the gate

And the Jarkhan called to his berserks: 'It's your lifes or the state!'

 

The forces of Eadgil where diminished as the ground

Gave way over a troll's hole and swallowed the men around

The Lugarians where tireing as the afternoon grew late

And the Wali lowered the drawbridge and poured out through the gate.

 

They fought their way across the bridge, the men like falling leaves

Or ears of corn that fall in (?) the vicious sickle cleaves

The tide receded up the hill, the waste of (?) land

Once decaying swamp became a shore of pure white sand.

 

A blinded priest was seen to bless both the dying and the dead

As he stumbled through the pattelfield his cassoc running red

If their coats where white or brown his eyes could never see

And death made no distinction what ever man he be.

 

As darkness fell both camps withdrew their slain like cattle

Leaving the rooks to feast alone the victims of the battle

At evening both camps reviewed ther sad, depleted ranks

As survivors of the battle gave the gods their grateful thanks.

 

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