Beyond the invisible girdle of north

Lies the well-hidden castle of frost 

And the paths to its towers, carved in ice.

Are guarded by wolves of ominous size.



Great are their numbers in winter's realm

And great is their strength by all the accounts

And nobody passes the borders unseen

By the fiery eyes of the servants of wild 



Yet some of the evil spirits 

Those most unobedient and vile

Have been cast out of the enchanted domain

And doomed to forever roam the land



When full-moon casts its evil beams

On silent forests and ice-clad streams 

Unlucky travellers may then hear

A chilling howl of anger afar



There the downfallen children of snow

Each of the twelve expelled once 

Have gathered a threatening army of wolves

To avenge upon mankind the curse laid on them



People of highlands, men of the north - folk of fierce courage, endurance and might - yet even

They fear the onslaughts of the phantoms at night, and above all their leaders, whom they 

named wolfghosts - dreadful masters with white on their breast and bellow-like nostrils,

inclined for warm flesh



And when over the sinister mountains of north 

Storms forth a raging blizzard of frost 

Through the snowclouds may sometimes be seen

Foggy shades of rushing terrible beasts



Ahead of the flock leaps a tremendous wolf -

one of the twelve in hunger and wrath 

Gnashing its fangs of iron and steel,

whilst leading the majestic legion of night



Pity to those forlorn who may ever perceive

The triumphant king of the nebular herd...