From the highest summits

Bitten by impetuous winds

To valleys enshrined in snow

The tribe rides elder paths



The Sons of North

Carried by their steed, nostrils fuming in frozen dawn

Galloping from collars to crests

Enfeoffed lords in a mortal world



Carrying the banner of the ravens

Masters of immaculate tops

Living memory of Nordic lands

Last keepers of the Heathen faith



The proud hordes defy the one god, nothing can soil their ancient beliefs

They gall the sky of their hoof, grazing heaven of their swords

Their tribal chants exult such an anthem to the battle



Protecting their fatherland, till' the snow be redden by blood

Shadows of the ravens plane over the mount and valleys

The gallop of the war horses will rumble loud once again