Only the weak believe
That what they do in battle
Is who they are as men
Far in the north neath hills of stone
In caverns black there was a throne
By flame encircled there the smoke
In coiling columns rose to choke
Slowly his shadow like a cloud
Rode from the north and on the proud
That would not yield his fell;
To death or thralldom under hell
With fire and sword his ruin red
And all that would not bow the head
Like lightning fell the northern land
Lay groaning neath his ghastly hand
Only the weak believe
That what they do in battle
Is who they are as men
Far in the north neath hills of stone
In caverns black there was a throne
By flame encircled there the smoke
In coiling columns rose to choke
Slowly his shadow like a cloud
Rode from the north and on the proud
That would not yield his fell;
To death or thralldom under hell
With fire and sword his ruin red
And all that would not bow the head
Like lightning fell the northern land
Lay groaning neath his ghastly hand