Come, kings, and listen to my song:
When Gwin, the son of Nore
Over the nations of the north his cruel sceptre bore
The nobles of the land did feed upon the hungry poor
They tear the poor man's lamb
And drive they needy from their door
Gordred the giant roused himself
From sleeping in his cave
He shook the hills, and in the clouds
The troubled banners wave
Beneath them rolled, like tempests black,
the numerous sons of blood;
Like lion's whelp, roaring abroad,
Seeking their nightly food
Down Bleron"s hills they dreadful rush,
Their cry ascends the clouds
The trampling horse and clanging arms
Like rushing mighty floods
Earth smokes with blood,
And groan and snakes
To drink her children's gore,
A sea of blood, nor can the eye
See to the trembling shore
Son of Nore
Like the ghost of Barraton
who sports in stormy sky
Gwin leads his host as black as
night when pestilence does fly
With horses and with chariots
and all his spearmen bold
March to the sound of mournful song
like clouds around him rolled
Gwin lifts his hand the nations halt,
'Prepare for war!' he cries
Gordered appears, his frowning brow
troubles our northern skies.
And now the raging armies rushed
like warring mighty seas
The heavens shake with roaring war,
the dust ascends the skies
And on the verge of this wild sea
famine and death doth cry
The cries of women and of
babes over the field doth fly
The king in rage, afar
With all his men of might
Like blazing comets scattering death
Through the red feverous night
The god of war is drunk with blood,
the earth doth faint and fail
The stench of blood makes sick the heavens
ghosts glut the throat of hell
O what have kings to answer
for before that awful throne
When thousand deaths for vengeance cry
and ghosts accusing groan
Like blazing comets in the sky
that shake the stars of light
Which drop like fruit unto the earth
through the fierce burning night
Like these did Gwin and Gordred meet,
and the first blow decides
Down from the brow unto the breast
Gordred his head divides
Gwin fell, the sons of Norway fled
All that remained alive
The rest did fill the vale of death
For them the eagles strive
Gone - the son of Nore
When Gwin, the son of Nore
Over the nations of the north his cruel sceptre bore
The nobles of the land did feed upon the hungry poor
They tear the poor man's lamb
And drive they needy from their door
Gordred the giant roused himself
From sleeping in his cave
He shook the hills, and in the clouds
The troubled banners wave
Beneath them rolled, like tempests black,
the numerous sons of blood;
Like lion's whelp, roaring abroad,
Seeking their nightly food
Down Bleron"s hills they dreadful rush,
Their cry ascends the clouds
The trampling horse and clanging arms
Like rushing mighty floods
Earth smokes with blood,
And groan and snakes
To drink her children's gore,
A sea of blood, nor can the eye
See to the trembling shore
Son of Nore
Like the ghost of Barraton
who sports in stormy sky
Gwin leads his host as black as
night when pestilence does fly
With horses and with chariots
and all his spearmen bold
March to the sound of mournful song
like clouds around him rolled
Gwin lifts his hand the nations halt,
'Prepare for war!' he cries
Gordered appears, his frowning brow
troubles our northern skies.
And now the raging armies rushed
like warring mighty seas
The heavens shake with roaring war,
the dust ascends the skies
And on the verge of this wild sea
famine and death doth cry
The cries of women and of
babes over the field doth fly
The king in rage, afar
With all his men of might
Like blazing comets scattering death
Through the red feverous night
The god of war is drunk with blood,
the earth doth faint and fail
The stench of blood makes sick the heavens
ghosts glut the throat of hell
O what have kings to answer
for before that awful throne
When thousand deaths for vengeance cry
and ghosts accusing groan
Like blazing comets in the sky
that shake the stars of light
Which drop like fruit unto the earth
through the fierce burning night
Like these did Gwin and Gordred meet,
and the first blow decides
Down from the brow unto the breast
Gordred his head divides
Gwin fell, the sons of Norway fled
All that remained alive
The rest did fill the vale of death
For them the eagles strive
Gone - the son of Nore