Let the river flow from the bison's spear.
Hear the blood staffs beat on the wall of shields.
For to the land of Ansteorra fair
Rides Sigmund standing on a golden shield

High the shield of the mighty king is borne.
Sworn eagle brother of the dark plume spoke,
"Our kinsmen follow him from out the east
To feast upon the deep wound dew he leaves."

The spear footed falcon with fierce far eyes
And knees that only bend before the brave
Bowed unto the king upon the high throne,
"By your leave, your glove I'd perch upon."

The king has returned in shining glory.
All who know him resound his victories.
A high seat will greet him in the gold hall
And the Raven God will smile when he sings.

The Fimbrol winter shall splinter the land
And the day of the wolf shall fall at last
Before a greater King and Queen shall stand
Upon the northern land of Midgard's realm.