Matchless stands Atlantia’s glory,
her might and beauty without peer;
Stretching west to Midrealm-mountains,
reaching east where sea-sward nears;
Her bounty feeds and clothes many,
gentle Eden of latter-days;
Mark not largess for infirmness,
for strong arms keep the thief at bay;
Atlantian grain-lands be guarded,
a bull stained crimson stands in might;
All foes fear his anger deadly,
winging cowardly from his sight;
Stierbach stands athwart two rivers,
the lifeblood of a kingdom’s trade;
At each ready stands a door-ward,
‘gainst outland foe or bandit raid;
Dark Potomac, strongly running
from Aethelmarc unto the sea;
Watchful eye to western gate-land,
Abhainn Iarthair sword-arm doughty;
Rappahannock swiftly racing,
with slavering jaws of jagged stone;
Ready guard to southern gate-land,
with bow drawn taught stands Sudentorre;
With war-bow, axe, and broad-sword bright,
Atlantia’s heart we do defend;
Hearth-guards’ and door-wards’ ready might,
to slay the foe, protect the friend;
Raider, reaver, foe-man bitter,
whate’er your fortunes ‘neath the sun;
Come not here with hope of plunder,
for this land is where red bulls run!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment