- Isilmë

Upon my face the rain falls and cold wind blows,
horizon gone only the view in front lasts.
Dark forces muster below, their howling grows,
behind me men murmur, this scene from their pasts.

For eons Hornburg has stood strong and silent,
never falling to enemy, Riders last hope.
Black night is torn open with lightning, sky rent.
Against the Wall they lift ladder and cast rope.

Without pause the battle moves, both sides swaying,
to a rhythm unheard and more powerful,
than the gasping of last breath or hearts pounding.
all quivers empty now, no bowstring to pull

Lifting eyes to sky we see the night ending,
worn and weary our souls are lifted and drawn,
to the sound of the great horn of Helm ringing,
and Kings’ call ‘Forth Eorlingas!’ with the dawn.