Spirit of the North

Hear the calling horn
Feel the strength of the steed
Smell the green of a new nation born
By sword's sworn deed.

Thy days are numbered
When you hear the horn
And the horses' thunder
In the stillness of morn.

Galloping, galloping over the grass
Galloping, galloping to the last
For comes the rider, and the horn is blowing
Through his golden hair the wind is flowing.

Forth, ye sons of Eorl!
Onward, O Northern host!
Horse, sword, and spear
To protect what is dear.

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