O my brother, here we stand,
We nine defenders by the coast:
All who seek the truest Westland
Must one day us pass.
Braid we water in our spirits,
Mingled slopes of earth and cloud
Solid with the wild.
We keep watch from weathered scarp
Upon the very edge of Earth;
Though the dark and shrouded waters
Stare back in our eyes,
Far remote we hold their borders,
Treasures hidden in our hands,
Intertwining arms delighted
Round the ocean-lands.
Ours the weight of snow descending,
Ours the verdant river run;
Ours the misty drops of morning;
Ours the fertile heaven!
Creatures of our height can see us,
Lined on subterranean root,
Creatures of our weight can hear us,
Hear our glacial moot.
O my brother, if I’m only
Shadow in the Northern sky,
Sloping darkness in the darkness,
Riverbank of night,
I am no less solid for it!
I will shine the light of dawn:
Red of courage, red of mourning,
Morning and beyond.