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
Imperceptibly united:
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.