The solstice flame was burning the night that we rode forth,
And the bitter winds were turning to lead us on our course.
The moon’s glow did show brightly the armor on our backs,
And our kin did follow after tears filling up our tracks.

And onward did we ride to meet our fiercest foe,
And with the strength of ages the Gods would steer our blows.
We Celts did charge towards them with battle cries of hate,
And for the torcs around our necks we swore to meet our fate.

Through day and night and night and day we traveled through the land,
And we mustered up our every skill to fill Eremon’s command.
By the fifth day, we reached the shore to battle for our home,
But all we found were empty ships and the tracks that tore the loam.

That night we slept along the shore wrapped up in wool from home,
And we shivered from the frigid air and were dampened by sea-foam.
Our dreams were filled with vengeance and anger for our shame,
The only heat the Gods would give was fury in our veins.

Next morn we rose to storm winds rising up to call us forth
To the battle that was raging in our homes off to the north.
We rushed to stop the raping of our families and our plains,
and we cursed the men who crushed our pride, and we lusted for their pain.

And onward did we ride to meet our fiercest foe,
And with the strength of ages the Gods would steer our blows.
We Celts did charge towards them with battle cries of hate,
And for the torcs around our necks we swore to meet our fate.

We found their armies pillaging the sidhe of Gwynedd great,
And we grasped our hilts with newfound strength as we rushed to save our mates.
The village great was burning, our young slain by the score.
‘Twas no hearth that we could save, our only home was war.

We gathered up our every force and charged the bastard foe,
And we tore through every sinew and we crushed their foreign bones.
Our chief looked down upon the field where the bodies laid,
And he blessed the Gods for their help and for our dead he cried.

For onward did we ride to meet our fiercest foe,
And with the strength of ages the Gods did steer our blows.
We Celts did charge towards them with battle cries of hate,
And for the torcs around our necks we fell to meet our fate.

Each year around Angleseyan fires our battle is retold,
And the bravery of our kinsmen is more valuable than gold.
We ask no prayer for safety in this sidhe under the earth,
we only wish that all do see great Gwynedd for its worth

And onward will you ride to meet your fiercest foe,
And with the strength of ages the Gods will steer your blows.
As Celts do charge towards them with battle cries of hate,
And for the torcs around your necks walk bravely to your fate.

© 1991 Amy Ripton

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