<Summoning> page <With Doom We Come> album page |
Night Fell BehindThen mounte! Then mounte, brave gallants, all,And don your helmes amaine: Deathes couriers, fame and honor, call Us to the field again. No shrewish tears shall fill our eye When the sword hilts in our hand, Heart-whole well part and no white sighe For the fairest of the land; Let piping swaine, and craven wight, thus wheepe and puling crye Our business is like men to fight, And hero like to die! |