By the rustle of weeds and scratch of the trees
This sound got peal like a call for war;
Like a last moan filled with rage,
Like a thunder and heatlightnings razor
Meanwhile, the clouds gone by the wind’s scourge
Ran away from celestial meadows
To give the clear path for father’s one eye sight,
And the forest calmed in reverence.
But enemies vile army with devastating step
Still marched onwards through the mountains dales
And unstoppable was their greed to bring death,
Bring forth havoc, disaster and grief.
And lonely heroes that stood fearless
To fight against that force pathways -
All were burnt in rapacious wild flames
And rain washed their ashes away.
And grimnir stared down onto mountains and cliffs,
Onto plateau valleys scorched to dust
And then proclaimed his prophecy to the raven,
Revealing his mystic unseen visage:
«This ancient land, forests and woods,
Steppes and river rapids
Shall be abandoned by disasters and tortures
Just when honor becomes a brother of blood!»
A voice faded down, and just rumble of stones
That fell down from the steep crags -
It echoed long with waterfalls laments,
But some later became quiet too…
