Our lord of warriors eternal glory won By the sword's edge at Brunanburh Smashed the shield-wall and drove them from the land The enemy doomed they fell and the field was dark with blood Shot with spears, the crushed assailants fled In revenge we rode them down and the vanquished took to sea Edward's sons victorious in war Made mountains of the slain and the wolves and crows did feast Great slaughter made and the fields of Britain tamed Lord of the fyrd, he fared north and he held his sway Mastery claimed and the hearts of the beaten shamed Engla Cyning - Rex Totius Britaniae! Legend made at Brunanburh Mighty victory has no name In the shadow of Senlac's fame Words that glorify on a withered page Lost in the myth of a dark age Ne wearð wæl mare on þis eiglande æfre gieta folces gefylled beforan þissum sweordes ecgum, þæs þe us secgað bec, ealde uðwitan, siþþan eastan hider Engle and Seaxe up becoman, ofer brad brimu Brytene sohtan, wlance wigsmiþas, Wealas ofercoman, eorlas arhwate, eard begeatan. [Old English recital from Battle of Brunanburh poem]