Hail the Glorious dead!

Verse I

Hear now, O hall of the honored slain,

By hearth-fire’s glow let the tale be read;

Of storm-crowned hills and thunderous rain,

Hildarhróp — the battle-cry of the dead.

At Helm’s Deep’s gate the night winds wailed,

Steel sang like wolves in the cold moonlight;

Shields like mountains, unbroken, prevailed,

Till dawn’s first gold drove away the night.

Skál! Skál! to the fallen brave,

Hail the glorious dead, who cannot fade;

Ride, ride, on the ghost-wind’s wave,

To the golden fields where the valiant stayed.

Skol! Hail the glorious dead!

Then Gondor’s call like a trumpet rang,

Through shadowed plains where the darkness crept;

Riders thundered, hoofbeats sang,

For those who fell, the sky itself wept.

O White City, pearl upon stone,

We swore no fear and we swore no rest;

‘Til the towers stood tall and the dark was thrown,

Við blóði og stáli, gerðum við okkar best.

Skál! Skál! to the fallen brave,

Hail the glorious dead, who cannot fade;

Ride, ride, on the ghost-wind’s wave,

To the golden fields where the valiant stayed.

Skol! Hail the glorious dead!

Heilir þeir er héðan fóru,

Í dýrð og eld, í stormi og sverði.

Lifi minning þeirra um eilífð!

Raise your cups to the honored throng,

Let the mead run red for the names we’ve said;

Their saga lives in our shield-wall song —

Skol! Hail the glorious dead!

Raise your cups to the honored throng,

Let the mead run red for the names we’ve said;

Their saga lives in our shield-wall song —

Skol! Hail the glorious dead