Over hill and field
Over rock and river
Swarm of spears and shields
Whose march makes Earth quiver
Under sun and moon
Under stormy cloud
They shall arrive quite soon
The drums are growing loud
One last march for conquest
One final march for glory
All at their King’s behest
With blood they write their story
Over hill and river
Under sun and moon
The Earth trembles and quivers
The Horde is coming soon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem