Prepare the horse and chariot
Paint your body blue with woad
And take your oaken battle shield
The quench hardened iron sword
Form lines of war and sound the horn
Gather all your kinsmen close
You druids call down heavens wrath
While the furies scream their woes
Our enemies are at the gates
No warrior bend the knee
They come to bind and make us slaves
Let us die among the free
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What a brilliant last stanza! Liked it