Beneath the Mountain
The winds that whipped our brows abate.
The chills that cracked our will subside.
No peril stole our promised fate.
Naught stands against the force of pride.
Our revel’s full return now rings.
It brings a song to ancient ears
And stirs the souls of sleeping kings
That lie beneath the weight of years.
They wake in grace to timeless strains
That play for all their slumber missed.
They join the joyous tune’s refrains
With lips that tender triumph kissed.
They cry for aeons held in shade
And ages that were spent to yearn.
For every dream that ever strayed,
Their regal voices freely burn.
Their hymn extends through lightened halls
To boast of newly bolstered fame.
The toast is borne beyond their walls
Across the lands that they reclaim.
Beneath the barrows, bellows rise
And ride above their mountain tomb.
A godly throne of solid guise
Now stands where sombre graves did loom.
The lay at last has found its place
To rule within this hilly fane.
Below the mound, in earth’s embrace,
It sounds the dawn of awesome reign.