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

ofer brad brimu Brytene sohtan,

eorlas arhwate, eard begeatan.