O Vandringsmand i een forbandet Nat

Troe ey at hans Had dig vild skaane

Hans Rov vild ey vaere nogen anden

End dig -

Der vild skiælve i hans vær

I uselt Haab om at Huus er nær



End dig -

Hvis Blod skald blifve hans stærke Viin

Oc Siæl, hans hellige Trofé



Faafængt han lader dig gyde

Ut dit Blod i Smertens Sin



Saa du som død ey Sofnloest kand

Fortælde Frænder: "Ulven er ham!"



Som Offer for Beistets Krav

Dit Blod vild rende koldt som Bæcl i Grav



Gud er ey her, men Døden nær

Oc hvert Secund som her

Er undt dig -

Skimrer i et dobbelt Skiær

Aff baade Liiv & Død



Rasende lader han Bliket binde

Løfter dit i Maaneskinnet



----------



O Wanderer in this infernal Night

Believe not his Hate will spare thee

His prey shall be no one

But thee -

Who shall tremble when he is near

In foolish hope for shelter



And thou -

Whose bloode strong wine shall be

Thy Soule, his sacred Trophie



In vein he lets thee shed

Thy bloode in this Sea of Payne



Then shalt thou not haunt thine friends

Revealing: "The Wolf is he!"



Coldlie thy bloode shall flow

As streams through Graves below



God is not here, but death draws near

And secondes are O, so few

In a Nature twofold they shine

Beginning and End combine



Fool, thou art prostrate

By the raging eyne of his

Lifted upwards

Rapt in Moonshine