Winterfylleth
      The Ghost of Heritage

1. 	Mam Tor (The Shivering Mountain)

Mam Tor.
Your torso shivers
As the backbone of our land,
Under the weight
Of a now plagued country.
The old ways,
Elsewhere long gone,
Still linger in these parts.
The ways of our people,
Whose ancient mighty fort
Crowned your glorious slopes
And whose dead
Dwell in your barrows.
We will honour them
Forever.
We will hail your mighty heights
And the caverns beneath.
Those dark places
That had carved out our ores.

Mam Tor, in the High Peak!
Celtic whispers still haunt,
This windswept land,
Of long endured winters.

The spirit of our land
Will never die.
The spirit of the mountain is strong.

Mam Tor, in the High Peak!
Celtic whispers still haunt,
This windswept land,
Of long endured winters.

Mam Tor. Mam Tor.


2. 	The March to Maldon


3. 	Brithnoth: the Battle of Maldon (991 AD)

Then he ordered each of his warriors his horse to loose
Then did Brithnoth begin his men to bestow -
He rode up and counselled them - his soldiers he taught
Then stood forth on the strand and sternly spake

The messenger from the Sea men, delivered his tidings;
Brithnoth made answer - his buckler he grasped,
Brandished his slender spear - and spoke.

Bade he then to bear the shields, the warriors to go,
So that they on the river's bank all stood.

So stood firm the stout-hearted
Warriors in the war - they did keenly strive
Who with his point first should be able
From fey men to win life.

Warriors with weapons; They stood steadfast;
Brithnoth stirred them!

Thou messenger of the seamen, back with thy message.
There stands here a good earl in the midst of his men,
Who will this country ever defend,
The kingdom of Aethelred, mine overlord,
The folk and the ground - but they shall fall,

Nor shall ye so softly carry off our riches.
Sooner shall point and edge reconcile us,
Grim warplay indeed - before we give tribute.


4. 	Forging the Iron of England

Where are now the bones of staunch Fabricus?
Wayland open for me the door to the Underworld
Art you king in your own right?
Cold Iron your ware
Excalibur your pride
So no that harm
Through this threshold may come!

A symbol of craftsmanship,
A consoling image of permanence
Amid the flux and decay of earthly existence
Ye are but Faithful treasurers of the Lord's wealth
The articiers of spiritual jewels
...And the smiths of celestial weapons


5. 	The Ghost of Heritage

Sacred water flows,
Through the veins of our sacred land,
Drink of this and take thy fill,
For the water falls by the wizards will.

Old man of the forest,
Cloaked in the lore of the land,
Loyal guardian,
Of our fog smothered isle.

Among the contorted roots,
Of English Oaks,
In the caverns of the northern kingdom,
Dwells the sleeping army.
Here they lie,
In enchanted sleep,
Awaiting the day,
When England is in peril.

Old man of the forest,
Cloaked in the lore of the land,
Loyal guardian,
The ghost of heritage.

Among the contorted roots,
Of English Oaks,
In the caverns of the northern kingdom,
Dwells the sleeping army.
Here they lie,
In enchanted sleep,
Awaiting the day,
When England is in peril.

Thence shall they descend,
Into the plain,
To decide the fate,
Of a great battle,
And save our homeland,
From the thieving hands,
Of the infidel.


6. 	Defending the Realm

If you find yourself,
On the tip of an enemy sword,
Pull them close to you,
Look in to their eyes and laugh,

Look to the future
See they, children of the Engla,
Blood of the Land

For a drop of blood
That falleth to soil
Means you will live,
In the Land that you love,
Forever!

You will look back,
Be among ancestors,
The Fathers of Albion


7. 	Guardian of the Herd

instrumental


8. 	Casting the Runes

Northern European woodcut,
Wandering on a moonlit night,
One who, having once,
Looked round, walks on,
And then turns no more his head,
Because he knows, a frightful fiend,
Doth close behind him tread.

Casting the Runes!


9. 	An Englishman's Verse

Stretch forth! Stretch forth! From the south to the north,
From the east to the west, stretch forth! stretch forth!
Stregnthen thy stakes, and lengthen thy cords,
The world is a tent for the world's true lords!

England sowed the glorious seed,
In her wise old laws, and her pure old creed,
And her stout old heart, and her plain old tongue,
And her resolute energies, ever young!

Feebly dwindling day by day,
All other races are fading away;
The sensual South, and the servile East,
And the tottering throne of the treacherous priest!

Englishmen everywhere! Bretheren all!
By one great name on your millions I call
Norman, Saxon, Gael, Celt,
Into this fine mixed mass ye melt.

Englishmen everywhere! Faithful and free!
Lords of the land and Kings of the sea
Anglo-Saxons! Honest and true,
By hundreds of millions my word is to you,

Love one another! As brothers embrace!
That the World may be blest in the Saxon ways!

Traditional Adapted and Arranged for song