From the highest summits
Bitten by impetuous winds
To valleys enshrined in snow
The tribe rides elder paths

The Sons of North
Carried by their steed, nostrils fuming in frozen dawn
Galloping from collars to crests
Enfeoffed lords in a mortal world

Carrying the banner of the ravens
Masters of immaculate tops
Living memory of Nordic lands
Last keepers of the Heathen faith

The proud hordes defy the one god, nothing can soil their ancient beliefs
They gall the sky of their hoof, grazing heaven of their swords
Their tribal chants exult such an anthem to the battle

Protecting their fatherland, till' the snow be redden by blood
Shadows of the ravens plane over the mount and valleys
The gallop of the war horses will rumble loud once again