Stone Carved Runes

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ElvenDale

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Cattle die, Kinsmen die
Thyself must also die
One thing now that never dies
The fame of a dead man's deeds

Oh many long winters ago
When the old Gods roamed the earth
Skalds sang their songs of brave men
Lays of valour and of worth

In the once great halls of yore
By the glow of the warming hearth fire
Tales of old kings and their great deeds
And the weaving word-smith's lyre

Oh many a shield maid and man
Had their fame reverently told
And their sons did hear them well
For those in battle must be bold

Oh, for a warrior of renown
Who must live on in memory
Carved runes folk did cast in stone
For their kin to ever see

Cattle die and kinsmen die
Every man is mortal
One thing I know that never dies
The glory of the dead

Oh, now the mead halls are long gone
Alas; the hearth fires burn no more
Silent fell the weaving skalds
As their tales passed to lore

Yet the hard rain-beaten stones
I have seen them firmly stand
Old as they are still they bear their runes
Far across the wind-swept land

Cattle die and kinsmen die
Every man is mortal
One thing I know that never dies
The glory of the dead

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