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 skiAlve i hans vAr
I uselt Haab om at Huus er nAr
End dig -
Hvis Blod skald blifve hans stArke Viin
Oc SiAl,
hans hellige TrofA
FaafAngt han lader dig gyde
Ut dit Blod i Smertens Sin
Saa du som dAd ey Sofnloest kand
FortAlde
FrAnder: "Ulven er ham!"
Som Offer for Beistets Krav
Dit Blod vild rende koldt som BAcl i Grav
Gud er ey her, men DAden
nAr
Oc hvert Secund som her
Er undt dig -
Skimrer i et dobbelt SkiAr
Aff baade Liiv & DAd
Rasende lader han Bliket
binde
LAfter 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