Why is the warrior wayward and weary? Why rides he south, bear children and wife?
Why ferries farmer and flaxen-haired kin? Why bear they sword and bear knife?
Why rides the child, become into rider? Why not go they with not need and not strife?
They are gone, the innocent; know war does the child, they tired and broken, the bright-haired brothers,
Weary they lumber, to warriors they rode, to defend lands held long, to defend with our riders.
From Westfold they come, from the Wold they ride, weeping pilgrims cast afar, exiles return travelled and beat fighters,
Who are we to return in this hour? We who bear weary hearts, not fires once bore?
Who are we to ride homeward yet sore? To walk a way far? To old wold once more?
