Now speak not ill of winter, son,
Though cold may nip and bite.
The battle here that I begun
I pass to you to fight.
Be strong, my son, and warm your bones,
Remain alert, alive.
Of all mankind, our folk alone
This winter can survive.
Before your birth, before the cold
She came to us in fear.
In fear our people, proud and old,
Would shortly disappear.
For darker breeds, a southern tribe,
Uncivilised and base,
Had come to conquer, steal, and bribe,
Until we were replaced.
The winter maiden, diamond-eyed,
Spoke safety to our fears.
"A winter here and now,"she cried,
"To last a thousand years!"
The maiden of the ice she rose
And spoke to us our name.
A special bloom in cold repose
Is birthed of winter's claim.
The winter maiden, young and sweet,
The cult of death repelled.
The copper men, who knew but heat
Succumbed to icy spell.
She brought a cold so fierce and fresh
It chilled us marrow deep,
And though the frost benumbed our flesh,
The land was ours to keep.
Forevermore the maiden flies;
Her storms forever roil.
A tongue of cloud to lash the sky,
And snow to seize the soil.
The cult of death returned to dust,
And all invaders dead!
I tell you there's no maiden that I'd rather see instead!
And when we asked how we could help,
She said,"You go ahead!
"Go ahead, take a stand!
Know your people, know your land!
Go ahead, marry well!
Tell your children of my spell!
Go ahead, set you free!
Loose your ingenuity!"
So it was, and so she said,
And that's why, son, we're not yet dead.
So speak not ill of winter, son,
As I lay you to bed.
I tell you there's no season that I'd rather see instead!
I took a walk through snowy vale;
My son had gone to sleep.
Yet still through winter's stormy veil
I heard her whisper creep:
"As Europe was, as it will stay;
The moorish breed has had his day.
From haughty Alps to southern Spain,
From Svalbard to the Baltic plain!"