The Song of the Mountain

Anonymous translation

UPON the fells my flocks I tend;

My gaze on lordly towers I bend:

Here first the morning sun doth gleam;

Here rests his latest evening beam.

          I am the son of the mountain.

The mighty river’s course is here,

From the rock I drink it cold and clear:

It dashes headlong down; below,

With brawny arm I breast its flow.

          I am the son of the mountain.

The lofty mountain is my realm,

Here tempests wildly round me whelm;

From north to south they howl along,

But o’er them all resounds my song:

          I am the son of the mountain.

Beneath I see the lightnings flash;

Beneath I hear the thunders crash;

I know them, and aloud I call:

“Leave ye in peace my father’s hall,

          I am the son of the mountain.”

And when the tocsin soundeth shrill,

And beacons blaze on every hill,

Then I descend, and join the ranks,

And shout, while loud my broadsword clanks:

          “I am the son of the mountain.”