[Soft harp and strings] [Young daughter — softly] The rain lies cold on stone tonight, No star is kindled in the height. The hills are dark, the valley still, And shadow gathers under hill. My father binds his sword of old, His cloak is green, his buckle gold. He kneels and lays his hand on me: "Fear not the dark, my daughter dear. The dawn shall come, though night be near." [Soft strings] O wind that runs through grasses high, O white cloud wandering in the sky, If you should cross the fields at morn, Go where the horse-lords sound the horn. And tell them Helm still stands in stone, Though few now guard his halls alone. [Choir — distant] Ahhh... [Young daughter] Father, when the night is gone, Come with the riders of the dawn. Come where the green grass bends and sways, And lead me through the summer days. But if beneath these stones you lie, And nevermore behold the sky... Then I shall sing your name at spring, When larks return on silver wing. And every wind across the plain Shall bear your name to me again. [Silence] [Distant horn] [Young daughter — whisper] The horn... [Deep drums begin] [Men shouting above] "To the wall!" [Young daughter — very softly] The night is dark... But dawn shall come. [Transition into "Hold the Wall"]
