0. Word biþ Wæpen (Ancient English)

[Intro — solo scop over lyre] Hwæt! Hlystaþ, hæleþ, under healle hrofe; hearpe swinsaþ, hornas hlydaþ. Fyr byrneþ beorhte, beornas swigaþ; scop stent on bence, spellum gewæpnod. [Verse 1 — rapid alliterative flow] Ic onluc wordhord, winde hit wide, stæf æfter stæfe, swa storm ofer sæ. Ne secge ic lyge, ne hele ic soþ; min muþ is mece, min mod is fyr. Naman ic nemne; niht hie ne forswelgþ. Dæda ic deme; deað hie ne dyrneþ. Hwa þe lof lufað, læte hine hlystan: word sceal naman wegan, þæt wiga ne forgyte. [Refrain — hall responds] Onluc wordhord! Læt wægas dynian! Word biþ wæpen; wiga sceal hlystan. Spell biþ sweord; eall se sele swegaþ. Wyrd we ne wendaþ; worda lof leofaþ. [Verse 2 — drums thicken] Ic secge be sæmannum, searohæbbendum, þe swanrad sohton, stormas oferwunnon; be eorlum þe ane æt ecgum stodon, be wifum þe wacodon wide nihtas. Garas glitenaþ, guðbord dynjaþ; brun ecg biteþ, blod fleowþ on foldan. Feorh forgæþ; gemynd ne swicaþ: se nama ne swelt, gif se sele hine singþ. [Refrain] Onluc wordhord! Læt wægas dynian! Word biþ wæpen; wiga sceal hlystan. Spell biþ sweord; eall se sele swegaþ. Wyrd we ne wendaþ; worda lof leofaþ. [Verse 3 — double-time] Stæf on stæfe, stefn ofer stefne, word windaþ wide, wægas cwaciaþ. Runstafas risaþ, readgold glitenaþ; leoþ fleogþ on lyfte, lige gelic. Cyning and ceorl, cniht and cwene— ealle cumaþ, ealle gewitaþ. Ac se nama ne swelt, se on breostum byrnþ; scopes cræft hæfþ sige ofer deað. [Bridge — shouted call and response] Hwa bær þone gar? (Se þe for folce feoll!) Hwa heold þone scyld? (Se þe æt hilde stod!) Hwa healdþ þæt lof? (We hit ealle healdaþ!) Secgaþ þa naman! (We hie ne forgietaþ!) [Final Refrain — full hall] Onluc wordhord! Læt wægas dynian! Word biþ wæpen; wiga sceal hlystan. Spell biþ sweord; eall se sele swegaþ. Wyrd we ne wendaþ; worda lof leofaþ. Onluc wordhord! Nimaþ þa naman! Beraþ hie beorhte, on breostum and muðum. Þonne ecg rustaþ and eorþe us nimeþ, gæþ ure giedd forþ, geond grund and sæ. Word biþ wæpen! (Word biþ wæpen!) Word biþ wæpen! (We hit beraþ!) [Outro — lyre alone beneath the voice] Fyr aswiceþ; hearpe swigaþ. Beor fleowþ; beornas ne forgietaþ. Þonne se scop swigaþ, þæt spell gæð forþ: Word biþ wæpen— and we hit beraþ. ——————————— Modern English Translation ——————————— [Intro — solo poet over lyre] Listen! Hear me, heroes, beneath the hall’s roof; the lyre rings out, the horns resound. The fire burns brightly; the warriors fall silent. The poet stands upon the bench, armed with stories. [Verse 1 — rapid alliterative flow] I unlock my word-hoard and scatter it wide, line after line, like a storm across the sea. I speak no lies, nor do I hide the truth; my mouth is a sword, my spirit is fire. I speak their names; the night cannot swallow them. I recount their deeds; death cannot conceal them. Whoever cherishes glory, let him listen: words must carry names, so no warrior is forgotten. [Refrain — the hall responds] Unlock the word-hoard! Let the walls resound! The word is a weapon; the warrior must listen. The tale is a sword; the whole hall echoes. We cannot turn fate, but the glory of words lives on. [Verse 2 — drums thicken] I tell of seafarers, bearers of weapons, who sought the whale-road and overcame the storms; of warriors who stood alone before the blades, and women who kept watch through the long nights. Spears glitter; battle-shields thunder. The burnished edge bites; blood flows upon the earth. Life passes away, but memory does not fail: a name will not die while the hall still sings it. [Refrain] Unlock the word-hoard! Let the walls resound! The word is a weapon; the warrior must listen. The tale is a sword; the whole hall echoes. We cannot turn fate, but the glory of words lives on. [Verse 3 — double-time] Line upon line, voice over voice, words coil through the hall and the walls begin to shake. Carved runes rise; red gold gleams. The song flies through the air like flame. King and commoner, young warrior and queen— all of them come, and all of them depart. But the name that burns within our hearts does not die; the poet’s craft wins victory over death. [Bridge — shouted call and response] Who carried the spear? (The one who fell for his people!) Who held the shield? (The one who stood in battle!) Who preserves their glory? (We preserve it together!) Speak their names! (We will not forget them!) [Final Refrain — the full hall] Unlock the word-hoard! Let the walls resound! The word is a weapon; the warrior must listen. The tale is a sword; the whole hall echoes. We cannot turn fate, but the glory of words lives on. Unlock the word-hoard! Take up their names! Carry them brightly, within your hearts and mouths. When the blade has rusted and the earth has taken us, our song will travel onward, across the land and sea. The word is a weapon! (The word is a weapon!) The word is a weapon! (We carry it!) [Outro — lyre alone beneath the voice] The fire dies down; the lyre falls silent. The ale still flows; the warriors do not forget. When the poet is silent, the story still travels onward: The word is a weapon— and we carry it.