Beyond the invisible girdle of north
Lies the well-hidden castle of frost
And the paths to its towers, carved in ice.
Are guarded by wolves of ominous size.

Great are their numbers in winter's realm
And great is their strength by all the accounts
And nobody passes the borders unseen
By the fiery eyes of the servants of wild

Yet some of the evil spirits
Those most unobedient and vile
Have been cast out of the enchanted domain
And doomed to forever roam the land

When full-moon casts its evil beams
On silent forests and ice-clad streams
Unlucky travellers may then hear
A chilling howl of anger afar

There the downfallen children of snow
Each of the twelve expelled once
Have gathered a threatening army of wolves
To avenge upon mankind the curse laid on them

People of highlands, men of the north - folk of fierce courage, endurance and might - yet even
They fear the onslaughts of the phantoms at night, and above all their leaders, whom they
named wolfghosts - dreadful masters with white on their breast and bellow-like nostrils,
inclined for warm flesh

And when over the sinister mountains of north
Storms forth a raging blizzard of frost
Through the snowclouds may sometimes be seen
Foggy shades of rushing terrible beasts

Ahead of the flock leaps a tremendous wolf -
one of the twelve in hunger and wrath
Gnashing its fangs of iron and steel,
whilst leading the majestic legion of night

Pity to those forlorn who may ever perceive
The triumphant king of the nebular herd.