Archaic Bloodshed

O mighty Ashur Blessed sovereign Destroyer of the strong Lord of the world Whose glory and dominion none escape Grant my prayers Grant the prayers of thy people The sons of Ashur In thy name and by thy hand I laid low the vermin of Suru I built a pillar over the city gate I flayed all those chiefs who dared revolt I covered the pillar with their skin I walled up some within the pillar I impaled some upon stakes Some I bound to those stakes I cut off the limbs Of the royal officers who had rebelled Countless among them I burned with fire Many I took as living captives From some I cut off their noses, their ears, their fingers Of many I put out their eyes I made one pillar of the living and another of heads Other heads I bound to tree trunks across the city Their young men and maidens I burned in the fire Ash and smoke anointing the monolith This monument I dedicate to you O mighty lord That we may surmount This road of corpses A bridge of souls Paving the way to the Land of the silver sky With oil unceasing at the feasts of the gods In life and bliss everlasting Such is my prayer to the gods who dwell in the land of Ashur

In the height of May was besieged The Emperor’s ancient pride Ramparts captured in the Neustadt No crossbar shot Nor barricade Would save the defenders There was blood to spill Imperial soldiers plundered every home When there was nothing left to give, true misery began Twenty thousand innocents wretchedly executed in manifold ways No words can describe, nor tears bemoan What befell this majestic city Turned to embers in a single day Those who survived were defiled and disgraced Corpses swelled the banks of the Elbe Their arms outstretched towards salvation A salvation that would never come Thirty seasons of woe No tilling of land No rearing of cattle No life but the war Dying wretches Mouths stuffed with grass Villages aflame Children frozen in the bitter cold From Rhine to Danube Elbe and Weser The land a mass grave Famine rode ever forth Gallow corpses Were stripped of flesh Still more horrible Were the torments Of they who lived on Roaming bands of deserters and ghouls Set thumbs to screws Tied ropes around the neck Forcing blood from the eyes Serving a slurry of filth to make them vomit forth all of their worldly possessions Others were burned alive Priests disemboweled Many hanged and cured in the smoke of burning homes Until these raiders too were slain for plunder As one wolf devours another

Over a score of nobles slain by Widukind Two envoys cut down, the third flying with a tale of woe Mighty Prince Carolus girded with gleaming arms And plumed helm marched upon the men of Saxony with vengeful haste Massacring them through bloodied shields and bellicose spears Strength of courage and blood smeared arrows won the field for the king Dragging the surviving forest dwellers to Verden There on the banks of the river Aller With a word from his iron tongue the headsman's axe fell continuously on Time and again Bathing the fields crimson As heads did begin to roll Those spared the blade’s caress coerced to bathe in the water Promising their immortal souls To a god not of their ken Despite this humiliation Saxony continued To resist in vain Their ancient ways forbidden On pain of torture or execution