Tongue of Iron MMXXIV

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