[Anguirel]

An eerie silence grasps this cursed burgh.
Its citizens seem to be slain in war...
Yet we must speak, while time to us remains.
Perhaps 'tis fitting that the herald's lips
Which oft did gory battle-plain embroil
Do now commence this combat, vile and grim.
Where are ye, gentles? Answer this, my cry!
Think ye that spillers of most goodely blood
The blessed Ranger strong and somnolent
Yet come from us? Ah, fie upon such treason!
To arms, fellows, to arms! Avenge the stalwart lost!
And ponder on the cruel slayer and scribe.