Arise, Lord King, for the enemy is come
face grew white as ashes
build a great and strong castle
their work was overwhelmed and broken down by night invisibly
the king called for the astrologers and wizards, and took counsel
nothing but the blood of a youth born without mortal father,
Avaunt, thou imp!--avaunt! Son of no mortal man! go, find thy father, and leave us in peace
the foul fiend alone was his father.
Command this pool to be drained, and at the bottom shall be found two dragons, great and huge, which now are sleeping, but which at night awake and fight and tear each other. At their great struggle all the ground shakes and trembles, and so casts down thy towers, which, therefore, never yet could find secure foundations.
mountains shall be levelled as the valleys, and the rivers of the valleys shall run blood;
cities shall be burned, and churches laid in ruins
a Boarshall arise and rend them, and trample their necks beneath his feet.
The Empire shall dread him
the rightful king, was hailed with joy
"Avenge ye on him who hath ruined the Kingdom, slain my father and your king!"
those stones are mystical and have healing virtues
giants of old brought them from the furthest coast of [...]
buried within the Giants' Dance
Alas! the great prince is gone from us
Be it as thou wilt

https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/8183/pg8183.txt
(Cave of Kai)

King grew weary of the making of commands
“The earth touches the feet of the King in token of submission.”
Far up the mountains, the prophet, among the goats
a warrior that vanquisheth cities and burdeneth himself not with captives
his eyes were the eyes of beasts
dishonoured and forgot, thy yesterday slunk away
returneth from a quest forlorn
a child again in a valley to the south
armies shall cling to thy golden harp
sentinel over thy great to-morrow
a harper stands between X and the world
It is not in books
The gods of Old are mighty
This is the End
This is the End, with the sounds of music behind him
we can see nothing for the dust
travel further
I know not
Small god crying
This is peace and this is indeed peaceful
A temple for the young, a temple for the old, a temple barred
three gods sitting like pale light against the mountain
in their huts upon the mountain’s summit worshipping gods that mocked
This is the End, for the prophet discerneth that there are no more gods
there be gods beyond the marsh
the sorrow of search cometh only to the wise

https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/2885/pg2885.txt
THE HOUSE OF THE WOLFING

Shine in the room beside the door
Some homestead that we had to leave
still the dark road drives us on
isle in the woodland,
mountains not so far distant,
though they were hidden.
fought with the wood and its wild things
cut down the trees, and burned their stumps
Dusky, and the Glassy
a fair and smiling plain
no lack of bread.
Tells the tale of one house
the name of this House was the Wolfings
fell in battle, and were stripped
framed of the goodliest trees of the wild-wood
memory of the days of onslaught
wain-burg
the lads abode in the dwelling-places of the thralls
smoke-bearers upon graves of later days
images of ancient tales
damsel, unwedded
it was called Sun in the grave
it was called the Loom in the grave and it weaved the cloth of ghosts
three bronze horses driven by the winged figure of Fame
its dust already veiled the faces of the King
stored the trophies of the great heroes
the guard went unarmed
the youngest heroes fought with the tribes.
savage tribesmen black against the light, peering towards the city
a hope lingered among a few that some day their old heroes would come again
as he awoke a great longing arose in his soul
the dreamer saw a litle kid asleep before the fire awake and walk to the halls of the great heroes
the dreamer saw a litle kid asleep before the fire awake and walk to the dungeon
look at the sword and remember
he stole out of his mother’s house
a yearning for very holy things
his armour was wrought out of a stone that shone
look northwards
look eastwards
into this trouble with thy cunning
two prisoners would go down
the angels have awaken
a doom is on your city
See how red the dawn is and how red the spires of the city.
They are angry with him in Paradise
Hell hates
Hell hates him
the hour when the bats and the dark creatures are abroad
into Paradise no sorrow may ever come
like rain against its crystal walls
left Paradise for thee
Among those vile hovels played the little children like foxes about their dens
The great alarm bell will suddenly ring
men shouting and calling to one another
the ringing of armor and the clatter of horses
the drawbridge would fall crashing
the adventurers would bring back with them pack-horses laden with bales of goods
thy foolish fears
he will come back to thee
Forward
The young Baroness laughed merrily
poor, weak, little baby
It is your son
the holy angels took her to Paradise
Cross on the Hill
He reached up to the knotted rope and gave it a pull
What dost thou seek here, my son?
Revenge, root and branch, upon that vile tribe
the poor, little, motherless waif lived among the monks
I also say yes, and that it is dying
as foolish as men
They are souls of the apples,’ said the good Angel, ‘and they can never wither and die.’
Aurora polo dimoverat umbram
a sandaled footstep sounded in the stone corridor
Methinks you are my father, sir
Aye, thou art right
Farewell, forwards
Farewell, backwards
The door is invitingly open
Far below the light
a folded parchment with a great red seal
The yellow wain upon the way
Face-of-god talketh with the Friend
plodded on steadily
here is a dwelling of man, scarce a day’s journey away
A tree fortress
a gift
It's good to wear the helm when the nut trees are shaken
a long white linen smock
Is the peace wholly made?
too fair to kiss
This is good for to-morrow, not for to-day
Thy tongue is longer, friend
Sleeping, mother, tomorrow shall be
Wood-wicked, hold thy peace, and forget the steel
Pray to the Winds.
The serpent is behind him
Beware of your feet, proud one
And rolling Time his tide of carnage pour.
Make your own nature, not the advice of others, your guide in life.
Beware the 7th
The fountain of prophecy has dried up
The sun has lost its house
First sacrifice
Foggy gold
The love of gold will waste you
Grasp the helm fast in your hands;
Hunger in paradise
In a desert land enchanted
Open thy store of wisdom
Cease thy sorrow, foolish maiden
Berries grow in other mountains
Rode that sunset on the highway,
Silently for pleasure driving
Dashes down upon the singer
When a son does something evil, great indeed a mother's anguish
Do not go to the slaughter-fields 
bend above a shapeless shroud
God of the sunlit seas
the Crown is ours to take
Under the throne of the snake
join a rebellion
a black-bearded, bronzed giant with the keen eyes of a hawk
The altar fires have whispered of a shadow
How can a man battle dreams?
