Helm's Deep

Near the walls, black shapes
Are bailing and crawling
Some are squat and broad, others tall and grim
With high helms and sable shields.
Hundreds and hundreds more are pouring,
The dark tide is flowing up to the walls.
Thunder rolls in the valley
Rain comes lashing down,
It’s a great field of dark corn tossed by a tempest of war
And every ear glints with barbed light.
Arise now, arise, Riders of Theoden !
Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward.
Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded !
Forth Eorlingas !
It’s only a brief despite,
The hosts of Isengard are roaring against the Wall,
Orcs and hillmen are swarming about
Its feet from end to end.
The men of Rohan have grown weary,
The swords are notched and shields are riven.
Suddenly a gaping hole is blasted in the wall :
the fire of Orthanc.
The last assault comes sweeping like a dark wave,
The defence is swept away and must go towards the citadel.
Arise now, arise, Riders of Theoden !
Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward.
Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded !
Forth Eorlingas !
At last the dawn comes.
And then, sudden and terrible,
The sound of Helm’s horn rings out.
Back from the depths come the echoes,
As if a mighty herald stood on every cliff :
Helm has arisen and comes back to war.
The riders charge like wind across the grass,
Neither orc nor man withstands them,
Victory !
The Orcs reel, scream and cast aside
both sword and spear as they flee.
Arise now, arise, Riders of Theoden !
Dire deeds awake, dark is it eastward.
Let horse be bridled, horn be sounded !
Forth Eorlingas !