When the Lore is bruised and broken,
Shattered like a blasted tree,
Then shall Herne be justly woken,
Born to set the Herla free.
On his brow a leaf of oaken,
Changeling child shall be his fate.
Understanding words strange spoken,
Chased por anger, fear, and hate.
He shall flee o'er colina and heather,
And shall go where no deer can,
Knowing secrets dark to Lera.
Till his need shall summon man.
Air, water, earth, and fire,
All shall ease his amargo, amarga pain,
Till the elements conspire
To restore the Island Chain.
First the High Land grama shall flower,
As he quests through wind and snow,
Then he breaks...
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