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English
Translation
Woe of the Celts
lazy lie the hills under the seal of the morning sun
lazyly the fog draws through the valley, from which the treetops rise
"CALM!" the legions stand ready, red-silver their roman tabards
then the sun shines over the horizon, and a long, wailing horn-signal sounds
it sounds again and again, first quiet, then louder,
drum-songs rise, then finally the Carnyx sounds,
and far you can hear it, some roman legionaire has to force its trembling knees to rest.
then the forest begins spitting them out, first in big groups, then in packs of twos and threes,
what a sight to behold, how they stand there, proud and armed to the teeth in the morning sun/dawn,
some helmets are decorated with a boar, iron helmet or leather helmet,
the deer on the garment cant be missed as well,
wolf and bear are very much related.
freshly polished shield, with a long sword the hero stands.
on long poles the banners bravely wave. (?*)
scary sounds of the lure can still be heard.
"CALM!", the eagles on the other side,
only the capes of the riders are waving still.
And so the celtic army gathers, screams are sounding,
suddenly it gets quiet, and a great warrior steps out of their midst.
he lays off helmet and brünne, the pants, and the leg protections as well,
until he stands naked in the cold morning grass,
only with necklace, shield and sword,
and as he walks over the clearing, hes accompanied by shield-bashing and songs,
decisive, he goes before the prettiest golden armor, and tells the enemy commander freely:
"In front of you stands the ruler of the deer-people, and i tell you, dont let us pointlessly waste blood. send your strongest warrior against me, man against man, just him and me. if he wins, we go, if i win, you go."
silently, the enemy absorbs his speech, only his horse dances nervously and huffs.
With a nod, Death arrives manifold on hornet-like arrows into the celtic warriors chest, coloring it red.
and as he stumbles over, a mighty roar sounds, the brothers in arms are screaming, trying to rid themselves of their anger, helmets, armor, and chainmail are flying through the air, they wouldve only hindered us in combat.
drums and carnyx roar again, loud and raw, shield and sword-line (?*)
neighing, one drives forward the cart, loud his scream reaches every ear,
how his well-decorated arm swings the blade,
and the other arm his horses.
"FORWARD! FORWARD, MY BROTHERS! SING ME BATTLESONGS OF OUR ANCESTORS, DRENCH YOUR BLADES IN ROMAN BLOOD, ONLY THEN WILL THE WRATH OF THE GOODS BE GONE!"
like a projectile he flies towards the enemy lines, and out of the single projectile, a "bullet storm/hail/rain" is forming. (?*)
everyone is running and riding to break the shieldwall, to avange the ruler of the deer-people.
every cart creates a wound, breaks shields, but they close again, they are way too many.
just like water smooths after a stone drops in it, steadfast and unhurt, the roman rows.
and once the celtic foot warriors arrive, they are already in formation again, and cheat them of their vicotry.
and look, a huge slaughter grows, under human sons, who despise one another.
they mangle, shred and maim one another, sullied in blood, deaths face, hating one another (?*)
he once wore the heads of his enemies proudly on his belt, now his own one is rolling there.
each who so heroically walked into the battle, now huffs, wounded and with lost limbs.
the one who so nimbly carried the javelin is now robbed of his very hands.
the pretty, proudly-swollen muscular chest suffers from a pierced heart and bloodloss.
cold provocation and patience of the romans paid off,
with no chance to victory, the naked ones run into their swords.
they retreat and give themselves to death, being a prisoner would be worse.
weaker now the lure and carnyx sound, and you can see celtic standards fall into the blood-swamp.
only the roman eagles are still stretching, and their formation has not the tiniest of holes.
they stand shiny, red and unshifted, the commander is very delighted.
in front of him they dragged the celtic leader, but he doesnt even care about his name.
mortally wounded, the once proud man, can now only crawl in front of the roman.
"Ah, if only i never grew up! never been born! It would be better for me than to CRAWL in front of you on the ground! Vae Victis, woe to the defeated, who lay in the dust before romans."
Now, no one is left to guard woman, child and farm, the roman eagle appreciates this.
he lifts himself up, and drags a long blood trail through the land, which is known to us as "gaul".
sellem✕
Comments
Russia is waging a disgraceful war on Ukraine. Stand With Ukraine!
About translator
(?*) marks stuff i couldnt make out even in german so translation might be off by a lot.
Carnyx was a wind instrument used by the Iron Age Celts.
A lur, also lure or lurr, is a long natural blowing horn without finger holes that is played with a brass-type embouchure.
Brünne or Brünnika is a kind of a Ring-Armor.