Our lord of warriors eternal glory won 
By the sword's edge at Brunanburh 
Smashed the shield-wall and drove them from the land 
The enemy doomed they fell and the field was dark with blood 
Shot with spears, the crushed assailants fled 
In revenge we rode them down and the vanquished took to sea 
Edward's sons victorious in war 
Made mountains of the slain and the wolves and crows did feast 
Great slaughter made and the fields of Britain tamed 
Lord of the fyrd, he fared north and he held his sway 
Mastery claimed and the hearts of the beaten shamed 
Engla Cyning - Rex Totius Britaniae! 
Legend made at Brunanburh 
Mighty victory has no name 
In the shadow of Senlac's fame 
Words that glorify on a withered page 
Lost in the myth of a dark age 
Ne wearð wæl mare 
on þis eiglande æfre gieta 
folces gefylled beforan þissum 
sweordes ecgum, þæs þe us secgað bec, 
ealde uðwitan, siþþan eastan hider 
Engle and Seaxe up becoman, 
ofer brad brimu Brytene sohtan, 
wlance wigsmiþas, Wealas ofercoman, 
eorlas arhwate, eard begeatan. 
(Old English recital from Battle of Brunanburh poem)