Guardians of the Star

©Ulf Gunnarson (John Ruble)

In through the night the forges' fire's bright, the hammer rings like a bell.
When dawn has come, we gird our armor on. The ships are ready to sail.
The creak of canvas high above our heads, the salt sea wind's blowin' strong.
We take the oars as we bend into the chore and we lift our voice in song:

Nordsteorra! Daughter of the North. Brother of Normans and Czars.
The sun will sing upon the Gryphon's wing, We're the Guardians of the Star!

In the northern hills amid the winter chills there live a mighty folk.
Strong and true, bold and daring too, it was there the Gryphon woke.
Its eyes were fire, golden was its fur, each sharp claw was a sword.
Its tail uncurled as its wings unfurled, it lift back its head and roared:


Each strong hold is full of raiders bold, each shire has fighters strong.
Each barony is like its own army; our foes won't live for long.
The storm clouds gather Ravens in our wake the war horns sound forth our call.
The thunder booms, the very drums of doom, and the castle shakes and falls.


The wise man heeds of the Gryphon's deeds, of Lion and Eagle born.
Strong defense, strength, and vigilance, with honor not forsworn.
Beware the Gryphon, allies of our foes, our banner flies o'er the field.
For all we love, this land is in our blood. We will fight and never yield!