Miracle of Dawn
On the day thay hope was gone
Peace was made and blades were drawn,
So Nine prayed, a miracle at dawn.
Lords of madness did approach;
O the shadows did encroach,
Their figures mighty, tall, and gross.
Please, kind Io!–my salvation
Springs from thy great Incarnation;
Leave me not to reprobation!
Lo! Wondrous sound the trumpet flingeth;
Through Mersin’s sepulchres it ringeth;
All before the throne it bringeth.
O heavenly Lord divine,
Scales of starlight, radiant you shine,
Descend thee now to thy faithful Nine.
Nine mortals at Mersin ascending
Their spirits in thy grace transcending
To perfect forms, ’gainst evil defending.
Fly high, angels!
Salvation is nigh!
Raise blade, angels!
The madness must die!
—Chant of the Nine Angels, translated from Old Dunish; c. Y500. From the musical records of the Lycee d’Arcana in Hildsvine.