Chapter Text
Twas down the glen one Solace morn
To a city fair strode I
There armored lines of marching men
In squadrons passed me by
No pipe did hum, no battle drum
Did sound its dreaded tune
But the chantry bells ore Hafter's swell
Rang out through the foggy dew
Now proudly high over Greenfell town
They hung out the flag of war
Twas better to die that Summertide
Then slain by the cold Montfort
And from the plains of South Reach
Strong men came running through
While Orlesian curs with their silver spurs
Rode in through the foggy dew
Twas Orlais that bade our arms to raise
That Perrandale might be freed
But their lonely graves are dug deep in graze
By the shade of the Ghislain trees
But had they died by Moira's side
Or fought with Loghain true
Their names we would keep where Fereldans sleep
Neath the shroud of the foggy dew
But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Solacetide
In the summering of the year
And the land did gaze in deep amaze
At those fearless men but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew