The Beast of Volgadurn

By Chris Edwards

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From my father’s hold with iron cold

I swore I’d not return

‘Til I’d felt the breath and seen the death

Of the beast of Volgadurn

Though furs I lacked, its spoor I tracked

Through snowfields cold and stern

To the child it took by the blood-stained brook

Oh, the beast of Volgadurn

‘Twas the high-woods trail that I tried to scale

Where first it sought to turn

In my pursuit I stopped to shoot

At the beast of Volgadurn

The arrow flew, the shot was true

Hot blood fell like to burn

It whined and fled, and crimson bled

Straight back to Volgadurn

To my father’s hold with iron cold

I rushed with grave concern

I found him dead from my arrow-head

The Beast of Volgadurn

When Winter’s chills come scour these hills

My blood begins to churn

For my fur is won, my father’s son

Is the Beast of Volgadurn…