Another one from 'distant lands'

After last night's excursion into an ancient burial mound, I successfully recovered a missing page to the poem book: "Poetry from Distant Lands". Here is an excerpt I have translated from elvish:

 

The elf-keeps are smoking, the orc bands are raiding,

Oh Wesnoth, your soldiers: they’re idle and waiting,

Give ear! Give ear! Come swift to our aid,

For Lintanir and Wesmere are dark and afraid.

The beacons are burning, our riders have called,

Our scouts you are spurning; you remain in your halls,

The orcs, they are killing and cutting and felling,

Elf children are dying, while your general stalls.

Our soldiers are failing, our arrows are spent,

Our spears they have shattered, our armor is rent,

Our heroes have fallen, our captains have fled,

The green of the Kalian is burnt black and stained red.

Our homes they are torching, the tree-folk are dying,

Our soldiers are weeping, our children are crying,

The orc-hosts are chanting, and cheering and jeering,

They know now your horsemen won’t north come a-riding.

Our soldiers are fighting, and falling and fleeing,

Your swordsmen are missing, your spears we aren’t seeing,

Oh Haldric! Oh Haldric! Your men we are needing,

Your treaties and oaths, they are empty and bleeding.

Kalenz is marching, his battle song singing,

He’s routing the orcs, his bright sword is swinging,

The orcs they are quarrelling, and cursing and trembling,

They fear his bright eyes, and the troops he is bringing.

Our battle is won, the foemen are scattered,

Their chieftains are vanquished, their armies are shattered,

Our woods have been emptied, but the orcs are no more,

And all without Wesnoth, who did not march to war.

Oh Haldric, your treaties proved fragile as glass,

Your words soon forgotten like wind on the grass,

Therefore no elf bows will sing at your wars,

Nor swords will we send, when orcs lay siege to your doors.