Beyond the invisible girdle of north  Lies the well-hidden castle of frost   And the paths to its towers, carved in ice.  Are guarded by wolves of ominous size.    Great are their numbers in winter's realm  And great is their strength by all the accounts  And nobody passes the borders unseen  By the fiery eyes of the servants of wild     Yet some of the evil spirits   Those most unobedient and vile  Have been cast out of the enchanted domain  And doomed to forever roam the land    When full-moon casts its evil beams  On silent forests and ice-clad streams   Unlucky travellers may then hear  A chilling howl of anger afar    There the downfallen children of snow  Each of the twelve expelled once   Have gathered a threatening army of wolves  To avenge upon mankind the curse laid on them    People of highlands, men of the north - folk of fierce courage, endurance and might - yet even  They fear the onslaughts of the phantoms at night, and above all their leaders, whom they   named wolfghosts - dreadful masters with white on their breast and bellow-like nostrils,  inclined for warm flesh    And when over the sinister mountains of north   Storms forth a raging blizzard of frost   Through the snowclouds may sometimes be seen  Foggy shades of rushing terrible beasts    Ahead of the flock leaps a tremendous wolf -  one of the twelve in hunger and wrath   Gnashing its fangs of iron and steel,  whilst leading the majestic legion of night    Pity to those forlorn who may ever perceive  The triumphant king of the nebular herd...