After years of struggle and exile Grand Duke Owen of Geoff was able to finally gather enough soldiers and allies to begin the battle to retake Geoff from the invading giants and their monsterous cohorts. The bard, Silvertongue, wrote this song-poem which spread across the Flanaess and drew back Geoffites and their children, now grown adults themselves. So popular did this song-poem become that adventurers, mercenary bands and volunteers from many nations answered Owen's call and joined his growing army as it began the campaign as the marched on the ruined capital of Hochoch.
Throng to Owen's Call
Men! If manhood still ye claim
If the Geoff pulse can thrill.
Roused by wrong or stung by shame,
freely, strongly still;
Let your work forgotten lie;
Shut the mill-gate, leave the stall,
Fling the axe and hammer by;
Throng to Owen's call.
Wrongs which freemen never brooked,
Wounds which have not ever healed,
Which, like crouching griffons, looked
On your father's shield.
These your instant zeal demand,
Shaking with their earthquake-call
Every rood of Geoff land,
Hark to Owen's call.
From your travels near and far.
From your mountain-caverns cold,
Through whose pines and westering stars
Stoop their crowns of gold;
Come, and with your footsteps wake
Echoes from forgotten halls;
Once again for freedom's sake,
Heed Lord Owen's call.
Up, and tread beneath your feet
All that the enemy has won:
Let your hearts together beat
As the heart of one.
Up, your banner leads the van,
Let them dread their coming fall!
Finish what your sires began!
Throng to Owen's call!
(Loosely adapted from 'To Faneuil Hall' By Whittier)