O, Hamel the White-Horned!
Your gleaming fur is stained with blood
and a shadow is cast over the broad plains.

The blue deer runs over the plains of dreams
with its piercing eyes peering into the future
and glittering hooves turned toward the past.

How can the one who turns back the waves of time die?
The bones of the divine beast sleep here,
but the beast is immortal in our memories.