I.
  Widely’s warped
  To warn of slaughter
  The back-beam’s rug—­
  Lo, blood is raining! 
  Now grey with spears
  Is framed the web
  Of human kind,
  With red woof filled
  By maiden friends
  Of Randver’s slayer.

  II. 
  That web is warped
  With human entrails,
  And is hard weighted
  With heads of people;
  Bloodstained darts
  Do for treadles,
  The forebeam’s ironbound
  The reed’s of arrows;
  Swords be sleys[39]
  For this web of war.

  III. 
  Hild goes to weave
  And Hiorthrimol
  Sangrid and Svipol
  With swords unsheathed. 
  Shafts will crack
  And shields will burst,
  The dog of helms
  Will drop on byrnies.

  IV. 
  Wind we, wind we
  Web of javelins
  Such as the young king
  Has waged before. 
  Forward we go
  And rush to the fray,
  Where our friends
  Engage in fighting.

V. Wind we, wind we Web of javelins Where forward rush The fighters’ standards. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  VI. 
  Wind we, wind we
  Web of javelins,
  And faithfully
  The king we follow. 
  Nor shall we leave
  His life to perish;
  Among the doomed
  Our choice is ample.

VII. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * There Gunn and Gondul Who guarded the king Saw borne by men Bloody targets.

  VIII. 
  That race will now
  Rule the country
  Which erstwhile held
  But outer nesses. 
  The mighty king,
  Meweens, is doomed. 
  Now pierced by points
  The Earl hath fallen.

  IX. 
  Such bale will now
  Betide the Irish
  As ne’er grows old
  To minding men. 
  The web’s now woven
  The wold made red,
  Afar will travel
  The tale of woe.

  X: 
  An awful sight
  The eye beholdeth
  As blood-red clouds
  Are borne through heaven;
  The skies take hue
  Of human blood,
  Whene’er fight-maidens
  Fall to singing.

  XI.  Willing we chant
  Of the youthful king
  A lay of victory—­
  Luck to our singing! 
  But he who listens
  Must learn by heart
  This spear-maid’s song
  And spread it further.

XII. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * On bare-backed steeds We start out swiftly With swords unsheathed From hence away.

The nine centuries, above referred to, of Roman invasion, intestine war, and ecclesiastical rivalry between the Pictish, Columban and Catholic Churches had now, under Malcolm II, produced a kingdom of Scotland, throughout which the Catholic was in a fair way to