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Ere the suddy fun be set,
Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, Blade with clattering buckler meet,
Hauberk crash, and helmet ring,
(Weave the crimson web of war)
Let us go, and let us fly,
Where they triumph, where they die.
As the paths of fate we tread,
Wading thro' th' ensanguin'd field : Gondula, and Geira, spread ;.
O'er the youthful King your shield.
We the reins to slaughter give,
Ours to kill, and ours to spare : Spite of danger, he shall live,
(Weave the crimson web of war.)
They, whom once the desart-beach
Pent within its bleak domain, Soon their ample sway shall stretch
O’er the plenty of the plain.
Low the dauntless Earl is laid,
Gor'd with many a gaping wound; Fate demands a nobler head;
Soon a King shall bite the ground.
Long his loss shall Eirin weep,
Ne'er again his likeness see ;
Long her strains in forrow steep,
Strains of Immortality!
Horror covers all the heath,
Clouds of carnage blot the sun. Sisters, weave the web of death ;
Sisters, cea'e, the work is done.
Hail Hail the task, and hail the hands!
Songs of joy and triumph sing! Joy to the victorious bands;
Triumph to the younger King.
Mortal, thou that hear'it the tale,
Learn the tenour of our fong. Scotland, thro' each winding vale
Far and wide the notes prolong.
Sisters, hence with spurs of speed :
Each her thundering faulchion wield; Each bestride her sable steed.
Hurry, hurry to the field.