Those scarpy brows of death to scale.
Down from that hoary rocky crest
Poured showers of fire into their breast;
Forward the fearless heroes leapt;
Mid clouds of slaughter on they swept;
“For Victory” the Lion roared;
The Finian clans unsheathed the sword,
Like rapid swollen floods in Clyde;
Grand, swift as Es-linn’s silver tide;
So rushed the heroes in their might