With ill-omened croak, and the clash of shields.
And the yelling shouts of the conflict broil,
As Dane and Scot met in mortal toil,—
And cruel and fierce was the battle tide
That raged on rocky Findhorn’s side;
And red was his wave, as it wailed away,
By that plain where his slaughtered warriors lay.
Yet stark stern in death was each hero’s frown!
Each fell not till crushed by an hundred foes!
But, though hordes of Norsemen had borne them down,