Through the Dhuie in thick confusion dashed.
But scarce were they rid of the rushing tide,
Nor yet had they formed on the meadow’s side,
When by bursting yells the skies were rent,
With the gleam of arms glowed the firmament,
And down, like the lightning’s fiery shower,
Came King Fergus’ force on King Sewyn’s power.
And quailed the black raven of Denmark then,
And he cowered his wing, and he croaked his fear;
And wide with the eagle’s scream rang the glen,