Hurrying in haste their homes they sought;
455 Their pride had fallen; they felt sweep over them
The welling waters; not one returned
Of the host to their homes, but behind they were locked
By Wyrd in the waves. Where once was the path
The breakers beat and bore down the army.
460 The stream stood up; the storm arose
High to the heavens, the harshest of noises.
Dark grew the clouds. The doomed ones cried
With fated voices; the foam became bloody.