Defending their firesides against foemen invaders,
10 Their hoards and their homes. The hated ones perished,
Soldiers of Scotland and seamen-warriors—
Fated they fell. The field was wet
With the blood of the brave, after the bright sun
Had mounted at morning, the master of planets
15 Glided over the ground, God’s candle clear,
The Lord’s everlasting, till the lamp of heaven
Sank to its setting. Soldiers full many
Lay mangled by spears, men of the Northland,