Far sharper than a spear.
So that around the Moril Glen
Our brave young men did lie,
With limbs as lydder and as lithe
As duddis hung out to dry.
And aye the tears ran down in streams
O’er cheeks right woe-begone;
And aye they gasped, and they gratte,
And thus made piteous moan:—
“Alack! that I had ever been born,