To meet the Scots they throng.
There runs a path by Lidé's side,
Which some the Kringell call;
And near it Laugé's waters glide:
In them the foe shall fall.
Now weapons, long disused, are spread
Again that bloody day.
The merman lifts his shaggy head
And waits his destined prey.
Brave Sinclair, pierced with many a ball,