Glitt❜ring lances are the loom, Where the dusky warp we strain, Weaving many a foldier's doom, Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane. See the grifly texture grow! Shafts for fhuttles, dipt in gore, Shoot the trembling cords along. Sword, that once a monarch bore, Keep the tiffue close and strong. Mifta, black terrific maid, Join the wayward work to aid: "Tis the woof of victory. Ere the ruddy fun be fet, Blade with clatt'ring buckler meet, (Weave the crimson web of war,) Let us go, and let us fly, Where our friends the conflict share, Where they triumph, where they die. As the paths of fate we tread, Wading thro' th' enfanguin'd field, Gondula, and Geira, spread O'er the youthful King your fhield. We the reins to flaughter give, Ours to kill, and ours to fpare: (Weave the crimson web of war.) They, whom once the defert-beach Pent within its bleak domain, Soon their ample sway shall stretch O'er the plenty of the plain. Low the dauntlefs Earl is laid, Gor'd with many a gaping wound : Fate demands a nobler head; Soon a King fhall bite the ground. * Long his lofs fhall Eirin weep, Ne'er again his likeness see ; *Ireland. Long Long her ftrains in forrow steep, Strains of immortality! Horror covers all the heath, Clouds of carnage blot the fun. Sifters, weave the web of death. Hail the task, and hail the hands! Mortal, thou that hear'ft the tale, Learn the tenour of our fong. Scotland, thro' each winding vale, Far and wide the notes prolong. |