From neighbour to neighbour the message runs,
On the mountain blaz'd the beacon;
Into lurking-holes crept not the valley's sons,
As the Scots perchance might reckon.

"The soldiers have follow'd the King to the war,
Ourselves must arm us, brothers!
And he who here his life will spare
Shall be damn'd as a cur by the others."

The peasants of Vaage, of Laxoe and Lom,
With axes sharp and heavy,
To the gathering at Bredaboig, one and all, come,
On the Scots fierce war to levy.

A pass, which all men Kringe call,
By the foot of the mountain goeth;
The Lauge, wherein the Scots shall fall,
Close, close beside it floweth.

The aged shooters are taking aim,
Each gun has been call'd into duty;
The Naik {54} his wet beard uplifts from the stream,
And with longing expects his booty.

Sir Sinclair fell the first, with a yell
His soul escap'd him for ever,
Each Scot loud cried when his leader died;
"May the Lord-God us deliver!"