"This woof is y-woven With entrails of men, This warp is hardweighted With heads of the slain, Spears blood-besprinkled For spindles we use, Our loom ironbound, And arrows our reels; With swords for our shuttles This war-woof we work; So weave we, weird sisters, Our warwinning woof. "Now Warwinner walketh To weave in her turn, Now Swordswinger steppeth, Now Swiftstroke, now Storm; When they speed the shuttle How spearheads shall flash! Shields crash, and helmgnawer (3) On harness bite hard! "Wind we, wind swiftly Our warwinning woof Woof erst for king youthful Foredoomed as his own, Forth now we will ride, Then through the ranks rushing Be busy where friends Blows blithe give and take. "Wind we, wind swiftly Our warwinning woof, After that let us steadfastly Stand by the brave king; Then men shall mark mournful Their shields red with gore, How Swordstroke and Spearthrust Stood stout by the prince. "Wind we, wind swiftly Our warwinning woof. When sword-bearing rovers To banners rush on, Mind, maidens, we spare not One life in the fray! We corse-choosing sisters Have charge of the slain. "Now new-coming nations That island shall rule, Who on outlying headlands Abode ere the fight; I say that King mighty To death now is done, Now low before spearpoint That Earl bows his head. "Soon over all Ersemen Sharp sorrow shall fall, That woe to those warriors Shall wane nevermore; Our woof now is woven. Now battlefield waste, O'er land and o'er water War tidings shall leap. "Now surely 'tis gruesome To gaze all around. When bloodred through heaven Drives cloudrack o'er head; Air soon shall be deep hued With dying men's blood When this our spaedom Comes speedy to pass. "So cheerily chant we Charms for the young king, Come maidens lift loudly His warwinning lay; Let him who now listens Learn well with his ears And gladden brave swordsmen With bursts of war's song. "Now mount we our horses, Now bare we our brands, Now haste we hard, maidens, Hence far, far, away." Then they plucked down the Woof and tore it asunder, and each kept what she had hold of. Now Daurrud goes away from the Slit, and home; but they got on their steeds and rode six to the south, and the other six to the north. A like event befell Brand Gneisti's son in the Faroe Isles. At Swinefell, in Iceland, blood came on the priest's stole on Good-Friday, so that he had to put it off. At Thvattwater the priest thought he saw on Good-Friday a long deep of the sea hard by the altar, and there he saw many awful sights, and it was long ere he could sing the prayers.