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![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | T | E | T/E | | "The Fatal Sisters. An Ode" |
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| | | | | | (From the Norse-Tongue,) in the ORCADES of |
| | | | | | Thormodus Torfaeus; Hafniae, 1697, Folio: |
| | | | | | and also in Bartholinus. |
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| | | | | | Vitt er orpit fyrir valfalli, &c. |
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| | | | | | Advertisement. |
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| | | | | | The Author once had thoughts (in concert with a Friend) of |
| | | | | | giving the History of English Poetry: In the Introduction |
| | | | | | to it he meant to have produced some specimens of the Style that |
| | | | | | reigned in ancient times among the neighbouring nations, or |
| | | | | | those who had subdued the greater part of this Island, and were |
| | | | | | our Progenitors: the following three Imitations made a part of |
| | | | | | them. He has long since drop'd his design, especially after he |
| | | | | | had heard, that it was already in the hands of a Person well |
| | | | | | qualified to do it justice, both by his taste, and his |
![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | | | | | researches into antiquity. |
![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | | | | | |
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| | | | | | PREFACE. |
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| | | | | | In the Eleventh Century Sigurd, Earl of the Orkney-Islands, |
| | | | | | went with a fleet of ships and a considerable body of troops |
| | | | | | into Ireland, to the assistance of Sictryg with the silken beard, |
| | | | | | who was then making war on his father-in-law Brian, King of |
| | | | | | Dublin: the Earl and all his forces were cut to pieces, and |
| | | | | | Sictryg was in danger of a total defeat; but the enemy had a |
| | | | | | greater loss by the death of Brian, their King, who fell in |
| | | | | | the action. On Christmas-day, (the day of the battle,) a Native |
| | | | | | of Caithness in Scotland saw at a distance a number of persons |
| | | | | | on horseback riding full speed towards a hill, and seeming to enter |
| | | | | | into it. Curiosity led him to follow them, till looking through an |
| | | | | | opening in the rocks he saw twelve gigantic figures resembling |
| | | | | | women: they were all employed about a loom; and as they wove, |
| | | | | | they sung the following dreadful Song; which when they had |
| | | | | | finished, they tore the web into twelve pieces, and (each taking |
![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | | | | | her portion) galloped Six to the North and as many to the South. |
![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | | | | | |
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| | | E | | 1 | Now the storm begins to lower, |
| | T | E | T/E | 2 | (Haste, the loom of hell prepare,) |
| | | E | | 3 | Iron-sleet of arrowy shower |
| | | E | | 4 | Hurtles in the darkened air. |
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| | T | | | 5 | Glittering lances are the loom, |
| | | | | 6 | Where the dusky warp we strain, |
| | | | | 7 | Weaving many a soldier's doom, |
| | | E | | 8 | Orkney's woe, and Randver's bane. |
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| | | E | | 9 | See the grisly texture grow, |
| | | E | | 10 | ('Tis of human entrails made,) |
| | | E | | 11 | And the weights that play below, |
| | | E | | 12 | Each a gasping warrior's head. |
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| | | E | | 13 | Shafts for shuttles, dipped in gore, |
| | | | | 14 | Shoot the trembling cords along. |
![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | T | E | T/E | 15 | Sword, that once a monarch bore, |
![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | | E | | 16 | Keep the tissue close and strong. |
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| | T | E | T/E | 17 | Mista black, terrific maid, |
| | T | E | T/E | 18 | Sangrida and Hilda see, |
| | | E | | 19 | Join the wayward work to aid: |
| | | | | 20 | 'Tis the woof of victory. |
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| | | E | | 21 | E're the ruddy sun be set, |
| | | | | 22 | Pikes must shiver, javelins sing, |
| | T | E | T/E | 23 | Blade with clattering buckler meet, |
| | | E | | 24 | Hauberk crash and helmet ring. |
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| | | E | | 25 | (Weave the crimson web of war) |
| | | | | 26 | Let us go, and let us fly, |
| | | | | 27 | Where our friends the conflict share, |
| | T | E | T/E | 28 | Where they triumph, where they die. |
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| | | E | | 29 | As the paths of fate we tread, |
| | | E | | 30 | Wading through the ensanguined field: |
![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | T | E | T/E | 31 | Gondula and Geira, spread |
![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | | E | | 32 | O'er the youthful king your shield. |
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| | T | E | T/E | 33 | We the reins to slaughter give, |
| | | | | 34 | Ours to kill and ours to spare: |
| | | | | 35 | Spite of danger he shall live. |
| | | | | 36 | (Weave the crimson web of war.) |
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| | T | E | T/E | 37 | They, whom once the desert-beach |
| | T | E | T/E | 38 | Pent within its bleak domain, |
| | | E | | 39 | Soon their ample sway shall stretch |
| | | E | | 40 | O'er the plenty of the plain. |
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| | | E | | 41 | Low the dauntless earl is laid, |
| | | E | | 42 | Gored with many a gaping wound: |
| | | | | 43 | Fate demands a nobler head; |
| | T | E | T/E | 44 | Soon a king shall bite the ground. |
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| | T | E | T/E | 45 | Long his loss shall Eirin weep, |
| | | E | | 46 | Ne'er again his likeness see; |
![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | | | | 47 | Long her strains in sorrow steep, |
![[down]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/bottom.gif) | | E | | 48 | Strains of immortality! |
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| | | | | 49 | Horror covers all the heath, |
| | T | E | T/E | 50 | Clouds of carnage blot the sun. |
| | | | | 51 | Sisters, weave the web of death; |
| | | | | 52 | Sisters, cease, the work is done. |
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| | | | | 53 | Hail the task, and hail the hands! |
| | | | | 54 | Songs of joy and triumph sing! |
| | | | | 55 | Joy to the victorious bands; |
| | | E | | 56 | Triumph to the younger king. |
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| | | E | | 57 | Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, |
| | | E | | 58 | Learn the tenor of our song. |
| | T | E | T/E | 59 | Scotland, through each winding vale |
| | | E | | 60 | Far and wide the notes prolong. |
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| | T | E | T/E | 61 | Sisters, hence with spurs of speed: |
| | T | | | 62 | Each her thundering faulchion wield; |
| | T | E | T/E | 63 | Each bestride her sable steed. |
![[up]](http://www.thomasgray.org/images/top.gif) | T | | | 64 | Hurry, hurry to the field. |