Widely is flung, warning of slaughter, The weaver's – beams – web 't is wet with blood; Is spread now, grey, the spear-thing before, The woof-of-the-warriors which valkyries fill With the red-warp-of- Randver's banesman. Is this web woven and wound of entrails, And heavy weighted with heads of slain; Are blood-bespattered spears the treadles, Iron-bound the beams, the battens, arrows: Let us weave with our swords this web of victory! Will men behold shields, with swords brandished. Let not the liege's life be taken: Valkyries award the weird of battle Shields will be shattered, shafts will be splintered, Will the hound-of-helmets the hauberks bite. Start we swiftly with steeds unsaddled— Hence to battle with brandished swords!