“When Denmark’s raven soared high,
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky,
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak
Bade Reged’s Britons dread the yoke;
and the broad shadow of her wing
Blackened each cateract and spring,
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source,
Thundering o’er Caldron and High Force;
Beneath the shadow the Northmen came,
Fixed on each vale a runic name,
Reared high their altar’s rugged stone,
And gave their Gods the land they won.
Then Balder, one beak garth was thine,
And one sweet brooklet’s silver line;
And Woden’s croft did little gain
From the stern father of the slain.”
Nice eh?
that was from Walter Scott’s “Rokeby”
