When ravens in battle torment’s torn flesh fight…
Morvran, my horse, firm-hoofed in stance
Is indisposed to flight.
Splendid my saddle and bright, never sore
Polished my crown, blameless, pure.
When ravens over battle-field scream for strife…
Dormath, my hound, noses the green-floor
His red gaze to ground.
Escort am I for the grave east to west
North to south, alive am I, safe in death…