Why love a woman mild in speech,
And yet a traitoress to each?
GRINIE.
'Twas misery sundered my life from the king's,
I left thee awhile, for love, torturing, stings;
Never more will I leave thee-my tender love round
thee
Like fresh boughs for thy life, would have sheltered
and crowned thee.
DIARMID.
Fulfil then thy word, though so faithless, how fair!
Thy love, oh my Grinie, no giant shall share.
Note.—From Gaelic verse, printed by J. F. Campbell, Esq., in "Leabhar na Feinne."
THE DEATH OF THE BOAR
[Taken from "Leabhar na Feinne," and a prose version written down from oral recitation by J. Dewar.]
OSSIAN.
This vale of Peace, this glen close by,
Where deer and elk would often cry,
Of old saw the fleet-footed Fianti bound
In the strath of the west as they followed the hound.