GRINIE.
O Diarmid! wait until they cry,
That hunting shout is but a lie,
Where grieves for his wife Cùall's son, there for thee
Thou know'st thy peril for ever must be.
DIARMID
Ere hounds can open on the scent,
To every chase my steps are bent,
And shame were it now for the king's evil will
To lose a good hunt as it sweeps o'er the hill.
OSSIAN.
Then down came Diarmid to the vale,
To the famed sons of Innisfail,
And glad was the king, for his foe in his sight
Came aidless and powerless to baffle his might.
Where o'er his red straths Gulban soars,
Were haunts well loved by savage boars,
And fine were the knolls on the blue mountain's face,
Where oft for King Fionn resounded the chase.
There Grinie's love brought her to shame,
'Twas there the king, with cheeks of flame,
Commanded the hunt, and 'twas there Diarmid stood
To watch for the boar if he broke from the wood.
Deceit a grievous evil wrought!
The monster's ear our tumult caught;
He moved in the glen, as from east and from west,
The shouting grew louder as nearer we pressed.
Envenomed, old, rage-filled, his jaw
Foamed as his eyes the heroes saw,
And faster he went, his strong bristles and mane
Erect, sharp as darts, strong as wood of the plain;