OSSIAN.
Each bard prepared his harp for singing
That calm and lofty hero's praise;
Deep sorrow through the long notes ringing,
How wild their dirge, how sad their gaze!
THE BARDS.
Mayest thou be blessed, O thou our fairest
Beloved, once to fortune dear,
If still for Ireland's Feinne thou carest,
See how they wail thine absence here.
O strength, like flood on foemen pouring,
Or swoop of eagle from the sky,
Or as the rush through ocean roaring
When myriads from leviathan fly!
Béura's lord! thy fair locks, waving
Hath ceased, pressed down beneath the soil:
Thou'rt seen no more the billows braving,
No more thou'lt know the hunter's toil.
When blows are rained thy blade no longer
Shall strike where clear thy war cry rose,
O man, whose love than man's seemed stronger,
Whose voice no more high Tara knows.
For thee our eyes are red with weeping,
No beauty like to thine have we;
Our solace gone, our best are keeping
The death watch, bravest soul, with thee.
OSSIAN.
Yes, fallen all, to leave me living,
A leafless tree decayed and grey,
Old oaks and young, their green life giving;
The strong must fall, the weak must stay!