This is a picture of Fingal going to battle, and a “terrible sight,” indeed it must have been, especially to his foes. The leader of the Féinne was surrounded by a worthy band of followers. The bards and senachies, or oralists, agree in the character, outlines, and abilities of these heroes. Ossian, the son of Fingal, was himself a hero; but, being generally a supposed narrator, gives us little insight into his own distinctive character. He was a great bard, a brave warrior, but an unobtrusive man. His son Oscar was the pride and hope of Selma, peerless as to strength and skill in arms, generous to a fallen foe, and ever ready to meet the fiercest champion that ever came from Lochlin. Gaul or Goll is stout and valiant, and next to Oscar in prowess, but is at times morose. He is never worsted, but he never courts danger for its own sake. The beautiful and brown-haired Diarmad cannot be seen by any woman without being loved. He is devoted to his brothers in arms, and when necessary he can combine sleight of hand with heroic daring. Cailte is a poet, and celebrated for his swiftness of foot. Then there is the hardy Rayne, the majestic Cochulin, and the faithful though rash Conan. Fingal himself has been limned from more than one point of view by the oralists. His greatness and courage in battle are indisputably pre-eminent. He is a prudent, cautious general, and disapproves of unnecessary bloodshed. In affairs of the heart he is relentless towards a rival, generous though he is in other respects. The worst thing that can be recorded of him is his unfeeling and revengeful conduct towards his nephew, the gallant Diarmid, when the latter eloped with Queen Gràine. These were the principal warriors of that gallant band of Finian heroes whose names are indelibly engraven on the hills and straths of their native land, while their deeds are recorded in a thousand songs. They lived at a time when the world was undergoing . Tribes were beginning to assume a national cast, and as organised nations [to develop an] individuality. They were preparing to run the race sketched out to them by destiny, the path of each bounded by a particular line or limit of sea, stream, mountain, or valley, and were throwing aside all the encumbrances of superseded customs and laws that might clog their progress. Fingal and his followers appeared in immortal brilliance, crowned with the laurels of deathless heroism on the stage of the world, and soon they disappeared from the scene. They were seen but for a short time like the sun in a wintry day. And the picture is beautifully brought before us in the following verses translated by Pattison:—
“Like a sun-gleam in wild wintry weather
That hastens o’er Lena’s wide heath,
So the Féinne have faded together,
They were the beam the showery clouds sheathe,
When down stoops the dark rain-frown of heaven,
To snatch from the hunter the ray,
And wildly the moaning bare branches are driven,
While the weak herbs all wither away.