The dogs their noses together placed,
Then their blood was scatter’d on every side;
Desperate the fight, and the fight did last
’Till the brave black dog in Bran’s gripe died.
“O sure was I,” did Ossian cry,
From the pillar of the dogs with stern delight,
“There was no dog in the Finn country
Could inflict upon Bran the mortal bite.
“O Bran was a stag-hound Morong bred,
And possess’d each canine guile and sleight;
There was no dog in leash e’er led
Could consign our dog to the Western height.
“There’s many a damsel, heavenly bright,
With azure eye and yellow hair,
In the land of the son of King Torc this night
Would be proud with my dog her supper to share.”
A grave the valiant hero made
For his good black dog in the field’s green breast;
Full fifty dogs the Fenians laid
To the pibroch’s blast in the hill to the west.
We went to the dwelling of high MacCuol,
With the king to drink, and dice, and throw;
The king was joyous, his hall was full,
Though empty and dark this night I trow.
* * * * *
London:
Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.
Edition limited to Thirty Copies.