THE BOOK OF THE DEAN OF LISMORE.
The author of this is Ossian,[40] the son of Finn:[41]
I’ve seen the household of Finn. No men were they of coward race. I saw by my side a vision Of the hero’s household yesterday. I’ve seen the household[42] of Art,[43] He with the brown-haired son of gentle speech; No better man I ever saw. I’ve seen the household of Finn. Who ever saw what I have seen? I’ve seen Finn armed with Luno’s son.[44] How sad the mournful memory. I’ve seen the household of Finn. Never can I recount the ills Which now do crown my head. Do thou free us for ever from pain. I’ve seen the household of Finn. I’ve seen, etc.
The author of this is Ossian: [45]
Long are the clouds this night above me; The last was a long night to me. This day, although I find it long, Yesterday was longer still. Each day that comes is long to me, Such indeed was not my wont. Now is no fight, or battle-field, No learning noble feats of arms Without maiden, song, or harp; No crushing bones or warlike deeds, No studious learning any more, No hospitable heart or board, No soft wooing, and no chase, In both of which I took delight. Without the battle-march or fight, Alas! how sorrowful life’s close; No hunting of the hind or stag, How different from my heart’s desire! No trappings for our hounds, no hounds. Long are the clouds this night above me. No rising up to noble feats, No mirthful sport as we would wish, No swimming heroes in our lakes. Long are the clouds this night above me; In this great world none is like me, So sad, how sad my case! A poor old man now dragging stones. Long are the clouds this night above me, The last man of the Feine am I, The great Ossian, the son of Finn, Listening to the sound of bells.[46] Long are the clouds this night above me.
Find, O Patrick, from thy God What our eternal state shall be. Freed may we ever be from ill. Long are the clouds this night above me. Long are the clouds, etc.
The Author of this is Ossian:
Once on a time when Finn my loved Went to hunt on the “Fair maids’ hill,”[47] With three thousand nobles of the Feine, Their shields aloft o’er their heads. Ossian! thy words are sweet to me, My blessing on the soul of Finn.[48] Tell us the number of the deer That fell on the “Fair maids’ hill.”
How vigorously we shook our spears, For never hast thou sung the deer Slain on the “Fair maids’ hill,” By the hand of Finn of the feasts. Tell them the tale in full, My blessing on thy guileless lips. Had you your dress and your armour When you went forth to the chase?