Seven times the number that thou hast of priests, Fell all in battle by Oscar alone.
Thou’rt now in thy last days, old and senseless man, Cease now thy speaking, and come away with me; Did’st thou see the men of cowls, Finn’s son, in Alve, Thou would’st not as thou dost reproach the men of heaven.
No less was our great band, when we were met in Taura, Reproachful are the words thou speak’st of the great king, I will forgive thee, Cleric, although thou dost not tell. Tell.
The author of this is Ossian. [75]
I know a little tale of Finn, A tale that we should not despise, Of Cumhal’s son, the valorous, Which our memory still preserves. Once we were a little band, At Essaroy,[76] of gentle streams, Near the coast was under sail, A currach, in which sat a maid; Fifty men stood by the King, Brave in any fight or field, Sad for them who faced their right arm, For we ruled in every land. All of us rose up in haste, Save Finn of the Feine and Gaul, To welcome the boat as it sped, Cleaving the waves in its course. It never ceased its onward way Until it reached the wonted port. Then when it had touched the land, The maid did from her seat arise, Fairer than a sunbeam’s sheen, Of finest mould and gentlest mien. Then before this stranger maid, We stood and showed courtesy; “Come to the tent of Finn with us.” With grace she all of us salutes; ’Twas Cumhal’s son himself replied, And salutes her in return. Then did the King of noblest mien Ask of the maid of fairest face, “Whence is it thou hast come, fair maid? Give us now in brief thy tale.” “The King of the land beneath the waves,[77] My father is, such is my fate, Through all lands where the sun revolves, Thee and thy men I long have sought.” “Princess, who hast searched each land, Youthful maid of beauteous form, The reason why thou cam’st so far, Tell us now, and tell us all.” “If thou be Finn, I ask defence,”[78] So now did speak the youthful maid, “Thou of soft speech, and purest race, Grant me protection, grant it now.” Then spoke the wise and knowing King, “Tell us now from whom thou flee’st; Protection I thee grant, fair maid, ’Gainst every man that dares thee hurt.” “There comes in wrath across the sea, Swift in pursuit, a warrior brave, The well-armed son of Sorcha’s King, He whose name is Daire the fierce.[79] I laid me under heavy bonds[80] That Finn should from the sea me have, But that his wife I ne’er should be, Though famed his beauty and his deeds.” Then Oscar spoke, of hasty speech, The warlike conqueror of Kings, “Though Finn should not thy pledge sustain, Never shalt thou with him wed.” Then do we see borne by his steed[81] A hero of unequalled size, Travelling with speed across the sea, Following the maiden in her course; His helmet close about the head Of this brave and dauntless man; His right arm bore a round black shield, The surface of its back engraved; A heavy, large, broad-bladed sword, Tightly bound, hung by his side; He comes in attitudes of fence, As where we stood he swift approached; Two javelins, with victory rich, Rest on the shoulder of his shield; For strength, for skill, for bravery, Nowhere could his match be found. A hero’s look,—the eye of a king Shone in that head of noblest mould, Ruddy his face, his teeth pearl-white, No stream ran swifter than his steed. Then did his steed bound on the shore, And he in whom we saw no fear. Of us did fifty warriors then Approach him as he came to us; Fear of the hero as he neared us Filled the bravest of them all. Now as he landed from the waves, Our famous King the question put, “Can’st thou tell me now, fair maid, Is that the man of whom thou spak’st?” “I know him well, Finn Cumhal’s son, Nor does his coming bode you good; Me he will rudely strive to seize, Despite thy strength, O noble Finn.” Then Oscar and Gaul arose, The fiercest of all in the fight, Near to the men they firmly stood, Between the giant and our chief. The well-formed warrior then approached, In rage sustained by his great strength, The maid he rudely bears away, Though by Finn’s shoulder she had stood. The Son of Morne then hurled his spear, With wonted force, as he bore off; No gentle cast was that, in truth, The hero’s shield was split in twain. The wrathful Oscar then did shake The red-dyed belt from his left arm,[82] And killed the hero’s prancing steed, A deed most worthy of great fame. Then, when the steed fell on the plain, He on us turned in fiercest wrath, And battle does, the onset mad, With all our fifty warriors brave. On the same side with me and Finn, The fifty stood in front of him: Yet though they oft stood firm in fight, His arm did now them force to yield. Two blows, and only two he gave, With vigour to each sep’rate man, When we were stretched upon the earth, Each man of us with whom he fought. Three vanquished nines he tightly bound, Ere from the furious fight he ceased. Firmly the three smalls’[83] usual tie On each of these he firmly placed. Then did the manly Gaul advance, The conquering hero to assail. Whoe’er he was could see them then, The struggle and the fight were fierce. Then did Mac Morne slay with his arm The King of Sorcha’s son, most strange! Sad was the coming of the maid, Now that the brave in fight had fallen. And now that he had fallen thus, Beside the sea, a sad event, She of the land beneath the waves, With Finn and his Feine remained a year. Flann, son of Morne, in battle brave, Was killed, it is a piteous tale; None of all our men escaped, Whose body was not full of wounds, Except my noble Father, Finn, The generous friend of all distressed. And now at last the deed is done. Of Finn this little tale I know. I know a little tale of Finn.
As our fifty warriors brave[84] Were now subject to his arms, Helpless were we in his hands, Our precious rights were all now lost. His sword without a single check, Did hack our bodies and our shields. Any fighting like to his, In my day never have I seen. We buried then close to the fall This noble, brave, and powerful man. And on each finger’s ruddy point A ring was placed in honour of the King. For ten long years his conquering arms, To the victor did the King forbid; For all that time the son of Morne Was healing with Finn of the Feine.
The author of this is Ossian, the son of Finn. [85]
’Twas yesterday week I last saw Finn; Ne’er did I see A braver man; Teige’s[86] daughter’s son, A powerful king; My fortune, my light, My mind’s whole might, Both poet and chief. Braver than kings, Firm chief of the Feinn. Lord of all lands, Leviathan at sea, As great on land, Hawk of the air, Foremost always. Generous, just, Despised a lie. Of vigorous deeds, First in song. A righteous judge, Firm his rule. Polished his mien, Who knew but victory. Who is like him In fight or song? Resists the foe, In house or field. Marble his skin, The rose his cheek, Blue was his eye, His hair like gold. All men’s trust, Of noble mind. Of ready deeds, To women mild, A giant he, The field’s delight. Best polished spears, No wood like their shafts. Rich was the King. His great green bottle, Full of sharp wine, Of substance rich. Excellent he.[87] Of noble form, His people’s head, His step so firm, Who often warred. In beauteous Banva, Three hundred battles He bravely fought. With miser’s mind From none withheld. Anything false His lips ne’er spoke. He never grudged, No, never Finn; The sun ne’er saw King Who him excelled. The monsters in lakes, The serpent by land, In Erin of saints,[88] The hero slew. Ne’er could I tell, Though always I lived, Ne’er could I tell The third of his praise. But sad am I now, After Finn of the Feinn! Away with the chief, My joy is all fled. No friends ’mong the great, No courtesy. No gold, no queen, No princes and chiefs. Sad am I now, Our head ta’en away! I’m a shaking tree, My leaves all gone. An empty nut, A reinless horse, Sad, sad am I, A feeble kern. Ossian I, the son of Finn, Strengthless in deed. When Finn did live All things were mine. Seven sides had the house Of Cumhal’s son. Seven score shields On every side. Fifty robes of wool Around the King. Fifty warriors Filled the robes. Ten bright cups For drink in his hall. Ten blue flagons, Ten horns of gold. A noble house Was that of Finn. No grudge nor lust, Babbling nor sham; No man despised Among the Feinn. The first himself, All else like him. Finn was our chief, Easy his praise, Noblest of Kings. Finn ne’er refused To any man, Howe’er unknown; Ne’er from his house Sent those who came.[89] Good man was Finn, Good man was he. No gifts e’er given Like his so free. ’Twas yesterday week.
The author of this is Allan M’Rorie. [90]
Glenshee,[91] the vale that close beside me lies, Where sweetest sounds are heard of deer and elk, And where the Feinn did oft pursue the chase, Following their hounds along the lengthening vale. Below the great Ben Gulbin’s[92] grassy height Of fairest knolls that lie beneath the sun, The valley winds. Its streams did oft run red, After a hunt by Finn and by the Feinn. Listen now while I detail the loss Of one, a hero in this gentle band: ’Tis of Ben Gulbin, and of generous Finn, And Mac O’Duine,[93] in truth a piteous tale. A mournful hunt indeed it was for Finn, When Mac O’Duine, he of the ruddiest hue, Up to Ben Gulbin went, resolved to hunt The boar,[94] whom arms had never yet subdued. Though Mac O’Duine, of brightest burnished arms, Did bravely slay the fierce and furious boar, Yet Finn’s deceit did him induce to yield; And this it was that did his grievous hurt. Who among men was so beloved as he? Brave Mac O’Duine, beloved of the schools;[95] Women all mourn this sad and piteous tale Of him who firmly grasped the murderous spear. Then bravely did the hero of the Feinn Rouse from his cover in the mountain side, The great old Boar, him so well known in Shee, The greatest in the wild boar’s haunt e’er seen. Glad now was Finn, the man of ruddiest hue, Beneath Ben Gulbin’s soft and grassy side; For swift the boar now coursed along the heath; Great was the ill came of that dreadful hunt. ’Twas when he heard the Feinn’s loud ringing shout, And saw approach the glittering of their arms, The monster waken’d from his heavy sleep, And stately moved before them down the vale. First, to distance them he makes attempt, The great old boar, his bristles stiff on end, These bristles sharper than a pointed spear, Their point more piercing than the quiver’s shaft. Then Mac O’Duine with arms well pointed too, Answers the horrid beast with ready hand: Away from his side there rushed the heavy spear, Hard following on the course the boar pursued. The javelin’s shaft fell shivered into three, The shaft recoiling from the boar’s tough hide. The spear hurled by his warm red-fingered hand Ne’er penetrated the body of the boar. Then from its sheath he drew his thin-leaved[96] sword, Of all the arms most crown’d with victory; Mac O’Duine did there the monster kill, While he himself escaped without a wound. Then on Finn of the Feinn did sadness fall, And on the mountain side he sat him down; It grieved his soul that generous Mac O’Duine Should have escaped unwounded by the boar. For long he sat, and never spake a word, Then thus he spake, although ’t be sad to tell, “Measure, Diarmad, the boar down from the snout, And tell how many feet ’s the brute in length.” What Finn did ask he never yet refused; Alas! that he should never see his home. Along the back he measures now the boar, Light-footed Mac O’Duine of active step. “Measure it the other way against the hair, And measure, Diarmad, carefully the boar.” It was indeed for thee a mournful deed, Youth of the sharply-pointed piercing arms. He went, the errand grievous was and sad, And measured for them once again the boar. Th’ envenomed pointed bristle sharply pierced The sole of him,[97] the bravest in the field. Then fell and lay upon the grassy plain The noble Mac O’Duine, whose look spoke truth; He fell and lay along beside the boar, And there you have my mournful, saddening tale. There does he lie now wounded to the death, Brave Mac O’Duine, so skilful in the fight; The most enduring ev’n among the Feinn, He lies upon the knoll I see on high, The blue-eyed hawk that dwelt at Essaroy,[98] The conqueror in every sore-fought field, Slain by the poisoned bristle of the boar. Now does he lie full stretched upon the hill, Brave, noble Diarmad Mac O’Duine! Slain, it is shame! victim of jealousy.[99] Whiter his body than the sun’s bright light, Redder his lips than blossoms tinged with red; Long yellow locks did rest upon his head, His eye was clear beneath the covering brow, Its colour mingled was of blue and grey; Waving and graceful were his locks behind,[100] His speech was elegant and sweetly soft; His hands the whitest, fingers tipped with red; Elegance and power were in his form, His fair soft skin covering a faultless shape, No woman saw him but he won her love. Mac O’Duine crowned with his countless victories, Ne’er shall he raise his eye in courtship more, Or warriors’ wrath give colour to his cheek; The following of the chase, the prancing steed, Will never move him, nor the search for spoil. He who could bear him well in every fight, Has now us sadly left in that wild vale. Glenshee.