Then Oisin uplifted his old white head:
Like lightning from the hoary skies
A flash went forth ‘neath the shaggy roofs
Low-bent o’er his sightless eyes:
“Though my life sinks down, and I sit in the dust,
Blind warrior and gray-haired man,
Mine were they of old, thou priest overbold,
Those chiefs of Baoigne’s clan!”
And he cried, while a spasm his huge frame shook,
“Dim shadows like men before me,
My father was Fionn, and Oscar my son,
Though to-day ye stand vaunting it o’er me!”
Thus raged Oisin—’mid the fold of Christ,
Still roaming old deserts wide
In the storm of thought, like a lion old,
Though lamblike at last he died.
[55] The substance of this poem will be found among the translations of the Irish Ossianic Society.
LUCAS GARCIA.
FROM THE SPANISH OF FERNAN CABALLERO.