“Oh! then to hear that cry far borne
On gales new-touched with morning frost
As though he heard it not, the king
Came, striding o’er that host,
“Seeking the bodies of his sons.
So on he strode through fog and mist;
And we to meet him moved; for now
That Fionn it was we wist.
“‘All hail to thee, King Fionn! all hail!’
He answered naught, but onward passed
Until he reached that spot where lay
My Oscar sinking fast.
“‘Late, late thou com’st: yet thou art here.’
Then answered Fionn, ‘Alas the day!
My reign is done since thou art gone,
And all this host is clay.’
“My Oscar gazed upon his face:
He heard the words his grandsire said:
He heard, nor spake: his hand down fell;
And his great spirit fled.
“Then all the warriors, far and near,
Save one that wept, and Fionn, my sire,
Three times upraised a cry that rang
O’er all the land of Eire.
“Fionn turned from us his face that hour:
We knew that tears adown it crept:
Never, except for Bran his hound,
The king till then had wept.
He shed no tear above his son;
Tearless he saw his brother die:
He wept to see my Oscar dead,
And the warriors weeping nigh.
“This is the tale of Gahbra’s fight,
Where all the monarchs warred on one;
Where they that wrecked him shared his fate,
And Erin’s day was done.
“On Gahbra’s field the curse came down:
Our voice is changed from that of men:
We sigh by night; we sigh by day:
We learned that lesson then.