Poem VI

Son of the noble Fingal, Oscian,Prince of men! what tears run downthe cheeks of age? what shades thymighty soul?

Memory, son of Alpin, memorywounds the aged. Of former times aremy thoughts; my thoughts are of thenoble Fingal. The race of the king returninto my mind, and wound me withremembrance.

One day, returned from the sport ofthe mountains, from pursuing the sonsof the hill, we covered this heath withour youth. Fingal the mighty was here,and Oscur, my son, great in war. Fairon our sight from the sea, at once, avirgin came. Her breast was like thesnow of one night. Her cheek like thebud of the rose. Mild was her bluerolling eye: but sorrow was big in herheart.

Fingal renowned in war! she cries,sons of the king, preserve me! Speak secure,replies the king, daughter of beauty,speak: our ear is open to all: ourswords redress the injured. I fly fromUllin, she cries, from Ullin famous inwar. I fly from the embrace of himwho would debase my blood. Cremor,the friend of men, was my father; Cremorthe Prince of Inverne.

Fingal's younger sons arose; Carrylexpert in the bow; Fillan beloved ofthe fair; and Fergus first in the race.--Who from the farthest Lochlyn?who to the seas of Molochasquir? whodares hurt the maid whom the sons ofFingal guard? Daughter of beauty, restsecure; rest in peace, thou fairest of women.

Far in the blue distance of the deep,some spot appeared like the back of theridge-wave. But soon the ship increasedon our sight. The hand of Ullin drewher to land. The mountains trembledas he moved. The hills shook at hissteps. Dire rattled his armour aroundhim. Death and destruction were in hiseyes. His stature like the roe of Morven.He moved in the lightning ofsteel.

Our warriors fell before him,like the field before the reapers. Fingal'sthree sons he bound. He plungedhis sword into the fair-one's breast.She fell as a wreath of snow before thesun in spring. Her bosom heaved indeath; her soul came forth in blood.Oscur my son came down; themighty in battle descended. His armourrattled as thunder; and the lightning ofhis eyes was terrible. There, was theclashing of swords; there, was the voiceof steel. They struck and they thrust;they digged for death with their swords.But death was distant far, and delayedto come. The sun began to decline;and the cow-herd thought of home.Then Oscur's keen steel found the heartof Ullin. He fell like a mountain-oakcovered over with glittering frost: Heshone like a rock on the plain.--Herethe daughter of beauty lieth; andhere the bravest of men. Here oneday ended the fair and the valiant.Here rest the pursuer and the pursued.

Son of Alpin! the woes of the agedare many: their tears are for the past.This raised my sorrow, warriour; memoryawaked my grief. Oscur myson was brave; but Oscur is now nomore. Thou hast heard my grief, Oson of Alpin; forgive the tears of theaged.