Fragments Of Ancient Poetry, Fragment VI

Son of the noble Fingal, Oscian,     Prince of men! what tears run down     the cheeks of age? what shades thy     mighty soul?     Memory, son of Alpin, memory     wounds the aged. Of former times are     my thoughts; my thoughts are of the     noble Fingal. The race of the king return     into my mind, and wound me with     remembrance.     One day, returned from the sport of     the mountains, from pursuing the sons     of the hill, we covered this heath with     our youth. Fingal the mighty was here,     and Oscur, my son, great in war. Fair     on our sight from the sea, at once, a     virgin came. Her breast was like the     snow of one night. Her cheek like the     bud of the rose. Mild was her blue     rolling eye: but sorrow was big in her     heart.     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: our     swords redress the injured. I fly from     Ullin, she cries, from Ullin famous in     war. I fly from the embrace of him     who would debase my blood. Cremor,     the friend of men, was my father; Cremor     the Prince of Inverne.     Fingal's younger sons arose; Carryl     expert in the bow; Fillan beloved of     the fair; and Fergus first in the race.     --Who from the farthest Lochlyn?     who to the seas of Molochasquir? who     dares hurt the maid whom the sons of     Fingal guard? Daughter of beauty, rest     secure; rest in peace, thou fairest of women.     Far in the blue distance of the deep,     some spot appeared like the back of the     ridge-wave. But soon the ship increased     on our sight. The hand of Ullin drew     her to land. The mountains trembled     as he moved. The hills shook at his     steps. Dire rattled his armour around     him. Death and destruction were in his     eyes. His stature like the roe of Morven.     He moved in the lightning of     steel.     Our warriors fell before him,     like the field before the reapers. Fingal's     three sons he bound. He plunged     his sword into the fair-one's breast.     She fell as a wreath of snow before the     sun in spring. Her bosom heaved in     death; her soul came forth in blood.     Oscur my son came down; the     mighty in battle descended. His armour     rattled as thunder; and the lightning of     his eyes was terrible. There, was the     clashing of swords; there, was the voice     of steel. They struck and they thrust;     they digged for death with their swords.     But death was distant far, and delayed     to come. The sun began to decline;     and the cow-herd thought of home.     Then Oscur's keen steel found the heart     of Ullin. He fell like a mountain-oak     covered over with glittering frost: He     shone like a rock on the plain.--Here     the daughter of beauty lieth; and     here the bravest of men. Here one     day ended the fair and the valiant.     Here rest the pursuer and the pursued.     Son of Alpin! the woes of the aged     are many: their tears are for the past.     This raised my sorrow, warriour; memory     awaked my grief. Oscur my     son was brave; but Oscur is now no     more. Thou hast heard my grief, O     son of Alpin; forgive the tears of the     aged.