IVCONNAL, CRIMORA,CRIMORA.Who cometh from the hill, likea cloud tinged with the beamof the west? Whose voice is that, loudas the wind, but pleasant as the harp ofCarryl? It is my love in the light ofsteel; but sad is his darkened brow.Live the mighty race of Fingal? orwhat disturbs my Connal?CONNAL.They live. I saw them return fromthe chace, like a stream of light. Thesun was on their shields: In a line theydescended the hill. Loud is the voice ofthe youth; the war, my love, is near.To-morrow the enormous Dargo comesto try the force of our race. The race ofFingal he defies; the race of battle andwounds.CRIMORA.Connal, I saw his sails like grey miston the sable wave. They came to land.Connnal, many are the warriors ofDargo!CONNAL.Bring me thy father's shield; the ironshield of Rinval; that shield like thefull moon when it is darkened in thesky.CRIMORA.That shield I bring, O Connal; butit did not defend my father. By thespear of Gauror he fell. Thou maystfall, O Connal!CONNAL.Fall indeed I may: But raise mytomb, Crimora. Some stones, a moundof earth, shall keep my memory.Though fair thou art, my love, as thelight; more pleasant than the gale ofthe hill; yet I will not stay. Raise mytomb, Crimora.CRIMORA,Then give me those arms of light;that sword, and that spear of steel. Ishall meet Dargo with thee, and aid mylovely Connal. Farewell, ye rocks ofArdven! ye deer! and ye streams ofthe hill!—We shall return no more.Our tombs are distant far.
VAutumn is dark on the mountains;grey mist rests on the hills. Thewhirlwind is heard on the heath. Darkrolls the river through the narrow plain.A tree stands alone on the hill, andmarks the grave of Connal. The leaveswhirl round with the wind, and strewthe grave of the dead. At times areseen here the ghosts of the deceased,when the musing hunter alone stalksslowly over the heath.Who can reach the source of thyrace, O Connal? and who recount thyFathers? Thy family grew like an oakon the mountain, which meeteth thewind with its lofty head. But now itis torn from the earth. Who shall supplythe place of Connal?Here was the din of arms; andhere the groans of the dying. Mournfulare the wars of Fingal! O Connal!it was here thou didst fall. Thine armwas like a storm; thy sword, a beamof the sky; thy height, a rock on theplain; thine eyes, a furnace of fire.Louder than a storm was thy voice,when thou confoundedst the field. Warriorsfell by thy sword, as the thistle bythe staff of a boy.Dargo the mighty came on, like acloud of thunder. His brows were contractedand dark. His eyes like twocaves in a rock. Bright rose theirswords on each side; dire was the clangof their steel.The daughter of Rinval was near;Crimora, bright in the armour of man;her hair loose behind, her bow in herhand. She followed the youth to thewar, Connal her much beloved. Shedrew the string on Dargo; but erringpierced her Connal. He falls like anoak on the plain; like a rock from theshaggy hill. What shall she do, haplessmaid!—He bleeds; her Connal dies.All the night long she cries, and all theday, O Connal, my love, and myfriend! With grief the sad mournerdied.Earth here incloseth the loveliestpair on the hill. The grass grows betweenthe stones of their tomb; I sit inthe mournful shade. The wind sighsthrough the grass; and their memoryrushes on my mind. Undisturbed younow sleep together; in the tomb of themountain you rest alone.
VISon 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.
VIIWhy openest thou afresh the spring ofmy grief, O son of Alpin, inquiringhow Oscur fell? My eyes are blind withtears; but memory beams on my heart.How can I relate the mournful death ofthe head of the people! Prince of thewarriours, Oscur my son, shall I see theeno more!He fell as the moon in a storm; asthe sun from the midst of his course,when clouds rise from the waste of thewaves, when the blackness of the storminwraps the rocks of Ardannider. I, likean ancient oak on Morven, I moulderalone in my place. The blast hath loppedmy branches away; and I trembleat the wings of the north. Prince ofthe warriors, Oscur my son! shall I seethee no more!DERMIDDERMID and Oscur were one: Theyreaped the battle together. Theirfriendship was strong as their steel; anddeath walked between them to the field.They came on the foe like two rocksfalling from the brows of Ardven. Theirswords were stained with the blood ofthe valiant: warriours fainted at theirnames. Who was a match for Oscur,but Dermid? and who for Dermid, butOscur?THEY killed mighty Dargo in thefield; Dargo before invincible. Hisdaughter was fair as the morn; mildas the beam of night. Her eyes, liketwo stars in a shower: her breath, thegale of spring: her breasts, as thenew fallen snow floating on the moving heath.The warriours saw her, and loved; theirsouls were fixed on the maid. Eachloved her, as his fame; each mustpossess her or die. But her soul was fixedon Oscur; my son was the youth ofher love. She forgot the blood of herfather; and loved the hand that slewhim.Son of Oscian, said Dermid, I love;O Oscur, I love this maid. But hersoul cleaveth unto thee; and nothingcan heal Dermid. Here, pierce thisbosom, Oscur; relieve me, my friend,with thy sword.My sword, son of Morny, shall neverbe stained with the blood of Dermid.Who then is worthy to slay me, OOscur son of Oscian? Let not my lifepass away unknown. Let none but Oscurslay me. Send me with honour tothe grave, and let my death be renowned.Dermid, make use of thy sword;son of Moray, wield thy steel. Wouldthat I fell with thee! that my deathcame from the hand of Dermid!They fought by the brook of themountain; by the streams of Branno.Blood tinged the silvery stream, andcrudled round the mossy stones. Dermidthe graceful fell; fell, and smiled indeath.And fallest thou, son of Morny;fallest, thou by Oscur's hand! Dermidinvincible in war, thus do I see thee fall!—He went, and returned to the maidwhom he loved; returned, but she perceivedhis grief.Why that gloom, son of Oscian?what shades thy mighty soul?Though once renowned for the bow,O maid, I have lost my fame. Fixed ona tree by the brook of the hill, is theshield of Gormur the brave, whom inbattle I slew. I have wasted the dayin vain, nor could my arrow pierce it.Let me try, son Oscian, the skillof Dargo's daughter. My hands weretaught the bow: my father delighted inmy skill.She went. He stood behind theshield. Her arrow flew and pierced hisbreast[A].[Footnote A: Nothing was held by the ancient Highlanders more essentialto their glory, than to die by the hand of some person worthy or renowned.This was the occasion of Oscur's contriving to be slain by his mistress,now that he was weary of life. In those early times suicide was utterlyunknown among that people, and no traces of it are found in the oldpoetry. Whence the translator suspects the account that follows of thedaughter of Dargo killing herself, to be the interpolation of some laterBard.]Blessed be that hand of snow; andblessed thy bow of yew! I fall resolvedon death: and who but the daughter ofDargo was worthy to slay me? Lay mein the earth, my fair-one; lay me bythe side of Dermid.Oscur! I have the blood, the soulof the mighty Dargo. Well pleased Ican meet death. My sorrow I can endthus.—She pierced her white bosomwith steel. She fell; she trembled; anddied.By the brook of the hill their gravesare laid; a birch's unequal shade coverstheir tomb. Often on their green earthentombs the branchy sons of the mountainfeed, when mid-day is all in flames,and silence is over all the hills.
VIIIBy the side of a rock on the hill, beneaththe aged trees, old Osciansat on the moss; the last of the race ofFingal. Sightless are his aged eyes;his beard is waving in the wind. Dullthrough the leafless trees he heard thevoice of the north. Sorrow revived inhis soul: he began and lamented thedead.How hast thou fallen like an oak,with all thy branches round thee! Whereis Fingal the King? where is Oscur myson? where are all my race? Alas! inthe earth they lie. I feel their tombswith my hands. I hear the river belowmurmuring hoarsely over the stones.What dost thou, O river, to me? Thoubringest back the memory of the past.The race of Fingal stood on thybanks, like a wood in a fertile soil.Keen were their spears of steel. Hardywas he who dared to encounter theirrage. Fillan the great was there. ThouOscur wert there, my son! Fingal himselfwas there, strong in the grey locksof years. Full rose his sinewy limbs;and wide his shoulders spread. Theunhappy met with his arm, when thepride of his wrath arose.The son of Morny came; Gaul, thetallest of men. He stood on the hill likean oak; his voice was like the streams ofthe hill. Why reigneth alone, he cries,the son of the mighty Corval? Fingal isnot strong to save: he is no support forthe people. I am strong as a storm inthe ocean; as a whirlwind on the hill.Yield, son of Corval; Fingal, yield tome.Oscur stood forth to meet him;my son would meet the foe. But Fingalcame in his strength, and smiled atthe vaunter's boast. They threw theirarms round each other; they struggledon the plain. The earth is ploughed withtheir heels. Their bones crack as the boaton the ocean, when it leaps from wave towave. Long did they toil; with night,they fell on the sounding plain; as twooaks, with their branches mingled, fallcrashing from the hill. The tall sonof Morny is bound; the aged overcame.Fair with her locks of gold, hersmooth neck, and her breasts of snow;fair, as the spirits of the hill when atsilent noon they glide along the heath;fair, as the rainbow of heaven; cameMinvane the maid. Fingal! She softlysaith, loose me my brother Gaul.Loose me the hope of my race, the terrorof all but Fingal. Can I, replies theKing, can I deny the lovely daughterof the hill? take thy brother, O Minvane,thou fairer than the snow of thenorth!Such, Fingal! were thy words; butthy words I hear no more. SightlessI sit by thy tomb. I hear the wind inthe wood; but no more I hear myfriends. The cry of the hunter is over.The voice of war is ceased.
IXThou askest, fair daughter of theisles! whose memory is preservedin these tombs? The memory of Ronnanthe bold, and Connan the chief ofmen; and of her, the fairest of maids,Rivine the lovely and the good. Thewing of time is laden with care. Everymoment hath woes of its own. Whyseek we our grief from afar? or give ourtears to those of other times? But thoucommanded, and I obey, O fair daughterof the isles!Conar was mighty in war. Caulwas the friend of strangers. His gateswere open to all; midnight darkenednot on his barred door. Both lived uponthe sons of the mountains. Their bowwas the support of the poor.Connan was the image of Conar'ssoul. Caul was renewed in Ronnan hisson. Rivine the daughter of Conar wasthe love of Ronnan; her brother Connanwas his friend. She was fair as theharvest-moon setting in the seas ofMolochasquir. Her soul was settled onRonnan; the youth was the dream of hernights.Rivine, my love! says Ronnan, I goto my king in Norway[A]. A year anda day shall bring me back. Wilt thoube true to Ronnan?[Footnote A: Supposed to be Fergus II. This fragment is reckoned notaltogether so ancient as most of the rest.]Ronnan! a year and a day I willspend in sorrow. Ronnan, behave likea man, and my soul shall exult in thyvalour. Connan my friend, says Ronnan,wilt thou preserve Rivine thy sister?Durstan is in love with the maid;and soon shall the sea bring the strangerto our coast.Ronnan, I will defend: Do thousecurely go.—He went. He returnedon his day. But Durstan returnedbefore him.Give me thy daughter, Conar, saysDurstan; or fear and feel my power.He who dares attempt my sister, saysConnan, must meet this edge of steel.Unerring in battle is my arm: mysword, as the lightning of heaven.Ronnan the warriour came; andmuch he threatened Durstan.But, saith Euran the servant ofgold, Ronnan! by the gate of the northshall Durstan this night carry thy fair-oneaway. Accursed, answers Ronnan, be this arm if death meet him notthere.Connan! saith Euran, this nightshall the stranger carry thy sister away.My sword shall meet him, replies Connan,and he shall lie low on earth.The friends met by night, and theyfought. Blood and sweat ran downtheir limbs as water on the mossy rock.Connan falls; and cries, O Durstan,be favourable to Rivine!—And is it myfriend, cries Ronnan, I have slain? OConnan! I knew thee not.He went, and he fought with Durstan.Day began to rise on the combat,when fainting they fell, and expired.Rivine came out with the morn;and—O what detains my Ronnan!—She saw him lying pale in his blood;and her brother lying pale by his side.What could she say: what could shedo? her complaints were many and vain.She opened this grave for the warriours;and fell into it herself, before itwas closed; like the sun snatched awayin a storm.Thou hast heard this tale of grief,O fair daughter of the isles! Rivine wasfair as thyself: shed on her grave atear.
XIt is night; and I am alone, forlornon the hill of storms. The wind isheard in the mountain. The torrentshrieks down the rock. No hut receivesme from the rain; forlorn on the hill ofwinds.Rise, moon! from behind thyclouds; stars of the night, appear!Lead me, some light, to the place wheremy love rests from the toil of the chase!his bow near him, unstrung; his dogspanting around him. But here I mustsit alone, by the rock of the mossystream. The stream and the windroar; nor can I hear the voice of mylove.Why delayeth my Shalgar, why theson of the hill, his promise? Here isthe rock; and the tree; and here theroaring stream. Thou promisedst withnight to be here. Ah! whither is myShalgar gone? With thee I would flymy father; with thee, my brother ofpride. Our race have long been foes;but we are not foes, O Shalgar!Cease a little while, O wind! stream,be thou silent a while! let my voice beheard over the heath; let my wandererhear me. Shalgar! it is I who call. Hereis the tree, and the rock. Shalgar, mylove! I am here. Why delayest thouthy coming? Alas! no answer.Lo! the moon appeareth. Theflood is bright in the vale. The rocksare grey on the face of the hill. ButI see him not on the brow; his dogsbefore him tell not that he is coming.Here I must sit alone.But who are these that lie beyondme on the heath? Are they my loveand my brother?—Speak to me, O myfriends! they answer not. My soul istormented with fears.—Ah! they aredead. Their swords are red from thefight. O my brother! my brother!why hast thou slain my Shalgar? why,O Shalgar! hast thou slain my brother?Dear were ye both to me! speak to me;hear my voice, sons of my love! Butalas! they are silent; silent for ever!Cold are their breast of clay!Oh! from the rock of the hill;from the top of the mountain of winds,speak ye ghosts of the dead! speak,and I will not be afraid.—Whitherare ye gone to rest? In what cave ofthe hill shall I find you?I sit in my grief. I wait for morningin my tears. Rear the tomb, yefriends of the dead; but close it nottill I come. My life flieth away like adream: why should I stay behind?Here shall I rest with my friends by thestream of the founding rock. Whennight comes on the hill: when the windis up on the heath; my ghost shall standin the wind, and mourn the death ofmy friends. The hunter shall hearfrom his booth. He shall fear, butlove my voice. For sweet shall my voicebe for my friends; for pleasant werethey both to me.
XISad! I am sad indeed: nor small mycause of woe!—Kirmor, thou hastlost no son; thou hast lost no daughterof beauty. Connar the valiant lives;and Annir the fairest of maids. Theboughs of thy family flourish, O Kirmor!but Armyn is the last of hisrace.Rise, winds of autumn, rise; blowupon the dark heath! streams of themountains, roar! howl, ye tempests,in the trees! walk through brokenclouds, O moon! show by intervals thypale face! bring to my mind that sadnight, when all my children fell; whenArindel the mighty fell; when Daurathe lovely died.Daura, my daughter! thou wertfair; fair as the moon on the hills ofJura; white as the driven snow; sweet asthe breathing gale. Armor renowned inwar came, and fought Daura's love; hewas not long denied; fair was the hopeof their friends.Earch son of Odgal repined; forhis brother was slain by Armor. Hecame disguised like a son of the sea:fair was his skiff on the wave; whitehis locks of age; calm his serious brow.Fairest of women, he said, lovely daughterof Armyn! a rock not distant inthe sea, bears a tree on its side; redshines the fruit afar. There Armorwaiteth for Daura. I came to fetchhis love. Come, fair daughter of Armyn!She went; and she called on Armor.Nought answered, but the son of therock. Armor, my love! my love!why tormentest thou me with fear?come, graceful son of Arduart, come;it is Daura who calleth thee!—Earchthe traitor fled laughing to the land.She lifted up her voice, and cried forher brother and her father. Arindel!Armyn! none to relieve your Daura?Her voice came over the sea. Arindelmy son descended from the hill;rough in the spoils of the chace. Hisarrows rattled by his side; his bow wasin his hand; five grey dogs attendedhis steps. He saw fierce Earch on theshore; he seized and bound him to anoak. Thick fly the thongs of the hidearound his limbs; he loads the windwith his groans.Arindel ascends the surgy deep inhis boat, to bring Daura to the land.Armor came in his wrath, and let flythe grey-feathered shaft. It sung; itsunk in thy heart, O Arindel my son!for Earch the traitor thou diedst. Whatis thy grief, O Daura, when roundthy feet is poured thy brother's blood!The boat is broken in twain by thewaves. Armor plunges into the sea, torescue his Daura or die. Sudden a blastfrom the hill comes over the waves.He sunk, and he rose no more.Alone, on the sea-beat rock, mydaughter was heard to complain. Frequentand loud were her cries; norcould her father relieve her. Allnight I stood on the shore. All night Iheard her cries. Loud was the wind;and the rain beat hard on the side of themountain. Before morning appeared,her voice was weak. It died away, likethe evening-breeze among the grass ofthe rocks. Spent with grief she expired.O lay me soon by her side.When the storms of the mountaincome; when the north lifts the waveson high; I sit by the sounding shore,and look on the fatal rock. Often bythe setting moon I see the ghosts ofmy children. Indistinct, they walk inmournful conference together. Willnone of you speak to me?—But theydo not regard their father.
XIIRYNO, ALPIN.RYNOThe wind and the rain are over:calm is the noon of day. Theclouds are divided in heaven. Overthe green hills flies the inconstant sun.Red through the stony vale comesdown the stream of the hill. Sweet arethy murmurs, O stream! but moresweet is the voice I hear. It is the voiceof Alpin the son of the song, mourningfor the dead. Bent is his head of age,and red his tearful eye. Alpin, thouson of the song, why alone on the silenthill? why complainest thou, as ablast in the wood; as a wave on thelonely shore?ALPIN.My tears, O Ryno! are for the dead;my voice, for the inhabitants of thegrave. Tall thou art on the hill; fairamong the sons of the plain. But thoushalt fall like Morar; and the mournershalt sit on thy tomb. The hills shallknow thee no more; thy bow shall lie inthe hall, unstrung.Thou wert swift, O Morar! as adoe on the hill; terrible as a meteor offire. Thy wrath was as the storm ofDecember. Thy sword in battle, aslightning in the field. Thy voice waslike a stream after rain; like thunderon distant hills. Many fell by thyarm; they were consumed in the flamesof thy wrath.But when thou returnedst from war,how peaceful was thy brow! Thy facewas like the sun after rain; like themoon in the silence of night; calm asthe breast of the lake when the loudwind is laid.Narrow is thy dwelling now; darkthe place of thine abode. With threesteps I compass thy grave, O thou whowast so great before! Four stones withtheir heads of moss are the only memorialof thee. A tree with scarce a leaf,long grass which whistles in the wind,mark to the hunter's eye the grave ofthe mighty Morar. Morar! thou artlow indeed. Thou hast no mother tomourn thee; no maid with her tears oflove. Dead is she that brought theeforth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan.Who on his staff is this? who is this,whose head is white with age, whoseeyes are red with tears, who quakesat every step?—It is thy father, OMorar! the father of none but thee.He heard of thy fame in battle; he heardof foes dispersed. He heard of Morar'sfame; why did he not hear of hiswound? Weep, thou father of Morar!weep; but thy son heareth thee not.Deep is the sleep of the dead; low theirpillow of dust. No more shall he hearthy voice; no more shall he awake atthy call. When shall it be morn in thegrave, to bid the slumberer awake?Farewell, thou bravest of men!thou conqueror in the field! but the fieldshall see thee no more; nor the darkwood be lightened with the splendor ofthy steel. Thou hast left no son.But the song shall preserve thy name.Future times shall hear of thee; theyshall hear of the fallen Morar.
XIII[Footnote: This is the opening of the epic poem mentioned in the preface.The two following fragments are parts of some episodes of the same work.]Cuchlaid sat by the wall; by thetree of the rustling leaf.[Footnote: The aspen or poplar tree]His spear leaned against the mossy rock.His shield lay by him on the grass.Whilst he thought on the mighty Carbrewhom he slew in battle, the scout ofthe ocean came, Moran the son of Fithil.Rise, Cuchulaid, rise! I see the shipsof Garve. Many are the foe, Cuchulaid;many the sons of Lochlyn.Moran! thou ever tremblest; thyfears increase the foe. They are theships of the Desert of hills arrived to assistCuchulaid.I saw their chief, says Moran, tall asa rock of ice. His spear is like that fir;his shield like the rising moon. He satupon a rock on the shore, as a greycloud upon the hill. Many, mightyman! I said, many are our heroes;Garve, well art thou named,many are the sons of our king.[Footnote: Garve signifies a man of great size.]He answered like a wave on therock; who is like me here? The valiantlive not with me; they go to theearth from my hand. The king of theDesert of hills alone can fight withGarve. Once we wrestled on the hill.Our heels overturned the wood. Rocksfell from their place, and rivulets changedtheir course. Three days we strovetogether; heroes stood at a distance,and feared. On the fourth, the Kingsaith that I fell; but Garve saith, hestood. Let Cuchulaid yield to him thatis strong as a storm.No. I will never yield to man.Cuchulaid will conquer or die. Go,Moran, take my spear; strike the shieldof Caithbait which hangs before thegate. It never rings in peace. My heroesshall hear on the hill,—
XIVDUCHOMMAR, MORNA.DUCHOMMAR.[Footnote: The signification of the names in this fragment are;Dubhchomar, a black well-shaped man. Muirne or Morna, a woman belovedby all. Cormac-cairbre, an unequalled and rough warriour. Cromleach,a crooked hill. Mugruch, a surly gloomy man. Tarman, thunder. Moinie,soft in temper and person.]Morna, thou fairest of women,daughter of Cormac-Carbre!why in the circle of stones, in the caveof the rock, alone? The stream murmurethhoarsely. The blast groanethin the aged tree. The lake is troubledbefore thee. Dark are the clouds ofthe sky. But thou art like snow onthe heath. Thy hair like a thin cloudof gold on the top of Cromleach. Thybreasts like two smooth rocks on the hillwhich is seen from the stream of Brannuin.Thy arms, as two white pillarsin the hall of Fingal.MORNA.Whence the son of Mugruch, Duchommarthe most gloomy of men? Darkare thy brows of terror. Red thy rollingeyes. Does Garve appear on thesea? What of the foe, Duchommar?DUCHOMMAR.From the hill I return, O Morna,from the hill of the flying deer. Threehave I slain with my bow; three withmy panting dogs. Daughter of Cormac-Carbre,I love thee as my soul. Ihave slain a deer for thee. High washis branchy head; and fleet his feet ofwind.MORNA.Gloomy son of Mugruch, Duchommar!I love thee not: hard is thy heartof rock; dark thy terrible brow. ButCadmor the son of Tarman, thou artthe love of Morna! thou art like a sunbeamon the hill, in the day of thegloomy storm. Sawest thou the son ofTarman, lovely on the hill of the chace?Here the daughter of Cormac-Carbrewaiteth the coming of Cadmor.DUCHOMMAR.And long shall Morna wait. Hisblood is on my sword. I met him bythe mossy stone, by the oak of the noisystream. He fought; but I slew him;his blood is on my sword. High onthe hill I will raise his tomb, daughterof Cormac-Carbre. But love thou theson of Mugruch; his arm is strong as astorm.MORNA.And is the son of Tarman fallen;the youth with the breast of snow! thefirst in the chase of the hill; the foeof the sons of the ocean!—Duchommar,thou art gloomy indeed; cruel isthy arm to me.—But give me thatsword, son of Mugruch; I love theblood of Cadmor.[He gives her the sword, with which she instantly stabs him.]DUCHOMMAR.Daughter of Cormac-Carbre, thouhast pierced Duchommar! the sword iscold in my breast; thou hast killed theson of Mugruch. Give me to Moinicthe maid; for much she loved Duchommar.My tomb she will raise on thehill; the hunter shall see it, and praiseme.—But draw the sword from myside, Morna; I feel it cold.—[Upon her coming near him, he stabs her. As she fell, she plucked a stonefrom the side of the cave, and placed it betwixt them, that his bloodmight not be mingled with hers.]
XV1Where is Gealchossa my love, thedaughter of Tuathal-Teachvar?I left her in the hall of the plain, when Ifought with the hairy Ulfadha. Returnsoon, she said, O Lamderg! forhere I wait in sorrow. Her white breastrose with sighs; her cheek was wetwith tears. But she cometh not to meetLamderg; or sooth his soul after battle.Silent is the hall of joy; I hear notthe voice of the singer. Brann doesnot shake his chains at the gate, gladat the coming of his master. Whereis Gealchossa my love, the daughter ofTuathal-Teachvar?[Footnote: The signification of the names in this fragment are;Gealchossack, white-legged. Tuathal-Teachtmhar, the surly, but fortunateman. Lambhdearg, bloodyhand. Ulfadba, long beard. Fichios, the conquerorof men.]Lamderg! says Firchios son of Aydon,Gealchossa may be on the hill;she and her chosen maids pursuing theflying deer.Firchios! no noise I hear. Nosound in the wood of the hill. Nodeer fly in my sight; no panting dogpursueth. I see not Gealchossa mylove; fair as the full moon setting onthe hills of Cromleach. Go, Firchios!go to Allad, the grey-haired son ofthe rock. He liveth in the circle ofstones; he may tell of Gealchossa.[Footnote: Allad is plainly a Druid consulted on this occasion.]Allad! saith Firchios, thou whodwellest in the rock; thou who tremblestalone; what saw thine eyes ofage?I saw, answered Allad the old, Ullin the son of Carbre: He came like acloud from the hill; he hummed a surlysong as he came, like a storm inleafless wood. He entered the hall ofthe plain. Lamderg, he cried, mostdreadful of men! fight, or yield to Ullin.Lamderg, replied Gealchoffa,Lamderg is not here: he fights thehairy Ulfadha; mighty man, he is nothere. But Lamderg never yields; hewill fight the son of Carbre. Lovely artthou, O daughter of Tuathal-Teachvar!said Ullin. I carry thee to thehouse of Carbre; the valiant shall haveGealchossa. Three days from the topof Cromleach will I call Lamderg tofight. The fourth, you belong to Ullin,if Lamderg die, or fly my sword.Allad! peace to thy dreams!—foundthe horn, Firchios!—Ullin mayhear, and meet me on the top of Cromleach.Lamderg rushed on like a storm.On his spear he leaped over rivers. Fewwere his strides up the hill. The rocksfly back from his heels; loud crashingthey bound to the plain. His armour,his buckler rung. He hummed a surlysong, like the noise of the fallingstream. Dark as a cloud he stood above;his arms, like meteors, shone.From the summit of the hill, he rolleda rock. Ullin heard in the hall ofCarbre.—