Part 9

Here have I seen the Feine, I have seen Conan and Gaul, Finn, and Oscar my son, Ryno, Art, and brown-haired Diarmad,[66] Brave M’Luy,[67] he of noble mien, The red-haired Garry,[68] also Hugh the less, Hugh Garry’s son, who never quailed, The three Finns, and with them Fead, Glass and Gow and Garry, The long-haired Galve, and the impetuous Conan;[69] Gaul and Crooin, Gaul’s son, Socach, the son of Finn, and Bran;[70] Caoilte, the son of warlike Ronan,[71] Who swiftest ran, and leaped o’er valleys, The readiest to scatter gold, One of them of sweetest voice; Bayne, son of Brassil of the swords, The son of Cromchin, son of Smail, And Oscar, son of powerful Garry,[72] The three Balas, and the three Skails, Three battalions from Glenstroil, Three bands from Monaree; Caoilte’s seven sons best trained to fight; The three named Glass from Glassrananseir; The three Beths from Cnokandurd, Three of unfailing excellence; Deach Fichid’s son from Borruinn mor, Of them who always conquered. Here have I seen the Feine Whose liberal hand did music buy,[73] Ranged around Ossian and Finn, Traversing valleys to dispense their gold. Fearton and brave Carroll were there, Who never fought but where they won. I sing them, and generous Felan, All of whom here have I seen. Here have I seen.

[66] Diarmad was the Adonis of the Feine. He is celebrated for his beauty, which led finally to his death, as will be seen in a future poem. He is said to have been the Ancestor of the clan Campbell, who are hence called “Clann Diarmaid,” or the “children of Diarmad.” The M’Diarmads, as well as some other subordinate clans, are also said to be of the same stock.

[67] A grandson of Finn by his son Daire dearg. His mother’s name was Luigheach, whence he was called the son of Luigheach, pronounced Luy. He was a famous man among the Feine, according to Irish authorities.

[68] There were several among the Feine of this name. The name is widely known in the topography of Scotland. There are two Rivers Garry, two lochs, and two large rivers. These are found in Inverness-shire and Perthshire.

[69] Conan is usually called “Conan maol,” or “Conan the bald,” and was known among the Feine for his thoughtless impetuosity. He was, in consequence of this peculiar temperament, ever getting into difficulties, and exposing himself to the ridicule and reprehension of his companions. There are both a river and valley in Scotland called after him, the River Conan and Strathconan in Rosshire.

[70] “Bran,” the name of Finn’s celebrated hound, is here obviously the name of a man. There is a “strath” or valley in Rosshire which still retains his name, Strathbran. The extent to which Fenian names are found in Scottish topography, goes far to show the close connexion of the Feine themselves with that country.

[71] Caoilte was one of the most famous of the Feine. He was distinguished for his swiftness, and not without reason, as is shown in his chase of Loinn mac Liobhaidh, the Fenian blacksmith, whom he overtook, although he could cross a valley at a stride.

[72] This Oscar must be distinguished from the famous Oscar, the Poet’s son. Of the latter he never speaks without applying to him some term of endearment, as “my son,” “my own son,” etc.

[73] This line refers to the liberal rewards which the Bards usually received among the Celts. A eulogy was sometimes rewarded by the Chief with a silver cup. Even poetry had need to be purchased; and probably were it not for the hope of reward of some kind, many of the noblest Poems which have adorned human history would never have seen the light. At a meeting of Skye gentlemen on some public occasion some years ago, the question was put, “Where are the bards?” One of the company replied, “They are gone.” “No,” said Nicolson of Scorrybreck, “they are still with us; but the men who fostered them are gone.”

The author of this is Ossian, the son of Finn.[74]

[74] This piece is what is usually called “Urnuidh Oisiain,” or “Ossian’s prayer.” There are many such colloquies in the Gaelic, many of them bearing no marks of great antiquity. It will be found that in the Gaelic the poem is divided. This arose from a misplacing of different parts of it in the MS., which was not observed till the first part was printed off. In the English the whole is given consecutively.

Tell us, O Patrick, what honour is ours, Do the Feine of Ireland in heaven now dwell?

In truth I can tell thee, thou Ossian of fame, That no heaven has thy father, Oscar, or Gaul.

Sad is the tale thou tellest me, Priest, I worshipping God while the Feine have no heaven.

Shalt thou not fare well thyself in that city, Though ne’er should thy father, Caoilte, and Oscar be there?

Little joy would it bring to me to sit in that city, Without Caoilte, and Oscar, as well as my father.

Better see the face of heaven’s son each day, Than all the gold on earth, were it thine to possess.

Tell us, thou Priest of the Holy city, the tale; In return I’ll recount thee the battle of Gaura.

If the tale of that city thou desir’st, old man, No thirst, no hunger, want, reproach are there.

Who are heaven’s sons? more noble are the Feinn: Are they hard of heart? have thou mercy, Cleric;

Unlike them are the Feine, unlike them altogether, Never on the green plain did they seek the chase.

For thy love’s sake, Patrick, forsake not the heroes, Unknown to heaven’s King, bring thou in the Feinn.

Though little room you’d take, not one of your race, Unknown to heaven’s King, shall get beneath his roof.

How different Mac Cumhail, the Feinn’s noble king, All men, uninvited, might enter his great house.

Sad is that, old man, and thy life’s close so near, That thou should’st so unjustly judge of my great king.

Better the fierce conflict of Finn and his Feinn, Than thy holy master, and thyself together.

Mournful, poor old man, that thou should’st folly speak, Better God for a day than all of Erin’s Feinn.

Though few be my days, and my life’s close near, Patrick defame not the nobles of clan Boisgne.

Thou can’st never tell, Ossian, son to the Queen, How different your nobles from those of my Lord.

Were even Conan living, the least of the Feinn, He would not suffer thy insolence, Cleric.

Speak not thus, Ossian, savage are thy words, Take thee now thy rest, and guide thee by my rule.

Did’st thou see the fight, and the noble banners, Never would’st thou think but of the glory of the Feinn.

Ossian, Prince’s son, ’twill be thy soul’s great loss That thou now think’st only of the battles of the Feinn.

Did’st thou hear the hounds, and the sounds of the hunt, Thou would’st rather be there than in the holy city.

That is sad, old man, if the glory of the chase Be greater than all which Heaven above can yield.

Say not so, Patrick, empty are thy words, Indeed and in truth, better Finn and the Feinn.

By thy hand, Boisgne’s son, not empty are my words, Better is one angel than Finn and the Feinn.

Were I only now as I was at Gaura’s fight, I would punish thy reproach of Erin’s noble Feinn.

Thy pride is all gone, for all thy future days, None are now left of thy band but thyself.

Were my men in life I’d not hear thy howling, And I’d make thee to suffer in return for thy talk.

Though all of these yet lived, and were now joined together, I’d still not speak only of the Feinn’s seven bands.

Seven times the number that thou hast of priests, Fell all in battle by Oscar alone.

Thou’rt now in thy last days, old and senseless man, Cease now thy speaking, and come away with me; Did’st thou see the men of cowls, Finn’s son, in Alve, Thou would’st not as thou dost reproach the men of heaven.

No less was our great band, when we were met in Taura, Reproachful are the words thou speak’st of the great king, I will forgive thee, Cleric, although thou dost not tell. Tell.

The author of this is Ossian.[75]

I know a little tale of Finn, A tale that we should not despise, Of Cumhal’s son, the valorous, Which our memory still preserves. Once we were a little band, At Essaroy,[76] of gentle streams, Near the coast was under sail, A currach, in which sat a maid; Fifty men stood by the King, Brave in any fight or field, Sad for them who faced their right arm, For we ruled in every land. All of us rose up in haste, Save Finn of the Feine and Gaul, To welcome the boat as it sped, Cleaving the waves in its course. It never ceased its onward way Until it reached the wonted port. Then when it had touched the land, The maid did from her seat arise, Fairer than a sunbeam’s sheen, Of finest mould and gentlest mien. Then before this stranger maid, We stood and showed courtesy; “Come to the tent of Finn with us.” With grace she all of us salutes; ’Twas Cumhal’s son himself replied, And salutes her in return. Then did the King of noblest mien Ask of the maid of fairest face, “Whence is it thou hast come, fair maid? Give us now in brief thy tale.” “The King of the land beneath the waves,[77] My father is, such is my fate, Through all lands where the sun revolves, Thee and thy men I long have sought.” “Princess, who hast searched each land, Youthful maid of beauteous form, The reason why thou cam’st so far, Tell us now, and tell us all.” “If thou be Finn, I ask defence,”[78] So now did speak the youthful maid, “Thou of soft speech, and purest race, Grant me protection, grant it now.” Then spoke the wise and knowing King, “Tell us now from whom thou flee’st; Protection I thee grant, fair maid, ’Gainst every man that dares thee hurt.” “There comes in wrath across the sea, Swift in pursuit, a warrior brave, The well-armed son of Sorcha’s King, He whose name is Daire the fierce.[79] I laid me under heavy bonds[80] That Finn should from the sea me have, But that his wife I ne’er should be, Though famed his beauty and his deeds.” Then Oscar spoke, of hasty speech, The warlike conqueror of Kings, “Though Finn should not thy pledge sustain, Never shalt thou with him wed.” Then do we see borne by his steed[81] A hero of unequalled size, Travelling with speed across the sea, Following the maiden in her course; His helmet close about the head Of this brave and dauntless man; His right arm bore a round black shield, The surface of its back engraved; A heavy, large, broad-bladed sword, Tightly bound, hung by his side; He comes in attitudes of fence, As where we stood he swift approached; Two javelins, with victory rich, Rest on the shoulder of his shield; For strength, for skill, for bravery, Nowhere could his match be found. A hero’s look,--the eye of a king Shone in that head of noblest mould, Ruddy his face, his teeth pearl-white, No stream ran swifter than his steed. Then did his steed bound on the shore, And he in whom we saw no fear. Of us did fifty warriors then Approach him as he came to us; Fear of the hero as he neared us Filled the bravest of them all. Now as he landed from the waves, Our famous King the question put, “Can’st thou tell me now, fair maid, Is that the man of whom thou spak’st?” “I know him well, Finn Cumhal’s son, Nor does his coming bode you good; Me he will rudely strive to seize, Despite thy strength, O noble Finn.” Then Oscar and Gaul arose, The fiercest of all in the fight, Near to the men they firmly stood, Between the giant and our chief. The well-formed warrior then approached, In rage sustained by his great strength, The maid he rudely bears away, Though by Finn’s shoulder she had stood. The Son of Morne then hurled his spear, With wonted force, as he bore off; No gentle cast was that, in truth, The hero’s shield was split in twain. The wrathful Oscar then did shake The red-dyed belt from his left arm,[82] And killed the hero’s prancing steed, A deed most worthy of great fame. Then, when the steed fell on the plain, He on us turned in fiercest wrath, And battle does, the onset mad, With all our fifty warriors brave. On the same side with me and Finn, The fifty stood in front of him: Yet though they oft stood firm in fight, His arm did now them force to yield. Two blows, and only two he gave, With vigour to each sep’rate man, When we were stretched upon the earth, Each man of us with whom he fought. Three vanquished nines he tightly bound, Ere from the furious fight he ceased. Firmly the three smalls’[83] usual tie On each of these he firmly placed. Then did the manly Gaul advance, The conquering hero to assail. Whoe’er he was could see them then, The struggle and the fight were fierce. Then did Mac Morne slay with his arm The King of Sorcha’s son, most strange! Sad was the coming of the maid, Now that the brave in fight had fallen. And now that he had fallen thus, Beside the sea, a sad event, She of the land beneath the waves, With Finn and his Feine remained a year. Flann, son of Morne, in battle brave, Was killed, it is a piteous tale; None of all our men escaped, Whose body was not full of wounds, Except my noble Father, Finn, The generous friend of all distressed. And now at last the deed is done. Of Finn this little tale I know. I know a little tale of Finn.

As our fifty warriors brave[84] Were now subject to his arms, Helpless were we in his hands, Our precious rights were all now lost. His sword without a single check, Did hack our bodies and our shields. Any fighting like to his, In my day never have I seen. We buried then close to the fall This noble, brave, and powerful man. And on each finger’s ruddy point A ring was placed in honour of the King. For ten long years his conquering arms, To the victor did the King forbid; For all that time the son of Morne Was healing with Finn of the Feine.

[75] This composition is known usually by the name of “Fainesoluis,” or the sunbeam, derived manifestly from the comparison of the sunbeam in the twenty-first line. In Ireland it is called “Laoidh an Mhoighre Bhoirb,” or “The song of Mayre Borb.” The “Mayre” of Ireland will be found to be “Daire” in Scotland.

[76] The topography of these poems is a subject of very deep interest to the student of our national antiquities. In the valley of the Roy in Lochaber, so famous for its parallel roads, is a waterfall called “Eas ruaidh,” or “Essaroy,” the “fall of Roy.” Was this the scene of the story of Fainesoluis? It may be objected that from there the sea lies at a distance of fifteen miles. On the Earn, near Ballyshannon, in the county of Donegal, is “Assaroe,” or “Eas Aoidh Ruaidh,” “The waterfall of Hugh the red,” who was drowned there. This is nearer the sea; but at the period ascribed to Ossian, the name could not have been given to the spot, as the death of Aedh ruadh mac Badhairn, from whom the cascade was named, occurred, according to the Four Masters, in A.M. 4518.

[77] Kings among the Celts were, at an early period, persons of much less consequence than the name would now seem to imply. In Ireland, there were four provincial sovereignties besides the national one. But even this does not give an accurate representation of the Celtic polity. The fact is, every ruler of a district and leader of an army was called a King. Of this we have ample evidence in Cæsar’s account of the state of Britain at the period of the Roman invasion. In Scotland, tradition points to several kingdoms. In the Western Highlands the Island of Mull is said to have formed a kingdom by itself, called “Rioghachd na Drealluin,” “the Kingdom of Drealinn,” from “dreall,” a “bar” or “sneck,” applied to the Sound of Mull, which shuts out all strangers from the Island. Islay was called “Rioghachd Modheadh,” or the “Southwest Kingdom,” from its position. Morvern was called “Iorruaidh,” to which frequent reference is made both in Scottish and Irish Celtic tradition. Ardnamurchan was called “Sorcha,” the kingdom of Daire Borb’s father, from its mountainous character, “Sorcha” meaning “high,” whence “sorchan,” “a tripod.” “Tir bàr fo thuinn,” or the land beneath the waves, was Tyree, from the lowness of the land appearing from a distance as if its surface were on a level with the sea. If there be any historical accuracy in these traditions, which have been gathered up from an intelligent old Highlander, skilled in the lore of his country, this story of Fainesoluis is one in which a daughter of the ruler of the Island of Tyree is pursued by a son of the ruler of Ardnamurchan. Poetry gives a consequence and magnitude to the event, which in all probability the naked reality did not possess.

[78] “Mo chomraich ort,” “my protection be on thee,” was an appeal which the Celtic warrior could never reject when made by the weak and helpless. In Christian times, the word “Comraich” came to be applied to the “girths” or “sanctuaries” around places of worship and other sacred spots, where accused persons might flee for security. Hence the Gaelic name of the parish of Applecross in Rosshire, “A Chomraich,” or “the Sanctuary,” formed round the church dedicated to St. Malrube, an early Christian missionary.

[79] As already observed, this name is in Irish editions of the poem “Mayre.” See Miss Brooks’ “_Reliques of Irish Poetry_.”

[80] “Geasan,” “bonds.” The word here appears to mean a simple pledge, although in most cases it implies the exercise of some magical power. In those cases of metamorphosis so common in Celtic tales, the persons who have been made to undergo the change are said to be “fo gheasaibh,” “under spells.” The mythology of the Celts has much in common with that of Eastern nations.

[81] The magical steed of Daire borb was capable of carrying its master over sea and land. In many ancient Celtic Tales we read of ships which could also traverse sea and land.

[82] The word in the original here is “criss zerk,” the “red belt.” This is, however, in all probability, a mistake of the Dean’s for “craoiseach,” a “javelin.” It is not easy to see what could be meant by the “red belt” on Oscar’s left arm. It could hardly signify the straps of the shield. If it be “craoiseach,” the bard would seem to indicate that Oscar was left-handed, like the sons of Benjamin.

[83] “Na tri caoil,” or the “three smalls,” were the neck, the ankles, and the wrists. Prisoners of war had this triple binding applied to them.

[84] These supplementary lines would appear to be either additional lines or various readings. There are two given in the Gaelic, which are not translated, as being of little consequence, and which seem intended to come in between the ninety-eighth and ninety-ninth lines. The first eight lines of this additional fragment are probably intended to fall in between the hundred and twenty-eighth and the hundred and twenty-ninth lines, the last eight to close the poem. Dr. Smith, in the Report on Ossian’s Poems given in to the Highland Society, states, that the Edition given in this supplement is inconsistent with that in the body of the Poem, and must be held to contain various readings.

The author of this is Ossian, the son of Finn.[85]

’Twas yesterday week I last saw Finn; Ne’er did I see A braver man; Teige’s[86] daughter’s son, A powerful king; My fortune, my light, My mind’s whole might, Both poet and chief. Braver than kings, Firm chief of the Feinn. Lord of all lands, Leviathan at sea, As great on land, Hawk of the air, Foremost always. Generous, just, Despised a lie. Of vigorous deeds, First in song. A righteous judge, Firm his rule. Polished his mien, Who knew but victory. Who is like him In fight or song? Resists the foe, In house or field. Marble his skin, The rose his cheek, Blue was his eye, His hair like gold. All men’s trust, Of noble mind. Of ready deeds, To women mild, A giant he, The field’s delight. Best polished spears, No wood like their shafts. Rich was the King. His great green bottle, Full of sharp wine, Of substance rich. Excellent he.[87] Of noble form, His people’s head, His step so firm, Who often warred. In beauteous Banva, Three hundred battles He bravely fought. With miser’s mind From none withheld. Anything false His lips ne’er spoke. He never grudged, No, never Finn; The sun ne’er saw King Who him excelled. The monsters in lakes, The serpent by land, In Erin of saints,[88] The hero slew. Ne’er could I tell, Though always I lived, Ne’er could I tell The third of his praise. But sad am I now, After Finn of the Feinn! Away with the chief, My joy is all fled. No friends ’mong the great, No courtesy. No gold, no queen, No princes and chiefs. Sad am I now, Our head ta’en away! I’m a shaking tree, My leaves all gone. An empty nut, A reinless horse, Sad, sad am I, A feeble kern. Ossian I, the son of Finn, Strengthless in deed. When Finn did live All things were mine. Seven sides had the house Of Cumhal’s son. Seven score shields On every side. Fifty robes of wool Around the King. Fifty warriors Filled the robes. Ten bright cups For drink in his hall. Ten blue flagons, Ten horns of gold. A noble house Was that of Finn. No grudge nor lust, Babbling nor sham; No man despised Among the Feinn. The first himself, All else like him. Finn was our chief, Easy his praise, Noblest of Kings. Finn ne’er refused To any man, Howe’er unknown; Ne’er from his house Sent those who came.[89] Good man was Finn, Good man was he. No gifts e’er given Like his so free. ’Twas yesterday week.

[85] The following seems to have been Ossian’s eulogy on his father Finn. The editor has not met with any similar composition either among Scottish or Irish collections, except a few lines extracted by Miss Brooks from a composition which she calls “Buille Oisein,” and it is therefore rescued from oblivion by having been seized by the Dean while floating on the stream of oral tradition, and treasured in his miscellany. In the original, the poetry is worthy of the name of Ossian, more so, indeed, than any of the pieces in this collection. It is quite impossible to produce in English the effect of the rhythm and alliteration of the Gaelic; but the editor has endeavoured, while giving an exact rendering, to retain, in as far as possible, the peculiar measure of the original. The piece is a fine tribute of filial love and admiration, nor is there much room to doubt its genuineness.