Part 18

As rushes a gray stream in foam From the iron front of lofty Cromla; The torrent travelling the mountains, While dark night enwraps the cairns: And the cold shades of paly hue Look down from the skirts of the showers; So fierce, so great, so pitiless, so swift Advanced the hardy seed of Erin. Their chief, as the great boar [whale] of the ocean, Drawing the cold waves behind him: Pouring his strength as billows; [or _in_ billows,] 'Neath his travel shakes the shore. The seed of Lochlin heard the sound, As the cold roaring stream of winter; Swift Swaran struck his shield, And spoke to the son of Arn beside him-- I hear a sound on the side of the mountains, As the evening fly of slow movements; It is the gallant sons of Erin, Or a storm in the distant woodland. Like Gormal is the sound, Ere wakes the tempest in the high seas: Hie thee to the heights, son of Arn, Survey each copse and hill-side. He went, and soon return'd in terror, His eye fix'd and wild in his head; His heart beat quick against his side, His speech was feeble, slow, and broken. "Arise! thou Lord of the waves, Mighty chief of the dark shields; I see the stream of the dark-wooded mountains, I see the seed of Erin and their lord. A chariot! the mighty chariot of battle Advances with death across the plain; The well-made swift chariot of Cuchullin, The great son of Sema, mighty in danger. Behind, it bends down like a wave, Or the mist on the copse of the sharp rocks; The light of stones of power [gems] is round, As the sea round a bark at night. Of polish'd yew is the beam, The seats within are of smoothest bone; The dwelling-place of spears it is, Of shields, of swords, and of mighty men. By the right side of the great chariot Is seen the snorting, high-mettled steed; The high-maned, broad, black-chested, High-leaping, strong son of the hills. Loud and resounding is his hoof: The spread of his frontlets above Is like mist on the haunts of the elk; Bright was his aspect, and swift his going, Sith-fadda [Long-stride] is his name. By the other side of the chariot Is the arch-neck'd, snorting, Narrow-maned, high-mettled, strong-hoofed, Swift-footed, wide-nostril'd steed of the mountains, Du-sron-geal is the name of the horse. Full a thousand slender thongs Bind the chariot on high; The bright steel bits of the bridles Are cover'd with foam in their cheeks: Blazing stones, sparkling bright, Bend aloft on the manes of the steeds-- Of the steeds that are like the mist on the mountains, Bearing the chief to his renown. Wilder than the deer is their aspect, Powerful as the eagle their strength; Their sound is like the savage winter On Gormal, when cover'd with snow. In the chariot is seen the chief, The mighty son of the keenest arms-- Cuchullin of the blue-spotted shields. The son of Sema, renown'd in song, His cheek is as the polish'd yew; His strong eye is spreading high, 'Neath his dark-arch'd and slender brow. His yellow hair, as a blaze round his head, Pouring [waving] round the splendid face of the hero, While he draws from behind his spear. Flee, great chief of ships! Flee from the hero who comes As a storm from the glen of streams." "When did I flee? said the king of ships; When fled Swaran of the dark shields? When did I shun the threatening danger, Son of Arn--aye feeble? I have borne the tempest of the skies, On the bellowing sea of inclement showers; The sternest battles I have borne, Why should I flee from the conflict, Son of Arn, of feeblest hand? Arise my thousands on the field, Pour as the roar of the ocean, When bends the blast from the cloud, Let gallant Lochlin rise around my steel. Be ye like rocks on the edge of the ocean, In my own land of oars, That lifts the pine aloft To battle with the tempests of the sky." As the sound of autumn from two mountains Towards each other drew the braves, As a mighty stream from two rocks, Flowing, pouring on the plain; Sounding dark, fierce in battle, Met Lochlin and Innesfail. Chief mix'd his strokes with chief, Man contended with man, Steel clang'd on steel, Helmets are cleft on high, Blood is pouring fast around, The bow-string twangs on the polish'd yew; Arrows traverse the sky, Spears strike and fall, As the bolt of night on the mountains, As the bellowing seething of the ocean, When advance the waves on high; Like the torrent behind the mountains Was the gloom and din of the conflict. Though the hundred bards of Cormag were there, And their songs described the combat, Scarcely could they tell Of each headless corpse and death-- Many were the deaths of men and chiefs, Their blood spreading on the plain. Mourn, ye race of songs, For Sith-alum the child of the braves: Evir, heave thy snowy breast For gallant Ardan of fiercest look. As two roes that fall from the mountain, [They fell] 'neath the hand of dark-shielded Swaran; While dauntless he moved before his thousands, As a spirit in the cloudy sky, A spirit that sits in cloud, Half made by mist from the north, When bends the lifeless mariner A look of woe on the summit of the waves. Nor slept thy hand by the side, Chief of the isle of gentle showers; Thy brand was in the path of spoils, As lightning flashing thick, When the people fall in the glen, And the face of the mountain, as in a blaze, [Or is seething white with torrents,] Du-sron-geal snorted over brave men, Sith-fadda wash'd his hoof in blood, Behind him lay full many a hero, As a wood on Cromla of the floods, When moves the blast through the heath, With the airy ghosts of night.

Weep on the sounding rock, Noble daughter of the isle of ships; Bend thy splendid countenance over the sea, Thou lovelier than a spirit in the woods, Rising up soft and slow As a sunbeam in the silence of the hills. He fell, soon he fell in the battle, The youth of thy love is pale, 'Neath the sword of great Cuchullin. What has made thee so wan and cold? He will move no more to hardy deeds, He will not strike the high blood of heroes; Trenar, youthful Trena has fallen in death; Maid, them shalt see thy love no more for ever. His hounds howl piteously At home, as they see his ghost, His bow is unstrung and bare; His death-sound is on the knoll, [_i.e._, on the knoll he utters his death-groan.] As roll a thousand waves to the shore, So under Swaran advanced the foe; As meets the shore a thousand waves, So Erin met the king of ships. Then arose the voices of death, The sound of battle-shout and clang of arms, Shields and mail lay broken on the ground. A sword like lightning was high in each hand, The noise of battle rose from wing to wing, Of battle, roaring, bloody, hot, As a hundred hammers striking wild, By turns, showers of red sparks from the glowing forge. Who are those on hilly Sena? Who of darkest and fiercest gloom? Who likest to the murkiest cloud? The sword of each chief as fire on the waves, The face of the woods is troubled, The wave-beat rock shakes on the shore. Who, but Swaran of ships And the chief of Erin, renown'd in song? The eye of the hosts beholds aside The encounter of the mighty heroes. Night descended on the combat of the braves, And hid the undecided conflict.

FINGAL, Book i., 313-502.

THE END

_Ballantyne, Roberts, and Company, Printers, Edinburgh._