DUAN THIRD.
ARGUMENT.
Ossian, after some general reflections, describes the situation
of Fingal, and the position of the army of Lochlin. The
conversation of Starno and Swaran. The episode of Corman-trunar
and Foinar-bragal. Starno, from his own example,
recommends to Swaran to surprise Fingal, who had
retired alone to a neighbouring hill. Upon Swaran's refusal,
Starno undertakes the enterprise himself, is overcome, and
taken prisoner, by Fingal. He is dismissed, after a severe
reprimand for his cruelty.
Macpherson.
Whence is the stream of years? Whither do
they roll along? Where have they hid, in mist,
their many-coloured sides?
I look into the times of old, but they seem
dim to Ossian's eyes, like reflected moon-beams
on a distant lake. Here rise the red beams of
war! There, silent, dwells a feeble race! They
mark no years with their deeds, as slow they
pass along. Dweller between the shields! thou
that awakest the failing soul! descend from thy
wall, harp of Cona, with thy voices three! Come
with that which kindles the past: rear the forms
of old, on their own dark-brown years!
Uthorno, hill of storms, I behold my race on
thy side. Fingal is bending, in night, over Duthmaruno's
tomb. Near him are the steps of his
heroes, hunters of the boar. By Turthor's stream
the host of Lochlin is deep in shades. The
wrathful kings stood on two hills; they looked
forward from their bossy shields. They looked
forward to the stars of night, red-wandering in
the west. Cruth-loda bends from high, like a
formless meteor in clouds. He sends abroad the
winds, and marks them, with his sighs. Starno
foresaw, that Morven's king was not to yield in
war.
He twice struck the tree in wrath. He rushed
before his son. He hummed a surly song; and
heard his hair in wind. Turned from one another,
they stood, like two oaks, which different
winds had bent; each hangs over its own loud
rill, and shakes its boughs in the course of
blasts.
“Annir,” said Starno of lakes, “was a fire
that consumed of old. He poured death from
his eyes, along the striving fields. His joy was
in the fall of men. Blood, to him, was a summer
stream, that brings joy to withered vales,
from its own mossy rock. He came forth to the
lake Luth-cormo, to meet the tall Corman-trunar,
he from Urlor of streams, dweller of battle's
wing.
The chief of Urlor had come to Gormal, with
his dark-bosomed ships. He saw the daughter
of Annir, white-armed Foina-brâgal. He saw
her! Nor careless rolled her eyes, on the rider
of stormy waves. She fled to his ship in darkness,
like a moon-beam through a nightly vale.
Annir pursued along the deep; he called the
winds of heaven. Nor alone was the king! Starno
was by his side. Like U-thorno's young
eagle, I turned my eyes on my father.
We rushed into roaring Urlor. With his people
came tall Corman-trunar. We fought; but
the foe prevailed. In his wrath my father stood.
He lopped the young trees, with his sword. His
eyes rolled red in his rage. I marked the soul
of the king, and I retired in night. From the
field I took a broken helmet: a shield that was
pierced with steel: pointless was the spear in
my hand. I went to find the foe.
On a rock sat tall Corman-trunar, beside his
burning oak; and near him, beneath a tree, sat
deep-bosomed Foina-brâgal. I threw my broken
shield before her. I spoke the words of peace.
“Beside his rolling sea, lies Annir of many lakes.
The king was pierced in battle; and Starno is to
raise his tomb. Me, a son of Loda, he sends to
white-handed Foina, to bid her send a lock from
her hair, to rest with her father, in earth. And
thou king of roaring Urlor, let the battle cease,
till Annir receive the shell, from fiery-eyed
Cruth-loda.
Bursting into tears, she rose, and tore a lock
from her hair: a lock, which wandered, in the
blast, along her heaving breast. Corman-trunar
gave the shell, and bade me to rejoice before
him. I rested in the shade of night, and hid my
face in my helmet deep. Sleep descended on the
foe. I rose, like a stalking ghost. I pierced
the side of Corman-trunar. Nor did Foina-brâgal
escape. She rolled her white bosom in
blood.
Why, then, daughter of heroes, didst thou
wake my rage?
Morning rose. The foe were fled, like the departure
of mist. Annir struck his bossy shield.
He called his dark-haired son. I came, streaked
with wandering blood: thrice rose the shout
of the king, like the bursting forth of a squall of
wind, from a cloud, by night. We rejoiced,
three days, above the dead, and called the hawks
of heaven. They came, from all their winds,
to feast on Annir's foes. Swaran! Fingal is alone,
on his hill of night. Let thy spear pierce the
king in secret; like Annir, my soul shall rejoice.
“Son of Annir,” said Swaran, “I shall not
slay in shades. I move forth in light: the hawks
rush from all their winds. They are wont to
trace my course: it is not harmless through
war.”
Burning rose the rage of the king. He thrice
raised his gleaming spear. But, starting, he
spared his son; and rushed into the night. By
Turthor's cave a stream is dark, the dwelling of
Conban-carglas. There he laid the helmet of
kings, and called the maid of Lulan; but she was
distant far, in Loda's resounding hall.
Swelling in his rage, he strode, to where Fingal
lay alone. The king was laid on his shield,
on his own secret hill.
Stern hunter of shaggy boars! no feeble maid
is laid before thee. No boy, on his ferny bed,
by Turthor's murmuring stream. Here is spread
the couch of the mighty, from which they rise
to deeds of death! Hunter of shaggy boars,
awaken not the terrible!
Starno came murmuring on. Fingal arose in
arms. “Who art thou, son of night?” Silent
he threw the spear. They mixed their gloomy
strife. The shield of Starno fell, cleft in twain.
He is bound to an oak. The early beam arose.
It was then Fingal beheld the king. He rolled a
while his silent eyes. He thought of other days,
when the white-bosomed Agandecca moved like
the music of songs. He loosed the thongs from
his hands. “Son of Annir,” he said, “retire.
Retire to Gormal of shells; a beam that was set
returns. I remember thy white-bosomed daughter;
dreadful king away! Go to thy troubled
dwelling, cloudy foe of the lovely! Let the
stranger shun thee, thou gloomy in the hall!
A tale of the times of old!
