VI. [Son of the noble Fingal]
Son of the noble Fingal
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 oak 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 cowherd
thought of home. Then Oscur's keen steel found the
heart of Ullin. He fell like a mountain oak covered over
with glistering 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, warrior; 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.