Fragments Of Ancient Poetry | Page 9

around

him. Death and destruction were in his
eyes. His stature like the roe
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
cow-herd thought of home.
Then Oscur's keen steel found the heart

of Ullin. He fell like a mountain-oak
covered over with glittering
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, warriour; 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.
VII
Why openest thou afresh the spring of
my grief, O son of Alpin,
inquiring
how Oscur fell? My eyes are blind with
tears; but
memory beams on my heart.
How can I relate the mournful death of


the head of the people! Prince of the
warriours, Oscur my son, shall
I see thee
no more!
He fell as the moon in a storm; as
the sun from the midst of his
course,
when clouds rise from the waste of the
waves, when the
blackness of the storm
inwraps the rocks of Ardannider. I, like
an
ancient oak on Morven, I moulder
alone in my place. The blast hath
lopped
my branches away; and I tremble
at the wings of the north.
Prince of
the warriors, Oscur my son! shall I see
thee no more!
DERMID
DERMID and Oscur were one: They
reaped the battle together. Their

friendship was strong as their steel; and
death walked between
them to the field.
They came on the foe like two rocks
falling from
the brows of Ardven. Their
swords were stained with the blood of

the valiant: warriours fainted at their
names. Who was a match for
Oscur,
but Dermid? and who for Dermid, but
Oscur?
THEY killed mighty Dargo in the
field; Dargo before invincible. His

daughter was fair as the morn; mild
as the beam of night. Her eyes,
like
two stars in a shower: her breath, the
gale of spring: her breasts,
as the
new fallen snow floating on the moving heath.
The warriours
saw her, and loved; their
souls were fixed on the maid. Each
loved
her, as his fame; each must
possess her or die. But her soul was fixed

on Oscur; my son was the youth of
her love. She forgot the blood
of her
father; and loved the hand that slew
him.
Son of Oscian, said Dermid, I love;
O Oscur, I love this maid. But her

soul cleaveth unto thee; and nothing
can heal Dermid. Here, pierce
this

bosom, Oscur; relieve me, my friend,
with thy sword.
My sword, son of Morny, shall never
be stained with the blood of
Dermid.

Who then is worthy to slay me, O
Oscur son of Oscian? Let not my
life
pass away unknown. Let none but Oscur
slay me. Send me with
honour to
the grave, and let my death be renowned.
Dermid, make
use of thy sword;
son of Moray, wield thy steel. Would
that I fell
with thee! that my death
came from the hand of Dermid!
They fought by the brook of the
mountain; by the streams of Branno.

Blood tinged the silvery stream, and
crudled round the mossy
stones. Dermid
the graceful fell; fell, and smiled in
death.
And fallest thou, son of Morny;
fallest, thou by Oscur's hand! Dermid

invincible in war, thus do I see thee fall!
--He went, and returned to
the maid
whom he loved; returned, but she perceived
his 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 on
a tree by the brook of the hill, is the
shield of Gormur the
brave, whom in
battle I slew. I have wasted the day
in vain, nor
could my arrow pierce it.
Let me try, son Oscian, the skill
of Dargo's daughter. My hands were

taught the bow: my father delighted in
my skill.
She went. He stood behind the
shield. Her arrow flew and pierced his

breast[A].
[Footnote A: Nothing was held by the ancient Highlanders more
essential to 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 utterly unknown among that people, and no traces of it are found in
the old poetry. Whence the translator suspects the account that follows
of the daughter of Dargo killing herself,