"Oh, Connal, first of mortal men!

Thyself first taught this arm of death, Though Erin's sons have basely fled, We'll fight, until our latest breath.—

"Go Carril, son of other times,

Convey our friends to yon lone hill,— Here Connal and myself will stand,

Though conquered, we will save them still!"

The car of gems brave Connal mounts,
Their shields are like the darken'd moon,

That daughter of the starry skies,
Warning frail man of dreadful doom;

Sitfadda panted up the hill,

And Stronnal, high bred, fiery steed: Like waves behind the mighty whale, The furious foe rushed on with speed!

Now, on high Cromla's rising side,

Stood Erin's few and sorrowing sons;Like trees when blasted by the flame Which the rude whirlwind hurries on:

There, distant, withered, dark, they stand,
All leafless mid the stormy gale,
Though their firm trunks unhurt appear,
Their leaves are scatter'd through the vale.

Cuthullin stood beside an oak,

His red eye rolled in silence round,

Behold! the scout of ocean comes,

Welcome once more the well known sound!

Swaran advances as a stream

That wildly bursts upon the view, Removing, in its rapid course,

All that impedes its passage through;

But like a mount Cuthullin stood,

That catches e'en the clouds of heaven, The winds contending round its base, While o'er its brow the hail is driven.

Thus firm in strength the hero stands
And shades green Erin's sons from fight,
Blood flows like fountains from the rock,
While spears and broad-swords glitter bright!

On either wing, brave Erin falls

Like snow before the mid-day sun;
Lochlin is conqueror on the field;
Full many a chief his race has run!

"Oh, sons of Erin!" Grumal cried,
"Why strive as reeds against the wind?
Fly to yon dark-brown, distant hill,
And leave the bloody foe behind!"

He spake, and flew across the plain!
Chief of the little narrow soul,

While heroes' blood in battle slain
In crimson streams o'er Lena roll.

High on his car of many gems

The noble chief of Erin stood,

Dealing destruction to the foe,

His sword and garments dyed with blood!

"Oh, Connal, first of mortal men!

Thyself first taught this arm of death, Though Erin's sons have basely fled, We'll fight, until our latest breath.

"Go Carril, son of other times,

Convey our friends to yon lone hill,Here Connal and myself will stand,

Though conquered, we will save them still!"

The car of gems brave Connal mounts,
Their shields are like the darken'd moon,
That daughter of the starry skies,
Warning frail man of dreadful doom;

Sitfadda panted up the hill,

And Stronnal, high bred, fiery steed: Like waves behind the mighty whale, The furious foe rushed on with speed!

Now, on high Cromla's rising side,

Stood Erin's few and sorrowing sons;Like trees when blasted by the flame Which the rude whirlwind hurries on:

There, distant, withered, dark, they stand,
All leafless mid the stormy gale,
Though their firm trunks unhurt appear,
Their leaves are scatter'd through the vale.

Cuthullin stood beside an oak,

His red eye rolled in silence round,

Behold! the scout of ocean comes,

Welcome once more the well known sound!

"The ships, the ships," the warrior cried,

The strong ships of the lovely isles! Great Fingal comes! the first of men, To share our fate, assist our toils;

"The waves foam high before his prow,
His masts like groves in yonder cloud;"
Blow," said Cuthullin, "blow, ye winds—
Oh, higher rise, blow still more loud!

66

"Oh, to the death of thousands come,
Great Selma's noble, mighty king!
Thy sails are like the morning clouds,
Thy ships such heavenly light do bring!

"A pillar of fire thou dost appear

Beaming on the dark world by night!— Dear are our friends in hours of grief,

They cheer the heart with prospects bright.

"But night is gathering fast aroundWhere are the ships of Fingal now? Here, let the hours of darkness pass;

Oh, for a moon on heaven's broad brow!"

The winds came roaring through the woods, Adown the rock the torrent pours,

Rain gathers fast round Cromla's head,

The threatening clouds descend in showers;

Sad, by the side of yon lone stream,
Whose voice is echoed by a tree,

The sorrowing chief of Erin sits,
Pondering on what his fate may be;

Connal, the son of Colgar, there,

And Carril too, of other times, Lament the fate of Erin's wars,

Past scenes revolving in their minds:

"Cuthullin, oh, ill-fated chief!"

The son of Semo mournful cried, "Ill-fated ever is this hand,

Which slew my friend, my joy, my pride!

"Oh Ferda! Damman's noble son,
I loved thee ever as myself,
To save thee once I would have died,
Or sacrificed my all of wealth!"

"Well I remember," Connal said,
"Bold Damman's son, the noble chief!
His form was comely, fair and tall,
His life was as the rainbow, brief.

"Chief of a hundred hills he came
From Albion's beauteous isle,
In Muri's halls he learned the sword
And won Cuthullin's smile.

"Together in the chase we moved, One bed was ours upon the heath, Dugala in her beauty came

And won his love, the noble chief.

"Though she was Cairbar's wedded spouse,
And fair as morning's early ray,
With pride her scornful heart was filled;
She sought young Ferda to betray;