"The storm of Gormal firm I met,
When the foam of my waves beat high!
I met the storm of the dark-browed clouds,
And now shall Swaran fly?
"Did Fingal with his mighty arm,
And all his powerful host appear,
My valiant soul would still be firm-
Great Swaran's heart shall never fear!
"My thousands, rise! to battle rise!
Pour round me from the echoing strand;
Gather the bright steel of your king,
Strong as the mountains of my land!"
Like autumn's gathering strength they pour
Forth from two tall and echoing hills;
Like two deep streams they roaring met,
While the loud sound the forest fills.
Lochlin and Inisfail have met,
Chief mixes stroke with valiant foe;
Steel clanging, sounds on bloody steel,
And many a hero is laid low!
The bubbling blood now smokes around,
Strings murmur on the polished yew;
Darts rush along the cloudy sky,
Like meteors which at night we view!
As troubled ocean's boisterous noise
When rolling waves are mounting high,
As the last thundering peal of Heaven,
The flame of war came rushing by!
Though Cormac's hundred bards were there
To give the fight to tuneful song,
Their hundred voices were too weak
To roll the sound of death along!
Oh, mourn in dust, ye sons of song!
Oh, mourn the brave Sithallan low;
High let Fiona's sighs arise,
Dark Swaran gave the fatal blow.
Nor slept Cuthullin's mighty hand,
Nor powerless was his noble arm;
His sword was like the beam of Heaven,
Spreading destruction and alarm.
Dusronnal snorted as he passed,
Sifadda bathed his hoofs in blood,
The battle lay behind their path,
As groves upturned in Cromla's wood.
Weep on the rocks of roaring winds,
Oh, lovely maid of Inistore!
Bend thy fair head o'er yonder waves
Which dash against the sounding shore.
Thou lovelier than the moon's pale beam
When shining through the cloud of night,
Fairer than stars on evening's brow
Art thou, sweet mourner, in my sight!
Oh! he has fallen; thy youth is low;
Pale 'neath Cuthullin's mighty sword!
His worth and valour raised his name
To rank with kings at royal board.
Trenar, the graceful Trenar fell,
His dogs are howling in his halls,
His bow hangs useless, all unstrung,
Upon their lonely silent walls.
As roll a thousand waves along,
So Swaran's host came rolling on;
As meets a rock a thousand waves,
So Erin met proud Lochlin's son.
Death raises all his voices round,
And mixes with the sound of war;
Each chief a pillar darkly stands,
Like beams of fire their swords appear.
But who are those on Lena's heath?
Their forms so gloomy and so dark-
They move like clouds across the plain,
Their gleaming steel at distance mark!
The little hills are troubled round,
The solid rocks tremble with fear,
Rough ocean's son in converse close
With Erin's car-borne chief is there!
Full many an anxious eye is bent
Upon those dark and moody men;
Till twilight covers Lena's hill,
And shrouds in night the battle plain;
'Twas on high Cromla's shaggy side
That Dorglass placed the stately deer,
The early fortune of the chase
The morning of that day of fear;
A hundred youths collect the heath,
Ten warriors wake the sleeping fire, Three hundred choose the polished stones, To spread the feast which they require.
Cuthullin, chief of Erin's war,
Again resumed his mighty soul;
He leaned upon his beamy spear
And thus addressed the bard of old:
"Is this feast spread for me alone,
While Lochlin's king is on our shores?
The stranger must our banquet share,
Though on the morn the battle roars!
"Carril, these words to Swaran bear;
Tell him Cuthullin gives his feast-
Bid him come listen to my groves,
And on my green turf safely rest;
"For cold and bleak the blustering winds:
Rush over the foam of his seas;
Here let him praise the trembling harp;
Refresh him 'neath our shady trees!"
Old Carril went, with softest voice,
And called the king of dark-brown shields-
"Rise from thy skins, brave Swaran, rise,
Thou king of groves and wide spread fields:
"Cuthullin gives the joy of shells,
Partake the feast of Erin's chief;"-
The eye of Swaran flashed with ire,
As muttering thus his answer brief:
"Though all thy daughters, Inisfail,
Should stretch aloft their arms of snow,
And softly roll their eyes of love,
Tell Erin, Swaran would not go!
"More pleasant to my warlike soul
Is Lochlin's stormy wind,
It rushes o'er my own blue seas
And suits my gloomy mind:
"Let dark Cuthullin yield to me
King Cormac's ancient throne,
Or Erin's blood in streams shall flow,
And all their maidens mourn!"
"Sad is the sound of Swaran's voice!"
Said Carril, bard of other days;
"To Swaran's self alone 'tis sad-
It shall not damp our lays!"
"Come, Carril! raise thy voice on high,"
The son of Semo loudly cried,
"Give us the deeds of other days,
When heroes brave in battle died:
"Send thou the night away in song,
Oh! let us have the joy of grief,
For lovely are the songs of woe
Which Ossian sung to Albion's chief!"
Carril replied, " In other days,
Came ocean's sons to Erin's land:
A thousand vessels bound along,
And moor them on our rocky strand;
"The sons of Inisfail arose
To meet the race of dark-brown shields; Grudar, a stately youth, was there, And Cairbar, first in battle field;
"Long for the spotted bull they strove That lowed on Galban's echoing plain, Each claimed the creature as his own, And each his title would maintain;
"On Lubar's grassy banks they strove, Young Grudar fell 'neath Cairbar's steel, Cairbar, that fierce and cruel chief
Who love or friendship ne'er could feel;
"He sought his sister, beauteous maid,
The plighted bride of Grudar's love;
Alone she raised the song of grief,
And mourned his absence in the grove;
"She mourned him in the field of blood,
Her soft voice trembled in the breeze,
Yet still she hoped for his return,
And sought his form amid the trees;
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