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of my foes? And I will fight, C. bard: I feel the strength of my soul!” His people gathered around the hero, and drew at once their shining swords. He stands in the midst, like a pillar of fire, the tear half-starting from his eye, for he thought of the fallen Balclutha. The crowded pride of his soul arose. Sidelong he looked up to the hill, where our heroes shone in arms: the spear trembled in his hand. Bending forward, he seemed to threaten the king. o Shall I, said Fingal to his soul, meet at once the youth ? Shall I stop him in the midst of his course be. fore his fame shall arise! But the bard hereafter may say, when he sees the tomb of Carthon, Fingal took his thousands to battle, before the noble Carthon fell. No: bard of the times to come ! thou shalt not lessen Fingal's fame ! my heroes will fight the youth, and Fingal behold the war. If he overcomes, I rush, in my strength, like the roaring stream of Cona. Who of my chiefs will meet the son of the rolling sea? Many are his warriors on the coast, and strong is his ashed spear! Cathul rose in his strength, the son of the mighty Lormar: three hundred youths attend the chief, the race of his native streams. Feeble was his arm against Carthon: he fell, and his heroes fled. Connal resumed the battle, but he broke his heavy spear: he lay bound on the field: Carthon pursued his people. Clessámmor, said the king of Morven, where is the spear of thy strength Wilt thou behold Connal bound: thy friend at the stream of Lora Rise, in the light of thy steel, companion of valiant Comhall le: the youth
of Balclutha feel the strength of Morven's race. He
rose in the strength of his steel, shaking his grisly locks. He fitted the steel to his side; he rushed in the pride of valor.
Carthon stood on a rock: he saw the hero rushing on. He loved the dreadful joy of his face: his strength in the locks of age “Shall I lift that spear,” he said, “that never strikes but once a foe Or shall I, with the words of peace, preserve the warrior's life? Stately are his steps of age lovely the remnant of his years? Perhaps it is the husband of Moina, the father of car. borne Carthon. Often have I heard that he dwelt at the echoing stream of Lora.” Such were his words when Clessámmor came, and lifted high his spear. The youth received it on his shield, and spoke the words of peace. “Warrior of the aged locks! is there no youth to lift the spear ! Hast thou no son to raise the shield before his father to meet the arm of youth 2 Is the spouse of thy love no more ? or weeps she over the tombs of thy sons? Art thou of the kings of men 2 What will be the fame of my sword shouldst thou fall ?” It will be great, thou son of pride! begun the tall Clessámmor. I have been renowned in battle, but I never told my name to a foe.* Yield to me, son of the wave, then shalt thou know that the mark of my sword is in many a field. “I never yielded, king of spears!” replied the noble pride of Carthon: “I have so fought in war, I ...] my future fame. Despise me not, thou chief of men! my arm, my spear is strong. Retire among thy friends; let younger heroes fight.” Why dost thou wound my soul? . Clessámmor, with a tear. Age does not tremble on my hand. I still can lift the sword. Shall I fly in Fingal's sight, in the
* To tell one's name to an enemy, was reckoned, in those days of heroism, a manifest evasion of hting him ; for if it was once known that friendship subsisted of § between the ancestors of the combatants, the . immediately ceased, and the ancient annity of their forefathers was renewed. “A man who tells his name to Wis enemy,” was of old an ignominious term for a cow
sight of him I love? Son of the sea! I never fled: exalt