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DERMID, make use of thy sword; Son of Morny, 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, fon of Oscian? what shades thy mighty soul?

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Omaid, I have loft my fame. Fixed on a tree by the brook of the hill, is the fhield of Gormur the brave, whom in battle I flew. I have wasted the day in vain, nor could my arrow pierce it.

Let me try, son of 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 fhield. Her arrow flew and pierced his breast *.

* Nothing was held by the ancient Highlanders more effential to their glory, than to die by the hand of son: e person worthy or renowned. This was the occasion of Ofcur's contriving to be Alain by his mistress, now that he was weary of life. In those early times fuicide 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, to be the interpolation of some later Bard.


Blessed be that hand of snow; and blessed thy bow of yew! I fall resolved on death : and who but the daughter of Dargo was worthy to flay me? Lay me in the earth, my fair-one ; lay me by the side of Dernid.

Oscur! I have the blood, the soul of the mighty Dargo. Well pleased I can meet death. My sorrow I can end thus. She pierced her white bosom with steel. She fell; she trembled; and died.

By the brook of the hill their graves are laid; a birch's unequal shade covers their tomb. Often on their green earthen tombs the branchy sons of the mountain feed, when mid-day is all in flames, and silence is over all the hills.


BY the side of a rock on the hill, be~ neath the aged trees, old Oscian fat on the moss; the last of the race of Fingal. Sightless are his aged eyes ; his beard is waving in the wind. Dull through the leafless trees he heard the voice of the north. Sorrow revived in his soul : he began and lamented the dead.

How hast thou fallen like an oak, . with all thy branches round thee! Where is Fingal the King? where is Oscur my fon? where are all my race? Alas,! in the earth they lie. I feel their tombs with my hands. I hear the river below murmuring hoarsely over the stones. What dost thou, O river, to me? Thou bringest back the memory of the past.

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The race of Fingal stood on thy banks, like a wood in a fertile foil. Keen were their spears of steel. Hardy was he who dared to encounter their rage. Fillan the great was there. ThouOscur wert there, my fon! Fingal himself was there, strong in the grey locks of years. Full rose his sinewy limbs ; and wide his shoulders spread. The unhappy met with his arm, when the pride of his wrath arose.

The son of Morny came ; Gaul, the tallest of men. He stood on the hill like an oak; his voice was like the streams of the hill. Why reigneth alone, he cries, the son of the mighty Corval? Fingal is not strong to save: he is no support for the people. I am strong as a storm in: the ocean; as a whirlwind on the hill. Yield, son of Corval ; Fingal, yield to me.


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