Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

194 FIONNGAL. IDuan VI.
Raise a hundred harps on the hill, 50
To gladden the chieftain of waves ;
He'll not leave without joy the mount ;
No man ever left me in grief.
Great Oscar, the gleam of my sword
'Gainst the foe is in time of battle ; 55
It reposes in peace by my side,
When the brave have yielded in strife."
" Treunmor was," said the lips of song,
" Of the race in the time of old ;
He crossed o'er the sea to the north, 60
Resembling a billow in storm,
A high cliff in the land of oars,
Whose rocks and dark forests resound.
He rose from the grey mist of ocean,
And tied up his sails on the shore. 65
Treunmor chased the dun mountain-boar,
That roared upon Gorm-meal of trees ;
Behind he left many a hero ;
The prey yielded to Treunmor's spear
As it rolled in the throes of death. 70
Three heroes who witnessed the deed,
Related of the stranger chief,
Related how he stood apart
Like a towering flame on the mount,
In the dazzling light of great arms. 75
Lochlin's king gave a sumptuous feast,
And invited the gallant youth ;
For three days in Gorm-meal of chiefs,
That sounded with the shell and harp,
For combat the chief got his choice. 80