Ossian Collection > Gaelic bards

OSSIANIC POETRY. 167
My son ! O my hero ! how monrnful the tale
Which Cona's slow wave tells of thee !
And Fingal and Fillan are all pass'd away —
Not one of the leaders I see.
Alas ! and ni}^ sight too has faded,
Nought around I descry, or above ;
Gone is the hue of my youth — all is gone;
But the grave cannot alter my love.
White-handed maiden ! this night though you see me
Old and forlorn in this place,
Renown'd liave I been as a hero
In my youth, Avith the bloom on my face.
On that day when soft-hair'd Evir-Alin,
White-arm'd maiden follow'd me,
Daughter of Branno of the silver beakers.
Of many loved, herself of love still free.
JSons of kings and sons of nobles.
She refused them great or small ;
Cormac woo'd her, gloomy chieftain,
But him she hated worst of all.
Her I resolved to win, for I loved her
With pure heart and steadfast truth ;
And with twelve of Fingal's chiefs I went ;
We strode in the strength of youth.
We came to the dark lake of Lego ;
There a noble chief came to meet
And conduct us wdth honour to Branno —
With honour and welcomings sweet.
Me he saluted — the twelve youths he hail'd ;
We sat with Branno at the feast ;