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BERRATHON. 485
the sound of Uthal's train came, from the high Fin-
thormo. They spread over the heath to the chase of
the boar. Himself comes slowly on, in the pride of
his strength. He lifts two pointed spears. On his
side is the hero's sword. Three youths carry his po-
lished bows. The bounding of five dogs is before
him. His heroes move on, at a distance, admiring
the steps of tlie king. Stately was the son of Larth-
mor! but his soul was dark! Dark as the troubled
face of the moon, when it foretels the storms.
We rose on the heath before the king. He stopt
in the midst of his course. His heroes gathered
around. A grey-haired bard advanced. " "Whence
are the sons of the strangers ?" began the bard of
song. "The children of the unhappy come to Ber-
rathon: to the sword of car-borne Uthal. He spreads
no feast in his hall. The blood of strangers is on his
streams. If from Selma's walls ye come, from the
mossy walls of Fingal, choose three youths to go to
your king to tell of the fall of his people. Perhaps
the hero may come and pour his blood on Uthal's
sword. So shall the fame of Finthormo arise ; like
the growing tree of the vale !"
"Never will it rise, O bard," I said in the pride of
my wrath. " He would shrink from the presence of
Fingal, whose eyes are the flames of death. The son
of Comhal comes, and kings vanish before him. They
are rolled together, like mist, by the breath of his
rage. Shall three tell to Fingal, that his people fell ?
Yes! they may tell it, bard! but his people shall
fall with fame!"
I stood: in the darkness of my strength. Toscar
drew his sword at my side. The foe came on like a
stream. The mingled sound of death arose. Man
took man; shield met shield: steel mixed its beams
with steel. Darts hiss through air. Spears ring on
mails. Swords on broken bucklers bound. As the
noise of an aged grove beneath the roaring wind,
when a thousand ghosts break the trees by night,
such was the din of arms I But Uthal fell beneath
my sword. The sons of Eerrathon fled. It was
X 3

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