Ossian Collection > Popular tales of the West Highlands > Volume 3

124 WEST HIGHLAND TALES.
3
A rusted glaive was upon her belt,
Will give them a grim darkling pelt ;
When the time of the fury of battle shall come.
There were two slender spears of battle,
Upon the other side of the carlin ;
Her face was blue-black, of the lustre of coal,
And her bone tufted tooth was like rusted bone.
5
J!n her head was one deep pool-like eye,
Swifter than a star in a winter sky ;
Upon her head gnarled brushwood.
Like the clawed old wood of the aspen root.
6
Her heart was merry for joy.
As she saw in the south the Fiantaidh ;
" Will ye not teach the wretch to her ruin,
Let not her's be a good gift without return."
And a hundred warriors she sportively slew.
And there was a grin on her rugged maw ;
A warrior exalted each warrior of these.
And that were raised up on slender trees.
A pouring of their blood amongst the hounds,
And the juice of the fruit of Oireal was threatened ;