Hid five feet and a span of soil;
Then loudly he cried, "Ah, Diarmid is here,
No swordsman of Cormac, but Diarmid is near!"
In truth, my own good king then swore
To break his fast and drink no more,
Until were unearthed the vile face of his foe,
If the caves of all Erin should refuge bestow.
Our hounds we sent, and shouting went
Where o'er the vales the branches bent;
The wild-cat we chased from the glens, that the cheer
And cries of our hunting might fall on his ear.
He who was never weak in fight
Heard the loud voices strike the height;
To Grinie he cried, "Though the hounds do not bay,
I wait not their voice, to the hunt I'll away."
GRINIE.
O Diarmid! wait until they cry,
That hunting shout is but a lie,
Where grieves for his wife Cùall's son, there for thee
Thou know'st thy peril for ever must be.
DIARMID
Ere hounds can open on the scent,
To every chase my steps are bent,
And shame were it now for the king's evil will
To lose a good hunt as it sweeps o'er the hill.
OSSIAN.
Then down came Diarmid to the vale,
To the famed sons of Innisfail,
And glad was the king, for his foe in his sight
Came aidless and powerless to baffle his might.
Where o'er his red straths Gulban soars,
Were haunts well loved by savage boars,
And fine were the knolls on the blue mountain's face,
Where oft for King Fionn resounded the chase.
There Grinie's love brought her to shame,
'Twas there the king, with cheeks of flame,
Commanded the hunt, and 'twas there Diarmid stood
To watch for the boar if he broke from the wood.
Deceit a grievous evil wrought!
The monster's ear our tumult caught;
He moved in the glen, as from east and from west,
The shouting grew louder as nearer we pressed.
Envenomed, old, rage-filled, his jaw
Foamed as his eyes the heroes saw,
And faster he went, his strong bristles and mane
Erect, sharp as darts, strong as wood of the plain;
_High reeds that fringed a marsh he found,--
Turned on the dogs all baying round,
And killed in a moment the bravest, and glared
As though to the combat their master he dared._
FIONN.
A huge old boar hastes yonder, mark
Of wounding full and bloodstains dark,
Now follow yourself, noble Diarmid, there goes
A monster of evil and terrible woes.
OSSIAN.
As quick his way the warrior took,
No trembling hand the javelin shook,
And hurrying fast as he closed with the boar
He rushed as in floodtide the wave to the shore.
Shot gleaming from white hand the spear,
Straight through the flank its path to shear,
But, splintering there, left the head buried deep;
The shaft fell in three as it whirred o'er the steep.
The sword, the olden, he unsheathed
That victory in each battle breathed,
Then died the great beast on its blade's dripping length;
Unweakened, unharmed rose the youth in his strength.
But gloom the monarch's heart oppressed,
For from the hillside to the west,
He saw how fair Diarmid, unhurt by the tooth,
A conqueror stood in the beauty of youth.
_He saw the Feinne's loud wandering band,
Deep-ringed around the carcass stand,
And heard as they praised the good courage and might
That vanquished so soon the grim beast in the fight._
[The verses in italics are from the prose version received from J. Dewar]
_But Diarmid went apart, lest he
To praise of self should listener be;
That praise was to Conan's vile envy a sting,
Whose eye looked for gain to the hands of the king._
_A dart in deadly poison dipped
Among the rough black hair he slipped,
And none could have seen where the bristles o'erlaid
The point firmly set of the venomous blade._
Then silent long, the king at last
Spake, all his thought to hatred cast,
"O Diarmid, now measure the Boar, snout to heel,
What length on the ground may the dark hide conceal?"
What man among the Feinne e'er saw
The youth from friend or foe withdraw?
He measured the back barefooted, and passed
Unharmed down the rugged spine, rigid and vast.
FIONN.
"O youth, whose weapons wound so sore,
I pray thee prove this yet once more,
Whate'er thou desirest I'll give thee, but see,
From foot to the snout what the measurement be?"
OSSIAN.
Again his sandals he unlaced,
And 'gainst the hair he slowly paced,
_And bare was the foot where alone mortal harm
Could strike his limbs guarded by magic and charm._
_There at one spot, lifers crimson well
Was fenced by no enchanted spell.
Ah! if on that death-spot but one vein were rent,
How staunchless the flow of lifts fountain unpent!_
And fear was on him: as he stepped,
A keen pang through his senses swept,
For, pierced by the venomous bristle, his sight
Saw gloom shroud the mountain, and darkness the light.
Full soon the poison through his veins
Ran like a fire with fever's pains,
Then sank the bright locks of the warrior brave,
Whose face bore in anguish the hue of the grave.
His blood ran fast, as down a hill
From some high spring a slender rill;
Ah, piteous it was on the brae to behold
How the guileless youth lay in his torture untold.
The cheek which shared the berry's hue
Which flushes red the hillside's dew,
Now blanched, was as cold as a cloud when it lies
Blue-shadowed at noon in the vault of the skies.
DIARMID.
A drink, one drink, O Fionn, give,
One cup to let me drink and live!
My blood flows so fast, give me drink from the spring.
Oft kind were thy words, the good words of a king!
FIONN.
No! not one cup your lips shall drain,
To quench your thirst, to cool your pain!
What good is your life to me? what has it won,
That the deed of one hour has not more than undone?
DIARMID.
Not mine the wish to cause you care,
In East or West, not here or there!
But Grinie's the evil, when, captive, I found
Her love but a shadow, her word but a sound!
A drink, one drink, O Fionn, give,
One cup to let me drink and live!
My blood flows so fast, give me drink from the spring,
Oft kind were thy words, the good words of a king.
FIONN.
No cup of mine your lips shall drain
To quench your thirst, to cool your pain,
What good is your life, can its fair deeds o'erpower
The guilt of one act, and the curse of one hour?
DIARMID.
If you could think of Sween's dread day--
No! vain that memory passed away!--
When fell the eight hundred and three, and my sword
In the narrow pass drank of their blood as it poured!
When prisoned in the Rowan Hold,
Of gratitude your words once told,
When the white teeth were wounding your limbs, and your breath
Came quick, for the fray brought you near unto death.
And yet again your friend was I
In Tara when the strife waxed high,
Not vainly you sought in that hour for a friend,
I fought for thee, king, making Enmity bend;
And Innse's sons, the three, the brave,
From lands far hidden by the wave:
I killed them for thee, who oppressest me sore;
Hard died they, O ruthless one, washed in their gore!
Remember Connell! see again
Carbúi front thee with his men,
To the host of the Feinne see how threatening their gaze:
Ah, Gulban, I burn, as I look on thy braes.
If known to Oigé's women fair
How snared and trapped I here despair,
Their mourning would rise, and their men would lament
The friend whose sad eyes on Ben Gulban are bent.
I, Diarmid of Newry named,
Of Connaught, of Béura famed--
Foster son to that Angus of Broá whose stride
Revealed the best man on the far mountain side:--
"The Eagle of the Red Cascade"--
"The blue-eyed Hawk whom no man stayed"--
They called me--"the strongest of all who could throw
The stone, or the spear, at our game or our foe."
_Then knew he, as his strength grew less
That death would end his sore distress;
The Feinne stood around, and they pitied the man
So weak, once the strongest who fought in their van._
_They searched for water, and they found
A spring, clear-eyed, in mossy ground,
But cup had they none, and their hands, as they went,
Let fall every drop ere o'er Diarmid they bent._
_In bitterness of soul he thought,
"They mock me, now that I am naught,
Your kind hands all leak! of your deed men shall tell,
The 'spring of holed palms' shall they name yonder well._
"_Yet would I ask you, now I die,
To lay me where the stream flows by
The water of Lunnan, for there in my grave
I'll hear, though I see not, its cold shining wave._
"_There place a pillar stone, and bear
My Grinie some day to me there,
And well to the traveller the words shall be known,
'Tis Diarmid who lies 'neath yon Pillar of Stone._
"Oh woe is me! a foul swine's prey,
The victor lord of battle's day!
I faint, done to death, let me turn, let me lie
With my face to Ben Gulban, to see it, and die."--
OSSIAN.
In tears, and mourning sore,
Then to his grave we bore
That brave and hardy one;
On a green knoll alone,
Beneath a mighty stone
That sees the western sun.
When Grinie coming there,
At last of all aware,
Beheld his narrow bed;
As though her life took flight,
Bereft of sense and sight,
She fell, above the dead!
Then from her swoon awoke,
Her voice in cries outbroke,
And in this song of woe,
Wherein his praise was heard
In every mournful word,
Above the river's flow.
GRINIE.
Two in a fastness of rock were concealed,
Oft we lay there for a year unrevealed,
Though hidden from Fionn by the stream as it leapt,
Where it wet not the head of my love as he slept.
In the hunt's contest the keenest to share,
Hard was that bed for thy thick golden hair!
Never thought he of fear as he sprang to the cry,
When the chase was afoot, and he joined it, to die!
Hour of my torture, ochone, how the pain,
Sore, and sharp, as at first, smites again and again,
Sightless dear eyes, voiceless lips, and the breath
Sweet as honey, now lost in the chambers of death!
Sister's son of a king, a monarch high-placed,
Victor and friend, once with courtesy graced!
Ah what a generous heart to have nursed
Vengeance so causeless, a plot so accursed!
Diarmid, O Love, the best sword of them all,
Victory flew to the field at thy call;
Strongest arm in the games, thou wast ever the best,
Whether called to the fight, or to aid the distressed.
Bluer your eye than the blaeberry kissed
On the high mountain's shoulder by sun and by mist;
Gentler your eyelids' soft motion, than where
The upland grass waves to the breezes of air.
Whiter your teeth than the blossoming spray
Danced in the winds 'mid the brightness of day;
Never harp was so sweet, never bird-song above,
As the voice that is hushed on the lips of my love.
Like to the sun-nurtured sparkles of air
Were the fair yellow waves of the locks of thy hair,
Pure as foam the soft skin of the one of our race,
Who was mighty in mind as majestic in grace.
Sad is my heart, to no joy-shout replying,
Restless, lamenting in grief never-dying;
Oh, the mavis calls sweetly in drear deserts lone,
But in vain I must yearn for the notes I have known.
Now shall my soul find its calm nevermore
In the depths--the blue depths--of your eyes as of yore,
Overborne by a perilous flood I shall know
Surcease of no sorrow, no lightening of woe!
Dark is your dwelling-place under the mould,
Narrow your frozen bed, songless and cold;
Never morn shalt thou see, till the day of God's doom,
When awakened, O hero, thou'lt rise from the tomb.
Dead in the earth, and there hidden away,
Who shall not yearn for thee, fairer than day?
Be my blessing now thine, be it thine evermore,
Let it rest on the beauty 'twas mine to adore.
OSSIAN.
Each bard prepared his harp for singing
That calm and lofty hero's praise;
Deep sorrow through the long notes ringing,
How wild their dirge, how sad their gaze!
THE BARDS.
Mayest thou be blessed, O thou our fairest
Beloved, once to fortune dear,
If still for Ireland's Feinne thou carest,
See how they wail thine absence here.
O strength, like flood on foemen pouring,
Or swoop of eagle from the sky,
Or as the rush through ocean roaring
When myriads from leviathan fly!
Béura's lord! thy fair locks, waving
Hath ceased, pressed down beneath the soil:
Thou'rt seen no more the billows braving,
No more thou'lt know the hunter's toil.
When blows are rained thy blade no longer
Shall strike where clear thy war cry rose,
O man, whose love than man's seemed stronger,
Whose voice no more high Tara knows.
For thee our eyes are red with weeping,
No beauty like to thine have we;
Our solace gone, our best are keeping
The death watch, bravest soul, with thee.
OSSIAN.
Yes, fallen all, to leave me living,
A leafless tree decayed and grey,
Old oaks and young, their green life giving;
The strong must fall, the weak must stay!
Yet though to-day so frail, what glory
Around my youth once shone of old!
Changed world! this poor man, weak and hoary,
Was great in war and rich in gold.
_KING ARTHUR AND THE CAPTIVE MAIDEN._
(TRANSLATED FROM THE GAELIC. [1])
[1] Taken down in Gaelic by Dewar.
King Arthur on a journey went,
His men and he on hunting bent.
Came to the hill for victories known;
He, and Sir Balva, armed alone.
The King of Britain dreamed at night
Of fairest maid 'neath Heaven's light.
Her face's beauteous hues so clear
More than all gold to him were dear.
Yet all unknown where dwelt the maid,
His doubt and awe the search delayed.
For better were a battle stern
Than, blindly wandering, still to yearn.
Then spoke Sir Balva, kindly, meek,
"It is my wish this maid to seek.
Let me now take my Squire and hound,
And search until the maid be found."
Then seven weeks, with toil and pain,
We travelled wearily the main.
No harbour gave our ship a home,
No land kept off the drifting foam.
But high above the rough sea wave,
We saw a smooth-walled castle brave.
Its gables shone with glass. We laughed,
"Ah many a drink-horn there is quaffed."
Then sailing to its base there fell
A chain that lashed the ocean swell.
I seized it, fearless, hand o'er hand
I climbed upon the frowning land,
And seated on a golden chair,
I found a maiden wondrous fair,
Holding a mirror on her knee,
Her vesture beautiful to see.
I blest her, whose sad voice replied,
"Grief here thy blessing doth betide.
O comer from the sea, thou'lt feel
The heart of stone, the blade of steel"
Though merciless he be, yet know,
His sword can deal my heart no blow.
His love or hatred I despise
If gained the favour of thine eyes.
"The giant's star-white sword alone,"
Said she, "can wring from him a groan.
O hide thee in some place secure,
Or, gallant knight, thy death is sure."
Sir Balva heard the giant roar,
"What wave-thrown stranger climbed our shore?"
Her voice replied, "Now come, nor wait,
My soul, for thee my love is great.
Put thou thy head upon my knee,
I'll sweetly play the harp to thee."
He rested, and a laugh displayed
The white teeth of the blue-eyed maid.
The wild harp-music sweetly rung,
And sweeter still her tuneful tongue.
And on his eyes, by sea winds fanned,
Sleep laid full soon his tranquil hand.
Then took they off his star-white sword
And slew the Castle's Giant Lord.
Thus how the captive maid was found,
Oft heard they of The Table Round.
_SEANN ORAN GAILIC_.
[Note: The Gaelic spelt as by Dewar.]
Do reir beulaithris ann an linn Righ Artair bhi ann an Duneidean,
bha Triath urramach Eirinneach a chuir tigh dìdean air
a chraig ris an abairte Aill-séid-chuan, agus ghoid e na braighde
rìomhfhinne uasal, agus thug e i do'n Dun a thog e air Aill-séid-chuan,
s bha e ga gleidh an sin na braighde. Bha Righ Artair
latha anns a bheinn a sealg, luidh e a' leigeadh a sgìtheas dheth,
chaidil e agus bhruadair e air an rìmhfhinne a bha ann am braighdeanas,
agus ghabh e toil a cuir saor, ach cha robh fios aige c'aite
an robh i. Ghabh sir Bhalbha os laimh dol g'a h iarraidh na'm
faigheadh e long o'n Righ. Thug an Righ long dh'a, agus sheol
sir Bhalbha gus gun d'fhuair e air thuileamus i, agus thug e
dh'ionnsaidh Righ Airteir i, agus b'ann do'n chùis chaidh an t
óran a leasas a dheanamh.
Turus a chaidh Righ Arstair s a shluagh
Gu tullach na'm buadh, a shealg;
Gun duine mar-ris an Righ
Ach Sir Bhalbha, fo a lion arm.
Gun duine, &c.
Chunnaic Righ Bhreatun s e na shuain
An aon bhean a b'aillidh snuadh fo'n ghrein
'S b fhearr leis ro na bh'aige a dh'or
An òg-bhean bhi aige fein.
'S b fhearr leis, &c.
Ach b'fhearr leis tuiteam ann an sin
Le comhrag fir, mar bha e fein.
No dol a dh'iarraidh na mnà
S gun fhios aige cia an t'aite fo n ghréin.
No dol a dh'iarraidh, &c.
Thubairt Sir Bhalbha suairce cuin.
'S e mo rùn dol a dh'iarraidh na mnà,
Theid mi fein mo ghille s mo chu
Nar triuir 'g a sireadh gun dàil
Theid mi fein, &c
Seachd seachdainnean le stri
Bha sinn sgìth a sinbhal cuain
Gun chala gun talamh gun fhonn
Gun ionad amis an gabhadh an long tàmh.
Gun chala gun, &c.
Chuannacas an iomall a chuain Ghairbh
Caisteal mór mìn-gheal ghuirm,
Uinneagan gloine air a stuagh
S bu lìon-mhor ann cuaich coirn.
Uninneagan gloine, &c.
Air dhuinn bhi seoladh stigh ri bhun,
Chaidh slabhraidh a chuir a nuas;
S roimh an t slabhraidh cha do ghabh-ar crith
Ach chaidhearurra na m'ruith suas.
S roimh an t slabhraidh, &c.
Cuanna'cas an ighean eididh òg
Air cathair òir na suidhe a steach
Sgàthan gloine air a glùn,
S bheannaich-eam do a gnuis gheal.
Sgàthan gloine, &c.
Fhir a thainig oìrun o'n chuan
S truagh brìgh do bheannachadh ann.
* * * * *
Ged thigeadh am fear mor na m dhàil
Gun iochd gun bhàigh le a chlaidheamh cruaidh,
Air do ghuidh-se a bhean bhlath.
S coingeis leam a ghradh seach fhuath.
Air do ghuidh-se, &c.
Arm cha deargadh air an thear,
Ach a chlaidheamh run-geal fein.
Agus is fhearr dhuit dol fo-chleith
Do aite air leith tearruinnt' o'n eug.
Agus is fhearr, &c.
Chaidh Sir Bhalbha fa-chleith
Agus a steach thainig am fear mor
Tha boladh an fhar-bhalaich a steach
Oirrinn iar teachd o thuinn na traigh.
Tha boladh an, &c.
Anamain, a sheircein, s a rùin
Is mor an gaol a thug mi dhuit,
Cuir thusa do cheann air mo ghlùin,
Agus seinnidh mi ciùin duit a chruit.
Cuir thusa do, &c.
Chuir e a cheann air uchd an ighinn ùir,
Bu ghuirme sùil, s bu ghile deud,
S ge bu bhinn a sheinneadh i a chruit,
Bu bhinneadh an guth bha teachd o a beul.
S ge bu bhinn, &c.
Air dhuinn bhi cuairteachadh na'n cuan
Chaidil e suain, na thruim sheamh fann,
S thug iad an claidheamh a chrios
S ghearr iad gun fhios d'dheth an ceann,
S thug iad an, &c.
Ghoid iad a bhraighdeach s gu leir
S bha a bhean fein fo chumha thruim
Siod agaibh aithris mo sgeul
S mar a leugh iad am bòrd-cruinn.
Siod agaibh, &c.
Latha do Righ Arstair s a shluagh
Bhi air Tullach na'm buadh, a shealg.
Gun duine mar-ris an Righ
Ach Bhalbha, fo lion arm.
_DUNOLLY'S DAUGHTER._
Oh, dear to old Dunolly's heart
His darling daughter seemed,
Yet when she fled, how pitiless
His bitter curse was deemed.
To death he doomed her lover true,
And swore his lowly blood
Should stain the land, whose soil would blush
At wanton womanhood.
But leaves were thick, and woods were green,
Where summer saw their love,
And none could tell Dunolly where
Was nesting his wild dove.
Two years had sped, and all unchanged
Dunolly's mood remained;
When tired with hunting, late at eve
A forest hut he gained.
A cheerful scene! for hung on trees
On either side the door
A stag and roe, and salmon there
Lay strewn the hut before.
There pausing silently he heard
Light laughter, O well known;
And, looking through the wattled wall
Stood motionless as stone.
He saw a happy woman lie
Her true man's form beside;
And laugh as on the bed they tossed
A smiling child in pride.
No word Dunolly spoke, but went,
An altered man, and said;
"Go bring them home, for rich are they,
Love shows them nobly wed."
_THE ARMADA GUN_ [1]
[1] This cannon was recovered in 1740 from the wreck of a vessel of the
Spanish Armada sunk in Tobermory Bay, and is at Inveraray.
An ancient cannon, finely cast.
Of bronze, all smooth and green with age,
A by-gone actor on the stage,
Yet fit to take, as in the past
A role in war, and be the last
Dread argument of kings!
The daisies grew around, and brought
The homage of young spring to praise
This stately relic of old days,
When France with Spain for mastery fought;
And Philip over England sought
To spread the Papal wings.
Initialed with King Francis' name,
With Gallic lilies sculptured o'er,
Above the vent the metal bore
A Salamander crowned, in flame;
The massive breech could even claim
A sheath of lotos bloom.
This goodly weapon, forged where Seine
By Fontainebleau and Paris flows,
And many a painted Palace shows
These emblems of the Valois' reign,
For centuries unseen has lain
Within the sea's dark tomb.
How came it there? A Spanish keel
One of the Great Armada gay,
Was blasted in Our Lady's Bay;
One of the Fleet the floods conceal,
Though o'er the waves was wont to peal
The thunder of their pride.
But how came France's lilies there
Beneath the flag of red and gold?
And o'er the ancient gun we told
The story which the legends bear,
How in defeat it bore its share
And stemmed the Victory's tide.
We thought the winds of hollow sound
Spoke from its mouth in solemn tone,
Of great events its life had known,
That thronged, as with the nearly drowned,
To recollection, ere it found
Beneath the sea a grave.
"'In flame I live, I quench its glow;'
This motto at the foundry fire
Was given me by his desire,
The king, whose crest and lilies show
How love and valour could bestow
Their favour on the brave.
"My form was fashioned in each part
By him who wrought in gems and gold,
Whose glory, trumpet-tongued, is told
In fearful wars, in peaceful Art,
Cellini of the ardent heart,
And Benvenuto named!
"The silver-voiced and laughing crowd
Of ladies praised his fair design
And asked if on the German Rhine,
Or English coasts of fog and cloud,
Would soon be heard my challenge loud
For rights our country claimed?
"To conquer fair Milan I threw
My shot against the Swiss array
On Marignano's dreadful day:
On sledges hardy soldiers drew
My weight through snows, where eagles knew
Alone the Alpine way.
"And warring for the emperor's crown,
I saw around me fall and die
The noblest of our chivalry:
When peerless Bayard's high renown
Quenched not his blood, that streaming down
Fell on me where I lay.
"Pavia felt my iron hail,
When traitor Bourbon won the fight,
Yet glad was I no foreign knight
Alone had made our siege to fail,
When wrote our king the dismal tale,
'Save honour all is lost!'
"The impious victor hurled my fire
Against the walls of holy Rome,
But there the devil took him home!
For at the storm my artist sire,
Cellini, felled him, for the ire
Of God his path had crossed.
"To nobler masters still a slave,
I felt the fame of Doria mine;
Saw Venice o'er her channels shine;
Pursued the Moslem on the wave,
And shattered them, when victory gave
Her palm to Malta's isle.
"When Naples sent her ships to swell
The swarming armaments that bore
'Gainst England from each southern shore
In fleets whose numbers none could tell;
I saw how Drake upon us fell,
How fortune ceased to smile.
"For tempests gathered o'er our track,
The little English hornets stung,
My heavy shot against them flung
Passed o'er their barks, so swift to tack,
And every ball they gave us back
Upon our galleons told.
"Soon drifting o'er the Northern main
Grey shores unknown were quickly past;
Our consorts on the rocks were cast,
It was our fate alone to gain
The peaceful haven where Maclaine
Set fire unto our hold.
I sank: a hundred years past by,
And diving bells with searchers keen
For treasure in the wreck were seen.
They took the gold, but let me lie
To sleep another century,
Then raised and brought me here.
* * * * *
"Valois is dead, and Bourbon's Line
No longer fills my country's throne.
But death dear France shall never own!
Once more of late her joy was mine,
Once more for her my flames could shine,
My thunder echo clear.
"For when the tide of battle rolled
Against the far Crimean shore,
And France and Britain downward bore
The Russian in his chosen hold,
My last salute of victory told
For France, as oft of yore!"
_CAVALRY CHARGE--KÖNIGGRÄTZ_
We stood, as the helmeted horsemen
Formed up in the light of the sun;
We knelt, stretching bayonets towards them
As they charged, ere the battle was won.
I marked their young leader apparelled
As daintily as for parade,
A cigarette smoking, advancing
He laughed, as he pointed his blade.
He played with his yellow moustaches,
And looked on our ranks, with a scorn
Such as mantles 'gainst mist and night-vapour
On the brow of the Son of the morn.
He led a bright host where the glitter
Of armour illumined the vale;
As a flood rises slowly, so, coming,
They rode with the sun on their mail.
Thus he steadied his men, and none wavered.
As the steeds settled down to their stride,
And we heard the first rush of the squadrons,
Like the gathering roar of the tide.
Their order was perfect and splendid,
And his voice, that at first held them in,
Had rung down their ranks for the onset,
As though it were fate they should win.