’Twas yesterday week
I last saw Finn;
Ne’er did I see
A braver man;
Teige’s[86] daughter’s son,
A powerful king;
My fortune, my light,
My mind’s whole might,
Both poet and chief.
Braver than kings,
Firm chief of the Feinn.
Lord of all lands,
Leviathan at sea,
As great on land,
Hawk of the air,
Foremost always.
Generous, just,
Despised a lie.
Of vigorous deeds,
First in song.
A righteous judge,
Firm his rule.
Polished his mien,
Who knew but victory.
Who is like him
In fight or song?
Resists the foe,
In house or field.
Marble his skin,
The rose his cheek,
Blue was his eye,
His hair like gold.
All men’s trust,
Of noble mind.
Of ready deeds,
To women mild,
A giant he,
The field’s delight.
Best polished spears,
No wood like their shafts.
Rich was the King.
His great green bottle,
Full of sharp wine,
Of substance rich.
Excellent he.[87]
Of noble form,
His people’s head,
His step so firm,
Who often warred.
In beauteous Banva,
Three hundred battles
He bravely fought.
With miser’s mind
From none withheld.
Anything false
His lips ne’er spoke.
He never grudged,
No, never Finn;
The sun ne’er saw King
Who him excelled.
The monsters in lakes,
The serpent by land,
In Erin of saints,[88]
The hero slew.
Ne’er could I tell,
Though always I lived,
Ne’er could I tell
The third of his praise.
But sad am I now,
After Finn of the Feinn!
Away with the chief,
My joy is all fled.
No friends ’mong the great,
No courtesy.
No gold, no queen,
No princes and chiefs.
Sad am I now,
Our head ta’en away!
I’m a shaking tree,
My leaves all gone.
An empty nut,
A reinless horse,
Sad, sad am I,
A feeble kern.
Ossian I, the son of Finn,
Strengthless in deed.
When Finn did live
All things were mine.
Seven sides had the house
Of Cumhal’s son.
Seven score shields
On every side.
Fifty robes of wool
Around the King.
Fifty warriors
Filled the robes.
Ten bright cups
For drink in his hall.
Ten blue flagons,
Ten horns of gold.
A noble house
Was that of Finn.
No grudge nor lust,
Babbling nor sham;
No man despised
Among the Feinn.
The first himself,
All else like him.
Finn was our chief,
Easy his praise,
Noblest of Kings.
Finn ne’er refused
To any man,
Howe’er unknown;
Ne’er from his house
Sent those who came.[89]
Good man was Finn,
Good man was he.
No gifts e’er given
Like his so free.
’Twas yesterday week.
[85] The following seems to have been Ossian’s eulogy on his father
Finn. The editor has not met with any similar composition either
among Scottish or Irish collections, except a few lines extracted by
Miss Brooks from a composition which she calls “Buille Oisein,” and
it is therefore rescued from oblivion by having been seized by the
Dean while floating on the stream of oral tradition, and treasured in
his miscellany. In the original, the poetry is worthy of the name of
Ossian, more so, indeed, than any of the pieces in this collection.
It is quite impossible to produce in English the effect of the rhythm
and alliteration of the Gaelic; but the editor has endeavoured, while
giving an exact rendering, to retain, in as far as possible, the
peculiar measure of the original. The piece is a fine tribute of filial
love and admiration, nor is there much room to doubt its genuineness.
[86] Muirne Finn’s mother is said to have been a daughter of Teige, a
famous Druid, or, as others say, of a princely family of Bregia, in
Meath.
[87] Some of the lines in this part of the original MS. are very
much defaced from age and bad usage. The editor has been obliged in
consequence to guess one line and a few additional words. The line is
the forty-fifth, where he has introduced a phrase sufficiently general
to prevent the charge of in any measure tampering with his author. The
other words will be seen by referring to the Gaelic.
[88] The word “naoimh,” here translated “saints,” is not necessarily
associated with Christianity. The word “naomh,” _holy_, is one
belonging originally to the Gaelic language, and not introduced, like
many ecclesiastical terms, from the Latin and Greek. The phrase may
be rendered “sacred Erin,” a character belonging to the island, in
popular belief, even previous to the Christian period. It is a curious
fact, that the feat of destroying all the vermin in Ireland was, in a
later age, attributed to St. Patrick. It would appear that this was
but a transference of a portion of the glory of Finn to the Christian
Saint,--a remarkable instance among many of early Christianity
borrowing, not very wisely, the laurels of heathenism.
[89] Hospitality was one of the highest qualifications of a Celtic
chief. Ossian never fails to sing the generous, open-handed hospitality
of his father Finn. Till a late period the same feature of character
distinguished the Scottish Highlander, although modern civilisation
is fast uprooting it, and overlaying the character of the simple
Highlander with the selfishness peculiar to itself. Even now, in
most part of the Highlands, the door of a hut is never closed by
day,--a practice said to originate in the universal sense of the ready
reception due to the wayfarer and the stranger. Is the _seven_ sides of
Fingal’s house an orientalism?