On the storm-vex'd sea. Then might be seen the heroes of high deeds Descending each from his own winding glen, Each soul burning with remembrance Of the battles of the time gone by of old: Their eyes kindling and searching fiercely round For the dark foe of Innisfail. Each mighty hand on the hilt of each brand Blazing, lightning flashing [_lit._, streaming bright, like the sun] from their armour. As pours a stream from a wild glen Descend the braves from the sides of the mountains, Each chief in the mail of his illustrious sire. His stern, dark-visaged warriors behind, As the gatherings of the waters of the mountains [i.e., rain-clouds] Around the lightning of the sky. At every step was heard the sound of arms And the bark of hounds, high gambling Songs were humm'd in every mouth, Each dauntless hero eager for the strife. Cromlec shook on the face of the mountains, As they march'd athwart the heath: They stood on the inclines of the hills, As the hoary mist of autumn That closes round the sloping mountain, And binds its forehead to the sky. FINGAL, Lib. i., line 1-100. As rushes a gray stream in foam From the iron front of lofty Cromla; The torrent travelling the mountains, While dark night enwraps the cairns: And the cold shades of paly hue Look down from the skirts of the showers; So fierce, so great, so pitiless, so swift Advanced the hardy seed of Erin. Their chief, as the great boar [whale] of the ocean, Drawing the cold waves behind him: Pouring his strength as billows; [or _in_ billows,] 'Neath his travel shakes the shore. The seed of Lochlin heard the sound, As the cold roaring stream of winter; Swift Swaran struck his shield, And spoke to the son of Arn beside him-- I hear a sound on the side of the mountains, As the evening fly of slow movements; It is the gallant sons of Erin, Or a storm in the distant woodland. Like Gormal is the sound, Ere wakes the tempest in the high seas: Hie thee to the heights, son of Arn, Survey each copse and hill-side. He went, and soon return'd in terror, His eye fix'd and wild in his head; His heart beat quick against his side, His speech was feeble, slow, and broken. "Arise! thou Lord of the waves, Mighty chief of the dark shields; I see the stream of the dark-wooded mountains, I see the seed of Erin and their lord. A chariot! the mighty chariot of battle Advances with death across the plain; The well-made swift chariot of Cuchullin, The great son of Sema, mighty in danger. Behind, it bends down like a wave, Or the mist on the copse of the sharp rocks; The light of stones of power [gems] is round, As the sea round a bark at night. Of polish'd yew is the beam, The seats within are of smoothest bone; The dwelling-place of spears it is, Of shields, of swords, and of mighty men. By the right side of the great chariot