Quite a large collection of ancient Ossianic ballads are concerned with the wars between the Feinn and the Norse invaders from Lochlann. They are quite manifestly of dates posterior to the Viking age, and might constitute a class by themselves. In “The Banners of the Feinn,” the heroes are marshalled before us one by one. And here also Diarmad O’Duibhne takes the lead. The ballad, in rollicking modern verse, has been thus rendered by Dr. Macneill:— The Norland king stood on the height And scanned the rolling sea; He proudly eyed his gallant ships That rode triumphantly. And then he looked where lay his camp Along the rocky coast, And where were seen the heroes brave Of Lochlann’s famous host. Then to the land he turn’d, and there A fierce-like hero came; Above him was a flag of gold, That waved and shone like flame. “Sweet Bard,” thus spoke the Norland king, “What banner comes in sight? The valiant chief that leads the host, Who is that man of might?” “That,” said the bard, “is young MacDoon, His is that banner bright; When forth the Feinn to battle go, He’s foremost in the fight,” etc., etc. Dream-figures of the dim and distant past, Fionn and his warriors have not quite lost their sway over the Celtic imagination. Indeed, Gaelic popular tradition has it that they are not dead, but sleeping under great green knolls somewhere in the Highlands, and that one day they will awake to restore the Gael to his ancient power, just as the Cymri look for the return of Arthur. It is even related that once a wight obtained entrance to their place of rest, and was asked to blow three times on the _dudach_ or horn. This he did, and, after the first blast, behold! the sleeping forms of men and dogs moved to life; after the second, the Feinn warriors got up on their elbows and stared at him. The sight so unnerved the rash intruder that, throwing down the instrument, he fled in terror from the ghostly place; while after him came the awful imprecation, “Milè mollachd, is miosa dh’fhag na fhuair” (“A thousand curses on you; you left us worse than you found us”). These were the last words he heard as he made good his escape—the last account of the Feinn borne to the upper world. CHAPTER XI THE INFLUENCE OF THE NORSE INVASIONS ON GAELIC LITERATURE