We never read in the older ballads of such non-primitive things as bottles. _Am botul mor glas_, which the liberal Finn would place on the table, must have belonged to the fifteenth century. The good qualities of Finn are not yet exhausted. Of noble mind and form and of a winning mien— His people’s Head—he walked with step so firm, serene. In Banva of the hills the fame of war he sought; There battles twice fifteen the royal Fingal fought. Assistance for the weak MacCuhail ne’er withheld, In heart and on his lips no falsehood ever dwelled. Finn never grudged his aid, his people ne’er oppressed— The King above all kings, the sun above the rest. In Erin of the saints before his mighty hand The monsters left the lakes, the serpents fled the land. I never could declare, though mine were endless days, I ne’er could tell one-third of his good deeds and praise. It is rather curious to find the stereotyped “Erin of the Saints,” in a composition of the fifteenth century. While suggesting the ecclesiastical character of the author, it does not prove that he was a very zealous “saint” himself; for we find that he quietly ascribes to Finn exploits which the Irish ecclesiastical world has all along attributed to St. Patrick. “He cleared the lakes of monsters and the land of serpents.” As usual, Ossian himself is described as _an deigh na Féinne_:— But sad am I, and Finn of the brave Fianna dead; With him, the princely chief, my pride and joy have fled. Well may my tears outpour, for no delight survives The princes and the chiefs and all their royal wives. I lean on death’s cold arm—I’m like the shaking reed; I’m like an empty nut—I seem a reinless steed. A feeble kern am I, with sorrow sore within— Ev’n Ossian I, the bard, the son of noble Finn. In his forlorn state the bard now remembers the house and court of Finn, his royal father:— Since Finn now reigns no more, all that I owned is gone— His house had seven sides—the house of Cuhal’s son; And seven score of shields did hang on every side; There fifty robes of wool had been the king beside— Fifty warriors filled the robes, who were the royal pride. There were ten bowls full bright for drink, where Finn did dine, Ten horns of gold, and ten blue flagons of good wine. How goodly was that house! how grand the home of Finn! Mean grudging hands, false lustful hearts, there ne’er had been. Each man had equal rights among the mighty Féinn; To emulate the King his followers were fain. He was our chief renowned so far, so nobly good, Who never to the meanest man was proud or rude. None empty left his house, good, generous was he; No gifts were e’er like his—gifts scattered wide and free.