A particularly interesting poem—one of the many dialogues between Ossian and Patrick—is called _Ossian’s Prayer_. I translate a few verses of the beginning of Macnicol’s version, which will give an idea of the piece. It is about 150 lines in length. The author makes Ossian a thorough heathen, who prefers the glories of Finian deeds and fame to all the Christian prospects that Patrick can unfold. _Ossian._ O Patrick of the reading To me a story tell; Say do the Féinn of Erin In Heaven high now dwell? _Patrick._ Let me tell thee truly, Ossian, To whom fame is given; That thy father, Gaul and Oscar, Can not be in Heaven. _O._ Sorry be the tale, O Patrick, Which thou art telling me; If Erin’s Féinn are not in Heaven Why should I Christian be? _P._ Grievous be thy story, Ossian, Fierce thy words have grown; What are all the Féinn of Erin To one hour with God alone? _O._ I would rather see one battle Waged by valiant Finn Than to see that Lord of heaven And thou cleric chaunting sin. _P._ Although the humming fly be small A mote beneath its wing Can not be hid unknown to Him Who reigns as mighty King. _O._ Think you that He was like Mac Cùil, The brave and mighty Finn? Into whose presence all on earth Could freely enter in? _P._ Ossian, long art thou in slumber; The psalms make thy delight, Since thou hast lost thy strength and fame, And ne’er again can fight. _O._ If I have lost my strength and fame, And nought of Finian worth remains, Thy cleric rank I slightly prize With all its gloomy strains.