Poor Ossian will not receive the new doctrine of the saint; and his arguments with Patrick are not of a very edifying character. The saint, in order to convey to the bard some conception of the Creator’s omniscience, says that it would not be possible for the smallest midge to enter heaven without His knowledge. But the bard exclaims in reply, that that was very different from Finn, son of Cuhal, in his hospitable hall. Thousands might enter, partake of his cheer, and depart without notice. At last Patrick gets somewhat impatient with his rather unsatisfactory pupil, and requests Ossian to give up his elegiac strains over the departed glory of the Clan Baoisgne, and relate the particulars of some hunt, battle, or adventure. The old warrior-bard is nothing loth, and is consoled for the moment by the recital of the deeds of his perished kinsmen, the Fianna. As usual he ends with a wild burst of sorrow for having survived them all. “_Ossian and Evir-Alin_” has been a great favourite. In this ballad we have the great poet’s wooing of the beautiful Evir described. He sets out with twelve youths to ask the daughter of Branno “of the silver beakers.” Hitherto the maiden refused the sons of kings and nobles, and even the great gloomy chieftain Cormac, whom she particularly disliked. After necessary preliminary questions the ballad (in Pattison’s translation) proceeds:— “High is the place, O Ossian! Do men’s tongues to thee assign; If I twelve daughters had,” said Branno, “The best of them should be thine.” Then they opened the choice and spare chamber, That was shielded with down from the cold; The posts of its door were of polished bone, And the leaves were of good yellow gold. And as soon as the bright Evir-Alin Saw Ossian, great Fingal’s son, The love of her maiden youth By me, proud hero, was won. Then we left the dark lake of Lego And homeward took our way; But Cormac, fierce Cormac, waylaid us, Intent on the furious fray. Eight heroes had followed their Chieftain, And their men behind them stood; The hillside flamed with their armour, Their spears were raised like a wood. Eight came with Ossian the lofty, All equal to shield him in war. Then the heroes met face to face, and the strife was fierce and long. Ossian and Cormac at last met in personal combat with the following result: Five times he dashed on my buckler; Five times I hurled him back, Ere I struck him down on the greensward,— Cormac in conflict not slack. I swept the head from his shoulders, And held it up in my hand; His troops they fled, and we came with joy To Fingal’s mountain land.