Oscar, the peerless son of Ossian, and the favourite grandson of Finn, is one of the bravest and finest characters among the Fingalians, and his early death greatly affected the hilarity of that happy band of heroes and hunters. The following verses from Gillies’s collection record, instructions and precepts which were inculcated by his royal grandfather; (my own translation):— “Son of my son,” said the King, Oscar, thou young prince of might, When watching thy glittering blade, ’twas my pride To see thee triumph in the fight. Cleave thou fast to thy fathers’ fame, And keep unsoiled their honoured name. When Treunmor the prosperous lived, And Trahal, great warriors’ sire, They were victors on every field, Winning fame in the conflict dire. Their names shall flourish in story and verse, Which the bards hereafter shall rehearse. Oh! Oscar, spare not the armed hero, But the needy and feeble sustain; Like the spring-tide stream rushing in winter Attacking the foes of the Féinn; But gentle as summer’s breathing wind— To all that seek thy succour kind. Such was the victor Treunmor, And after him Trahal the brave; And Finn, too, befriended the weak From the power of the tyrant to save. I would meet him with welcome hand, And shield him beneath my brand. These are indeed noble sentiments and precepts from a semi-barbarian monarch such as Finn is supposed to have been. It may fairly be questioned whether this is not one of the more recent productions. One line, “’na aobhar shininn mo lamh”—_in his cause_, &c., reminds us of Christian conceptions. Such a word as _aobhar_, cause, does not, so far as I am aware, occur in the purely heathen poems. The ballads on the deaths of Diarmad and of Oscar are among the best, and have been great favourites with popular reciters. The _Lay of Diarmad_ seems to have given names to many places in Scotland and Ireland. The names of the heroes of the Féinn in general we find embedded in the nomenclature of the soil, especially the name of Finn, their great leader. This is evidence of the early era in which they lived, as well as of the affection with which the people cherished their memories. The death of Oscar is a very long ballad. What follows is a free rendering of upwards of the first half:— The feast was over and the morn Shed round its brilliant blaze; The halls of Cairber gleamed afar Beneath the sheen of rays; The light within lit up the face Of heroes stout and tall, Who started early to their feet To leave that ancient hall. Brown Oscar from the Albin shore Was there among the rest— Of beauteous form and boldest eye He stood in might confessed.