Gun tàrchuis aun, air aon fhear d’a Fheinn, Aig dol air gach nì, do bhì càch d’a réir. Fionn flath an t-sluaigh, sothran air a luaidh, Rìgh nan uile àigh, roimh dhuine nior dhiùlt. Nior dhiùlt Fionn roimh neach, ge bu bheag a loinn, Char chuir as a theach, neach dha’r thainig ann. Maith an duine Fionn, maith an duine e, Noch char thiodhlaic neach, leth dhe’r thiodhlaic se. Sé. _English Translation._ THE AUTHOR OF THIS IS OSSIAN, THE SON OF FINN. ’Twas yesterday week I last saw Finn, Ne’er did I feel six days so long; Teige’s daughter’s son, a powerful king; My teacher, my luck, my mind, and my light, Both poet and chief, as brave as a king, Finn, chief of the Feine, lord of all lands, Leviathan at sea, as great on land, Hawk of the air, foremost in arts, Courteous, just, a rider bold, Of vigorous deeds, the first in song, A righteous judge, firm his rule, Polished his mein, who knew but victory. Who is like him in fight or song? Resists the foe in house or field, Marble his skin, the rose his cheek. Blue was his eye, his hair like gold, All men’s trust, of noble mind. Of ready deeds, to women mild, A giant he, the field’s delight, Best polished spears, no wood like their shafts. Rich was the king, his great green bottle Full of sharp wine, of substance rich. Excellent he, of noble form, His people’s head, his step so firm, Who often warred, in beauteous Banva, There thirty battles he bravely fought. With miser’s mind from none withheld, Anything false his lips ne’er spoke. He never grudged, no, never, Finn; The sun ne’er saw king who him excelled, The monsters in lakes, the serpent by land, In Erin of saints, the hero slew. Ne’er could I tell, though always I lived, Ne’er could I tell the third of his praise. But sad am I now, after Finn of the Feinn; Away with the chief, my joy is all fled. No friends ’mong the great, no courtesy; No gold, no queen, no princes and chiefs; Sad am I now, our head ta’en away! I’m a shaking tree, my leaves all gone; An empty nut, a reinless horse. Sad, sad am I, a feeble kern, Ossian I, the son of Finn, strengthless indeed. When Finn did live all things were mine; Seven sides had the house of Cumhal’s son, Seven score shields on every side; Fifty robes of wool around the king; Fifty warriors filled the robes. Ten bright cups for drink in his hall, Ten blue flagons, ten horns of gold. A noble house was that of Finn. No grudge nor lust, babbling nor sham; No man despised among the Feinn; The first himself, all else like him. Finn was our chief, easy’s his praise;