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A NEW TRANSLATION FROM THE ORIGINAL GAELIC,

BY THE REV. THOMAS ROSS.

[The attention of the reader is particularly requested, to those passages in this translation which are printed in Italics, as clearly proving the superiority of the new translation.]

FINGAL.

BOOK I.

CUCHULLIN sat by the wall of Tura,
In the shade of a rustling tree;

His

spear leaned against the rock of caves;

His great shield by his side on the grass.

The thoughts of the chief dwelt on Cairbar,*,

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A hero he had slain in war,

When the scout of the ocean came,

The swift, high-bounding son of Fithil. "Rise! Cuchullin, rise!

"I see a mighty fleet from the north!

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Haste, haste, thou chief of the feast ;† "Great is Swaran, numerous his host."

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Moran," replied the blue-eyed chief, "Feeble thou art, and ever trembling: "In thy fear the foe is numerous. "Son of Fithil, it is Fingal,

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MACPHERSON'S TRANSLATION.

"I beheld their chief," says Moran,

"Tall as a glittering rock.

"His spear is a blasted pine.

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"His shield the rising moon!

"He sat on the shore!

"Like a cloud of mist on the silent hill!

"Many, chief of heroes! I said,

"Many are our hands of war.

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"Well art thou named the Mighty Man :
"But many mighty men are seen
"From Tura's windy walls."

He spoke, like a wave on a rock, "Who in this land appears like me?

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"Heroes stand not in my presence:

"They fall to earth from my hand.

"Who can meet Swaran in fight?

"Who but Fingal, king of Selma of storms?

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"Heroes stood at a distance, and trembled.

"On the fourth, Fingal says,

"That the king of the ocean fell!

"But Swaran says, he stood!

"Let dark Cuthullin yield to him,

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"That is strong as the storms of his land!"

NEW TRANSLATION.

"I beheld their chief," said Moran;

"The hero is like a rock,

"His spear like a fir on the mountain cliff, "Like the rising moon his shield.

"He sat upon a rock on the shore,

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"Like the mist on yonder hill.”

"Leader of strangers, numerous

"Are the impetuous hosts* which rise with thee,
"Fierce warriors of most desperate strokes,
"Whose swords are sharp in the strife of heroes;
"But more numerous, and mighty chiefs,
"Surround the windy Tura."

hand.

"The chief replied, as a surge on a rock, "Who in this land can be compared to me? Thy heroes cannot stand in my presence, "But will fall to the ground by my "Who shall daré to meet me in the field,† "But Fingal, king of stormy Selma? "Once we encountered in hostile grasp "On Malmor, and fierce was the fray: "Woods fell in the unyielding conflict; "Streams were turned in their course;

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"Three successive days was the strife renewed: 40 "The greatest heroes trembled.

"On the fourth, said Fingal the king,

"The chief of the ocean has fallen in the vale.

"He is not fallen, my answer was.

"Let Cuchullin yield to the chief

"Who is stronger than the mountain storm.

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The combatants who.

↑ Whose strength surpasses.

† My sword.

MACPHERSON'S TRANSLATION.

"No!" replied the blue-eyed chief, "I never yield to mortal man!

"Dark Cuthullin shall be great, or dead!
"Go, son of Fithil, take my spear,
"Strike the sounding shield of Semo.
"It hangs at Tura's rustling gate.
"The sound of peace is not its voice!
"My heroes shall hear and obey."

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Crugal's breast of snow beats high.

The son of Favi leaves the dark-brown hind.

It is the shield of war, said Ronnar!

The spear of Cuthullin, said Lugar!
Son of the sea, put on thy arms!
Calmar, lift thy sounding steel!
Puno dreadful hero, arise!

Cairbar, from thy red tree of Cromla!
Bend thy knee, O Eth;

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Descend from the streams of Lena.

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Ca-olt, stretch thy side as thou movest

Along the whistling heath of Mora:

NEW TRANSLATION.

"Is it I (to yield) ?" said the blue-eyed hero; "I shall never yield to man :*

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Cuchullin, as undaunted as he,

"Shall conquer in the field, or nobly die.
"Son of Fithil, grasp thou my spear;
"Strike the dark gloomy shield of Semo;
"It is high on the wall of spears;
"Its sound is not the whisper of peace.

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"Strike, son of Fithil, the shield of Semo with speed; "Call in our heroes from the copses and woods." 56 He strikes with speed the spotted shield.

Each copse and wood re-echoes;

The alarm spreads speedily through the grove;
The deer and roes start up among the heath.
Curtha leaps from the sounding rock,
And Connal advances with trusty spear;
Favi gives up the chase of the hind,
And Crugal returns to generous Tura.†
Hark! Ronan, the shield of war;
The call of Cuchullin, Cluthar.
Advance from the sea, O Calmar,

In arms advance O Luthar.

Son of Puno, mighty champion arise,

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And Cairbar from the responsive Cromleac.t
Bend thy knee, O hospitable Fithi,

And Cormac from Lena of streams.

Stretch thy fair limbs, O Ca-olt,

Whilst moving with speed from Mora ;

To a man that lives. + Tura of feasts.

Bent flag.

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