Classic Poem

Old Oscian, on a mossy seat reclin'd,
In feeble accents eas'd his lab'ring mind;
Sole sad survivor of great Fingal's race,
Wrinkled, by time and grief, his furrow'd face;
Dim were his faded eyes, his fleecy hair
Might with the virgin snow for white compare;
His beard in waving tresses crown'd his breast,
That frequent heav'd, by sad remembrance prest;
Nor quite had age the languid current froze,
Fresh to his aching sense reflection rose;
Past sorrows recent seem, and still impart
New throbs of anguish to his bleeding heart.

‘Oh! where's my king, my father, now,’ he cry'd,
‘And where his valiant sons that round him dy'd?
‘Oscar, my son, my Oscar I deplore;
‘Why do I live, since Oscar is no more?
‘O! royal Fingal, where's our mighty race?
‘And where the glories we were wont to trace?
‘Were now each valiant youth, each blooming maid?
‘Low in their earthy bed for ever laid;
‘I grasp, I feel the turfy hillocks rise,
‘My hands are faithful, tho' too weak my eyes:
‘The murm'ring river hoarsely rolls along,
‘And in deep cadence joins my plaintive song;
‘No more, thou swelling stream, my woes renew,
‘Without thy aid I can my tale pursue;
‘Forbear thy murmurs, ah! awhile forbear,
‘Nor draw from sightless eyes the briny tear;
‘For thou recall'st, what mem'ry fain would hide—
‘Great Fingal's sons, array'd in warlike pride,
‘Did on thy banks in glitt'ring armour shine,
‘Erect, and lofty as the mountain pine:
‘Thy trembling banks our weight could scarce sustain,
‘Thy waves affrighted sought the distant main.

‘Great was the day, when, Fillan, thou wert there,
‘Fam'd for majestic mien and pond'rous spear:
‘Oscar, my valiant son, his numbers slew,
‘And 'midst embattled ranks a terror threw:
‘Fingal the great, the pride of age, appears,
‘Comely, erect, tho' silver'd o'er with years:
‘His nervous hand ne'er drew the bow in vain,
‘For by each whizzing arrow Chiefs were slain:
‘Then Morney's son, in dazzling armour gay,
‘With his keen falchion mow'd his purple way;
‘Tallest of men, young Gaul, his father's pride,
‘With many a noble warrior by his side,
‘Grac'd like a tow'ring oak th' embattled plain,
‘And view'd, with haughty aspect, thousands slain:
‘Loud was his voice as sounds the rapid tide,
‘Which in strong currents tears the mountain's side;
“Fingal!” he cry'd, “why singly wilt thou reign,
“Unfit the toils of empire to sustain?
“Thou son of mighty Corval, grey with years,
“Behold! a rival king in me appears;
“Agile my arm the scepter well to wield,
“The sword to brandish, or to grasp the shield;
“Able my brow the regal gold to wear,
“Well can my mind the toils of empire bear;
“For I am strong as Boreas on the main,
“Or as a whirlwind sweeping o'er the plain:
“Then, Fingal, yield, the diadem resign,
“Thy life and empire else shall soon be mine.”

‘Oscar, my son, the haughty boaster heard,
‘And swift his nervous arm for combat rear'd;
‘But mighty Fingal, smiling in disdain,
‘Approach'd the insulting Hero of the plain;
“Oscar, be gone,” he cry'd, “behold me here,
“That rival king whom Morney's son shall fear:”
‘Then, with redoubled blows, the heroes join,
‘And Nature's force with active Art combine;
‘With sturdy arms in rude embrace they meet,
‘And tear the rugged ground with struggling feet;
‘Like a tost skiff, which dashing waves rebound,
‘Their crackling sinews echo'd all around:
‘Long did they toil, with equal skill and might,
‘E'en till the sun was wrapt in dusky night;
‘Then, like two falling oaks, they crush'd the field,
‘And Morney's son was late constrain'd to yield:
‘The aged conquers, Gaul is overcome,
‘And waits, in captive bonds, his hapless doom;
‘When lo! a beauteous form our wonder drew,
‘With radiant eyes o'ercharg'd with pearly dew;
‘Sweet as the morn, and as the rainbow fair,
‘With neck of snow, and braids of golden hair;
‘Gentle she seem'd as spirits of the hill,
‘Which high behests with tender care fulfil;
‘Such Minvane was, for soon the lovely maid
‘Herself declar'd, and thus to Fingal said:—

“O! mighty King, regard with gracious ear,
“And grant, O! instant grant, my earnest pray'r;
“Loose me the bands of Gaul, my brother free,
“Who never own'd a conqueror but thee;
“Restore, O! quickly, to my fond embrace,
“His sister's joy, the pride of all his race.”

‘Admiring Fingal gently made reply;
“Lives there a man that can thy suit deny?
“Thou lovely Minvane! daughter of the hill,
“Thy ev'ry wish with rapture I fulfil;
“Yes, maiden fairer than the northern snow,
“Sweet as the opening rose's fragrant glow,
“The valiant Gaul be thine, I burst his chain,
“Nor from thy tender breast one joy detain.”

‘With gentle accents thus he cheer'd the maid,
‘Yet here, alas! are now his ashes laid;
‘Mute now that tongue so often wont to charm,
‘Clos'd the keen eye, unstrung the nervous arm:
‘While old and sightless I his deeds relate,
‘And fondly wrest them from devouring fate;
‘His honour'd tomb with pious tears bedew,
‘And while I strive to soothe, my griefs renew.’