VI.

A broad, faint twilight lingered to unfold

The sun's slow-dying beams of tangled gold,

And the long, billowy hills, in gathering shade,

Their naked peaks and ebon crags displayed

Sharp-rimmed against the tender heaven and pale;

And misty shadows gathered in the vale —

When Caoilte to Knockfarrel came, and saw

Amid the dusk, with sorrow and with awe,

The ruins of their winter dwelling laid

In smouldering ashes; while the high stockade

Around the rocky wall, like ragged teeth,

Was crackling o'er the melting stones beneath,

Still darting flame, and flickering in the breeze.

He sped towards the wood, and through the trees

Called loud for those who perished. On his fair

And gentle spouse he called in his despair.

His sweet son, and his sire, whose hair was white

As Wyvis snow, he called for in the night.

Full loud and long across the Strath he cried —

The echoes mocked him from the mountain side.

Ah! when his last hope faded like the wave

Of twilight ebbing o'er the hills, he gave

His heart to utter grief and deep despair;

And the cold stars peer'd down with pitiless stare,

While sank the wind in silence on its flight

Through the dark hollows of the spacious night;

And distant sounds seem'd near. In his dismay

He heard a Fian calling far away.

The night-bird answered back with dismal cry,

Like to a wounded man about to die —

But Caoilte's lips were silent... Once again

And nearer, came the voice that cried in vain.

Then swift steps climbed Knockfarrel's barren steep,

And Alvin called, with trembling voice and deep,

To Caoilte, crouching low, with bended head,

“Who liveth?”... “I am here alone,” he said...

Thus Fian after Fian came to share

Their bitter grief, in silence and despair.

All night they kept lone watch, until the dawn

With stealthy fingers o'er the east had drawn

Its dewy veil and dim. Then Finn arose

From deep and sleepless brooding o'er his woes,

And spake unto the Fians, “Who shall rest

While flees our evil foeman farther west?

Arise!”... “But who hath done this deed?” they sighed;

And Finn made answer, “Garry.”... Then they cried

For vengeance swift and terrible, and leapt

To answer Finn's command.

A cold wind swept

From out the gates of morning, moaning loud,

As swift they hastened forth. A ragged shroud

Of gathering tempest o'er Ben-Wyvis cast

A sudden gloom, and round it, falling fast,

It drifted o'er the darkened slopes and bare,

And snow-flakes swirled in the chill morning air —

Then o'er the sea, the sun leapt large and bright,

Scatt'ring the storm. And moor and crag lay white,

As westward o'er the hills the Fians all

In quest of Garry sped.

At even-fall

They found him... On the bald and rocky side

Of steep Scour-Vullin, Garry lay to hide

Within a cave, which, backward o'er the snow,

He entered, that his steps might seem to show

He had fled eastward by the path he came.

All day he sought to flee them in his shame,

Watching from lofty crag or deep ravine,

And crouching in the heath, with haggard mien —

He sought in vain to hide till darkness cast

Its blinding cloak betwixt them.

When at last

Finn cried, “Come forth, thou dog of evil deeds,

Nor respite seek!”... His limbs like wind-swept reeds

Trembled and bent beneath him; so he rose

And came to meet his friends who were his foes —

Then unto Finn he spake with accents meek,

“One last request I of the Fians seek,

Whom I have loved in peace and served in strife” —

“‘ Tis thine,” said Finn, “but ask not for thy life,

For thou art‘ mong the Fians.”... “I would die,”

Said Garry, “with my head laid on thy thigh;

And let young Alvin take thy sword, that he

May give the death that will mine honour be.”

‘ Twas so he lay to die... But as the blade

Swept bright, young Alvin, keen for vengeance, swayed,

And slipped upon the sward... And his fierce blow

That Garry slew, the Fian chief laid low —

A grievous wound was gaping on his thigh,

And poured his life-blood forth... A low, weird cry

The great Finn gave, as he fell back and swooned —

In vain they strove to stanch the fearsome wound —

His life ebbed slowly with the sun's last ray

In gathering gloom... And when in death he lay,

The glory of the Fians passed away.