Analysis of Fragments Of Ancient Poetry, Fragment VIII



By the side of a rock on the hill, beneath
the aged trees, old Oscian
sat on the moss; the last of the race of
Fingal. Sightless are his aged eyes;
his beard is waving in the wind. Dull
through the leafless trees he heard the
voice of the north. Sorrow revived in
his soul: he began and lamented the
dead.

How hast thou fallen like an oak,
with all thy branches round thee! Where
is Fingal the King? where is Oscur my
son? where are all my race? Alas! in
the earth they lie. I feel their tombs
with my hands. I hear the river below
murmuring hoarsely over the stones.
What dost thou, O river, to me? Thou
bringest back the memory of the past.

The race of Fingal stood on thy
banks, like a wood in a fertile soil.
Keen were their spears of steel. Hardy
was he who dared to encounter their
rage. Fillan the great was there. Thou
Oscur wert there, my son! Fingal himself
was there, strong in the grey locks
of years. Full rose his sinewy limbs;
and wide his shoulders spread. The
unhappy met with his arm, when the
pride of his wrath arose.

The son of Morny came; Gaul, the
tallest of men. He stood on the hill like
an oak; his voice was like the streams of
the hill. Why reigneth alone, he cries,
the son of the mighty Corval? Fingal is
not strong to save: he is no support for
the people. I am strong as a storm in
the ocean; as a whirlwind on the hill.
Yield, son of Corval; Fingal, yield to
me.

Oscur stood forth to meet him;
my son would meet the foe. But Fingal
came in his strength, and smiled at
the vaunter's boast. They threw their
arms round each other; they struggled
on the plain. The earth is ploughed with
their heels. Their bones crack as the boat
on the ocean, when it leaps from wave to
wave. Long did they toil; with night,
they fell on the sounding plain; as two
oaks, with their branches mingled, fall
crashing from the hill. The tall son
of Morny is bound; the aged overcame.

Fair with her locks of gold, her
smooth neck, and her breasts of snow;
fair, as the spirits of the hill when at
silent noon they glide along the heath;
fair, as the rainbow of heaven; came
Minvane the maid. Fingal! She softly
saith, loose me my brother Gaul.
Loose me the hope of my race, the terror
of all but Fingal. Can I, replies the
King, can I deny the lovely daughter
of the hill? take thy brother, O Minvane,
thou fairer than the snow of the
north!

Such, Fingal! were thy words; but
thy words I hear no more. Sightless
I sit by thy tomb. I hear the wind in
the wood; but no more I hear my
friends. The cry of the hunter is over.
The voice of war is ceased.


Scheme ABCDEFBFX XGHBXXXIX HXJGIXXXFFX FXCDXXBXKJ XELGXXXKXKMBN OBLANJMOFOBFX XDBHOX
Poetic Form
Metre 10110110101 01111 1101011011 111111 111100011 10101110 110110010 1110100100 1 11110111 11110111 11011111 111111010 01111111 1111101001 10011001 111110111 110100101 0111111 110100101 10111110 111110101 1101111 11111101 1110011 111111001 0111010 010111110 111101 0111110 1011111011 111111011 01110111 011010111 1111111011 0101111010 010101101 1111111 1 111111 11110111 1011011 011111 11110110 10101111 11111101 1010111111 1111111 111010111 11110101 10101011 111101101 1101110 1100111 1101010111 101110101 11011101 1011110 1111101 1101111010 111111010 1110101010 101111011 11010110 1 110111 1111111 1111111010 01111111 1011010110 011111
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 2,507
Words 509
Sentences 47
Stanzas 7
Stanza Lengths 9, 9, 11, 10, 13, 13, 6
Lines Amount 71
Letters per line (avg) 28
Words per line (avg) 7
Letters per stanza (avg) 280
Words per stanza (avg) 72
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Submitted on August 03, 2020

Modified on March 05, 2023

2:33 min read
14

James Macpherson

James Macpherson was a Scottish writer, poet, literary collector and politician, known as the "translator" of the Ossian cycle of poems. more…

All James Macpherson poems | James Macpherson Books

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