The death of Carril

Bas Chairill

Trans. Henry Mackenzie

n the house of Temora of melodious cruits
As we were engaged in drinking.
Mutual provocation roused to wrath
Carril, the graceful hero, and Momad the great.

The champions rose to wrestle.
Heavier than lead was the pressure of their feet;
Afar was heard the panting of their breasts;
While sad in suspence stood the heroes of Fingal.

Stones and heavy earth
Were dug up by their heels in strife.
Whilst they struggled during the day
Without determining which was the best in deeds of strength.

On the morning of the second day.
The champions engaged again,
Carril of the pointed arms of victory.
And Gaul of the keen tempered swords.

Folded in each other's grasp.
They anxious twined, and pulled and turned.
Till opposing arms to arms in perilous contest,
The sound of their strokes was regretted by all.

Often did fire come from their arms
And wrought foam from their white breasts ;
Their tough spears were hacked
And their shields hewn down to the ground.

Carril, the mild, strong, and elegant.
Fell breathless under the press of valour ;
Relentless, fierce, and ruinous was the stroke
Which laid the champion low in the hard fought contest!

"My darling, my child, my love,
Sad is the wound thy death inflicts on thy father !
Said Fingal with spirit heavier drooping
Than the sun overcast by the sudden cloud of thunder.

— O Carril ! thou son of my love !
Closed are thine eyes, locked thy teeth of whiteness,
Thy strength is swept away as by a blast,
Thy beauty is changed as the blossom of branches.

— No more shalt thou be seen
To tread the path to conflict,
No more shall be heard the sound of thy shield.
Thou pride of battles ! coming to my aid.

— Would that the overbearing strength of strangers
Or the king of the world had laid thee low !
Then, O Carril ! should I avenge thy death
Upon the Britons of victorious arms !

— Blest be thou, O graceful Carril !
Who defeated hundreds in battle.
Thou travelledst far, but farther still did reach thy fame
To every land where thy name was known.

— Chearful, sprightly and enlivening,
In the hall of Temora, among hundreds,
O hero ! bloody in the chace !
Sad today is the tale of thy death.

— Would that thou hadst fallen in the battle of warriors.
Fair and gentle hero of the auburn ringlets !
Then would the race of Comhal revenge the injury,
Marking all their paths with slaughter,

— Tearful, doleful, is the strain of the Fingalians,
Deploring the mighty warrior of pleasant smile ;
Mournful, sad, does Fingal lament thee
Who shalt be seen no longer in the hall of heroes !

— Unfortunate was the death of the valiant champion,
Who fell without war, in a duel.
Like a cloud of night he departed from us ;
Sad is the tale we are left to mourn !

— The maids of Sora will raise the strain of woe,
On account of the fair and lovely youth ;
As the mountain mist is each tender fair.
Dropping tears, as she wails with stifled voice.

— The hero, vigorous, strong and tall,
Is now without motion, arms, or dress.
Narrow and level is the place of thy repose,
On the margin of the meadow — Great is our wound of woe !

— Upon the pebbly strand thou didst constantly move,
On the boisterous, white-foaming ocean ;
Musical, melodious in the field.
In the time of hunting the full grown deer.

— O ! hero mild, chearful, beloved.
Eloquent, vigorous, active, expert to wound;
Like a strong stream amongst enemies,
Farewell, beloved of the sharp blades !"

Sources : Henry Mackenzie, Report of the Highland Society on the Poems of Ossian