he sigh of a friend in the grove of Fraoch !A sigh for the hero in it's rounded pale,
A sigh which causes each man to mourn,
And which makes each maiden weep !
Trans. Henry Mackenzie
he sigh of a friend in the grove of Fraoch !
A sigh for the hero in it's rounded pale,
A sigh which causes each man to mourn,
And which makes each maiden weep !
There, to the westward, is the Carn,
Which covers Fraoch, son of Fiach, of the soft hair,
He who obeyed the call of Mey,
And from whom that Carn of Fraoch has its name.
The maids from Cruchan weep,
Sad is the cause of their woe,
For their mournful sighs are occasioned,
By Fraoch, son of Fiach, of the ancient weapons.
Him most bewails the maid
Who comes to weep in the grove of Fraoch,
The brown-eyed fair of curling locks,
Only daughter of Meyv, whom the heroes obey.
Only daughter of Corul of finest hair,
Whose side to night is stretched by the side of Fraoch,
Though many were the men who sought her love,
She loved none but Fraoch.
When Meyv found herself rejected
In the esteem of the hero of untainted character.
She devised to wound his body,
Because he would not partake in her guile.
For him she laid the snare of death,
Because he did not comply with a woman's wishes ;
Sad was the destroying of him by a monster,
In the manner which I now shall candidly tell.
On the lake of Meyv was a mountain ash.
Where southward spreads the shore.
And during each month of the season
Its fruit was seen to be ripe.
Such was the virtue of its clusters
That sweeter it was than the honey of flowers,
And the reddened fruit would support
A person deprived of food for three days.
A year to the life of man.
It is certain that it would add.
And the diseased derived relief
From the juice of its ripened berry.
But danger hung on the pursuit of it.
For, though it proved a cure to the people.
A venomous monster lurked at its root
To prevent all from approaching to pluck it,
Grievous sickness seized
The daughter of Omhach of the generous cups :
She sent a message to Fraoch,
And the hero enquired what was her wish.
She replied, that she could not be whole,
Unless she got the full of her delicate hand,
Of the fruit of that cold lake,
Pulled by no other man than Fraoch.
"Fruit was I never employed to gather,
Said Fiach's son, with blushing face ;
But though I have not hitherto, added Fraoch,
I will now go to pull fruit for Meyv."
Fraoch departed with unpropitious steps,
And proceeded to swim on the lake :
He found the monster fast asleep,
And its jaw open to the tree.
Fraoch, son of Fiach, of arms keen,
Came from the monster unobserved.
Carrying an arm-full of the red fruit
To the place where Meyv was longing for it.
"Though good be that which you have done.
Said Meyv of the whitest bosom,
Nought will relieve me, generous champion !
But a branch torn from the trunk."
Fraoch, the youth who knew not fear.
Went again to swim the soft lake ;
But he could not, how great soe'er his success,
Escape from his allotted death.
He seized the mountain ash by the top,
And tore a branch from the trunk,
But as he was taking his steps toward land,
The rouzed monster observed him.
Overtook him as he was swimming,
And grasped his hand in its gaping gorge.
Fraoch seized the monster by the jaw;
Would Fraoch had now his dagger !
The monster mangled his bosom fair.
And gnawing tore his arm away.
The white-handed maid went in haste,
Bearing a dagger which proved of no avail.
The conflict was but a conflict of short continuance,
His hand still held by its head :
Woful was the end of the strife
Between Fraoch, son of Fiach, and the monster.
They fell sole to sole,
At those brown stones on the shore ;
Which as the gentle maid beheld.
She fell on the beach a cloud of mist.
When she awoke from her torpor,
She took his softened hand in hers,
"Though you be to night a mangled prey for fowls,
Great is the deed you have performed."
Would it had been in the strife of heroes.
That Fraoch the bestower of gold had fallen.
Sad is his having fallen hy a monster.
Woeful it is to survive him !
Blacker than the raven was the growth of his hair,
Redder was his cheek than the blood of the fawn ;
Smoother than the foam of streams,
Whiter than snow was the skin of Fraoch.
Stronger than a gate was his shield.
Many a hero gathered around it;
Long as his sword was his arm,
Broad as the plank of a ship was his blade.
Taller than a mast was his spear.
Sweeter than the string of music was his voice,
A swimmer who excelled Fraoch
Never laid his side to a stream.
Good was the strength of his arms.
And exceeding good was the swiftness of his feet,
In soul he was superior to a king,
Of champion he never declined the combat.
Lovely was the chief whom the people esteemed,
Lovely the cheek which vied Vvith the rose in redness.
Lovely the mouth which opposed not friendship's call,
And which the fair declined not to kiss.
We bore to the grove of Fraoch,
The body of the hero to its circular pale,
After the worthy has died.
To be alive is our regret.
Crudest of woman was she.
That ever were seen by eyes,
Who sent Fraoch to tear the branchy
After the fruit had been borne away.
The grove bears his name.
Loch Meyv is the name of the lake.
Where the monster kept watch,
And its open jaw to the tree.
Sources : Henry Mackenzie, Report of the Highland Society on the Poems of Ossian
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