The Highland monthly - National Library of Scotland

500
The Highland Monthly.
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Moveless sat Fion as a stone,
He brooded silent o'er the past
And Diarmad lay without a groan,
Breathing breath hard and fast.
The Fians stood around and wept
The bravest hearts beneath the sky
And Duanach up to Fion stepped,
" Hear, lord, our Diarmad's cry.
"Save him, for thou can'st save." "And why?
Wrought he not ill to mine and me ?"
" Rise, prince, and swift, ere Diarmad die.
He wrought no ill to thee.
Thou knowest how oft his fearless sword
Redeemed thy life when death was nigh
When Cairbre's host upon thee poured.
Did Diarmad from thee fly ?
" When Conal pressed thee sore, whose eye
And hand brought aid and victory ?
must Diarmad die ?
Rise, Fion, rise ;
He ne'er wrought ill to thee.
But cursed Grainne him beguiled ;
She was not true to him or thee.
Save, Fion, save thy sister's child,
Thyself from infamy."
The true, the noble Fion rose,
And thrust the evil one aside.
And he the cause of Diarmad's woes,
For Diarmad would have died.
*' O Diarmad, is there no remede
To save thy life that ebbs in pain ?"
"A draught from Fion's palms indeed
Will make me strong again."
In haste went Fion to the stream
And making of his hands a cup.
He filled it quickly to the brim
And then came hurrj'ing up.
But, dire mischance, a loosened stone
Came rolling down and struck his hands;
The water, dashed aside, was thrown
Upon the river sands.
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