The broad sail swallowing the wind,
As over the hollowing waves that leapt
And snarled with foaming lips, and swept
Around the bows in querulous fray,
And tossed in curves of drenching spray,
The belching ship with ardour drove;
Then like a lordly elk that strove
Amid the hounds and, charging, rent
The pack asunder as it went,
It bore round and in beauty sprang--
The sea-wind through the cordage sang
With high and wintry merriment
That stirred the heart of Conn, intent
On vengeance, and for battle keen--
So hard, so steadfast, and serene.

Then Ossian, sweet of speech, spake low,
With musing eyes upon the foe,
"Is Conn more noble than The Red,
Whom Goll in battle vanquished?"
"The Red was fiercer," Conan cried--
"Nay, Conn is nobler," Finn replied,
"More comely, stalwart, mightier far--
What sayest thou, Goll, my man of war?"
Then Goll made answer on the steep,
Nor ceased to gaze on Conn full deep--
"His equal never came before
Across the seas to Alban shore,
Nor ever have I peered upon
A nobler, mightier man than Conn"