"'Nay, I beheld their chief,' replied the scout, 'tall as a
glittering rock. His spear is a blasted pine. His shield the
rising moon. He bade me say to thee, "Let dark Cathullin
yield."'

"'No,' replied the blue-eyed chief, 'I never yield to mortal man.
Dark Cathullin shall be great or dead.'"

Then Cathullin bade the scout summon his warriors to council.
And when they were gathered there was much talk, for some would
give battle at once and some delay until Fingal, the King of
Morven, should come to aid them. But Cathullin himself was eager
to fight, so forward they marched to meet the foe. And the sound
of their going was "as the rushing of a stream of foam when the
thunder is traveling above, and dark-brown night sits on half the
hill." To the camp of Swaran was the sound carried, so that he
sent a messenger to view the foe.

"He went. He trembling, swift returned. His eyes rolled wildly
round. His heart beat high against his side. His words were
faltering, broken, slow. 'Arise, son of ocean! arise, chief of
the dark brown shields! I see the dark, the mountain stream of
battle. Fly, King of ocean! Fly!'

"'When did I fly?' replied the King. 'When fled Swaran from the
battle of spears? When did I shrink from danger, chief of the
little soul? Shall Swaran fly from a hero? Were Fingal himself
before me my soul should not darken in fear. Arise, to battle my
thousands! pour round me like the echoing main. Gather round the