But Cathullin, beaten and ashamed, fled to hide himself:
"bending, weeping, sad and slow, and dragging his long spear
behind, Cathullin sank in Cromla's wood, and mourned his fallen
friends. He feared the face of Fingal, who was wont to greet him
from the fields of renown."

But although Cathullin fled, between Fingal and Swaran battle was
renewed till darkness fell. A second day dawned, and again and
again the hosts closed in deadly combat until at length Fingal
and Swaran met face to face.

"There was a clang of arms! their every blow like the hundred
hammers of the furnace. Terrible is the battle of the kings;
dreadful the look of their eyes. Their dark brown shields are
cleft in twain. Their steel flies, broken from their helms.

"They fling their weapons down. Each rushes to his hero's grasp.
Their sinewy arms bend round each other: they turn from side to
side, and strain and stretch their large and spreading limbs
below. But when the pride of their strength arose they shook the
hills with their heels. Rocks tumble from their places on high;
the green-headed bushes are overturned. At length the strength
of Swaran fell; the king of the groves is bound."

The warriors of Swaran fled then, pursued by the sons of Fingal,
till the hero bade the fighting cease, and darkness once more
fell over the dreadful field.

"The clouds of night come rolling down. Darkness rests on the
steeps of Cromla. The stars of the north arise over the rolling