But the stranger dog had a desperate tooth,
   And quickly despatch’d for us fifty hounds.

A strange fight this, the great Finn said,
   As he turn’d his face towards his clan;
Then his face with rage grey fiery red,
   And he struck with his fist his good dog Bran.

Bran look’d at his master with much surprise,
   That his master should strike him surprise he felt—
“I could hew from the shoulder the hand,” Finn cries,
   “With which my dog that blow I dealt.”

Then Bran he shook his collar of gold,
   The mountains echoed with his bay;
His terrible eyes like fire-balls roll’d,
   And his mind was bent upon canine fray.

“Take off from his neck the collar of gold,
   Not right for him now such a thing to bear;
And a free good fight we shall behold
   Betwixt my dog and his black compeer.”

Now a likeness I’ll draw of my good dog Bran:
   His head was cover’d with shaggy hair,
His breast was broad and its colour tan,
   His houghs were crook’d, his quarters square.

Four yellow feet had he I ween,
   His sides were black but his belly fair;
A tinge of green on his back was seen,
   Of blood-red ears he’d a pointed pair.

The dogs their noses together placed,
   Then their blood was scatter’d on every side;
Desperate the fight, and the fight did last
   ’Till the brave black dog in Bran’s gripe died.

“O sure was I,” did Ossian cry,
   From the pillar of the dogs with stern delight,
“There was no dog in the Finn country
   Could inflict upon Bran the mortal bite.

“O Bran was a stag-hound Morong bred,
   And possess’d each canine guile and sleight;
There was no dog in leash e’er led
   Could consign our dog to the Western height.

“There’s many a damsel, heavenly bright,
   With azure eye and yellow hair,
In the land of the son of King Torc this night
   Would be proud with my dog her supper to share.”

A grave the valiant hero made
   For his good black dog in the field’s green breast;
Full fifty dogs the Fenians laid
   To the pibroch’s blast in the hill to the west.

We went to the dwelling of high MacCuol,
   With the king to drink, and dice, and throw;
The king was joyous, his hall was full,
   Though empty and dark this night I trow.

* * * * *

London:
Printed for THOMAS J. WISE, Hampstead, N.W.

Edition limited to Thirty Copies.

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING HACON'S DEATH AND BRAN AND THE BLACK DOG***