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40o THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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As whirling in air the striker Sang clear, or thudded dull,—
When, woe ! the tug' on a sudden Snapped in the grasp of Gull.
Hand-staff and striker parted ;
The song of the flail was dumb,— On the heart of Ossian, listening,
Fell that silence numb.
And oh ! for a time uncounted He watched with straining eyes
The tide of the devils' battle Quicken and turn and rise.
He watched the Fianna's onset
Waver and hang in doubt, He watched his leaderless comrades
Swept in a struggling rout.
But Gull, with a shield before him,
Crouched on the battleground, And there in the track of slaughter
Tore at what he found,
Until in the crash and tumult, And dashed with a bloody rain,
He had knotted his flail together With sinews out of the slain.
1 Tug, sometimes called trace, the leathern thong which holds the two parts of a flail together. |
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