The Killing Hill

‘It resembles a great mound, It’s jaws were yawning wide;

There might lie concealed, though great it’s fury,
A hundred champions in it’s eye – pits.
Taller in height that eight men,
Was it’s tail, which was erect above it’s back;
Thicker was the most slender part of it’s tail.
Then the forest oak that has been sunk by the flood,
From Greece, to demand battle from (by) Fenians,
Of all the Piasts think fell from (by) Fionn,
The numbers can never be told.
We found a serpent in that lake,
His being there was no gain to us;
On looked at it as we approached,
It’s head was larger than a hill.
Longer than any tree in the forest,
Were it’s tusks of the ugliest shape,
Wider than the portals of a city,
Were the ears of the serpent as we approached.
Why lies the mighty serpent here?
Let him who knoweth tell;
With it’s head to the land and it’s huge tail near.
The shore of the fair Loch Nell?
Why lies it here? Not here alone…
But for the East and West;
The wonder – working snake is known,
A mighty god confessed.
And here the mighty god was known,
In Europe’s early mom:
In view of Cruachan triple core,
Before John Bull was born.
And worship know, on Celtic ground,
With trumpets, drums, and bugles;
Before the trace of horn were found,
Of Cambells and Macdougalls.
And here the serpent lies in pride,
His hoary tale to tell;
And rears his mighty head beside,
The shore of fair Loc Nell.
As an old serpent casts his scaly vest,
Wreaths in the sun, in youthful glory dress’d;
So when Alcide’s mortal mould resigned,
His better part enlargest, and grew refined.