Ossian Collection > Fingal

92. The WAR of CAROS:
Where, faid the youth, fliall I fearch for
fame to gladden the foul of Lamor ? From whence
iTiall I return with renown, that the found of my
arms may be pleafant in his ear ? If I go to the
chafe of hinds, my name will not' be heard.
Lamor will not feed my dogs, with his hands,
glad at my arrival from the hill. He will not en-
quire of his mountains, or of the dark-brown deer
ci his defarts.
I MUST fall, faid Lamor, like a leaflefs oak:
it grew on a rock but the winds have overturned
it. — My ghoft will be feen on my hills, mournful
for my young Hidallan. Will not ye, ye mifts,
as ye rife, hide him from my fight ? — My fon ! —
go to Lamor hall : there the arms of our fathers
hang. — Bring the fword of Garmallon ; — he took
it from a foQ.
He went and brought the fword with all its
ftudded thongs. — He gave it to his father. The
gray-haired hero felt the point with his hand. —
My fon! — lead me to Garmallon's tomb: it
rifes befide that ruftling tree. The long grafs is
withered ; — I heard the breeze whifllijig there. —
A little fountaiii murmurs near, and fends its wa-
ters to Balva. There let me reft ; it is noon : and
the fun is on our fields.
He led him to Garmallon's tomb. Lamor
pierced the fide of his fon. — They fieep together :
and their ancient halls moulder on Balva's banks.
— Ghofts are feen there at noon : the valley
is filent, and the people fliun the place of La-
mor.
Mournful is thy tale, faid Ofcar, fon of the
times of old ! — My foul fighs for Hidallan ; he
fell in the days of his youth. He flies on the blaft
of the defart, and his wandering is in a foreign.
land.
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