Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

38 CAERAIG-THUEA.
To the king of great hills and deserts,
Let Binn-bheul, who is lovely, come
Like a rainbow across the glen,
When it shows its head on the height, 55
As the sun goes behind the hills.
Yonder, king of arms, is the maid,
Whose voice is feeble under grief."
BlNN-BHEUL.
My beloved is from mountain sires ;
A great hunter he of dark hills ; 60
His greyhounds at his side are panting,
His small bow-string sounds in the wind.
Hast thou sat by the mountain well,
Or at the upland's ample stream ?
In the breeze the rushes are bending ; 65
The mist is stirring on the moor.
Let me steal on my love in shade ;
From the peak I shall see the hero.
When I saw the young men above,
Beside the oak of sounding Brano, 70
Thy return from the mount was stately ;
Thou wast fairer far than thy people.
Seleic.
What voice is this sweet in my ear,
As sweet as the warblings of summer >.
I'll not sit by the mountain rushes, 75
Nor beside the cold well of rocks ;
Distant, Binn-bheul, distant afar
Is my way with Fionngal to battle.