Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

( AKTIIOXX. 61
When the .snow-flakes are falling fast, 145
And the world all o'er is in gloom."
" Eaise, ye gentle bards, raise the song,"
Said Fionngal, the high chief of shields ;
" Eaise praise to mild Maona of waves,
Asleep 'mid the strains of the hills ; 150
Call slowly her spirit with song
To the land of great towering peaks,
Her sweet way round the base of hills,
On Morbheinn of happiest maids,
The sunbeams of days that are gone, 155
The sweet joy of men that hare been,
Walled BaiTclutha of arms was seen
Where but seldom folk's voices rise ;
In the hall was a raging lire ;
Nor to-day chat of chiefs with maids. 160
Clutha turned, light stream on the plain,
From high w^alls that fell prone in dust.
There the thistle sways in the wind,
And the moss wails under the tower.
The red fox in its window sits, 165
Slow-bending the grass round his back.
Maona's home of harps is a desert ;
Dark the hall and the tower of hundreds.
Eaise, ye bards, a sorrowful song,
For the wave-girt hall that has been ; 170
The fallen brave are deep in the knoll ;
But the days of chiefs shall come round.
Why the hall of shells wouldst thou raise,
Son of Time, that has many wings '.
Thou look'st to-day from the great tower, 175