Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

152 FIONNGAL. [Dian III.
Ossian, stand thou close to my arm ; 360
Gall, man of might, raise thy sword ;
Draw, Feargus, thy sharp twanging bow-string ;
Throw, Fillan, thy terrible lance ;
Raise your shields aloft like the moon,
When obscured by clouds in the sky ; 365
Be your spears like heralds of death,
Follow, follow myself and my fame ;
Be ye like a hundred in battle."
Like strong winds in the oaks of Morbheinn,
Like a hundred streams from the heights, 370
Like clouds lowering gloomy and dark,
Like great ocean rolled on the shore ;
So vast, so noisy, dark and fierce,
Met heroes in wrath upon Lena.
Their shouts were on the mountain heights, 375
Like thunder in the night of storms,
When the clouds break in Cona of glens,
And a thousand ghosts wildly shriek
On the lone cross-wind of the hills.
The king bounded on in his strength, 380
Like the merciless ghost of Treunmor,
When he comes in the whirlwind's blast
To Morbheinn, his loved fathers' land.
The oaks on the mountains resound,
The rocks of the hills fall before him ; 385
Through the lightning himself is seen ;
From hill to hill are his great steps.
Bloody in the field was my father,
When he wielded his sword with power ;
In remembrance the king had his youth, 390