Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

180 FIONNGAL. [Dcan v.
Heroes have their clay in the field ;
Their children shall see their large arms
Amid rust and gloom in the hall. 145
Highly raised shall thy tomb be, Orla ;
Thy wife of fair bosom shall weep
When thy sword is seen on the board."
They fought upon the heath of Lena ;
Weak in blows was the hand of Orla ; 150
Fionngal cut asunder the thongs
That fastened his shield in the combat ;
Unto earth fell the spotted shield,
Like the moon on the sea in wind.
" King of Morbheinn, raise up thy arm, 155
Put, hero, thy sword through my breast.
Full of wounds, and faint from the strife,
Strong friends have forsaken my side.
A sad tale shall come to my love,
In Lotha's valley of smooth streams, 160
When she is alone in the wood
And the soft wind sounds in the trees."
" I'll not rend thee," the king replied —
" In the strife I'll not rend thee, Orla ;
Let the gentle fair one behold 165
Her brave love by the stream of Lotha ;
Let thy hoary sire see thee whole
From the conflict of mighty heroes,
If the chief be not blind with age ;
Let him hear thy steps on the hill, 170
Thy strong voice in his distant hall ;
Let his soul be instantly glad,
As he feels with his hand his son."