Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

198 FIONNGAL. [Duan VI.
Let the harp bring joy to thy ear.
Like great storms on the face of ocean 175
Hast thou poured thy resistless strength ;
Thy voice like a thousand men's voices,
Rising on the hill of the dead.
Raise to-morrow, upraise thy sails,
True brother of my love that was ; 180
Like the rays of the sun anew
Comes her praise ev'n now to my soul.
For white-hand I witnessed thy tears,
When my sword against Starno rose ;
I kept thee from harm at the time, 185
And sighed for the white-bosomed maid.
But now if thy choice be the combat,
Such combat as Lochlin gave Treunmor,
Thou'lt return to thy land with glory,
As the sun sets behind the mount." 190
" King of sires from the lofty hills,"
Said the chief of high-sounding Lochlin,
" Suaran will not strive with thy sword,
Head of thousands who victory won ;
I saw thee in my distant land, 195
When not many my days had been ;
I said to my soul at the time,
When as strong shall I raise the sword
As Fionngal of spirited blows ?
We did, warrior, fight the battle, 200
On the dark rocky side of Mealmor,
When the waves brought over my spear
To the lofty hall of free shells,
Where the brave partook of the feast.