Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

236 TIGHMORA. [Duan II.
But why hast thou spoken of Oscar ?
Why wakened the sigh of my breast ?
Let the mighty chief be forgotten,
Until storms depart from our side.
Let not sorrow have place in danger, 85
Nor sad tears dim the eyes of heroes.
Sires ere now forgot their brave sons,
Till the close of contests with arms.
But their grief then returned anew,
With clear strains from sorrowing bards. 90
" Conar, the brave brother of Trathal,
Was chief of men whose doom is death.
With blood of foes by a thousand streams,
Erin's glens were filled with his fame,
Like a gentle breeze of soft wind. 95
The great clans of Ullin assembled ;
They invited the king of arms,
The king from great sires of the hills,
Selma's race of vigorous heroes.
Erin's chiefs arose in the south, 100
In the deep gloom of their great wrath ;
In the dark cave of Muma crowded,
They in whispers smothered their words.
' Often,' they said, ' about the hill
Are seen the bare spectres of men, 105
Disclosing their bent dark-red forms
From the bald broken rocks of ocean,
Recalling the fame of the Bolgs.
Why,' they said, ' should Conar be king,
The son of fierce strangers from Morbheinn ? 5
Like torrents they came from the hill, 111