Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

250 TIGHMORA. [Duan II.
Sitting in the loud-sounding storm,
When, looking from the broken clouds,
Thou brightenest his wetted locks, 515
As he looks abroad on the glen,
And the waterfalls sparkling bright,
When the deer descend from the hill.
How long wilt thou rise upon strife,
Like a great bloody shield of heaven ? 520
I see the sudden death of chiefs,
Like darkness clinging round thy face.
About whom are the words of Caruill ?
Is there grief on the stainless brow?
No darkness approaches his course ; 525
There is joy in his glowing fire,
In his dazzling, unclouded light.
But thou in thy day too wilt fail ;
The dark time of doom will o'ertake thee,
When, shrivelling, thou'lt reel in thy sky. 530
" To me pleasant is the bard's voice —
Pleasant to my spirit is song,
Like the gentle shower of the morning
Passing o'er the glen with soft sound,
When, emerging slow from the hill, 535
The sun looks through mountain mist.
This, bard, is no time for song,
Or to sit down enjoying tunes ;
For Fionngal is armed in the glen.
See the gleam from his conquering shield ! 540
His face darkens amid his locks,
At Erin so dense on the hill.
" Caruill, seest thou not the grave