Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

256 TIGHMORA. [Dlan III.
" Who is rising from Clutha's car ?
The hill darkens before the king ;
The dusky wood echoes the sound,
In the lightning-flash of his steel. 115
Behold him amongst his strong foes,
Like a wrathfully-bounding spectre,
That scatters the clouds from the mount,
As he rides on the whirlwind's steed !
Who but Morni of snorting horses ? 120
Then be thou like thy father, Gall.
" In the distance Selma is open ;
Hands of bards are trembling on harps ;
Ten heroes bring oak from the height
To the spacious banqueting-hall. 125
The sunbeans are bright on the hill ;
Wind-billows are dark on the grass.
But why art thou, Selma, so still ?
The king is coming back with fame.
Though dreadful the high sound of strife, 130
His face has the brightness of peace.
The high sound of battle was dreadful,
But the king shall return in triumph.
Then be thou like thy father, Fillan."
They marched to sweet strains from the
bards, 135
While their arms above them were waving
Like rushes of the waste in autumn
When they yield in the face of wind.
In his steel stood the king on Mora,
While the mist rose around his shield, 140
That was tied to a bough of the steep