Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

260 TIGHMORA. [Duan ill.
As she sleeps beside the great streams, 235
Amid her heavy wandering locks.
His spectre it is, gentle fair ;
Thy hero reposes on earth.
Listen not to the winds of waves,
Nor take them for his sounding shield, 240
Broken by arms beside his streams ;
Its sound has for ever been stilled.
No peace had Foldath, nor his arm,
As he waded and swam in blood.
He and Conal met in the strife, 245
Dealing blows with hard ringing swords.
Wherefore should mine eye see the chief ?
Thou art, Conal, in thy hoar locks,
Thou, who hast been the friend of strangers,
In Dunlora of mossy rocks ; 250
When the skies converged in the glen,
The unstinted feast would be spread ;
The race of strangers would hear the wind
In great comfort around thy board.
Son of Carthun of conquering sword, 255
Why thyself hast thou stretched in blood ?
A withered tree bends o'er thy head ;
Close by thee is a broken shield ;
Thy red blood is on the hill-stream,
Thou breaker of beautiful shields. 260
Ossian upraised his spear in wrath ;
Gall rushed o'er the slope against Foldath ;
The feeble took flight from his side ;
His undaunted eye was on Moma.
The chiefs raised the dark spears of death ; 265