Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

Duan III ] TIGHMOEA. 267
Take a bard, and set up the grave ;
Conal this night will have rest,
Asleep in his dark narrow house ;
Let not the great warrior's soul 455
Be astray on the dusky wind.
Faintly glimmering on Moi-Lena,
The moonlight is seen among trees
That bend from the sides of the glens ;
Raise stones beneath the feeble beams 460
To all who have fallen in battle.
Chieftains they were not, but their hands
Were strong as heroes' in the strife,
My strength 'mid the danger of arms,
My rock in the season of darts, 465
The mountain upon which arose
The sounding eagle- wing of my fame ;
'Twas they who gave victory brightness :
Then, Caruill, forget not their dust."
Loudly from full a hundred bards 470
The death-song of the grave rose high.
Before them on the hill went Caruill ;
The noise was like sound of hill-streams
Pouring round his steps as he went.
There was calm in Moi-Lena's glens, 475
Each under its own winding stream,
Which journeyed between dusky heights.
While leaning apart on my shield,
From the marching bards came sweet voices,
As the strain lowered under their steps ; 480
Till my fervid spirit burned high ;
Half composed were the mournful words