Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

Duan vill.] TIGHMORA. 345
Awaits, beneath the gloom of night,
His return from the mountain-side 485
With pillage from the brown-deer hinds."
The maiden's bright eye, on the hill
Saw the pale, fierce spectre go down ;
Greatly comforted she arose ;
He, shrunk to a third, sank in gloom ; 490
The shade vanished dimly away,
Slow-moving on the mountain-wind.
She knew that the hero had fallen —
" Erin's king of shields is laid low ! "
Forgotten to a third be her grief, 495
Which throughout wastes the soul of age.
On Moi-Lena's side fell deep gloom,
Grey streamlets flowed winding through glens ;
Heard rising was the voice of Fionngal ;
Fire blazed in a dark mountain-tree. 500
The people gathered round with joy,
With joy partly dark under gloom,
Eyeing 'neath their brows the great chief
Without soul to exult the while.
Sweetly from the waste of lone hills 505
The slow voice of harps reached his ear,
Like the murmur of mountain-streams
Far away in a rocky glen,
And light on the brown sloping moors,
Like a breeze on the dark-winged peaks, 510
When it takes the man of grey locks
At the turn of night under gloom.
The sweet voice of Condan it is,
And of Caruill with the stringed harp.