Ossian Collection > Fingal

Book V. An E P I C P O E M. 71
diftant on the ftream ; when the fun is fetting on Mora, and filence
on the hill of deer. Reft, youngeft of my fons, reft, O Ryno, on
Lena. We too (hall be no more ; for the warrior one day muft fall.
Such was thy grief, thou king of hills, when Ryno lay on earth.
What muft the grief of Olfian be, for thou thyfslf art gone. I hear
not thy diftant voice on Cona. My eyes perceive thee not. Often
forlorn and dark I fit at thy tomb ; and feel it with my hands. When
I think I hear tliy voice ; it is but the blaft of the defart. Fingal
has long fince fallen afleep, the ruler of the war.
Then Gaul and Offian fat with Swaran on the foft green banks
of Lubar. I touched the harp to pleafe the king. But gloomy
was his brow. He rolled his red eyes towards Lena. The hero
mourned his people.
I LIFTED my eyes to Cromla, and I faw the fon of generous Se-
mo. Sad and flow he retired from his hill towards the lonely
cave of Tura. He faw Fingal viftorious, and mixed his joy with
grief. The fun is bright on his armour, and Connal flowly fol-
lowed. They funk behind the hill like two pillars of the tire of
night : when winds purfue them over the mountain, and the flaming
heath refounds. Befide a flream of roaring foam his cave is in a
rock. One tree bends above it; and the ruftiing winds eccho.againft
its fides. Here rtfts the chief of Dunfcaich, the fon of generous
Semo. His thoughts are on the battles he loft ; and the tear is on
his cheek. Fie mourned the departure of his fame that fled like the
miftof Cona. O Bragela, thou art too far remote to cheer the foul
of the hero. But let him fee thy bright form in his foul ; that his
thoughts may return to the lonely fun-beam of Dunfcaich.
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