Ossian Collection > Fingal

A POEM. 145
fince thou liafl been in the roar of battles, and Bragela diftant far.
Hills of the ifle of mill: ! when will ye anfwer to his hounds ?■
But ye are dark in your clouds, and fad Bragela calls in vain. Night
comes rolling down : the face of ocean fiiils. The heath-cock's
head is beneath his wing : the hind fleeps with the hart of the de-
fart. They fliall rife with the morning's light, and feed on the
mofly ftream. But my tears return with the fun, my fighs come
on with the night. When wilt thou come in thine arms, O chief
of mofly Tura ?
Pleasant is thy voice in Ofllan's ear, daughter of car-borne
Sorglan ! But retire to the hall of fliells ; to the beam of the burning
oak. Attend to the murmur of the fea : it rolls at Dunfcaich's
walls : let fleep defcend on thy blue eyes, and the hero come to thy
dreams.
CuCHULLiN fits at Lego's fake, at the dark rolling of wa-
ters. Night is around the hero ; and his thoufands fpread on the
heath : a hundred oaks burn in the midft, the feaft of fhells is fmok-
ing wide. — Carril flrikes the harp, beneath a tree ; his gray locks
glitter in the beam ; the ruftling blafl of night is near, and lifts his
aged hair. — His fong is of the blue Togorma, and of its chief, Cu-
chullin's friend.
Why art thou abfent, Connal, in the day of the gloomy ftorm .•'
The chiefs of the fouth have convened againfl: the car-borne Cor-
mac : the winds detain thy fails, and thy blue waters roll around
thee. But Cormac is not alone : the fon of Semo fights his battles.
Semo's fon his battles fights ! the terror of the Granger ! he that is
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