Ossian Collection > Fingal, an ancient epic poem

226 CARRIC-THUR A,
foul was fad for Connal. Was he not young and
lovely; like the beam of the fetting fun? Ullin
favv the virgin's tear, and took the foftly- trembling
harp : the fong was lovely, but fad, and fdence
was in Carric-thura.
Autumn is dark on the mountains ; gray mid
refts on the hills. The whirlwind Is heard on
the heath. Dark rolls the river through the nar-
row plain. A tree {lands alone on the hill, and
marks the Numbering Connal. The leaves whirl
round with the wind, and drew the grave of the
dead. At times are feen here the ghofts of the
deceafed, when the mufing hunter alone ftalks
flowly over the heath.
Who can reach the fource of thy race, O
Connal? and who recount thy fathers? Thy fa-
mily grew like an oak on the mountain, which
me^teth the wind with its lofty head. But now
it is torn from the earth. Who fhall fupply the
place of Connal ?
Here was the din of arms : and here the
groans of the dying. Bloody are the wars of
Fingal ! O Connal ! it was here thou didfl: fall.
Thine arm was hke a florm ; thy fword a beam
of the fky ; thy height, a rock on the plain ;
thine eyes, a furnace of fire. Louder than a
ftorm was thy voice, in the battles of thy Aeel.
Warriors fell by thy fword, as the thiflle by the
ftaff of a boy.
Dargo the mighty came on, like a cloud of
thunder. His brows were contra6ted and dark.
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