Ossian Collection > Fragments of ancient poetry, collected in the Highlands of Scotland, and translated from the Galic or Erse language

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Who is that on the hill Hke a fun-
beam in a ftorm ? Who is that with
the heaving breads, which are like
two wreaths of fnow ? Thy blue eyes
roll in tears, thou daughter of mighty
Connaid ! Thy hair flies round thy tem-
ples, as the mi ft on the rocks of Ard-
ven. Thy robe flows on the heath,
daughter of grief, Diorma ! He is fallen
on the hill like a ftream of light in
a cloud. No more fliall he hear thy
voice like the found of the ftring of
mufic. The flrength of the war is
gone; the cheek of youth is pale.
XIV.