Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

ISO THE DEATH OF CUCHULLIN.
Dark on liis face joy sits, and to his cave
Invitant of Cuchullin he appears.
The rising chief of Erin thus reply'd :
' Son of the cloudy night ! why darkly bend,
* O car-borne Cahnar's ghost, thy eyes on me?
* Would'st thou from Cormac's battles me deter,
* O Matha's son ! Not feeble in the war
* Was thy strong hand, nor was thy voice for peace.
* How varied, chief of Lara, is thy mind,
* If now immediate flight thou dost advise!
* Never, O Calmar, was I known to fly ;
* Nor of the desert-ghost was I afraid.
* They know but little, and their hands are weak,
* And their abode is in the vapoury void.
* But my firm soul in gath'ring danger grows
* And in the sound of rattling steel delights.
*. Retire thou to thy solitary cave ; —
* Thou art not Calmar's ghost, for he in fight
* Rejoic'd ; and like heav'n's thunder was his arm.'
Then in his blast with joy, for he had heard
The plaudit of his praises, he retir'd.
The orient beam of morning faintly shone.
And wide the sound of Caithbat's buckler spread.
Green Ullin's warriors, like th' united roar
Of many streams, prepar'd for fight conven'd.
O'er Lego too the horn of war is heard.
And in his arms the mighty Torlath came.
* Why with thy thousands,' said dark Lego's chief,
* Dost thou, Cuchullin, come ? The mighty strength
* Of thy strong arm I know, and thy great soul
* With ardour unextinguish'd burns like fire.
* Why fight we not upon the swarthy plain,