Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

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A POEM. 35
Gaul in his arms I saw, and my sjlad soul
jflWith his was mixt ; tor in his flaming eyes
The fire of battle rag'd I he tow'rd the foe
Witli joyful ardour look'd. In secret we 150
The words of friendship spoke ; and, as one man,
To<;;cther pour'd the lightning of our swords :
jiFor we, behind the wood, them beaming drew,
ijAnd try'd our arms of strength on empty air.
On Alorven down came night, and, at the oak lf;5
High-beaming, sat Fingal ; and by his side,
With all his locks grey-beaming, Morni sat.
On other times and their forefathers' deeds
Is their discourse. Three bards of dulcet sounds
Touch'd the soft lyre at times, and, with his song, 160
Near Ullin stood. He of great Comhal sung —
jBut gath'ring darkness gloom'd on Morni's brow.
On tuneful Ullin red he roH'd his eye,
And, straight, the music ceas'd. — Fingal beheld
The aged chief, and mildly him address'd : 165
* Why chief of Strumon, does that darkness lour?
' Let dark oblivion in her blackness hide
1* The days of other years. In rage of war
* Our fathers strove. — But peaceful at the feast
* ^^^e meet together. On the yc-cj- our sv/ords 17Q
* Are turn'd, and melting on the field they fall.
' Then let the days of ancestorial years,
' O king of mossy Strumon, be forgot,'
* O king of Morven,' then reply'd the chief,
* The mem'ry of thy father yields me joy. 175
* In battle dreadful was his arm of strength,
* And dreadful was the anger of the chief.
* But when tlie king of matchless heroes fell.