Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

Fingal. 249
me that sword, my foe ! I love the wandering
blood of Cathba 1
" lie gave the sword to her tears. She pierced
his manly breast ! He fell, like the bank of a
mountain-stream, and stretching forth his hand,
he spoke : ' Daughter of blue-shielded Corniac !
Thou hast slain me in youth ; the sword is cold in
my breast ! Morna, 1 feel it cold. Give me to
Moina the maid. Duchomar was the dream of
her night I She will raise my tomb ; the hunter
shall raise my fame. But draw the sword from
my breast. ^lorua, the steel is cold !' She came,
in all her tears, she came ; she drew the sword
from his breast. He pierced her white side ! He
spread her lair locks on the ground ! Her bursting
blood sounds from her side : her white arm is
stained with red. Rolling in death she lay. The
cave re-echoed to her sighs."
"Peace," said Cuthullin, "to the souls of the
heroes ! their deeds were great in light. Let
them ride around me on clouds. Let them show
their features of war. My soul shall then be iirm
in danger ; mine arm like the thunder of heaven !
But be thou on a moon-beam, O Morna ! near the
window of my rest ; when my thoughts are of
peace ; when the din of arms is past — Gather the
strength of the tribes ! Move to the wars of Erin !
Attend the car of my battles 1 Rejoice in the
noise of my course ! Place three spears by my side :
lollow the bounding of my steeds ! that my soul
may be strong in my iriends, when battle darkens
around the beams of my steel !"
As rushes a stream of loam from the dark shady
deep of Cromla, when the thunder is travelling
above, and dark-brown night sits on half the hill;
through the breaches of the tempest look forth
the dim faces of ghosts: So fierce, so vast, so
terrible, rushed on the sons of Enn. The chief,
like u wiiale of ocean, whom all Ins billows pursue,
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