Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

put FACE. 43
Gray on the bank, and far from men, half-
covered, hy ancient pines, from the wind, a
lonely pile exalts its head, long shaken by tJie
storms of the north. To this fled Sigurd,
fierce in fight, from Harold the leader of ar-
mies, when fate had brightened his spear with
renown : when he conquered in that rude
field, where Lulan's warriois fell in blood, or
rose in terror on the waves of the main. Dark-
ly sat the gray-haired chief; yet sorrow dwelt
not in his soul. But when the warrior thought
on the past, his proud heart heaved against his
side : forth flew his sword from its place : he
wounded Harold in all the winds.
One daughter, and only one, but bright m
form and mild of soul, the last beam of the
petting line, remained to Sigurd of all his race.
His son, in Lulan's battle slain, beheld not
his father's flight from his foes. Nor finished
iSeemed the anojent hne ! The splendid beau-
ty of bright- eyed Fithon covered still the fall-
en king with renown. Her arm was white
like Gonnal's snow ; her bosom whiter than the
foam of the main, when roll the waves beneath
the wrath of the winds. Like two stars were her
radiant eyes, like two stars that rise on the
deep, when dark tumult embroils the night.
Pleasant are their beams aloft, as sbitely they
ascend the skies.
Nor Odin forgot, in aught, the maid. Her
form scarce equalled her lofty mind. Awe
moved around her stately steps. Heroes loved
— but shrunk away in their fears- Yet, midst
the pride of all her charms, her heart was soft
and her soul was kind. She saw the mourn-
ful with tearful eyes. Transient darkness
arose in her breast. Her joy was in the chase-
Each morning, when doubtful light wandered
dimly on Lulan's waves, she roused the re-