Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

230 THE POEMS OV OSSIAK.
more pleasant than the gale of the hill ; yet I
will not here remain. Raise, my tomb, Crimora !
Crimora. Then give me those arms that
gleam ; that sword and that spear of steel. I
shall meet Dargo with Connal, and aid hina in
the fight. Farewell, ye rocks of Ardven ! ye
deer ! and ye streams of the hill ! We shall re-
turn no more ! Our tombs are distant fari
* And did they return no more?' said Utha's
bursting sigh. ' Fell the mighty in battle, and
did Crimora live? Her steps were lonely; her
soul was sad for Connal. Was he not young
and lovely ; like the beam of the setting sun ?
Ullin saw the virgin's tear, he took the softly
trembling harp : the song was lovely, but sad,
and silence was in Carric-thura.
Autumn is dark on the mountains ; gray mist
rests on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the
heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow
plain. A tree stands alone on the hill, and marks
the slumbering Connal. The leaves wliirl round
with the wind, and strew the grave of the dead.
At times are seen here the ghosts of the depart-
ed, when the musing hunter alone stalks slowly
over the heath.
Who can reach the source of thy race, O Con-
nal ! who recount thy fathers ? Thy family grew
like an oak on the mountain, which meeteth the
wind with its lofty head. But now it is torn from
the earth. Who shall supply the place of Con-
nal ? Here was the din of arms ; here the groans
of the dying. Bloody are the wars of Fingal, O
Connal ! it was here thou didst fall. Thine arm
was like a storm; thy sword a beam of the sky ;
thy height a rock on the plain ; thine eyes a fur-
nace of fire. Louder than a storm was thy voice,
in the battles of thy steel. Warriors fell by thy
sword, as the thistles by the staff of a boy. Dar-
go the mighty came on, darkened in his rage. His