Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

336 THE POLMS OiT OSSIAN.
Ryno went on like a pillar of fire. Dark is
the brow of Gaul. Fergus rushed forward with
feet of wind. Fillan like the mist of the hill.
Ossian, like a rock, came down. I exulted in
the strength of the king. Many were the deaths
of my arm ! dismal the gleam of my sword !
My locks were not then so gray; nor trembled
my hands with age. My eyes were not closed
m darkness ; my feet failed not in the race !
Who can relate the deaths of the people ?
who the deeds of mighty heroes ? when Fingal,
burning in his v^Tath, consumed the sons of
Lochhn ? Groans swelled on groans from hill to
hill, till night had covered all. Pale, staring
like a herd of deer, the sons of Lochlin convene
on Lena. We sat and heard the sprightly harp,
at Lubar's gentle stream. Fingal himself was
next to the foe. He listened to the tales of his
bards. His godlike race were in the song, the
chiefs of other times. Attentive, leaniiig on his
shield, the king of Morven sat. The wind
whistled through his locks; his thoughts are of
the days of other years. Near him, on his bend-
ing spear, my young, my valiant Oscar stood.
He admired the king of Morven : his deeds
were swelling in his soul.
' Son of my son,' begun the king, * O Oscar,
pride of youth : I saw the shining of the sword.
I gloried in my race. Pursue the fame of our
fathers; be tbou what they have been, when
Trenmor lived, the first of men, and Trathal, the
father of heroes ! They fought the battle in their
youth. They are the song of bards. O Oscar!
bend the strong in arm, but spare the feeble hand.
Be thou a stream of many tides against the foes
of thy people; but like the gale, that moves the
grass, to those who ask thine aid. So Trenmor
lived; such Trathal was; and such has Fingal
been. My arm was the support of the injured;