Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

338 THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.
masts high bended over the sea behind their
sheets of snow. White roll the waters on either
side. The strength of ocean sounds. " Come
thou," I said, *' from the roar of ocean, thou rid-
er of the storm. Partake the feast within my
hall. It is the house of strangers."
' The maid stood trembling by my side. He
drew the bow. She fell. " Unerring is thy hand,"
I said, "but feeble was the foe-"' We fought,
nor weak the strife of death. He sunk beneath
my sword. We laid them in two tombs of stone ;
the hapless lovers of youth ! Such have I been,
in my youth, O Oscar ! be thou like the age of
Fingal. Never search thou for battle ; nor shun
it when it comes.
' Fillan and Oscar of the dark-brown hair ! ye
that are swift in the race ! Qy over the heath in
my presence. View the sons of Lochlin. Far
off 1 hear the noise of their feet, like distant
sounds in woods. Go : that they may not fly from
my sword, along the waves of the north. For
many chiefs of Erin's race he here on the dark
bed of death. The children of war are low; the
sons of echoing Cromla.'
The heroes flew like two dark clouds : two
dark clouds that are the chariots of ghosts ; when
air's dark children cume forth to frighten hapless
men. It was then that Gaul, the son of Morni,
stood like a rock in night. His spear is glit-
tering to the stars ; his voice like many streams.
' Son of battle,' cried the chief, ' O Fingal, king
of shells ! let the bards of many songs sooth
Erin's friends to rest. Fingal, sheath thou thy
sword of death ; and let thy people fight. We
wither away without our fame ; our king is the
only breaker of shields ! When morning rises
on our hills, behold at a distance our deeds. Let
Lochlin feel the sword of Morni's son ; that
bards may sing of me. Such was the custom