Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

riNGAL. 339
heretofore of Fingal's noble race. Such was
thine own, thou king of swords, m battles of the
spear.
' O son of Momi,' Fingal replied, ' I glory in
thy fame. Fight ; but my spear shall be near,
to aid thee in the midst of danger. Raise, raise
the voice, ye sons of song, and lull me into rest.
Here will Fingal lie, amidst the wind of night.
And if thou, Agandecca, art near, among the
children of thy land ; if thou sittest on a blast
of wind, among the high-shrouded masts of
Lochlin ; come to my dreams, my fair one !
Show thy bright face to my soul.'
Many a voice and many a harp, in tuneful
sounds arose. Of Fingal noble deeds they
sung ; of Fingal's noble race : and sometimes,
on the lovely sound, was heard the name of Os-
sian. I often fought, and often won in battles
of the spear. But blind, and tearful, and for-
lorn, I walk with little men ! O Fingal, with thy
race of war I now behold thee not. The wild
roes feed on the green tomb of the mighty king
of Morven ! Blest be thy soul, thou king of
swords, thou most renowned on the hills of
Cona !