Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

A P O E M. 91
lightened moon finks dim and red behind her hill. Fee-
ble voices are heard on the heath. Ofcar drew his fword.
" Come," faid the hero, " O ye ghofts of my lathers I ye
that fought againil the kings of the world I Tell me the
deeds of future times ; and your difcourfe in your caves :
when you talk together and behold your fons in the fields
of the valiant."
Trcnmor came, from his hill, at the voice of his mighty
fon. A cloud, like the fteed of the firanger, fupported his
airy hmbs. His robe is of the mifh of Lano, that brings
death to the people. His fword is a meteor half-extin-
guilhed. His face is without form, and dark. He figh-
ed thrice over the hero : and thrice the winds of the night
roared around. Many were his words to Ofcar: but they
only came by halves to our ears : they were dark as the
tales of other times, before the light of the fong arofe. He
llowly vanifiied like a mill that melts on the funny hill. It
was then, O daughter of Tofcar, my fon begun firft to be
fad. He forefaw the fall of his race; and, at times, he was
thoughtful and dark ; lilve the fun when he carries a cloud
on his face : but he looks afterwards on the hills of Cona.
Ofcar palled the night among his fathers, gray morn-
ing met him on the banks of Carun. A green vale fur-
rounded a tomb which arofe in the times of old. Little
hills hft their -lead at a difiance ; and Itretch their old
trees to the wind. The warriors of Caros fat there, for
they had palled the llream by night. They appeared,
like the trunks of aged pines, to the pale light of the
morning. Olcar ilood at the tomb, and raifed thrice his
terrible voice. The rocking hills echoed around : the
ftarting roes bounded aw^ay. And the trembling ghofts
of the dead iled, fhrieking on their clouds. So terrible
was the voice of my fon, when he called his friends.
A thoufand fpears rofe around ; the people of Caros
rofe. Why, daughter of Tofcar, v,'hy that tear? My
fon, though alone, is brave. Ofcar is like abeam of the
Iky ; he turns around and the people fall. His hand is
like the arm of a ghoft, when he ftretches it from a cloud;
the reft of his thin form is unfeen : but the people die
in the vale I My fon beheld the approach of the foe ; and
he ftood in the filent darknefs of his ftrcngth. "Am I
alone, faid Ofcar, in the midft of a thoufand foes ? Many
Mij a