Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

92 THJE WAS- OF CAROS: A POEM.
a fpear is tliere ! many a darkly-rolling eye I Shall I fiy to
Ardven ? But did my fathers ever fly ! The mark of their
arm ig in a thoufand battles. Ofcar too vill be renown-
ed. Come, ye dim ghofts of my fathers, and behold my
deeds in war I I may fall ; but I will be renowned like
the race of the echoing Morven." He Hood dilated hi
his place, like a flood fwelhng in a narrow vale. The
battle came, but they fell : bloody was the fword of Ofcar.
The noife reached \]\s people at Crona; they came like
a hundred flrcams. The warriors of Caros fled, and Of-
car remained like a rock left by the ebbing fea.
Now dark and deep, v.ith all his Heeds, Caros rolled
his might along : the little llreams are loit in his courfe ;
and the earth is rocking round. Battle fpreads from wing
to wing : ten thoufand fwords gleam at once in the iky.
But why fliould Offian fing of battles ? For never more
ihall my fl:eel fliine in war. I remember the days of my
youth with forrow ; when I feel the weaknefs of my arm.
Happy are they who fell in their youth, in the midft of
their renown I They have not beheld the tombs of their
friends : or failed to bend the bow of their ftrength. Hap-
py art thou, O Ofcar, in the midlt of thy rufliing blaii.
Thou often goefl; to the fields of thy fame, where Caros
fled from thy lifted fword.
Darknefs comes on my foul, O fair daughter of Tofcar,
I behold not the form of my fon at Carun ; nor the figure
of Ofcar on Crona. The rulHing winds have carried him
far away ; and the heart of his father is fad.
But lead me, O Malvina, to the found of my woods,
and the roar of my m.ountain llreams. Let the chace be
heard on Cona ; that I may think on the days of other
years. And bring me the harp, O maid, that I may touch
it when the fight of my foul fliali arife. Be thou near,
to learn the fong ; and future times fhall hear of Ollian.
The fons of the feeble hereafter will lift the voice on
Cona ; and, looking up to the rocks, fay, " Here Oflian
dwelt." They fliaii admire the chiefs of old, and the
race that are no more : while we ride on our clouds, Mal-
vina, on the wings of the roaring winds. Our voices
fhall be heard, at times, in the defart ; and we fliallfing
on the winds of the rock.
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