Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

284 T EM OR a: BookVIII.
" Why bends the bard of Cona," faid Fin gal, " over
his fecret flream? Is this a time for forrovv, father of low-
laid Ofcar? Be the warriors* remembered in peace;
when echoing fliields are heard no more. Bend, th&n,
in grief, over the flood, where blows the mountain breeze.
Let them pafs on thy foul, the blue-eyed dwellers of Le-
na. But Erin rolls to war, Avide-tumbling, rough, and
dark. Lift, OiTian, lift the fliield. I am alone, my fon 1"
As comes the fudden voice of winds to the becalmed
ftiip of Inis-huna, and drives it large, along the deep, dark
rider of the wave: fo the voice of Fingal lent Oflian, tall,
along the heath. He lifted high his fliining fliield, in
the du&y wing of war : like the broad, blank moon, in
the ikirt of a cloud, before the ftorms arife.
Loud, from mofs-covered Mora, poured down, at once,
the broad winged war. Fingal led his people forth, king
of Morven of flreams. On high fpreads the eagle's wing.
His gray hair is poured on his fhoulders broad. In thun-
der are his mighty ftrides. He often flood, and faw be-
hind, the wide-gleaming rolling of armour. A rock he
feemed, gray over with ice, whofe woods are high in
wind. Bright flreams leap from its head, and fpread their
foam on blafls.
Now he came to Lubar's cave, where Fillan darkly
flept. Bran ftill lay on the broken fliield : the eagle-
wing is ftrewed on winds. Bright, from withered furze,
looked forth the hero's fpear. Then grief flirred the foul
of the king, like whirlwinds blackening on a lake. He
turned his fudden Hep, and leaned on his bending fpear.
I White-
* It is fuppofed Malvina fpeaks the following foliloquy. " Malvina is like the
kow of the Ihowcr, in the fecret valley of ftreams ; it is bright, but the drops of
heaven roll on its blendeJ light. They lay, that I am fair within my locks, but,
on my brightnefs, is the wandering of tears. Darknefs flics over my foul, as the
dufky wave of the breeze, along the grafs of Lutha. Yet have not the roes failed
me, when 1 moved between the hills. Plcafant, beneath my white hand, arofe
the found of harps. What then, daughter of Lutha, travels over thy foul, like
the dreary path of a gholl, along the nightly beam ? Should the young warrior
fall, in the roar of his troubled hclds ! Young virgins of Lutha arife, call back
the wandering thoughts of Malvina. Awake the voice of the harp, along my
echoing vale. Then Ihall my foul come forth, like a light from the gates of the
morn when clouds are rolled around them, with their broken fides.
" Dweller of my thoughts, by night, whofe form afcends in troubled fields,
why doll thou llir up my foul, thou far diftant fon of the king ! Is that the fhip of
my love, its dark courfe through the ridges of ocean ? How art thou fo fudden,
Oicar, from the heath of fliields !"
The reft of this poem, it is faid, confiiled, of a dialogue between Ullin and
Walvina, wherein the djUrefs of the Utter is carried to the highell pitch.