Ossian Collection > Fingal

CANTO IV. FINGAL. 101
The boats are moor'd along the coast,
The white tents glitter in tlie raj,
Deep silence wraps the warrior host,
And Sahmin's virgins' soft-breath'd lay
Sails sweetly on the slumb'ring night,
Clear as the goddess's own light.
The light that mild in beauty fell
Upon the calmly-trembling wave,
Whose rolling murmur down the dell
Was borne to Moina's lonely cave :
From couch of care, and broken rest,
Marthon, a wand'rer of the night,
In that sweet dell the lone bank press'd.
By shadowy branches veil'd from sight.
A stately form appear'd in view :
'Twas Arrathon — he nearer drew —
His look rais'd to the spangled sky,
His folded hands, his sorrowing air,
But most his heart-expressing sigh.
Spake the deep language of despair.