Skip to main content

‹‹‹ prev (506)

(508) next ›››

(507)
Book VI. F I N G A L. 409
Hafte ! let us find the melancholy Chief,
And pacify with Words of Joy his Grief.
435 But is that he, O Fillan^ or a Wreath
Of curling Smoke afcending from the Heath ?
Too far the Objedl to difcern aright,
The Winds of Cromla dim thy Father's Sight.
He faid ; the Youth made Anfwer— We draw near
440 To Semos Son, who with a frantic Air,
Holds half unfheath'd the Sword upon his Thigh,
As if irrefolute to live or die. —
Hail to the firft of Men in martial Fields !
Hail brave Cuthullin^ Breaker of the Shields !
445 Hail (he return'd again) to thee my Friend !
And hail to all that on thy Steps attend
The Sons of Morven. — Great Fingal ! thy Sight
Gives to my troubled Soul unfeign'd Delight.
Ggg So

Images and transcriptions on this page, including medium image downloads, may be used under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence unless otherwise stated. Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence