Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian > Volume 2

A roller. 113
signal of Albion, and his joy arose. He came
from his own high hall, and seized my hand in
grief. " Why comes the race of heroes to a fall-
ing king ? Ton-thormod of many spears is the
chief of wavy Sar-dronlo. He saw and loved
my daughter, white-bosomed Oina-morul. He
sought ; I denied the maid ! for our fathers had
been foes. He came, with battle, to Fuarfed ;
my people are rolled away. Why comes the race
of heroes to a falling king ? '^
" I come not," said I, " to look, like a boy,
on the strife. Fingal remembers Mal-orchol,
and his hall for strangers. From his waves, the
warrior descended, on thy woody isle. Thou
wert no cloud before him. Thy feast was spread
with songs. For this my sword shall rise ; and
thy foes, perhaps, may fail. Our friends are not
forgot in their danger, though distant is our
land."
" Descendant of the daring Trenmor, thy words
are like the voice of Cruth-loda, when he speaks,
from his parting cloud, strong dweller of the
sky ! Many have rejoiced at my feast ; but they
all have forgot ]\Ial-orchol. I have looked to-
wards all the winds; but no white sails wer-e
VOL. II. H