Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian > Volume 3

10 fingal:
bending spear. Feeble is the arm of battle ! but
strong the soul of the hero ! " Welcome ! O
son of INIatha," said Connal, " welcome art thou
to thy friends ! Why bursts that broken sigh,
from the breast of him who never feared before ?"
" And never, Connal, will he fear, chief of the
pointed steel ! I\Iy sOul brightens in danger ; in
the noise of arms. I am of the race of battle.
My fathers never feared.
" Corniar was the first of my race. He sport-
ed through the storms of waves. His black skiff
bounded on ocean ; he travelled on the wings of
the wind. A spirit once embroiled the night.
Seas swell, and rocks resound. Winds drive
along the clouds. The lightning flics on wings
of fire. He teared, and came to land : then
blushed that he feared at all. He rushed again
among the waves, to find the son of the wind.
Three youths guide tlie bounding bark ; he stood
with sword unsheathed. When the low-hung va-
pour passed, he took it by the curling head. He
searched its dark womb with his steel. The son
of the wind forsook the air. The moon and stars
returned ! Such was the boldness of my race.
Calmar is like his fathers. Danger flies from
the lifted sword. They best succeed who dare !.