Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian > Volume 3

2/4 tejmoha:
Carril's harp. Carry joy to the aged, young break-
ers of the shields \"
" Can the vanquished carry joy ? Ossian, no
shield is mine ! It lies broken on the field. The
eagle-wing of my helmet is torn. It is when foes
fly before them, that fathers delight in their sons.
But their sighs burst forth, in secret, when their
young warriors yield. No : Fillan shall not be-
hold the king ! Why should the hero mourn ?"
" Son of blue-eyed Clatho ! O Fillan, awake
not my soul ! Wert thou not a burning fire before
him ? Shall he not rejoice ? Such fame belongs
not to Ossian ; yet is the king still a sun to me.
He looks on my steps with joy. Shadows never
rise on his face. Ascend, O Fillan, to INIora ! His
feast is spread in the folds of mist."
" Ossian ! give me that broken shield : these fea-
thers that are rolled in the wind. Place them near
to Fillan, that less of his fame may fall. Ossian,
I begin to fail. Lay me in that hollow rock. Raise
no stone above, lest one should ask about my fame.
I am fallen in the first of my fields ; fallen without
renown. Let thy voice alone send joy to my fly-
ing soul. Why should the bard know where dwells
the lost beam of Clatho * ! "
* A dialogue between Clatlio, the mollier, and Bosiiiiiuu
the sister, of Fillan :