Ossian Collection > Galic antiquities

218 C A T H L U I N A:
Many, fon of youth, were the valiant on the hills of Morven, in
the days of our joy. But the blafl came and fpoiled our wood of its
leaves. It overturned our lofty pines on their green mountains.
It whiftled with its wintery noife through our palaces, and marked
its dark path with death. The feafon of our joy is a fun-beam that
is pall ; the voice of gladnefs in our hall is a fong that hath ceafed ;
and the ftrength of our heroes is a ftream that is no more. The
owl dwells in our fallen walls, and the deer graze on the tombs of
the valiant. The ftranger comes from afar to beg the aid of the
king. He fees his halls, and wonders they are defolate. The
cow-herd, carelefs, whiftling, meets him on the dufky heath, and
tells him the heroes are no more. " Whither," he fays, " are the
friends of the feeble gone ; and where is Fingal, the fhield of the
unhappy ?" — They are gone, O ftranger, to their fathers. The
blaft hath laid the mighty, like the tall pines of Dora, low ; and
the fons of the feeble grow in their place. Thou feeft on every hill
the tombs of thofe who helped the unhappy. Thou feefl their
(tones half-funk, amidft the rank milling grafs of the vale. The
heroes have made their bed in dull; andfilence, likemift, is fpread
on Morven.
But the voice of Cona's harp, ye mighty dead, mail be heard in
your praife. The ftranger, as he paffes, may attend perhaps to the
fong. Liftening on his fpear, at times, he Hands. The bard fees
him not, but his fighs are often heard. Humming the tale he
goes away, and, mournful, tells it at the ftreams of his land.
Young bards lhall hear it as they bend, filent, over their liftening
harps. On future times they will pour the fong.
We are come to the place ; but where are the flones that mark
the