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7S FINGAL: book v.
tremble at the found of thy fteel. Happy are thy
people, Fingal, chief of the lonely hills.
" Who is that fo dark and terrible, coming in
the thunder of his courfe ? who is but Starno's fon
to meet the king of Morven ? Behold the battle of
the chiefs : it is hke the ftorm of the ocean, when
two fpirits meet far diftant, and contend for the
rolling of the wave. The hunter hears the noife
on his hill j and fees the high billows advancing to
Ardven's ihcre."
Such were the words of Connal, when the he-
roes met in the midfi: of their falling people.
There was the clang of arms ! there every blow,
like the hundred hammers of the furnace ! Terri-
ble is the battle of the kings, and horrid the look
of their eyes. Their dark-brown fhields are cleft
in twain j and their fteel flies, broken, from their
helmets. They fling their weapons down. Each
ruflies '' to the grafp of his foe. Their flnewy arms
bend round each other: they turn from fide to
fide, and ftrain and ftretch their large fpreading
limbs below. But when the pride of their ftrength
arofe, they fliook the hill with their heels ; rocks
tumble from their places on high-; the green-head-
ed bufhes are overturned. At length the ftrength
ioi Swaran fell, and the king of the groves is bound.
Thus
tremble at the found of thy fteel. Happy are thy
people, Fingal, chief of the lonely hills.
" Who is that fo dark and terrible, coming in
the thunder of his courfe ? who is but Starno's fon
to meet the king of Morven ? Behold the battle of
the chiefs : it is hke the ftorm of the ocean, when
two fpirits meet far diftant, and contend for the
rolling of the wave. The hunter hears the noife
on his hill j and fees the high billows advancing to
Ardven's ihcre."
Such were the words of Connal, when the he-
roes met in the midfi: of their falling people.
There was the clang of arms ! there every blow,
like the hundred hammers of the furnace ! Terri-
ble is the battle of the kings, and horrid the look
of their eyes. Their dark-brown fhields are cleft
in twain j and their fteel flies, broken, from their
helmets. They fling their weapons down. Each
ruflies '' to the grafp of his foe. Their flnewy arms
bend round each other: they turn from fide to
fide, and ftrain and ftretch their large fpreading
limbs below. But when the pride of their ftrength
arofe, they fliook the hill with their heels ; rocks
tumble from their places on high-; the green-head-
ed bufhes are overturned. At length the ftrength
ioi Swaran fell, and the king of the groves is bound.
Thus
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Early Gaelic Book Collections > Ossian Collection > Morison's edition of the Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal > (104) |
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Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/77717496 |
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Description | Selected books from the Ossian Collection of 327 volumes, originally assembled by J. Norman Methven of Perth. Different editions and translations of James MacPherson's epic poem 'Ossian', some with a map of the 'Kingdom of Connor'. Also secondary material relating to Ossianic poetry and the Ossian controversy. |
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Description | Selected items from five 'Special and Named Printed Collections'. Includes books in Gaelic and other Celtic languages, works about the Gaels, their languages, literature, culture and history. |
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