Ossian Collection > Morison's edition of the Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

»ooK iiio AN EPIC POUM. 47
« My foul feels a want in our joy. I behold a
breach among my friends. The head of one tree
is low : the fqually wind pours in on Selma.
Where is the chief of Dun-lora ! Ought he to be
forgot at the feaft ? When did he forget the ftran-
ger, in the midft of his echoing hall ? Ye are 11-
lent in my prefence ! Connal is then no more. Joy
meet thee, O warrior, like a ft ream of light.
Swift be thy courfe to thy fathers, in the folds of
the mountain-winds. Offian, thy foul is £re : kin-
dle the memory of the king. Awake the battles
of Connal, when firft he fluone in war. The locks
of Connal were gray ; his days of youth " were
mixed with mine. In one day Duthicaron firll
ftrung our bows againft the roes of Danlora."
" Pvlany," I faid, « are our paths to battle, ia
green-hilled Innis-fail. Often did our fails arife^
over the blue-tumbling waters ; when we came, in
other days, to aid the race of Conar. The ftr-fc
roared once in Aluecma, at the foam-covered
ftreams of Duth-ula ° . With Cormac defcended
to battle Duth-caron from cloudy Morven. Nor
defcended Duth-caron alone, his fon was by his
fide, the long-haired youth of Connal, lifting the
firft of his fpears. Thou didft command them, O
Fingal, to aid the king of Erin.
" Like the burfting fti-ength of a ftream, the
CoJc-uIIa P was be-
fore