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

AN EPIC POEM. 53
« Gray, on his pointlefs fpear, came forth the
aged flops of Cormac. He fmikd, from his wa-
ving locks, but grief was in his foul. He faw us
few before him, and his ligh arofe. *' I fee the
arms of Trenmor," he faid ; " and thefe are the
fteps of the king : Fingal ! thou art a beam of light
to Cormac's darkened foul. Early is thy fame,
my fon : but flrong are the foes of Erin. They
are like the roar of ftreams in the land, fon of car-
borne Comhal."
♦< Yet they may be rolled '^ away," I faid, in my
riling foul. " We are not of the race of the feeble,
king qf blus-fliielded hofts. Why Ihould fear come
amongft us, like a ghofl of night ? The foul of the
valiant grows, as foes increafe in the field. Roll
no darknefs, king of Erin, on the young in war."
" The burlting tears of the king came down.
He feized my hand in filence. " P^ace of the da-
ring Trenmor, I roll no cloud before thee. Thou
burneft in the fire of thy fathers. I behold thy
fame. It marks thy courfe in battles, like a flream
of light. But wait the coming of Cairbar ^ : my
fon muft join thy fword. He calls the fons of Ul-
iin, from all their diftant ftreams."
*' We came to the hall of the king, when it rofe
in the midft of rocks : rocks, on whofe dark fides,
were the marks of flreams of old. Bro^d oaks
bend