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

54 TEMORA;
bend around witk their mofs : the thick birch waves
its green head. Half-hid, in her fliady grove,
Ros-crana raifed the fong. Her white hands rofe
on the harp. I beheld her blue-rolling eyes. She
was like a fpirit ^ of heaven half-folded in the Ikirt
of a cloud.
*' Three days we feafted at Moi-lena ; fhe rofc
bright amidft my troubled foul. Cormac beheld
me dark. He gave the white bofomed maid. She
came with bending eye, amidft the wandering of
her heavy locks. She came. Straight the battle
roared. Colc-uUa ruflied ; I feized my fpear. My
iword rofe, witii my people, againft the ridgy foe.
Alnecma fled. Colc-uHa fell. Fingal returned
with fame.
*« He is renowned, O Fillan, who fights, in the
ftrength of liis people. The bard purfues his fteps,
through the land of the foe. But lie who fights
alone; few are his deeds to other Vmes. He
fbines, to-day, a mighty light. To-morrow, he
is low. One fong contains his fame. His name is
on one iield. He is forgat, but where his tomb
fends forth the tufts of grafs."
Such were the words of Fingal, on Mora of the
roes. Ttu'ee bards, from the rock of Cormul,
poured down the pleafant fong. Sleep defcended,
m the fou4iJ, on the broad-fkirted hoft. Carrid
returned.