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

A POEM. ic?
Near us are the foes, Duth-maruno. They
come forward, like waves in rftift, when theif
foamy tops are feen, at times, above the low-fail-
ing vapour. The traveller fhrinks on his journeVj
and knows not whether to fly. No trembling tra-
vellers are we ! Sons of heroes, call forth the fteel.
Shall the fword of Fingal arife, or fhall a warrior
lead ?
The * deeds of old, faid Duth-maruno, are like
paths to our eyes, O Fingal. Broad-fliielded Tren-
mor is ftill feen, amidft his own dim years. Nor
feeble was the foul of the king. There, no dark
deed wandered in fecret. From their hundred
ftreams came the tribes, to grafly Colglan-crona.
Their chiefs were before them. Each ftrove to
lead the war. Their fwords were often half un-
fheathed. Red rolled their eyes of rage. Sepa-
rate they flood, and hummed their furly fongs.
*' Why fhould they yield to each other ? their fa-
thers were equal in war."
Trenmor was there, with his people, ftatcly m
youthful locks. He faw the advancing foe. The
grief of his foul arofe. He bade the chiefs to lead,
by turns : they led, but they were rolled away.
From his own molTy hill, blue-lhielded Trenmor
came down. He led wide-fkirted battle, and the
ftrangers failed. Around him the dark-browed