Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

Flngal, 301
round the stone of their fear. But he afterwards
shone, like a pillar of the light of heaven. They
fell by his mighty hand. Grumal had all his fame !
" Raise, ye hards of other times," continued the
great Fingal, " raise high the praise of heroes : that
mv soul may settle on their fame ; that the mind
of Swaran may cease to be sad." They lay in the
heath of Mora. The dark winds rustled over the
chiefs. A hundred voices, at once, arose ; a hun-
dred harps were strung. They sung of other times ;
the mighty chiefs of former years! When now
shall I hear the bard ? when rejoice at the fame of
my fathers? The harp is not strung on Morven.
The voice of music ascends not on Cona. Dead,
with the mighty, is the bard ! Fame is in the
desert no more.
Morning trembles with the beam of the east ; it
glimmers on Cromla's side. Over Lena is heard
the horn of Swaran. The sons of the ocean gather
around. Silent and sad they arise on the wave.
The blast of Erin is behind their sails. White, as
the mist of Morven, they float along the sea.
" Call," said Fingal, " call my dogs, the long-
bounding sons of the chase. Call white-breasted
Bran, and the surly strength of Luath ! Fillan, and
Ryno : — but he is not here ! My son rests on the
bed of death. Fillan and Fergus ! blow the horn,
that the joy of the chase may arise ; that the deer
of Cromla may hear, and start at the lake of roes."
The shrill sound spreads along the wood. The
sons of heathy Cromla arise. A thousand dogs fly
oft' at once, grey-bounding through the heath. A
deer fell by every dog ; three by the white-breasted
Bran, He brought them, in their flight, to Fingal,
that the joy of the king might be great ! One deer
fell at the tomb of Ryno. The grief of Fingal re-
turned. Ho saw how peaceful lay the stone of
him, who was the first at the chase ! "No more
ehalt thou rise, O my son ! to partake of the feast