Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

328 The Poema of Ossian.
Pleasant is thy voice in Ossian's ear, dangKter of car-
borne Sorglan! But retire to tlie hall of shells ; to
the beam of the burning oak. Attend to the murmur
ofthesea: it rolls at Dunscai's walls: let sleep descend
on thy blue eyes. Let the hero arise in thy dreams !
Cuthullin sits at Lego's lake, at the dark rolling
of waters. Night is around the hero. His thousands
spread on the heath. A hundred oaks burn in the
midst. The feast of shells is smoking wide. Carril
strikes the harp beneath a tree. His grey locks glit-
ter in the beam. The rustling blast of night is near,
and lifts his aged hair. His song is of the blue Togor-
ma, and of its chief, Cuthullin's friend. " Why art
thou absent, Connal, in the day of the gloomy storm?
The chiefs of the south have convened against the car-
borne Cormac. The winds detain thy sails. Thy blue
waters roll around thee. But Cormac is not alone.
The son of Semo fights his wars ! Semo's son his bat-
tles fights ! the terror of the stranger 1 He that is like
the vapour of death, slowly borne by sultry winds. The
sun reddens in its presence : the people fall around."
Such was the song of Can-il, when a son of the foe
appeared. He threw down his pointless spear. He
spoke the words of Torlath ; Torlath, chief of heroes,
from Lego's sable surge ! He that led his thou-
sands to battle, against car-borne Cormac. Cor-
mac who was distant far, in Temora's echoing halls:
he learned to bend the bow of his fathers; and to lift
the spear. Nor long didst thou lift the spear, mildly-
shining beam of youth! death stands dim behind thee,
like the darkened half of the moon behind its growing
light ! Cuthullin rose before the bard that came from
generous Torlath. He offered him the shell of joy.
He honoured the son of songs. " Sweet voice of Le-
go! "he said, "what are the words of Torlath? Comes
he to our feast or battle, the car-borne son of Cantela !"
" He comes to thy battle," replied the bard, "to
the sounding strife of spears. When morning is
grey on Lego, Torlath will fight on the plain. Wilt