Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

Temora. 359
like thunder, in the bosom of the ground, when the
rocking hills shake their groves, and not a blast pours
from the darkened sky !"
Ossian turned sudden on his spear. He raised
the flame of an oak on high. I spread it large, on
Mora's wind. Cathmor stopt in his course. Gleam-
ing he stood, like a rock, on whose sides are the
wandering blasts ; which seize its echoing streams,
and clothe them OA'er with ice. So stood the friend
of strangers ! The winds lift his heavy locks.
Thou art the tallest of the race of Erin, king of
streamy Atha !
" First of bards, " said Cathmor, " Fonar, call
the chiefs of Erin. Call red-haired Cormar; dark-
browed Malthos; the sidelong-looking gloom of
Maronnan. Let the pride of Foldath appear. The
red-rolling eye of Turlotho. Nor let Hidalla be
forgot ; his voice, in danger, is the sound of a shower,
when it falls in the blasted vale, near Atha's falling
stream. Pleasant is its sound on the plain, whilst
broken thunder travels over the sky !"
They came, in their clanging arms. They bent
forward to his voice, as if a spirit of their fathers
spoke from a cloud of night. Dreadful shone they
to the light ; like the fall of the stream of Brumo,*
v;hen the meteor lights it, before the nightly stran-
ger. Shuddering he stops in his journey, and looks
up for the beam of the mora !
" Why delights Foldath," said the king, "to pour
the blood of foes by night ? Fails his arm in battle,
in the beams of day ? Few are the foes before us ;
why should we clothe us in shades ? The valiant
delight to shine, in the battles of their land ! Thy
counsel was in vain, chief of Moma ! The eyes of
Morven do not sleep. They are watchful, as eagles,
on their mossy rocks. Let each collect, beneath
his cloud, the strength of his roaring tribe. To-