Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

Temora. 375
" Beneath an oak," said the king, " I sat oa
Selma's streamy rock, when Connal rose from the
ea, with the broken spear of Duth-caron. Far
distant stood the youth. He turned away his eyes.
He remembered the steps of his father, on his own
green hills. I darkened in my place. Dusky
thoughts flew over my soul. The kings of Erin
rose before me. I half-unsheathed the sword.
Slowly approached the chiefs. They lifted up their
silent eyes. Like a ridge of clouds, they wait for
the bursting forth of my voice. My voice was,
to them, a wind from heaven, to roll the mist away.
" I bade my white sails to rise, before the roar
of Cona's wind. Three hundred youths looked,
from their waves, on Fingal's bossy shield. High
on the mast it hung, and marked the dark-blue sea.
But when night came dow^n, I struck, at times,
the warning boss : I struck, and looked on high,
for fiery-haired Ul-erin.* Nor absent was the star
of heaven. It travelled red between the clouds.
I pursued the lovely beam, on the faint-gleaming
deep. With morning, Erin rose in mist. We
came into the bay of Moi-lena, where its blue
waters tumbled, in the bosom of echoing w^oods.
Here Cormac, in his secret hall, avoids the strength
of Colc-uUa. Nor he alone avoids the foe. The
blue eye of Ros-crana is there : Ros-crana, white-
handed maid, the daughter of the king !
' ' Grey on his pointless spear, came forth the
aged steps of Cormac. He smiled, from his waving
locks ; but grief was in his soul. He saw us few
before him, and his sigh arose. ' I see the arms
of Trenmor,' he said ; ' and these are the steps of
the king ! Fingal ! thou art a beam of light to
Cormac's darkened soul. Early is thy fame, my
son : but strong are the foes of Erin. They are
like the roar of streams in the land, son of car-