Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

Temora. 377
Such are the words of Fingal, on Mora of the
roes. Three bards, from the rock of Coiinul, pour
down the pleasing song. Sleep descends, in the
sound, on the bi oad-skirted host. Carril returned,
with the bards, from the tomb of Dun-lora's chief.
The voice of morning shall not come to the dusky
bed of Diith-caron. No more shalt thou hear the
tread of roes around thy narrow house !
As roll the troubled clouds around a meteor of
night, when they brighten their sides, with its
light, along the heaving sea: so gathers Erin
around the gleaming form of Cathmor. He, tall
in the midst, careless lifts, at times, his spear : as
swells or falls the sound of Fonar's distant harp.
Near him leaned, against a rock, Sul-malla of blue
eyes, the wliite-bosomed daughter of Conmor, king
of Inis-huna. To his aid came blue-shielded
Cathmor, and rolled his foes away. Sul-malla be-
held him stately in the hall of feasts. Nor careless
rolled the eyes of Cathmor on the long-haired maid!
The third day arose, when Fithil came, from
Erin of the streams. He told of the lifting up of
the shield in Selma : he told of the danger of
Cairbar, Cathmor raised the sail at Cluba ; but
the winds were in other lands. Three days he re-
mained on the coast, and turned his eyes on Con-
mor's halls. He remembered the daughter of
strangers, and his sigh arose. Now when the
winds awaked the wave ; from tlie hill came a
youth in arms, to lift the sword with Cathmor, in
his echoing fields. It was the white-armed Sul-
malla. Secret she dwelt beneath her helmet. Her
steps were in the path of the king : on him her
blue eyes rolled with joy, when he lay, by his
rolling streams ! But Cathmor thought, that, on
Lumon, she still pursued the roes. He thought,
that fair on a rock, she stretched her white hand
to the wind ; to feel its course from Erin, the
green dwelling of her love. He had promised to