Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

390 The Poems of Ossiaji.
leaning against a rock. Their discourse. Fillan dies : his body is
laid, by Ossian, in a neiglibouiing care. Tiie Caledonian army retui-n
to FingaL He questions tliem about his son, and, understanding that
he was kUled, retires, in silence, to the rock ot CormuL Upon the
retreat of the army of Fingal, the Fir-bolg advance. Cathmor finds
Bran, one of the dogs of Fingal, lying on the shield of Fillan, before
the entrance of the cave where the body of that hero lay. His reflec-
tions thereupon. He returns, in a melanchol ymood, to his army
Malthos endeavours to comfort him, by the example of his father
Borbar-duthul. Cathmor retires to rest. The song of Sul-malla
concludes the book, which ends about the middle of the third night,
trom the opening of the poem.
*' Cathmor rises on his hill ! Shall Fingal take
the sword of Luno? But what shall become of
thy fame, son of white-bosomed Clatho ? Turn not
thine eyes from Fingal, fair daughter of Inistore.
I shall not quench thy early beam. It shines along
my soul. Rise, wood-skirted Mora, rise between
the war and me ! Why should Fingal behold the
strife ; lest his dark-haired warrior should fall ?
Amidst the song, O Carril, pour the sound of the
trembling harp ? Here are the voices of rocks ;
and there the bright tumbling of waters. Father
of Oscar ! lift the spear ! Defend the young in
arms. Conceal thy steps fi-om Fillan. He must
not know that I doubt his steel. No cloud of mine
shall rise, my son, upon thy soul of fire !"
He sunk behind his rock, amid the sound of Car-
ril's song. Brightening, in my growing soul, I took
the spear of Temora. I saw, along Moi-lena, the
wild tumbling of battle ; the strife of death, in
gleaming rows, disjoined and broken round. Fillan
is a beam of fire. From wing to wing is his waste-
ful course. The ridges of war melt before him.
They are rolled, in smoke, from the fields !
Now is the coming forth of Cathmor, in the
armour of kings ! Dark waves the eagle's wing
above his helmet of fire. Unconcerned are his
steps, as if they were to the chase of Erin. He
raises, at times, his terrible voice. Erin, abashed,
gathers round. Their souls return back, like a
stream. They wonder at the steps of their fear.
He rose, like the beam of the morning on a haunt-
ed heath : the traveller looks back, with bending