Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

396 The Poems of Ossian.
hands, the steel vvhich, they said, had pierced his
foe. He felt it with his hands, for Borbar-duthul's
eyes had failed. Yet was the king a sun to his
friends ; a gale to lift their branches round. Joy
was around him in his halls : he loved the sons of
Bolga. His name remains in Atha, like the awful
memory of ghosts, whose presence was terrible, but
they blew the storm away. Now let the voices of
Erin* raise the soul of the king; he that shone when
war was dark, and laid the mighty low. Fonar, from
that grey-browed rock, pour the tale of other times :
pour it on wide-skirted Erin, as it settles round."
" To me," said Cathmor, "no song shall rise,
nor Fonar sit on the rock of Lubar. The mighty
there are laid low. Disturb not their rushing ghosts.
Far, Malthos, far remove the sound of Erin's song.
I rejoice not over the foe, when he ceases to lift the
spear. With morning we pour our strength abroad.
Fingal is wakened on his echoing hill."
Like waves, blown back by sudden winds, Erin
retired, at the voice of the king. Deep-rolled into
the field of night, they spread their humming tribes.
Beneath his own tree, at intervals each bard sat
down with his harp. They raised the song, and
touched the string ; each to the chief he loved.
Before a burning oak Sul-malla touched, at times,
the harp. She touched the harp, and heard, between,
the breezes in her hair. In darkness near lay tha
king of Atha, beneath an aged tree. The beam
of the oak was turned from him ; he saw the maid,
but was not seen. His soul poured forth, in secret,
when he beheld her fearful eye. " But battle ia
before thee, son of Borbar-duthul."
Amidst the harp, at intervals, she listened whether
the warrior slept. Her soul was up ; she longed,
in secret, to pour her own sad song. The field ia
silent. On their wings the blasts of night retire.
The bards had ceased ; and meteors came, red-windi
* A poetical expression for the bards of Ireland.