Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

216 The Poems of Ossian.
** King of the streamy Balva !" said Hidallaii
with a sigh, " Why dost thou torment my soul ?
Laraor, I never fled. Fingal was sad for Coniala;
ne denied his wars to Hidallan. Go to the grey
streams of thy land, he said ; moulder like a leaf-
less oak, which the winds have bent over Balva,
never more to grow !"
"And must I hear," Lamer replied, "the
lonely tread of Hidallan *s feet ? When thousands
are i-enowned in battle, shall he bend over my grey
streams ? Spirit of the noble Garmallon ! carry
Lamor to his place ; his eyes are dark, his soul is
sad, his son has lost his fame ?"
" Where," said the youth, *' shall I search for
fame, to gladden the soul of Lamor? From whence
shall I return with renown, that the sound of my
arms may be pleasant in his ear ? If I go to tlie
chase of hinds, my name will not be heard. Lamor
will not feel my dogs with his hands, glad at my ar-
rival from the hill. He will not inquire of his moun-
tains, or of the dark-brown deer of his deserts !"
" I must fall," said Lamor, " like a leafless oak :
it grew on a rock ! it was overturned by the
winds ! My ghost will be seen on my hills,
mournful for my young Hidallan. Will not ye,
ye mists, as ye rise, hide lum from my sight ? My
son, go to Lamor 's hall: there the arms of our
fathers hang. Bring the sword of Garmallon : he
took it from a foe!"
He went and brought the sword with all ita
studded thongs. He gave it to liis father. The
grey-haired hero felt the point with his hand.
' ' My son, lead me to Garniallon's tomb : it
rises beside that rustling tree. The long grass is
withered : I hear the breezes whistling there. A
little fountain murmurs near, and sends its watei'S
to Balva. There let me rest ; it is noon : the sun
is on our fields.
He led him to Garmallon's tomb. Lamox