Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

34 COMALA.
desert. It is Fingal in the crowd of his ghosts. Why
dost thou come, my love, to frighten and please my soul ?
Fingal.
Raise, ye bards, the song ; raise the wars of the streamy
Carun ! Caracul has fled from our arms along the fields
of his pride. He sets far distant like a meteor, that
incloses a spirit of night, when the winds drive it over
the heath, and the dark woods are gleaming around. I
heard a voice, or was it the breeze of my hills ? Is it the
huntress of Ardven, the white-handed daughter of Sarno ?
Look from thy rocks, my love ; let me hear the voice of
Comala !
Comala.
Take me to the cave of thy rest, O lovely son of
death !
Fingal.
Come to the cave of my rest. The storm is past, the
sun is on our fields. Come to the cave of my rest,
huntress of echoing Ardven !
Comala.
He is returned with his fame ! I feel the right hand
of his wars ! But I must rest beside the rock till my soul
returns from my fear ! O let the harp be near ! raise the
song, ye daughters of Morni !