Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

62 CARTHON,
joy. The mountains shewed their grey heads ; the blue
face of ocean smiled. The white wave is seen tumbling
round the distant rock ; a mist rose, slowly, from the
lake. It came, in the figure of an aged man, along the
silent plain. Its large limbs did not move in steps ; for
a ghost supported it in mid-air. It came towards Selma's
hall, and dissolved in a shower of blood.
The king alone beheld the sight ; he foresaw the death
of the people. He came, in silence, to his hall ; and
took his father's spear. The mail rattled on his breast.
The heroes rose around. They looked, in silence, on
each other, marking the eyes of Fingal. They saw battle
in his face : the death of armies on his spear. A
thousand shields, at once, are placed on their arms ; they
drew a thousand swords. The hall of Selma brightened
around. The clang of arms ascends. The grey dogs
howl in their place. No word is among the mighty
chiefs. Each marked the eyes of the king ; and half
assumed his spear.
Sons of Morven, begun the king, this is no time to fill
the shell. The battle darkens near us ; death hovers
over the land. Some ghost, the friend of Fingal, has
forewarned us of the foe. The sons of the stranger come
from the darkly-rolling sea. For, from the water, came
the sign of Morven's gloomy danger. Let each assume
his heavy spear, each gird on his father's sword. Let the
dark helmet rise on every head ; the mail pour its
lightning from every side. The battle gathers like a
storm ; soon shall ye hear the roar of death.
The hero moved on before his host, like a cloud before