Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

OITHONA. 91
him ! Whither wilt thou turn thy steps, son of Morni ?
Many are the warriors of thy foe ! "
" My steps never turned from battle," Gaul said, and
unsheathed his sword. " Shall I then begin to fear,
Oithona ! when thy foes are near ? Go to thy cave, my
love, till our battle cease on the field. Son of Leth,
bring the bows of our fathers ! the sounding quiver of
Morni ! Let our three warriors bend the yew. Our-
selves will lift the spear. They are an host on the rock !
our souls are strong in war ! "
Oithona went to the cave. A troubled joy rose on her
mind, like the red path of lightning on a stormy cloud !
Her soul was resolved ; the tear was dried from her
wildly-looking eye. Dunrommath slowly approached.
He saw the son of Morni. Contempt contracted his
face, a smile is on his dark-brown cheek ; his red eye
rolled, half-concealed beneath his shaggy brows !
" Whence are the sons of the sea ? " begun the gloomy
chief. " Have the winds driven you on the rocks of
Tromathon ? Or come you in search of the white-handed
maid ? The sons of the unhappy, ye feeble men, come to
the hand of Dunrommath ! His eye spares not the
weak ; he delights in the blood of strangers. Oithona is
a beam of light, and the chief of Cuthal enjoys it in
secret ; wouldst thou come on its loveliness, like a cloud,
son of the feeble hand ! Thou mayst come, but shalt thou
return to the halls of thy fathers?" "Dost thou not
know me," said Gaul, "red-haired chief of Cuthal?
Thy feet were swift on the heath, in the battle of car-
borne Lathmon ; when the sword of Morni's son pursued