Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

92 OITHONA.
his host, in Morven's woody land. Dunrommath ! thy
words are mighty, for thy warriors gather behind thee.
But do I fear them, son of pride ? I am not of the race of
the feeble ! "
Gaul advanced in his arms ; Dunrommath shrunk
behind his people. But the spear of Gaul pierced the
gloomy chief; his sword lopped off his head, as it
bended in death. The son of Morni shook it thrice by
the lock ; the warriors of Dunrommath fled. The arrows
of Morven pursued them : ten fell on the mossy rocks.
The rest lift the sounding sail, and bound on the troubled
deep. Gaul advanced towards the cave of Oithona.
lie beheld a youth leaning on a rock. An arrow had
pierced his side ; his eye rolled faintly beneath his
helmet. The soul of Morni's son was sad, he came and
spoke the words of peace.
" Can the hand of Gaul heal thee, youth of the
mournful brow? I have searched for the herbs of the
mountains ; I have gathered them on the secret banks of
their streams. My hand has closed the wound of the
brave, their eyes have blessed the son of Morni. Where
dwelt thy fathers, warrior? Were they of the sons of
the mighty? Sadness shall come, like night, on thy
native streams. Thou art fallen in thy youth ! "
" My fathers," replied the stranger, " were of the race
of the mighty ; but they shall not be sad ; for my fame
is departed like morning mist. High walls rise on the
banks of Duvranna ; and see their mossy towers in the
stream ; a rock ascends behind them with its bending
pines. Thou mayst behold it far distant. There my