Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

FINGAL. 179
Retire to the halls of my feasts ; think of the times that
are past. I will not return till the storm of war is ceased.
O Connal ! speak of war and arms, and send her from
my mind. Lovely with her flowing hair is the white-
bosomed daughter of Sorglan."
Connal, slow to speak, replied, "Guard against the race
of Ocean. Send thy troop of night abroad, and watch
the strength of Swaran. Cuthullin ! I am for peace till
the race of Selma come ; till Fingal come, the first of
men, and beam, like the sun, on our fields ! " The hero
struck the shield of alarms, the warriors of the night
moved on ! The rest lay in the heath of the deer, and
slept beneath the dusky wind. The ghosts* of the lately
dead were near, and swam on the gloomy clouds : And
far distant, in the dark silence of Lena, the feeble voices
of death were faintly heard.
* It was long the opinion of the ancient Scots that a ghos
was heard shrieking near the place where a death was to
happen soon after.