Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

220 FINGAL.
arm like thunder, thine eyes like fire, thy heart of solid
rock. Whirl round thy sword as a meteor at night ; lift
thy shield like the flame of death. Son of the chief
of generous steeds, cut down the foe. Destroy ! " The
hero's heart beat high. But Swaran came with battle.
He cleft the shield of Gaul in twain. The sons of Selma
fled.
Fingal at once arose in arms. Thrice he reared his
dreadful voice. Cromla answered around. The sons of
the desert stood still. They bent their blushing faces to
earth, ashamed at the presence of the king. He came,
like a cloud of rain in the day of the sun, when slow it
rolls on the hill, and fields expect the shower. Silence
attends its slow progress aloft ; but the tempest is soon
to arise. Swaran beheld "the terrible king of Morven.
He stopped in the midst of his course. Dark he leaned
on his spear, rolling his red eyes around. Silent and tall
he seemed as an oak on the banks of Lubar, which had
its branches blasted of old by the lightning of heaven. It
bends over the stream : the grey moss whistles in the
wind : so stood the king. Then slowly he retired to the
rising heath of Lena. His thousands pour around the
hero. Darkness gathers on the hill !
Fingal, like a beam from heaven, shone in the midst
of his people. His heroes gather around him. He sends
forth the voice of his power. " Raise my standards on
high ; spread them on Lena's wind, like the flames of an
hundred hills ! Let them sound on the winds of Erin,
and remind us of the fight. Ye sons of the roaring
streams, that pour from a thousand hills, be near the