Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, &c > Volume 1

BOOK IV. AN EPIC POEM, 147
He thrice attempted to rush to battle. He
thrice was stopt by Connal. " Chief of the isle
of mist," he said, " Fingal subdues the foe. Seek
not a part of the fame of the king ; himself is
like the storm !"
" Then, Carril, go," replied the chief, " go,
greet the king of Morven. When Lochlin falls
away like a stream after rain : when the noise
of the battle is past. Then be thy voice sweet
in his ear to praise the king of Selma ! Give
him the sword of Caithbat. Cuthullin is not
worthy to lift the arms of his fathers ! Come,
O ye ghosts of the lonely Cromla ! ye souls of
chiefs that are no more ! be near the steps of
Cuthullin ; talk to him in the cave of his grief.
Never more shall I be renowned, among the
mighty in the land. I am a beam that has
shone ; a mist that has fled away *° : when the
blast of the morning came, and brightened the
shaggy side of the hill ! Connal I talk of arms
*^ I a?n a beam that has shone, a mist that has fled away.]
" And our life shall joc^s away as the trace of a cloud, and shall
be dispersed as a mist that is driven away by the beams of the
sun, and overcome by the heat thereof." Wisdom of Solomon,
ji. 4.