Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian > Volume 2

496
TIOHMORA,
DiiAX VIII. Biodh cuimline air gaisgieli 'au sitli,
'N uair nach cluimiear air stri na gruaim
Mu sgeith bliallaicli 'an cruadal nam blar.
Aoms' an sin 'am bròn tliar sruth,
U5 Air am buaileadh gaoth fhuar nan cruacli ;
Biodh 's an am sin d'anam fo dhnl>h
Mu na gorm-sliiiilicli sinte 'an uaigb.
Tha Eirinn ag iadbadli a' cbòmbraig
Gu leatbann, gu mòr, gu dorcba.
150 Tog, 'Oisein, do sgiatbsa air cbòmbLa ;
Tha mi 'm aouar 's a' cbòmb -stri, a tbrtìn."
Mar tbig gutb fuasacb o gbaoitb
Air long 'an caol glas Innis uaine
'G a bualadb tro' 'n doimbne 'tba faoin,
155 'Ciar-mbarcacb nam baotb tboiina mora ;
]\Iar sin cbuir gutb uaibbreacb an rigb
Mòr Oisian su stri nan sleagli.
Tbog e suas a cbi'uaidb 'an soillse,
'An cearb dbubb gun bboillsge a' cbònibraig,
IGO Mar eudann re leatbainn gun tuar,
'An iomall ciar nam fuar nial,
Seal mu -n eiricb an stoirm air cbuan.
Ard-fbuaimueacb o' cbòiunicb Mhòra,
Tbaom gu dòmbail còmbrag sgiatbacb.
1G5 Treun Fbionngbal a' gluasad a' mbòr sliluaigb,
the warriors remembered in peace, when echoing shiekls are lieanl
no more. Bend then in grief over the flood where blows the moun-
tain breeze. Let them pa-ss on tliy soul, the blue-eyed dwellera of
the tomb. But Erin rolls to war, wide-tumbling, rough, and dark.
Lift, Ossian, lift the shield ! I am alone, my son ! "
As comes the sudden voice of winds to the becalmed slii|i uf Tnis-