Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal > Volume 2

7,00 BERRATHeNJ
^reat ; he looked to Rotlima's gloomy heath ; he saw
the tomb of his son : and the memory of Uthal rose,
** Who of my heroes," he said, "hes there? He seems
to have been of the king of spears- Wa? he renowned
in my halls, before the pride of Uthal rose ? Ye arc si*
lent, sons of Berrathon, is the king of heroes low ? My
heart melts for thee, O Uthal ! though thy hand was
against thy father! O that I h^d remained in the cave !.
that my son had dwelt in Finthorrao 1 I might have
heard the tread of his feat, whien he went to the chase
of the boar. I might have heard his voice on the blast
of my cave. Then would my soul be glad : but now
darkness dwells in my halls."
Such were my deeds, son of Alpin, when the arm of
■my youth was strong ; such were ^ the actions of Tos-
car, the cai-borne son of Conloch» But Tcscar is on
K:S. flying cloud ; and I am alone at Lutha : my voice
is like the last sound of the wind, when it forsakes the
woods. But Ossian shall not be long alone, he sees the
inist that shall receive his ghosts He beholds the mist
that shall form his robe, when he appears on his hills.
Tr^e cons of little men shall behold me, and admire the
statu e of the chiefs of old. They shall creep to their
caves, and look to the sky v/ith fear ; for my steps shall
be in the clouds, and darkness shall roll on my side.
Lead, son of Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. The
winds begin to rise. The dark wave of th.e lake re-
sounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora withits
branches bare ? It bends, son of Alpin, in the rustling
blast. My harp hangs on a blasted branch. The
s^und of its strings is mournful. Does the wind touch
thee, O harp, or is it some passing ghost ! It is the hand
of Malvina ! but bring me the harp, son of Alpin ;
another song shall arise. My soul shall depart in the
sound J my hithers shall hear it in their airy hall. Their
dim faces shall hang with joy from their clouds ; and
their hands receive their son. The aged oak bend??
over the stream. It sighs with all its moss. The wU
q OsiJan speaks.