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

T E M O R A :
THE ARGUMENT.
tibrr.ing coming on, Fingal, aftcrafpeech to his people, devolve*
. the command on Gaul, the son of Morni; it being the custom of
the tiiTie?, that the king should nat engage, till the neceasity of
affairs required hi? superior valour and conduct. The king and
Ossian retire to the rock of Conmil, which overlooked t!:c held of
battle. The bards sing the war-song. The general conflict is
described. Gaul, tlic son of Morni diitingui^iies hitnj>e!f ; kills
Tur-lathon, chief of Moruth, and other chiefs of leaser name. Oa
the other hand, Foldath, who commanded the Irish army (for
Cathmor, after the example of Fingal. kept himself from battle)
fights gallantly ; kills Coimal, chief of Dun-lora, and advances to
engage Gaui himself. Gaul, in the mean time, being wounded in
■; the hand, by a random arrow, is covered by Fillan, the son of Fia-
gal, who perforrhs prodigies of valour. Night comes on. The
• horn of Fingal recals his army, 'tlie bards meet them, with a
' , congratulatory song, Sn whicli the praises of Gaul and Fillan are
particularly celebrated. The chiefs «it dowi, a: a feastj Fingal
i. misses Connal. The episode of Connaland DutTl»:aron is iutro-
;''! dHced J which throws further light on the ancient history of Ire-
JaHd. C-arril is dispatched to raise the tom-i) of Confial. The ac-
tion of this book takes up the t.e-cond day, from the opening of the
paem.
BOOK HI.
WH o is that, at blue-streaming Lubar ; by the bend-
ing hili of the roes ? Tail, he leans on an oak
torn from high, by nightly winds. Who but Comhal's
son, brightening in the last of his fields ? His grey nair
is on the breeze : he half unsheathes the sword of Lu-
no. His eyes are turned to Moi-lena, to the dark roll-
ing of foes. Dost thou hear the voice of the kiiig ? it
is like the bursting of a stream in the d^jsert, when it
comes between its echoing rocks, to the blasted field
of the sun. *
" Wide-skirted comes down the foe ! Sons of woody
Morven, arise. Be ye like the rocks of my land, oa
whose brown sides are the rolling of waters. A beam
' of joy comes on my soul ; I see them mighty bstore
nii. It is when the foe is feeble, that the sighs of F'lRr