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

TEMOR A:
THE ARGUMliiNT.
The fourth morning fro:n the opening of the poem, comes on. Fin-
gal, still conthiuing in the place to which he had relired on th.e
preceding night, is seen at intervals, through the mist, which co-
vered the rock of Cormul. The descent of the king is described.
He orders Gaul, Dern.id, and Carril the bard, to go to the valley of
Cluna, and corxhict, from thence, to the Caledonian army, Fe-
rad-artho, the son of Cairbar, the only per»on remaining of the
family of Conar, the first knig of Ireland. The king takes the
commarid of the army, and prepares for battle. Marching to-
wards the enemy, he comes to the cave of Lubar, where the body
of Fillan lay. Upon seeing hi» dog "Bran, who lay at the entrance
of the cave, his grief returns tathmorarranw«s tiie army of tlic
rirbolg in order of battle. Tke appearance of that hero. The
general conflict is described. The actions of Fingal and'Cathmor.
A storm. The total rout of the Firbolg. The two kings engage
in a column of mist, on the baiiks of Lubar. Tlieir attitude and
conference after the combat. The death of Cathmor. Fingal
resigns tJie spear of Trenmor to Ossian. TI'C ceremonies observ-
ed on that occasion. The spirit of Cathmor appears to Sul-maJla
in the va.ley of Lona. Her sorrow. Evcnuig comes on. A feast
is prepared. The coming of Ferard-artho is announced by the
song -Qf a huadred bards. The poem closes with a speech of ri;i-
gal.
BOOK VIII.
As when the wintry winds have seized the waves of
the mountain-lake, have seized them, in stormy
night, and clothed them over with ice ; white to the
hunter's early eye, the billows still seem to roll. He
turns his ear to the sound of each unequal ridge. But
each is silent, gleaming, strewn with boughs and tufts
of grass, which shake and whistle to the wind, over their
grey seats of frost. So silent shone to the morning the
ridges of Morten's host, as each warrior looked up
from his helmet towards the hill of the king ; the cloud-
covered hill of Fingal, where he strode, in the rolling
of mist. At times is the liero seen, greatly dim in all
his arms. From thought to thought rolled the war,
iilong hie mighty soul.