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

Book VII. AK EPIC POEM. 199
ing halls of Tcmora. He comes, at times, abroad, in
the skirts of mist, to pierce the bounding roes. When
the sun looks on the field, nor by the rock nor stream
is he ! Ho shuns the race of Bolga, who dwell in his-fa-
tlier's hall. Tell him, that Fingal lifts the spear, and
that his foes, perhaps, may fail.
•' Lift up, O Gaid ! the shield before him. Stretch
Dermid, Temora's spear. Be thy voice in his ear. O
Carril, with the deeds of his fathers. Lead him to
green Moi-lena, to the dusky tields of ghosts ; for there
I hill forward in battle, in the folds of war. Before dun
night descends, come to high Dun-mora's top. Look,
from the grey rolling of mist, on Lena of the streams.
If there my standard shall float on wind, over Lubar's
gleaming couise, then has not Fingal failed in the last
of his iields."
Such were his words : nor aught replied the silent,
striding kings. They looked side-long on Erin's host,
Jind darkened as they went. Never before had they
left the king, in the niidst of the stormy field. Behind
them, touching at times his harp, the giey-haired Car-
ril moved. He foresaw the fall of the people, and
mournRil was the sound ! It vv^as like a breeze that
comes, by fits, over Lego's reedy lake ; v/hen sleep
half-descends on the hunter, within his mossy cave.
" Why bends the bard of Cona," said Fingal, " o-
ver his secret stream ? Is this a time for sorrow, father
of lov/daid Oscar? Be the warriors ^ remembered in
is he till, saiJ Gaul, as that rock ; nor glitter streams witkin his
strides : but his soui is a mighty- flood, like the strength of Ullin's
«ea^."
X It is supposed Malvina speaks the fnUowlng soliloquy. " Mal-
vina is like the bow of the shower, iu the secret valley of i.treaTTis j
it is bright, but the drops of heavea roll on its blended light. The/
say that I am lair within my locks, but, on my brightness is the wan-
dering of rears. Darkness nies over ray soul, as the iii:-V\ wave of
the breeze, along the grass of Lutha. Yet have no: tuc roes failed
me, when I moved between the tills. Pkasint, he.-:eath my white
.hand, arose theeound of harps: What then, daujiLierofLiitha, tra-
yeU over thy sou!, Uk^th; dreary ratl^ of ^ ghost, along ^^^^ nJ^l^tly