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94 THE BATTLE OF LOW. A :
F<;rcuth t fliewfd his gloomy form : Dermid fpread
his dark hair on the win<i. OlTian caniv tlie laft. I
humintd tlie fong of otiier times : my ipear fupported
ipxy fleps over tlie little llreams, and my thoughts w.-re
of mighty men. Fingal ftruck his bofT/ ftiield j and
gave the difmal (ign of war; a thcufand fwords, at once
unflieathed, gleam on the waving heaih. Three gray-
hau'ed fons of fong raife the tuneful, mournful voice.
Deep and dark with founding fteps, we ru(h, a gloomy
ridge, along ; like the fhowerof aUonn, when it pours
on the narrow vale.
The king of Morvea fat on his hill : the fun-beam
of bai:tle fiew on the wind : the companions of his
youth are near, with all their waving locks of age.
Joy role in the hero's eyes v/hen he beheld his fons
in war; when he faw them aniidft the lightning
of f\\'ords, and mindful of the deeds of their fathers.
Erragon came on, in his ftrength, like the roar of a
winter-ftream ; the battle f^Us in his courfe, and deaih
is at his fide.
" Who comes," faid Fingal, " like the bounding
roe, like the hart of echoing Cona ? His fhield glitters
on his fide ; and the clan^ of his armour is moarnful.
Ke meets with Erragon in the ftrife ! Behold the battle
of the chiefs ! it is like the contending of gliofts in a
gloomy ftorm. But falleft thou, fon of the hill, and is
thy white bofom ftained with blood ? Weep, unhappy
Lorma, Aldo is no more !"
The king took the fpear of his ftrength ; for he was
fad for the fall of Aldo : he bent his deathful eyes on
the foe ; but Gaul met the king of Sora. \Yho can re-
late the fight of the chiefs ? The mighty ilranger fell.
" Sons of Cona !" Fingal cried aloud, " Itop the
hand of death. Mighty was he that is now l"o low !
and much is he mourned in Sora ! The flranger \v\l\
come towards his hall, and wonder why it is filent.
The king is fallen, O flranger, and the joy of his houie
+ Fcur-tutl), the fame witii Fergus, ' tte nuii uf Uie word/ or -4 cu;nm4nJcr of
F<;rcuth t fliewfd his gloomy form : Dermid fpread
his dark hair on the win<i. OlTian caniv tlie laft. I
humintd tlie fong of otiier times : my ipear fupported
ipxy fleps over tlie little llreams, and my thoughts w.-re
of mighty men. Fingal ftruck his bofT/ ftiield j and
gave the difmal (ign of war; a thcufand fwords, at once
unflieathed, gleam on the waving heaih. Three gray-
hau'ed fons of fong raife the tuneful, mournful voice.
Deep and dark with founding fteps, we ru(h, a gloomy
ridge, along ; like the fhowerof aUonn, when it pours
on the narrow vale.
The king of Morvea fat on his hill : the fun-beam
of bai:tle fiew on the wind : the companions of his
youth are near, with all their waving locks of age.
Joy role in the hero's eyes v/hen he beheld his fons
in war; when he faw them aniidft the lightning
of f\\'ords, and mindful of the deeds of their fathers.
Erragon came on, in his ftrength, like the roar of a
winter-ftream ; the battle f^Us in his courfe, and deaih
is at his fide.
" Who comes," faid Fingal, " like the bounding
roe, like the hart of echoing Cona ? His fhield glitters
on his fide ; and the clan^ of his armour is moarnful.
Ke meets with Erragon in the ftrife ! Behold the battle
of the chiefs ! it is like the contending of gliofts in a
gloomy ftorm. But falleft thou, fon of the hill, and is
thy white bofom ftained with blood ? Weep, unhappy
Lorma, Aldo is no more !"
The king took the fpear of his ftrength ; for he was
fad for the fall of Aldo : he bent his deathful eyes on
the foe ; but Gaul met the king of Sora. \Yho can re-
late the fight of the chiefs ? The mighty ilranger fell.
" Sons of Cona !" Fingal cried aloud, " Itop the
hand of death. Mighty was he that is now l"o low !
and much is he mourned in Sora ! The flranger \v\l\
come towards his hall, and wonder why it is filent.
The king is fallen, O flranger, and the joy of his houie
+ Fcur-tutl), the fame witii Fergus, ' tte nuii uf Uie word/ or -4 cu;nm4nJcr of
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Early Gaelic Book Collections > Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal > Volume 1 > (272) |
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Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/77918946 |
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Shelfmark | Oss.42 |
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Additional NLS resources: | |
Attribution and copyright: |
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Description | Selected books from the Ossian Collection of 327 volumes, originally assembled by J. Norman Methven of Perth. Different editions and translations of James MacPherson's epic poem 'Ossian', some with a map of the 'Kingdom of Connor'. Also secondary material relating to Ossianic poetry and the Ossian controversy. |
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Description | Selected items from five 'Special and Named Printed Collections'. Includes books in Gaelic and other Celtic languages, works about the Gaels, their languages, literature, culture and history. |
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