Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

132 A CRITICAL DISSERTATION
** me ; and the grey stone of the dead ; for never moro
*' will 1 leave thy rocks, sea-surrounded Tromathon '.
*' Ciiief of Strumon, why earnest thou over the waves
*' to Nuath's mournful daughter ? Why did not I pass
*' away in secret like the flower of the rock, that lifts
*' its fair head unseen, and strews its withered leaves on
" the blast ? Why didst thou come, O Gaul 1 to hear
" my departing sigh? O had I dwelt at Duvranna, in
" the bright beam of my fame I Then had my yean
*' come on with joy ; and the virgins would bless mj
*' steps. But I fail in youth, son of Morni, and my
*' father shall blush in his hall."
Oithona mourns like a woman ; in Cuthullin's ex-
pressions of grief after his defeat, we behold the senti-
ments of a hero, generous but desponding. The situa-
tion is remarkably fine. Cuthuliin, roused from hi
cave by the noise of battle, sees Fingal victorious ir
the field. He is described as kindling at the sight
" His hand is on the sword of his fathers; his red-ro!lin|
" eyes on the foe. He thrice attempted to rush tc
" battle ; and thrice did Connal stop him ;" suggesting
that Fingal was routing the foe; and that he ought not
by the show of superfluous aid, to deprive the king o
any part of the honour of a victory, which was owin;
to him alone. Cuthuliin yields to this generous senti
ment; but we see it stinging him to the heart %\ith th
sense of his own disgrace. " Then, Carril, go," replic'
the chief, " and greet the king of Morven. Whe:
*' Lochlin falls away like a stream after rain, and th
*' noise of the battle is over, then be thy voice swee
*' in his ear, to praise the king of swords. Give hir
" the sword of Caithbat ; for Cuthuliin is worthy n
*' more to lift the arms of his fathers. But, O ye ghost
*' of the lonely Cromla I ye souls of chiefs that are n
••' m.ore I be ye the companions of Cuthuliin, and tal
*' to him in the cave of his sorrow. For never mor
*' shall I be renowned among the mighty in the lan<
*' I am like a beam that has shone : Like a mist thf
" has fled away ; when the blast of the morning cam*
*■' and brightened the shaggy side of the hill. Connal