Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

Book V. AN EPIC POEM. £05
towards the lonely cave of Tura. He saw Fingal vic-
torious, and mixed his joy with grief. The sun is
bright on his aruiour, and Connal slowly followed.
They sunk behind the hill like two pillars of the-hre of
night ; when winds pursue them over the mountain, and
the tiaming heath resounds. Beside a stream of roaring
foam his cave is in a rock. One tree bends above it ;
and the rushing winds echo against its sides. Here
rests the chief of Dunscaich, the son of generous Semo. '
His thoughts are on the battle he lost ; and the tear is
on his cheek. He mourned the departure of his fame,
that fled like the mist of Cona, O Bragela, thou art
too far remote to cheer the soul of the hero. But let
him see thy bright form in his soul ; that his thoughts
may return to the lonely sun-beam of Dunscaich.
Who comes with the locks of age ? It is the son of
song. Hail, Carril of other times I thy voice is like
the harp in the halls of Tura. Thy words are pleasant
as the shower that fails on the field of the sun. Carril
of the times of old, why comest thou from the son of
the generous Semo ?
*' Ossian, king of swords," !-eplied the bard, " thou
best raisest the song. Long hast thou been known to
Carril, thou ruler of battles. Often have I touched the
harp to lovely Everallin. Thou too hast often accom-
panied my voice in Branno's hall of generous shells.
And often, amidst our voices, was heard the m.ildest
Everallin. One day she sung of Cormac's fall, the
youth that died for her love. I saw -he tears on her
cheek, and on thine, thou chief of men. Her soul was
touched for the unh^ippy, though she loved bim not.
How fait among a thousand maids was the daughter of
the generous Branno I"
'' Bring not, Carril," I replied, " bring not her me-
mory to my mind. My soul must melt ?l the rem.em-
brance. My eyes must have their tears. Pale in the
earth is she, the sofrlv-blushing fair of mv love. ' But
siMhou on the heath, O bard, and let us hear thy voice.
It is pleasant as the gale of spring that sighs on the
hunter's ear; when he wakens from dn-ams of joy, and
has heard the music of the spirits of the hill."