Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian > Volume 1

in snow ! The tempests roll dark on his sides,
but calm, above, his vast foijhead appears.
White-issuing from the skirt of his storms,
the troubled torrents pour down his sides.
Joining, as they roar along, they bear the
Torno, in foam, to the main.
Grey on the bank, and far from men, half-
covered, by ancient pines, from the wind, a
lonely pile exalts its head, long-shaken by the
storms of the north. To this fled Sigurd,
fierce in fight, from Harold the leader of ar-
mies, v/hen fate had brightened his spear,
with renown : when he conquered in that rude
field, where Lulan's warrior's fell in blood, or
rose in terror on the waves of the main.
Darkly sat the grey-haired chief ; yet sorrow
dwelt not in his soul. But when the warrior
thought on the past, his proud heart heaved
again his side : forth flew his sword fro.n its
place; he wounded Harold in all the v/inds.
One daughter, and only one, but bright in
form and mild of soul, the last beam of the
setting line, remained to Sigurd of all his
race. His son, in Lulan's battle slain, beheld
not his father's flidit from his foes. Nor fi-