Ossian Collection > Works of Ossian, the son of Fingal > Volumes 3 and 4

An epic POE M, 73
Son of Erin, I replied, my wrath dwells
not in his houie ■^'). My hatred flies, on eag-
le-wing, from the foe that is low. He
ihall hear the fong of bards; Cairbar fhall re-
joice on his wind.
Cathmor's fwelling foul arofe : he took the
dagger from his fide ; and placed it gleciming
in my hand. He placed it in my hand, with
fighs , and, lilent, ftrode away. Mine
eyes followed his departure. He dimly gleamed,
like the form of a ghoft, which meets a travel-
ler, by night, on the dark - lldrted heath. His
words are dark like fongs of old : with mornincr
flrides the unfinillied fhade away.
■^*) Who comes from Lubar's vale? From
the folds of the morning - miil ? The drops of
heaven
•'•') The grave, often poetically called a houfe. This
reply of Ofiiau abounds with the mod: exalted ien-
thnents of a noble mind, Tho', of all men liv-
ing, he was the moil injured by Cairbar, yet
he I'.ys afide his rage, as the foe was low. How
different is this from the behaviour of the heroes
of other ancient poems ! — Cynthius aurem vellit,
^*) The morning of the fecond day, from the open-^
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