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

A N E P I C P O E M. 521
from the ikirts of the evening--mift , when it Is
rolled around me, on Lona of the ftreams.
While yet thou art diftant far^ ftrike, Cathmor,
flrike the ihield , that joy may return to my
darkned foul , as I lean on the mofly rock.
Bur if thou ihould fall : ■ I am in the land
of flrangers ; O fend thy voice , from
thy cloud, to the maid of Inis-huna,
Young branch of green - headed Lurtion ,
why doft thou fhake in the ftorm? Often has
Cathmor returned, from darkly - rolling wars.
The darts of death kve but hail to me ; they-
have often bounded from my fhield. I have
rifen brightned from battle, like a meteor from
a ftormy cloud. Return not, fair beam, from
thy vale , when the roar of battle grows.
Then might the foe efcape , as from my fa-
thers of old.
They
towards battle. His joy is fa the murmur of
fields. Look to the beams of old, to' the vir-
gins of OHian of harps. Sul-malla keeps not her
eagle, from the field of blood. She would not
tear her eagle, from the Ibuiiding courfe of re«
nown. "