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

2(^0 T E M O R A : Book VIII.
fhells. Joy rofe , like a flome , on my foul:
I bled the ecclioing rock. Here be my dwell-
ing , in dniknefs, in my grLlTy vale. From
this I ihall mount the breeze , that parfues my
thiftle's; benrd ; or look down , on blue-winding
Atha 5 from its wandering miit.
Why fpeaks the king of the tomb? — -
Oflian ! the warrior has failed ! Joy meet
thy foul, like a flream , Cathmor, friend of
ftrangersl — My fon, I hear the call of
years; they take my fpear as they pafs along.
Why does not Fingal, they feem to fay, rell
•within his hall? Doft thou always delight in
blood? In the tears of the fad? No: ye
darkly-rolling years , Fingal delights not in
blood. Tears are wintry flreams that wafte
away my foul. But, when I lie down to reft,
then comes the mighty voice of war. It awak-
es
traditions , there is no mention inade of Cath-
mor. This muft be attributed to the revoluticns
and domeftic confufions, which happened in that
ifland , and utterly cut off all the reiil traditions
concerning fo ancient a period. AH that we ha-
ve relaied of the ftate ol" Irelnid before the Ifih
centin-v, is of late invention, and the work of Ill-
informed fenadiies and injiulicious bards.