Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

TEMORA. . 427
The dead were rolled on thy path : but others also
lift the spear. We were not feeble behind thee ; but
the foe was strong."
Cathraor beheld the rising rage, and bending for-
ward of either chief : for, half-unsheathed, they
held their swords, and rolled their silent eyes.
Now would they have mixed in horrid fray^, had
not the wrath of Cathmor burned. He drew his
sword : it gleamed through night, to the high-flamed
oak! "Sons of pride," said the king, "allay your
swelling souls. Retire in night. Why should my
rage arise? Should I contend with both in arms !
It is no time for strife ! Retire, ye clouds, at my
feast. Awake my soul no more."
They sunk from the king on either side; like two
columns of morning mist, when the sun rises, be-
tween them, on his glittering rocks. Dark is their
rolling oneither side: each toward its reedy pool!
Silent sat the chiefs at the feast. They look, at
times, on Atha's king, where he strode, on his rock,
amid his settling soul. The hostile, along the field.
Sleep descends on Moi-lena. The voice of Fonar
ascends alone, beneath his distanttree. It ascends
in the praise of Cathmor, son of Larthonof Lumon.
But Cathmor did not hear his praise. He lay at
the roar of a stream. The rustling breeze of night
flew over his whistling locks.
His brother came to his dreams, half-seen from
his low-hung cloud. Joy rose darkly in his face.
He had heard the song of Carril.* A blast sustained
his dark-skirted cloud : which he seized in the bo-
som of night, as he rose, with his fame, towards
his airy hall. Half-mixed with the noise of the
stream, he poured his feeble words.
" Joy meet the soul of Cathmor. His voice was
heard on Moi-lena. The bard gave his song to Cair-
bar. He travels on the wind. My form is in my
father's hall, like the gliding of a terrible light,
which darts across the desert, in a stormy night.
* The funeral elegy at the tomb of Cairbar.