Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

TEMORA.
" /^ATHMOR rises on his hill ! Shall Fingal take
^^ the sword of Luno? But what shall become
of thy fame, son of white-bosomed Clatho ? Turn
not thineeyes from Fingal, fairdaughteroflnistore.
I shall not quench thy early beam. It shines along
my soul. Rise, wood-skirted Mora, rise between the
war and me ! Why should Fingal behold the strife,
lesthis dark-haired warrior should fal' ? Amidsttbe
song, O Carril, pour the sound of the trembling
harp ! Here are the voices of rocks! and there the
bright tumbling of waters. Father of Oscar ! lift
the spear ! Defend the young in arms. Conceal thy
steps from Fillan. He must not know that I doubt
his steel. No cloud of mine shall rise, my son, upon
thy soul of fire!"
He sunk behind his rock, amid the sound of Car-
ril's song. Brightening, in my growing soul, I took
the spear of Temora. I saw, along INIoi-lena, the»
wild tumbling of battle; the strife of death, in
gleaming rows, disjoined and broken round. Fillan
is a beam of fire. From wing to wing is his wasteful
course. The ridges of war melt before him. They
are rolled, in smoke, from the fields !
Now is the coming forth of Cathmor, in the ar-
mour of kings! Dark waves the eagle's wing, above
his helmet of fire. Unconcerned are his steps, as if
they were to the chase of Erin. He raises, at times,
his terrible voice. Erin, abashed, gathers round.
Their souls return back, like a stream. They wonder
at the steps of their fear. He rose, like the beam of
the morning, on a haunted heath: the traveller looks