Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

TEMORA. 447
over his soul. As waves on a secret mountain-lake,
each with its back of foam. He looked ; no sun ap-
peared with his long-beaming spear. The sighs rose
crowding, from his soul; but he concealed his grief.
At length I stood beneath an oak. No voice of mine
was heard. What could I say to Fingal in his hour
of woe 1 His words rose, at length, in the midst ;
the people shrunk backward as he spoke.
" Where is the son of Selma ; he who led in war ?
I behold not his steps, among my people, returning
from the field. Fell the young bounding roe, who
was so stately on my hills ? He fell ! for ye are silent.
The shield of war is cleft in twain. Let his armour
be near to Fingal ; and the sword of dark-brown
Xuno. I am waked on my hills ; with morning I
descend to war."
High on Cormul's rock, an oak is flaming to the
wind. The grey skirts of mist are rolled around ;
thither strode the king in his wrath. Distant from
the host he always lay, when battle burnt within his
soul. On two spears hung his shield on ^high; the
gleaming sign of death ! that shield, which he was
wont to strike, by night, before he rushed to war. It
was then his warriors knew, when the king was to
lead in strife; for never was his buckler heard, till
the wrath of Fingal arose. Unequal were his steps
on high, as he shone on the beam of the oak ; he was
dreadful as the form of the spirit of night, when he
clothes, on hills, his wild gestures with mist, and,
issuing forth, on the troubled ocean, mounts the car
of winds.
Nor settled, from the storm, is Erin's sea of war !
they glitter, beneath the moon, and, low-humming,
still roll on the field. Alone are the steps of Cathmor,
before them on the heath ; he hangs forward with all
liis arms, on Morven's flying host. Now had he
come to the mossy cave, where Fillan lay in night.
One tree was bent above the stream, which glittered
over the rock. There shone to the moon tlie broken
shield of Clatho's son ; and near it, on grass, lay
hairy-footed Bran. He had missed the chief on
I Mora, and searched him along the wind. He thought
I that the blue-eyed hunter slept; he lay upon his