Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

T EM OR A.
BOOK VII.
FROM the wood-skirted waters of Lego, ascend, at
times, grey-bosomed mists ; when tlie gates of the
west are closed, on the sun's eagle-ej'e. Wide, over
Lara's stream, is poured the vapour dark and deep :
the moon, like a dim shield , by swimming through its
folds. With this, clothe the spirits of old their sud-
den gestures on the wind, when they stride, from
blast to blast, along the dusky night. Often, blend-
[ ed with the gale, to some warrior's grave, they roll
I the mist, a grey dwelling to his ghost, until the
I songs arise.
A sound came from the desert ; it was Conar, king
\ oflnis-fail. He poured his mist on the grave of Fil-
i Ian, at blue-winding Lubar. Dark and mournful sat
the ghost, in his grey ridge of smoke. The blast, at
times, rolled him together ^ but the form returned
again. It returned with bending eyes, and dark
winding of locks of mist.
It was dark. The sleeping host were still, in the
skirts of night. The flame decayed, on the hill of
Fingal ; the king lay lonely on his shield. His eyes
were half-closed in sleep: the voice of Fillan came.
" Sleeps the husband of Clatho ? Dwells the father
of the fallen in rest ? Am I forgot in the folds of
darkness; lonely in the season of nightr"
" Why dost thou mix," said the king, "with the
dreams of thy father 1 Can I forget thee, my son, or
thy path of fire in the field? Not such come the
deeds of the valiant on the soul of Fingal. They
are not there a beam of lightning, which is seen, and