Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

TEMORA.
A s when the wintry winds have seized the waves
■^^ of the mountain lake, have seized them in
stormy night, and clothed them over with ice; white,
to the hunter's early eye, the billows still seem to
roll. He turns his ear to the sound of each unequal
ridge. But each is silent, gleaming, strewn with
boughs and tufts of grass, which shake and whistle
to the wind, over their grey seats of frost. So silent
shone to the morning the ridges of Morven's host,
as each warrior looked up from his helmet towards
the hill of the king ; the cloud-covered hill of Fin-
gal, where he strode, in the folds of mist. At times
is the hero seen, greatly dim in all his arms. From
thought to thought rolled the war, along his mighty
soul.
Now is the coming forth of the king. First ap-
peared the sword of Luno ; the spear half-issuing
from a cloud, the shield still dim in mist. But
when the stride of the king came abroad, with all
his grey, dewy locks in the wind ; then rose the
shouts of his host over every moving tribe. They
gathered, gleaming, round, with all their echoing
shields. So rise the green seas round a spirit, that
comes down from the squally wind. The traveller
bears the sound afar, and lifts his head over the
rock. He looks on the troubled bay, and thinks he
.dimly sees the form. The waves sport, unwieldy,
round, with all their backs of foam.
Far distant stood the son of Morni, Duthno's
race, and Cona's bard. We stood far distant; each
beneath his tree. We shunned the eyes of the
.^ing : we had not conquered in the field. A little
stream rolled at my feet : I touched its light wave.