Ossian Collection > Fingal

B. V. An E P I C P O E M. 6l'
No ; raid the king of Morven, I will never
wound thee, Orla. On the banks of Loda let
her fee thee efcaped from the hands of war. Let
thy gray-haired father, who, perhaps, is blind with
age, hear the found of thy voice in his hall. — With
joy let the hero rife, and fearch for his fon with his
hands.
But never will he find him, Fingal ; faid the
youth of the flreamy Loda. — On Lena's heath I
fhall die ; and foreign bards v/ill talk of me. My
broad belt covers my wound of death. And now I
give it to the wind.
The dark blood poured from his fide, he fell
pale on the heath of Lena. Fingal bends over him
as he dies, and calls his younger heroes.
Oscar and Filan, my fons, raife high the
memory of Orla. Here let the dark-haired hero
reft far from the fpoufe of his love. Here let him
refi: in his narrow houfe far from the found of
Loda. The fons of the feeble will find his bow
at home, but will not be able to bend it. His
faithful dogs howl on his hills, and his boars,
which he ufed to purfue, rejoice. Fallen is the
arm of battle; the mighty among the valiant is
low!
Exalt the voice, and blow the horn, ye fons
qi" the king of Morven : let us go back to Swaran,
and fend the night away on fong. Fillan, Ofcar,
and Ryno, fly over the heath of Lena. Where,
Ryno, art thou, young fon of fame ? Thou art
not wont to be the lafi: to anfwer thy father.
Ryno, fiiid UUin firft of bards, is With the
awful forms of his fathers. With Tiathal king
of fhields, and Trenmor of the mighty deeds.
The youth is low, — the youth is pale, — he lies on
Lena's heath.
And fell the fwifteft in the race, fd\d the king,