Ossian Collection > Life and letters of James Macpherson

8o JAMES MACPHERSON.
antiquity than the others, and the author spoke
of himself as present in the expedition.
Although a specimen of these Fragments
has already been given, it will be convenient to
quote a few further passages here.
" Evening is grey on the hills. The north
wind resounds through the woods. White
clouds rise on the sky ; the trembling snow
descends. The river howls afar, along its wind-
ing course. Sad, by a hollow rock, the grey -haired
C'arryl sat. Dry fern waves over his head ; his
seat is an aged birch. Clear to the roaring
winds he lifts his voice of woe.
"Tossed on the wavy ocean is he, the hope of
the isles ; Malcolm, the support of the poor ; foe
to the proud in arms ; why hast thou left us
behind ? why have we to mourn thy fate ? "
" Son of the noble Fingal, Ossian, prince of
men ! what tears run down the cheeks of age ?
what shakes thy mighty soul ?
"Memory, son of Alpin, memory wounds the
aged. Of former times are my thoughts ; my
thoughts are of the noble Fingal. The race of
the king returns into my mind, and wounds me
with remembrance. . . .
"Son of Alpin ! the woes of the aged are many ;
their tears are for the past. This raised my
sorrow, warrior ; memory awaked my grief.
Oscar, my son, was brave ; but Oscar is now no
more. Thou hast heard my grief, O son of
Alpin I forgive the tears of the aged."
" By the side of a rock on the hill, beneath
the aged tree, old Ossian sat on the moss ; the