Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

TEMORA. 375
feast. Bid the voice of bards arise. Bid them roll the
night away. The soul returns, from song, more ter-
rible to war. Darkness settles on Erin. From hill
to hill bend the skirted clouds. Far and gray, on the
heath, the dreadful strides of ghosts are seen : the
ghosts of those who fell bend forward to their song.
Bid, O Cathmor ! the harps to rise, to brighten the
dead, on their wandering blasts.'
• Be all the dead forgot,' said Foldath's bursting
wrath. ' Did not I fail in the field ? Shall I then hear
the song? Yet was not my course harmless in war.
Blood was a stream around my steps. But the feeble
were behind me. The foe has escaped from my sword.
Id Clonra's vale touch thou the harp. Let Dura
answer to the voice of Hidalla. Let some maid look,
from the wood, on thy long, yellow locks. Fly from
Lubar's echoing plain. This is the field of heroes !*
* King of Erin,' Malthos said, ' it is thine to lead in
war. Thou art a fire to our ejes, on the dark-brown
field. Like a blast thou hast past over hosts. Thou
hast laid them low in blood. But who has heard thy
words returning from the field I The wrathful de-
light in death : their remembrance rests on the
wounds of their spear. Strife is folded in their
thoughts : their words are ever heard. Thy course,
chief of Moma, was like a troubled stream. The dead
were rolled on thy path : but others also lift the
spear. We were not feeble behind thee ; but the foe
was strong.'
Cathmor beheld the rising rage, and bending for-
ward of either chief: for, half-unsheathed, they held
their swords, and rolled their silent eyes. Now
would they have mixed in horrid fray, had not the
wrath of Cathmor burned. He drew his sword : it
gleamed through night, to the high-flamed oak ! • Sons
of pride,' said the king, ' allay your swelling souls.
Retire in night. Why should my rage arise ? Should
I contend with both in arms ! It is no time for strife !
Retire, ye clouds, at my feast. Awake my soul no
more.'
They sunk from the king on either side ; like two
columns of morning mist, when the sun rises, betAveen