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384 THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.
wandering blood, is the dark chief of Moraa ! The host
on either side withdraw from the contending kings.
They raise, at once, their gleaming points. Rushing
comes Fillan of Selma. Three paces back Foldath
•withdraws, dazzled with that beam of light, which
came, as issuing from a cloud, to save the wounded
chief. Growing in his pride he stands. He calls forth
all his steel.
As meet two broad-winged eagles, in their sounding
strife, in winds : so rush the two chiefs, on Moi-lena,
into gloomy fight. By turns are the steps of the kings*
forward on their rocks above ; for now the dusky war
seems to descend on their swords. Cathmor feels the
joy of warriors, on his mo5sy hill : their joy in secret,
when dangers rise to match their souls. His eye is
not turned on Lubar, but on Selma's dreadful king.
He beholds him, on Mora, rising in his arms.
Foldath falls on his shield. The spear of Fillan
pierced the king. Nor looks the youth on the fallen,
but onward rolls the war. The hundred voices of
death arise. ' Stay, son of Fingal, stay thy speed.
Beholdest thou not that gleaming form, a dreadful
sign of death "? Awaken not the king of Erin. Return,
son of blue-eyed Clatbo.'
Malthos beholds Foldath low. He darkly stands
above the chief. Hatred is rolled from his soul. He
seems a rock in a desert, on v/hose dark side are the
trickling of waters; when the-slow sailing mist has
left it, and all its trees are blasted with M'inds. He
spoke to the dying hero about the narrow house.
* Whether shall thy gray stone rise in UlUn, or in
JVIoma's woody land ; where the sun looks, in secret,
on the blue streams of Dalrutho? There are the steps
of thy daughter, blue-eyed Dardu-lena!'
* Rememberest thou her,' said Foldath, * because no
son is mine : no youth to roll the battle before him, in
revenge of me? Malthos, I am revenged. I was not
peaceful in the field. Raise the tombs of those I have
slain, around my narrow house. Often shall I for-
sake the blast, to rejoice above their graves ; when I
* Fingal and Cathmor.
wandering blood, is the dark chief of Moraa ! The host
on either side withdraw from the contending kings.
They raise, at once, their gleaming points. Rushing
comes Fillan of Selma. Three paces back Foldath
•withdraws, dazzled with that beam of light, which
came, as issuing from a cloud, to save the wounded
chief. Growing in his pride he stands. He calls forth
all his steel.
As meet two broad-winged eagles, in their sounding
strife, in winds : so rush the two chiefs, on Moi-lena,
into gloomy fight. By turns are the steps of the kings*
forward on their rocks above ; for now the dusky war
seems to descend on their swords. Cathmor feels the
joy of warriors, on his mo5sy hill : their joy in secret,
when dangers rise to match their souls. His eye is
not turned on Lubar, but on Selma's dreadful king.
He beholds him, on Mora, rising in his arms.
Foldath falls on his shield. The spear of Fillan
pierced the king. Nor looks the youth on the fallen,
but onward rolls the war. The hundred voices of
death arise. ' Stay, son of Fingal, stay thy speed.
Beholdest thou not that gleaming form, a dreadful
sign of death "? Awaken not the king of Erin. Return,
son of blue-eyed Clatbo.'
Malthos beholds Foldath low. He darkly stands
above the chief. Hatred is rolled from his soul. He
seems a rock in a desert, on v/hose dark side are the
trickling of waters; when the-slow sailing mist has
left it, and all its trees are blasted with M'inds. He
spoke to the dying hero about the narrow house.
* Whether shall thy gray stone rise in UlUn, or in
JVIoma's woody land ; where the sun looks, in secret,
on the blue streams of Dalrutho? There are the steps
of thy daughter, blue-eyed Dardu-lena!'
* Rememberest thou her,' said Foldath, * because no
son is mine : no youth to roll the battle before him, in
revenge of me? Malthos, I am revenged. I was not
peaceful in the field. Raise the tombs of those I have
slain, around my narrow house. Often shall I for-
sake the blast, to rejoice above their graves ; when I
* Fingal and Cathmor.
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Early Gaelic Book Collections > Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian > (392) |
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Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/81242573 |
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Description | Selected books from the Ossian Collection of 327 volumes, originally assembled by J. Norman Methven of Perth. Different editions and translations of James MacPherson's epic poem 'Ossian', some with a map of the 'Kingdom of Connor'. Also secondary material relating to Ossianic poetry and the Ossian controversy. |
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Description | Selected items from five 'Special and Named Printed Collections'. Includes books in Gaelic and other Celtic languages, works about the Gaels, their languages, literature, culture and history. |
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