Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

452 THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.
He must not know that I dovibt his steel. No cloud of
mine shall rise, my son, upon thy soul of fire !"
He sunk behind his rock, amid the sound of Carril'a
song. Brightening in my growing soul, I took the
spear of Temora. 1 saw, along Moi-lena, the wild
tumbling of battle ; the strife of death, in gleaming
rows, disjointed and broken round. Fillan is a beam
of fire. From wing to wing is his wasteful course.
The ridges of war melt before him. They are rolled,
in smoke, from the fields !
Now is the coming forth of Cathmor, in the armor
of kings ! Dark waves the eagle's wing, above his
helmet of fire. Unconcerned are his steps, as if they
were to the chase of Erin. He raises, at times, his
terrible voice. Erin, abashed, gathers round. Tlieir
souls return back, like a stream. They wonder at the
steps of their fear. He rose, like the beam of the
morning, on a haunted heath: the traveller looks back,
with bending eye, on the field of dreadful forms ! Sud-
den from the rock of Moi-lena, are Sul-malla's trem-
bling steps. An oak takes the spear from her hand.
Half bent she looses the lance. But then are her eyes
on the king, from amid her wandering locks ! No
friendly strife is before thee ! No light contending of
bows, as when the youth of Inis-huna come forth be-
neath the eye of Conmor !
As the rock of Runo, which takes the passing clouds
as they fly, seems growing, in gathered darkness, over
the streamy heath ; so seems the chief of Atha taller,
as gather his people around. As different blasts fly
over the sea, each behind its dark-blue wave ; so
Cammor's words, on every side, pour his warriors
forth. Nor silent on his hill is Fillan. He mixes his
words with his echoing shield. An eagle he stemed,
with sounding wings, calling the wind to his rock, when