Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

456 THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.
heard. What could I say to Fingal in this hour of
wo "^ His words rose, at length, in the midst : the
people shrunk backward as he spoke.
" Where is the son of Sclma ; he who led in war ?
I behold not his steps, among my people, returning
from the field. Fell the young bounding roe, who was
so stately on my hills ? He fe'l ! for ye are silent.
The shield of war is cleft in twain. Let his armor
be near to Fingal ; and the sword of dark-brown Luno.
I am waked on my hills ; with morning I descend to
war !"
High on Cormul's rock, an oak is flaming to the
wind. The gray skirts of mist are rolled around ;
thither strode the king in his wrath. Distant from the
host he always lay, when battle burnt within his soul.
On two spears hung his shield on high ; the gleaming
sign of death ! that shield, which he was wont to strike,
by night, before he rushed to war. It was then his
warriors knew when the king was to lead in strife ;
for never was his buckler heard, till the wrath of Fin-
gal arose. Unequal were his steps on high, as he
shone on the beam of the oak ; he was dreadful as the
form of the spirit of night, when he clothes, on hills,
his wild gestures with mist, and, issuing forth, on the
troubled ocean, mounts the car of winds.
Nor settled, from the storm, is Erin's sea of war !
they glitter, beneath the moon, and, low humming, still
roll on the field. Alone are the steps of Cathmor, be-
fore them on the heath : he hangs forward, with all
his arms, on Morven's flying host. Now had he come
to the mossy cave, where Fillan lay in night. One
tree was bent above the stream, which glittered over
the rock. There shone to the moon the broken shield
of Clatho's son ; and near it, on grass, lay hairy-footed
Bran. He had missed the chief on Mora, and searched
him along the wind. He thought that the blue-eyed