Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

462 THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.
of Conmor ! Sul-malla heard the dreadful shield, and
rose, amid the night. Her steps are towards the king
of Atha. " Can danger shake his daring soul ?" In
doubt, she stands with bending eyes. Heaven buina
with all its stars.
Again the shield resounds ! She rushed. She stopt.
Her voice half rose. It failed. She saw him, amidst
his arms, that gleamed to heaven's fire. She saw him
dim in his locks, that rose to nightly wind. Away, for
fear, she turned her steps. " Why should the king of
Erin awake ? Thou art not a dream to his rust,
daughter of Inis-huna."
More dreadful rings the shield. Sul-malla starts.
Her helmet falls. Loud echoes Lubar's rock, as over
it rolls the steel. Bursting from the dreams of night,
Cathmor half rose beneath his tree. He saw the form
of the maid above him, on the rock. A red s^.ar, with
twinkling beams, looked through her floating hair.
" Wlio comes through night to Cathmor in the sea-
son of his dreams ? Bring'st thou aught of war ? Who
art thou, son of night ? Stand'st thou before me, a form
of the times of old ? a voice from the fold of a cloud,
to warn me of the danger of Erin ?"
" Nor lonely scout am I, nor voice from folded cloud,"
she said, " but I warn thee of the danger of Erin. Dost
thou hear tliat sound ? It is not the feeble, king of Atha,
that rolls his signs on night."
"Let the warrior roll his signs," he replied, "1o
Cathmor they are the sounds ol harps. My joy la
great, voice of night, and burns over all my thoughts.
This is the music of kings, on lonely hills, by night ;
when they light their daring souls, the sons of mighty
deeds ! The feeble dwell alone, in the valley of the
breeze ; where mists lift their morning skirts, from the
blue-winding streams."
" Not feeble, king of men, were they, the fatliers of