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Am epic poem. 103
and filent round ; but where the diftant fteps of hofls are found-
ing over the heath.
I CAME to the place where Fillan * fought. Nor voice, nor
found is there. A broken hehnet lay on earth; a buckler cleft in twain*
Where, Fillan, where art thou, young chief of echoing Morven?
He heard me leaning againft a rock, which bent its grey head over
the ftreatn. He heard ; but fullen, dark he flood. At length I
faw the hero.
Why ftandeft thou, robed in darknefs, fon of woody Selma ?
Bright is thy path, my brother, in this dark-brown field. Long
has been thy ftrife in battle. Now the horn of Fingal is heard.
Afcend to the cloud of thy father, to his hill of feafts. In the
evening mift he His, and hears the voice of Carril's harp. Carry
joy to the aged, young breaker of the fhields.
Can the vanquiflied carry joy .'' OfTian, no fhield is mine. It
lies broken on the field. The eagle-wing of my helmet is torn.
It is when foes fly before them that fathers delight in their fons.
But their fighs burft forth, in fecret, when their young warriors
yield. — No : Fillan will not behold the king. Why fliould the
hero mourn ?
Son of blue-eyed Clatho> why doft thou awake my foul ? Wert
thou not a burning fire before him j and fliall he not rejoice ?— —
* The fcener)' of the place where Fil- that his brother was wounded. This kind
Ian fought, and the fituatiou of that hero, of fufpence is frequent In Oilian's poems,
are pifturefque and affefling. The dif- The more unexpected a thing is, thegreat-
trefs, which fucceeds, is heightened by er impreflion it makes on the mind when it
Offian's being ignorant, for fome time, comes.
Suck
3

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