Ossian Collection > Temora, an ancient epic poem, in eight books

An epic poem. 23
iilence : my fame iliall not be heard. — Cairbar ! loofe the bards :
they are the ions of other times. Their voice fliall be heard in
other years ; after the kings of Temora have failed.
We came forth at the words of the chief. We fj.\v him in his
flrength. He was hke thy youth, O Fingal, when thou firfl: didfl
lift the fpear. — His face was like the plain of the fun, v/hen it is
bright : no darknefs travelled over his brow. But he came with
his thoufands to Ullin j to aid the red-haired Cairbar : and now he
comes to revenge his death, O king of woody Morven.
And let him come, replied the king; I love a foe like Cath-
mor. His foul is great ; his arm is ftrong, his battles are full of
fame. But the little foul is a vapour that hovers round the mar-
fhy lake : it never rifes on the green hill, left the winds fliould meet
it there : its dwelling is in the cave, it fends forth the dart of death.
Our young heroes, O warriors, are like the renown of our fa-
thers. — They fight in youth ; they fall : their names are in the
fong. Fingal is amidft his darkening years. He muft not fall, as
an aged oak, acrofs a fecret ftream. Near it are the fteps of the
hunter, as it lies beneath the wind. " How has that tree fallen ? "
He, whiftling, ftrides along.
Raise the fong of joy, ye bards of Morven, that our fouls may
forget the paft. — The red ftars look on us from the clouds, and
filently defcend. Soon ftjall the grey beam of the morning rife,
and fliew us the foes of Cormac. Fillan ! take the fpear of the
king ; go to Mora's dark-brown fide. Let thine eyes travel over
the heath, like flames of fire. Obferve the foes of Fingal, and
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