Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

FINGAL 87
and he alone of all his race I But, king of Morven,
if I shall fall ; as one time the warrior must die ; raise
my tomb in the midst : let it be the greatest on Lena.
Send, over the dark-blue wave, the sword of Orla to the
spouse of his love ; that she may shew it to her son,
with tears, to kindle his soul to war." "Son of the
mournful tale," said Fingal, "why dost thou awaken my
tears? One day the warriors must die, and the children
see their useless arms in the hall. But, Orla ! thy tomb
shall rise. Thy white-bosomed spouse shall weep over
thy sword."
They fought on the heath of Lena. Feeble was the
arm of Orla. The sword of Fingal descended, and cleft
his shield in twain. It fell and glittered on the ground,
as the moon on the ruffled stream. " King of Morven,"
said the hero, "lift thy sword and pierce my breast.
Wounded and faint from battle, my friends have left me
here. The mournful tale shall come to my love on the
banks of the streamy Lota ; when she is alone in the
wood ; and the rustling blast in the leaves ! "
"No!" said the king of Morven, "I will never
wound thee, Orla. On the banks of Lota let her see
thee, escaped from the hands of war. Let thy grey-
haired father, who, perhaps, is blind with age ; let him
hear the sound of thy voice, and brighten within his
hall. With joy let the hero rise, and search for his son
with his hands!" "But never will he find him, Fingal,"
said the youth of the streamy Lota. "On Lena's heath
I must die ; foreign bards shall talk of me. My broad
belt covers my wound of death. I give it to the
wind ! "
The dark blood poured from his side, he fell pale on
the heath of Lena. Fingal bent over him as he dies,
and called his younger chiefs. " Oscar and Fillan, my
sons, raise high the memory of Orla. Here let the
dark-haired hero rest, far from the spouse of his love.
Here let him rest in his narrow house, far from the