Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

LATHMON 129
Lathmon fight against the first of men ? Your souls
are beams from heaven ; your swords the flames of
death. Who can equal the renown of the heroes, whose
deeds are so great in youth ! O that ye were in the
halls of Nuath, in the green dwelling of Lathmon I
Then would my father say that his son did not yield
to the weak. But who comes, a mighty stream, along
the echoing heath ? The little hills are troubled before
him ; a thousand ghosts are on the beams of his steel ;
the ghosts of those who are to fall * by the arm of the
king of resounding Morven. Happy art thou, O
Fingal ! thy sons shall fight thy wars. They go
forth before thee ; they return with the steps of their
renown ! "
Fingal came, in his mildness, rejoicing in secret over
the deeds of his son. Morni's face brightened vTÌth
gladness ; his aged eyes looked faintly through tears of
joy. We came to the halls of Selma. We sat around
the feast of shells. The maids of songs came into our
presence, and the mildly blushing Everallin I Her hair
spreads on her neck of snow, her eye rolls in secret on
Ossian. She touched the harp of music ; we blessed the
daughter of Branno.
Fingal rose in his place, and spoke to Lathmon, king
of spears. The sword of Trenmor shook by his side, as
high he raised his mighty arm. "Son of Nuath," he
said, "why dost thou search for fame in Morven? We
are not of the race of the feeble ; our swords gleam not
over the weak. When did we rouse thee, O Lathmon !
with the sound of war? Fingal does not deHght in
battle, though his arm is strong ! My renown grows
on the fall of the haughty. The light of my steel pours
on the proud in arms. The battle comes, and the tombs
* It was thought, in Ossian's time, that each person had his
attending spirit. The traditions concerning this opinion are
dark and unsatisfactory.