Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

i66 OSSIAN
grave of the dead. At times are seen here the ghosts
of the departed, when the musing hunter alone stalks
slowly over the heath.
Who can reach the source of thy race, O Connal !
who recount thy fathers? Thy family grew like an oak
on the mountain, which meeteth the wind with its lofty
head. But now it is torn from the earth. Who shall
supply the place of Connal ? Here was the din of arms !
here the groans of the dying. Bloody are the wars of
Fingal, O Connal ! It was here thou didst fall. Thine
arm was like a storm ; thy sword a beam of the sky ;
thy height a rock on the plain ; thine eyes a furnace of
fire. Louder than a storm was thy voice, in the battles
of thy steel. Warriors fell by thy sword, as the thistle
by the staff of a boy. Dargo the mighty came on,
darkening in his rage. His brows were gathered into
wrath. His eyes like two caves in a rock. Bright
rose their swords on each side : loud was the clang of
their steel.
The daughter of Rinval was near ; Crimora bright in
the armour of man ; her yellow hair is loose behind, her
bow is in her hand. She followed the youth to the
war, Connal her much-beloved. She drew the string
on Dargo ; but erring she pierced her Connal. He falls
like an oak on the plain ; like a rock from the shaggy
hill. What shall she do, hapless maid ? He bleeds ;
her Connal dies ! All the night long she cries, and all
the day, "O Connal, my love, and my friend!" With
grief the sad mourner dies ! Earth here incloses the
loveliest pair on the hill. The grass grows between the
stones of the tomb ; I often sit in the mournful shade.
The wind sighs through the grass ; their memory rushes
on my mind. Undisturbed you now sleep together ; in
the tomb of the mountain you rest alone !
"And soft be their rest," said Utha, "hapless chil-
dren of streamy Lotha ! I will remember them with
tears, and my secret song shall rise ; when the wind