Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

TEMORA 295
woody Selma ? Bright is thy path, my brother, in this
dark-brown field ! Long has been thy strife in battle !
Now the horn of Fingal is heard. Ascend to the cloud
of thy father, to his hill of feasts. In the evening mist
he sits, and hears the sound of Carril's harp. Carry
joy to the aged, young breakers of the shields 1 "
"Can the vanquished carry joy? Ossian, no shield
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 dehght in their sons. But their sighs burst
forth in secret, when their young warriors yield. No :
Fillan shall not behold the king I Why should the hero
mourn ? "
" Son of blue-eyed Clatho ! O Fillan, awake not my
soul ! Wert thou not a burning fire before him ? Shall
he not rejoice ? Such fame belongs not to Ossian ; yet
is the king still a sun to me. He looks on my steps
with joy. Shadows never rise on his face. Ascend,
O Fillan, to Mora ! * His feast is spread in the folds
of mist."
"Ossian ! give me that broken shield: these feathers
that are rolled in the wind. Place them near to Fillan,
that less of his fame may fall. Ossian, I begin to fail.
Lay me in that hollow rock. Raise no stone above,
lest one should ask about my fame. I am fallen in the
first of my fields, fallen without renown. Let thy voice
alone send joy to my flying soul. Why should the bard
know where dwells the lost beam of Clatho !"
" Is thy spirit on the eddying winds, O Fillan,
young breaker of shields ? Joy pursue my hero, through
his folded clouds. The forms of thy fathers, O Fillan,
bend to receive their son. I behold the spreading of
their fire on Mora : the blue-rolling of their misty
wreaths. Joy meet thee, my brother ! But we are dark
* From this it appears that Fingal still remained on Mora
looking down on the battle by the Lubar. C.