Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

BERRATHON 405
The storms are darkening in thy hand. Thou takest
the sun in thy wrath, and hidest him in thy clouds.
The sons of little men are afraid. A thousand showers
descend. But, when thou comest forth in thy mildness,
the gale of the morning is near thy course. The sun
laughs in his blue fields. The grey stream winds in its
vale. The bushes shake their green heads in the wind.
The roes bound towards the desert."
"There is a murmur in the heath ! the stormy winds
abate ! I hear the voice of Fingal. Long has it been
absent from mine ear! "Come, Ossian, come away,"
he says. Fingal has received his fame. We passed
away, like flames that had shone for a season. Our
departure was in renown. Though the plains of our
battles are dark and silent, our fame is in the four grey
stones. The voice of Ossian has been heard. The harp
has been strung in Selma. "Come, Ossian, come
away," he says, "come, fly with thy fathers on clouds."
I come, I come, thou king of men ! The life of Ossian
fails. I begin to vanish on Cona. My steps are not
seen in Selma. Beside the stone of Mora I shall fall
asleep. The winds whistling in my grey hair, shall not
awaken me. Depart on thy vdngs, O wind ! thou canst
not disturb the rest of the bard. The night is long, but
his eyes are heavy. Depart, thou rustling blast."
"But why art thou sad, son of Fingal? Why grows
the cloud of thy soul? The chiefs of other times are
departed. They have gone, without their fame. The
sons of future years shall pass away. Another race
shall arise. The people are like the waves of ocean :
like the leaves of woody Morven, they pass away in
the rustling blast, and other leaves lift their green heads
on high."
times concerning the souls of the deceased, who, it was sup-
posed, had the command of the winds and storms but took no
concern in the affairs of men.