Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

92 OINA-MORUL:
We went. On the harp arofe the white
hands of Oina-morul. She waked her own
fad tale, from every trembling firing. I flood in
filence ; for bright in her locks was the daugh-
ter of many ifles ! Her eyes were two ftars,
looking forward through a rufhing fhower.
The manner marks them on high, and blefles
the lovely beams. With morning we rufhed to
battle, to Tormul's refounding ftream : the foe
moved to the found of Ton-thormod's bofly
fhield. From wing to wing the ftrife was
mixed. I met Ton-thormod in fight, Wide
flew his broken fteel. I feized the king in
war. I gave his hand, bound faft with thongs,
to Mal-orchol, the giver of fhells. Joy rofe
at the feaft of Fuarfed, for the foe had failed.
Ton-thormod turned his face away, from Oina-
morul of ifles ?
Son of Fingal, begun Mal-orchol, not for-
got fhalt thou pafs from me. A light fhall
dwell in thy {hip, Oina-morul of flow-rolling
eyes. She fhall kindle gladnefs along thy
mighty foul. Nor unheeded fhall the maid
move in Selma, through the dwelling of
kings !
In the hall I lay in night. Mine eyes were
half-clofed in fleep. Soft mufic came to mine
ear : It was like the rifing breeze, that whirls*
at firfl, the thiftle's beard ; then flies, dark-
fhadowy, over the grafs. It was the maid of
Fuarfed wild ! fhe raifed the nightly fong ; fhe
knew that my foul was a ftream, that flowed
at pleafant founds. " Who looks," fhe faid*
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