Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

ii6 OITHONA:
nino: on a flormy cloud ! Her foul was re-
folved ; the tear was dried from her wildly-
looking eye. Dunronimath flowly approached.
He faw the ion of Morni. Contempt con-
tracted his face, a fmi'e is on his dark-brown
cheek ; his red eve rolled, half- concealed be-
neath his maogy brows !
" Whence are the ions of the fea ?" begun
the gloomy chief. " Have the winds driven
you on the rocks of Tromathon ? Or come
you in feafch of the white handed maid ? The
fons of the unhappy, ye feeble men, come to
the hand of Dunrommath ! His eye fpares
not the weak ; he delights in the blood of
ftrangers. Oithona is a beam of light, and
the chief of Cuthal enjoys it in iecret ; wouldft
thou come on its lovelinefs, like a cloud, [on
of the feeble hand ! Thou mayil come, but
fhak thou return to the hails of thy fathers V*
<c Doft thou not know me," faid Gaul," red-
haired chief of Cuthal ? Thy feet were fwift
on the heath, in the battle of car-borne Lath-
in on ; when the fword of Morni's ion purfued
his hoft, in Morven's woody land. Dunrom-
math ! thy words are mighty, for thy warriors
gather behind thee. But do I fear them, fon
of pride ? I am not of the race of the feeble V
Gaul advanced in his arms ; Dunrommath
fhrunk behind his people. But the fpear of
Gaul pierced the gloomy chief; his fword
lopped off his head, as it bended in death.
The fon of Morni (hock it thrice by the lock ;
the warriors of Dunrommath fled. The ar-
rows