Page:Fingal, an Ancient Epic Poem in Six Books.djvu/42

4 on thy arms! Calmar lift thy founding steel! Puno! horrid hero, rise: Cairbar from thy red tree of Cromla. Bend thy white knee, O Eth; and descend from the streams of Lena. Ca-olt stretch thy white side as thou movest along the whistling heath of Mora: thy side that is white as the foam of the troubled sea, when the dark winds pour it on the murmuring rocks of Cuthon.

I behold the chiefs in the pride of their former deeds; their souls are kindled at the battles of old, and the actions of other times. Their eyes are like flames of fire, and roll in search of the foes of the land. ——— Their mighty hands are on their swords ; and lightning pours from their sides of steel. ——— They came like streams from the mountains; each rushed roaring from his hill. Bright are the chiefs of battle in the armour of their fathers. ——— Gloomy and dark their heroes followed, like the gathering of the rainy clouds behind the red meteors of heaven. ——— The sounds of crashing arms ascend. The gray dogs howl between. ——— Unequally bursts the song of battle; and rocking Cromla echoes round. On Lena's dusky heath they stood, like mist that shades the hills of autumn: when broken and dark it settles high, and lifts its head to heaven.

, said Cuchullin, sons of the narrow, vales, hail ye hunters of the deer. Another sport is drawing near: it is like the dark rolling of that wave on the coast. Or shall we fight, ye sons of Rh