THE WAR OF CAROS:
a poem.
Bring, daughter of Toscar! bring the harp! the light of the song rises in Ossian's soul! It is like the field, when darkness covers the hills around, and the shadow grows slowly on the plain of the sun. I behold my son, O Malvina! near the mossy rock of Crona. But it is the mist of the desert, tinged with the beam of the west. Lovely is the mist, that assumes the form of Oscar! turn from it, ye winds, when ye roar on the side of Ardven!
Who comes towards my son, with the murmur of a song? His staff is in his hand, his grey hair loose on the wind. Surly joy lightens his face. He often looks back to Caros. It is Ryno[1] of songs, he that went to view the foe. "What does Caros king of ships?" said the son of the now mournful Ossian, "spreads he the wings[2] of his pride, bard of the times of old!" "He spreads them, Oscar," replied the bard, "but it is behind his gathered heap.[3] He looks over his stones with fear. He beholds thee terrible, as the ghost of night, that rolls the wave to his ships!"
