wall. Oivana says to the spirit of her father, "gray-haired Torkil of Torne," seen in the skies:
Thou glidest away like receding ships.
So when the hosts of Fingal and Starne joined battle, the bard thus describes the approach of the enemy,—
With murmurs loud like rivers far,
The race of Torne hither moved.
Ossian expresses his wonder simply. His wonder is as simple and strictly said as his life is single and of few elements.
When his hero dies he allows us a short misty glance into futurity, yet into as clear and unclouded a life as his first. When in Carbodia, MacRoine is slain,—
The hero fell lifeless, etc.
There are but few objects to distract these heroes' sight. Their life is as uncluttered as the course of the stars, which they gaze after.
The wrathful kings on cairns apart, etc.
Through the grim nights and the cloudy days, with stern hope, the bard and warrior
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