"
If Ossian's heroes weep, it is from excess of strength, and not
from weakness, a sacrifice or libation of fertile natures, like
the perspiration of stone in summer's heat. We hardly know that
tears have been shed, and it seems as if weeping were proper only
for babes and heroes. Their joy and their sorrow are made of one
stuff, like rain and snow, the rainbow and the mist. When Fillan
was worsted in fight, and ashamed in the presence of Fingal,
"He strode away forthwith,
And bent in grief above a stream,
His cheeks bedewed with tears.
From time to time the thistles gray
He lopped with his inverted lance."
Crodar, blind and old, receives Ossian, son of Fingal, who comes
to aid him in war;--
"`My eyes have failed,' says he, `Crodar is blind,
Is thy strength like that of thy fathers?
Stretch, Ossian, thine arm to the hoary-haired.'
I gave my arm to the king.
The aged hero seized my hand;
He heaved a heavy sigh;
Tears flowed incessant down his cheek.
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