“Where rocks are rudely heaped and rent
As by a spirit turbulent,
Where sights are rough and sounds are wild
And everything unreconciled,
In some complaining dim retreat,
For fear and melancholy meet.”
And such are the scenes which the Ossianic poetry mainly dwells on. Here is a description of a battle—
“As hundred winds ’mid oaks of great mountains,
As hundred torrents from lofty hills,
As clouds in darkness rushing on,