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+Ossian Edition 6 (1773) was the first of the Ossian editions to have been delivered in two volumes. To keep things simple, I have pretended that each volume is a separate edition, naming the files `ossianedition6a` and `ossianedition6b`.
+
+In this folder, you will find
+
+(a) source TEI-XML files: ossianedition6a.xml and ossianedition6b.xml
+(b) generated HTML files: ossianedition6a.html and ossianedition6b.html
+(c) page images (in .pbm format) : ossianedition6a.zip and ossianedition6b.zip
+
+With saxon installed and a following wind you should be able to regenerate these files using the script `Scripts/ossianUp.sh`; however, this assumes you have also cloned my Ossian directory from github (https . You may find it easier just to tweak the HTML with your favourite editor.
+
+The only outstanding problem I see in the current HTML files is that the links to page images are not working properly. At the moment, the XML has links like this:
+
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+which generates in the HTML a link like this:
+
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+I have not tried to fix this because I didn't know what the URL should be, nor indeed whether you have better quality images you'd prefer to use. It also occurs to me now that you might prefer to use the @xml:id value to construct the link, since it is a little bit more transparent (e.g. "P73100003" means "third page of the first volume of the 1773 edition"). I can tweak the `ossianUp.xsl` script to do this if you like.
+
+The only change I made to the "default.xsl" file you sent me was to add declarations for the parameters, as recommended in your email of many months ago.
+
+Over to you!
+
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diff --git a/Scripts/NUIG/default.xsl b/NUIG/NUIG/default.xsl
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+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS.
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+ A NEW EDITION, Carefully corrected, and greatly improved.
+ LONDON: Printed for W. Strahan; and T. Becket,
+ in the Strand, Bookſeller to their Royal Highneſſes the Prince of Wales and
+ Biſhop of Osnabrugh. MDCCLXXIII.
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PREFACE.
+
Without encreaſing his genius, the Author may have improved his language,
+ in the eleven years, that the following poems have been in the hands of the public. Errors in
+ diction might have been committed at twenty-four, which the experience of a riper age may remove;
+ and ſome exuberances in imagery may be reſtrained, with advantage, by a degree of judgment
+ acquired in the progreſs of time. Impreſſed with this opinion, he ran over the whole with
+ attention and accuracy ; and, he hopes, he has brought the work to a ſtate of correctneſs, which
+ will preclude all future improvements.
+
The eagerneſs, with which theſe Poems have been received abroad, are a
+ recompence for the coldneſs with which a few have affected to treat them at home. All the polite
+ nations of Europe have transferred them into their
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+ reſpective languages; and they ſpeak of him, who brought them to light, in
+ terms that might flatter the vanity of one fond of fame. In a convenient indifference for a
+ literary reputation, the Author hears praiſe without being elevated, and ribaldry, without being
+ depreſſed. He has frequently ſeen the firſt beſtowed too precipitately; and the latter is ſo
+ faithleſs to its purpoſe, that it is often the only index to merit in the preſent age.
+
Though the taſte, which defines genius, by the points of the compaſs, is a
+ ſubject fit for mirth in itſelf, it is often a ſerious matter in the ſale of a work. When rivers
+ define the limits of abilities, as well as the boundaries of countries, a Writer may meaſure his
+ ſucceſs, by the latitude under which he was born. It was to avoid a part of this inconvenience,
+ that the Author is ſaid, by ſome, who ſpeak without any authority, to have aſcribed his own
+ productions to another name. If this was the caſe, he was but young in the art of deception. When
+ he placed the poet in
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+ antiquity, the Tranſlator ſhould have been born on this ſide of the
+ Tweed.
+
These obſervations regard only the frivolous in matters of literature;
+ theſe, however, form a majority in every age and nation. In this country, men of genuine taſte
+ abound ; but their ſtill voice is drowned in the clamours of a multitude, who judge by faſhion of
+ poetry, as of dreſs. The truth is, to judge aright requires almoſt as much genius as to write
+ well; and good critics are as rare as great poets. Though two hundred thouſand Romans ſtood up,
+ when Virgil came into the Theatre, Varius only could correct the Æneid. He that obtains fame muſt
+ receive it through mere faſhion; and gratify his vanity with the applauſe of men, of whoſe
+ judgment he cannot approve.
+
The following Poems, it muſt be confeſſed, are more calculated to pleaſe
+ perſons of exquiſite feelings of heart, than thoſe who receive all their impreſſions by the ear.
+ The novelty of cadence, in what is called a proſe verſion, tho'
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+ not deſtitute of harmony, will not to common readers ſupply the abſence of
+ the frequent returns of rhime. This was the opinion of the Writer himſelf, tho' he yielded to the
+ judgment of others, in a mode, which preſented freedom and dignity of expreſſion, inſtead of
+ fetters, which cramp the thought, whilſt the harmony of language is preſerved. His intention was
+ to publiſh in verſe. The making of poetry, like any other handicraft, may be learned by induſtry;
+ and he had ſerved his apprenticeſhip, though in ſecret, to the muſes,
+
It is, however, doubtful, whether the harmony which theſe poems might derive
+ from rhime, even in much better hands than thoſe of the tranſlator, could atone for the
+ ſimplicity and energy, which they would loſe. The determination of this point ſhall be left to
+ the readers of this preface. The following is the beginning of a poem, tranſlated from the Norſe
+ to the Gaëlic language ; and, from the latter, transferred into Engliſh. The verſe took little
+ more time to the writer than the proſe; and even he himſelf is doubtful, (if he
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+ has ſucceeded in either) which of them is the moſt literal verſion.
+
FRAGMENT of a NORTHERN TALE.
+
Where Harold, with golden hair, ſpread o'er LochlinDisplay note his high commands; where, with
+ juſtice, he ruled the tribes, who ſunk, ſubdued, beneath his ſword ; abrupt riſes GormalDisplay note in ſnow ! The tempeſts roll dark on his ſides, but calm,
+ above, his vaſt forehead appears, White-iſſuing from the ſkirt of his ſtorms, the troubled
+ torrents pour down his ſides. Joining, as they roar along, they bear the Torno, in foam, to the
+ main.
+
Grey on the bank and far from men, halfcovered by ancient pines, from the
+ wind, a lonely pile exalts its head, long-ſhaken by the ſtorms of the north. To this fled Sigurd,
+ fierce in fight, from Harold the leader of armies, when fate had brightened his ſpear,
+
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+ with renown: When he conquered in that rude field, where Lulan's warriors
+ fell in blood, or roſe, in terror, on the waves of the main. Darkly ſat the grey-haired chief;
+ yet ſorrow dwelt not in his ſoul. But when the warrior thought on the paſt, his proud heart
+ heaved again his ſide: Forth-flew his ſword from its place, he wounded Harold in all the
+ winds.
+
One daughter, and only one, but bright in form and mild of ſoul, the laſt
+ beam of the ſetting line, remained to Sigurd of all his race. His ſon, in Lulan's battle ſlain,
+ beheld not his father's flight from his foes. Nor finiſhed ſeemed the ancient line ! The ſplendid
+ beauty of bright-eyed Fithon, covered ſtill the fallen king with renown. Her arm was white like
+ Gormal's ſnow ; her boſom whiter than the foam of the main, when roll the waves beneath the wrath
+ of the winds. Like two ſtars were her radiant eyes, like two ſtars that riſe on the deep, when
+ dark tumult embroils the night. Pleaſant are their beams aloft, as ſtately they aſcend the
+ ſkies.
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+ Nor Odin forgot, in aught, the maid. Her form ſcarce
+ equalled her lofty mind. Awe moved around her ſtately ſteps. Heroes loved—but ſhrunk away in
+ their fears. Yet midſt the pride of all her charms, her heart was ſoft, and her ſoul was kind.
+ She ſaw the mournful with tearful eyes. Tranſient darkneſs aroſe in her breaſt. Her joy was in
+ the chace. Fach morning, when doubtful light wandered dimly on Lulan's waves, ſhe rouzed the
+ reſounding woods, to Gormal's head of ſnow. Nor moved the maid alone, &c.
+
The ſame verſified
.
+ Where fair-hair'd Harold, o'er Scandinia reign'd
+ And held, with juſtice, what his valour gain'd,
+ Sevo, in ſnow, his rugged forehead rears
+ And, o'er the warfare of his ſtorms, appears
+ Abrupt and vaſt. — White-wandering down his ſide
+ A thouſand torrents, gleaming as they glide,
+ Unite below ; and pouring through the plain
+ Hurry the troubled Torno to the main.
+
+ Grey, on the bank, remote from human kind,
+ By aged pines, half ſhelter'd from the wind,
+ A homely manſion roſe, of antique form,
+ For ages batter'd by the polar ſtorm.
+ To this fierce Sigurd fled, from Norway's lord
+ When fortune ſettled, on the warrior's ſword,
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+
+ In that rude field, where Suecia's chieſs were ſlain,
+ Or forced to wander o'er the Bothnic main.
+ Dark was his life, yet undiſturb'd with woes,
+ But when the memory of defeat aroſe
+ His proud heart ſtruck his ſide ; he graſpt the ſpear,
+ And wounded Harold in the vacant air.
+
+ One daughter only, but of form divine,
+ The laſt fair beam of the departing line,
+ Remain'd of Sigurd's race. His warlike ſon
+ Fell in the ſhock, which overturn'd the throne.
+ Nor deſolate the houſe ! Fionia's charms
+ Suſtain'd the glory, which they loſt in arms.
+ White was her arm, as Sevo's lofty ſnow,
+ Her boſom fairer, than the waves below,
+ When heaving to the winds. Her radiant eyes
+ Like two bright ſtars, exulting as they riſe,
+ O'er the dark tumult of a ſtormy night
+ And gladd'ning heav'n, with their majeſtic light,
+
+ In nought is Odin to the maid unkind
+ Her form ſcarce equals her exalted mind,
+ Awe leads her ſacred ſteps where'er they move,
+ And mankind worſhip, where they dare not love.
+ But, mix'd with ſoftneſs, was the virgin's pride,
+ Her heart had feelings, which her eyes deny'd.
+ Her bright tears ſtarted at another's woes,
+ While tranſient darkneſs on her ſoul aroſe.
+
+ The chace ſhe lov'd; when morn, with doubtful beam
+ Came dimly wandering o'er the Bothnic ſtream,
+ On Sevo's ſounding ſides, ſhe bent the bow,
+ And rouz'd his foreſts to his head of ſnow.
+ Nor mov'd the maid alone; &c.
+
One of the chief improvements, on this edition, is the care taken, in
+ arranging the poems in the order of time; ſo as to form a kind of regular hiſtory of the age to
+ which they relate. The writer has now reſigned them for ever to their fate. That they have been
+ well received by the public, appears from an extenſive ſale; that they ſhall continue to be well
+ received, he may venture to prophecy without the gift of that inſpiration, to which poets lay
+ claim. Through the medium of verſion upon verſion, they retain, in foreign languages, their
+ native character of ſimplicity and energy. Genuine poetry, like gold, loſes little, when properly
+ transfuſed ; but when a compoſition cannot bear the teſt of a literal verſion, it is a
+ counterfeit which ought not to paſs current. The operation muſt, however, be performed with
+ ſkilful hands. A tranſlator, who cannot equal his original, is incapable of expreſſing its
+ beauties.
Fingal, when very young, making a voyage to the Orkney Iſlands, was
+ driven, by ſtreſs of weather, into a bay of Scandinavia, near the reſidence of Starno, king of
+ Lochlins. Starno invites Fingal to a feaſt, Fingal, doubting the faith of the king, and
+ mindful of a former breach of hoſpitality, refuſes to go.—Starno gathers together his tribes:
+ Fingal reſolves to defend himſelf. — Night coming on, Duth-maruno propoſes to Fingal, to
+ obſerve the motions of the enemy.— The king himſelf undertakes the watch. Advancing towards
+ the enemy, he, accidentally, comes to the cave of Turthor, where Starno had confined
+ Conban-carglas, the captive daughter of a neighbouring chief. — Her ſtory is imperfect, a part
+ of the original being loſt.— Fingal comes to a place of worſhip, where Starno and his ſon,
+ Swaran, conſulted the ſpirit of Loda, concerning the iſſue of the war.— The rencounter of
+ Fingal and Swaran.— Duän firſt concludes with a deſcription of the airy
+ hall of Cruth-loda ſuppoſed to be the Odin of Scandinavia.
Why, thou wanderer unſeen! Thou bender of the thiſtle of Lora ; why, thou
+ breeze of the valley, haſt thou left mine ear ? I hear
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+ no diſtant roar of ſtreams! No ſound of the harp, from the rock ! Come,
+ thou huntreſs of Lutha, Malvina, call back his ſoul to the bard. I look forward to Lochlin of
+ lakes, to the dark, billowy bay of U-thorno, where Fingal deſcends from Ocean, from the roar of
+ winds. Few are the heroes of Morven, in a land unknown !
+
Starno ſent a dweller of Loda, to bid Fingal to the feaſt; but the King
+ remembered the paſt, and all his rage aroſe, “Nor Gormal's moſſy towers, nor Starno ſhall
+ Fingal behold. Deaths wander, like ſhadows, over his fiery ſoul! Do I forget that beam of
+ light, the whitehanded daughterDisplay note of kings? Go, ſon of Loda; his words are wind to Fingal : wind, that, to and fro,
+ drives the thiſtle, in autumn's duſky
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+ vale. Duth-marunoDisplay note, arm of death ! Crommaglas, of iron ſhields! Struthmor, dweller of battle's wing !
+ Cormar, whoſe ſhips bound on ſeas, careleſs as the courſe of a meteor, on dark-rolling clouds!
+ Ariſe, around me, children of heroes, in a land unknown! Let each look on his ſhield, like
+ Trenmor, the ruler of wars. “Come down, thus Trenmor ſaid, thou dweller between the harps. Thou
+ ſhalt roll this ſtream away, or waſte with me in earth.”
+
Around the king they riſe in wrath. No words come forth : they ſeize their
+ ſpears. Each ſoul is rolled into itſelf. At length the ſudden clang is waked, on all their
+ echoing ſhields. Each takes his hill, by night; at intervals, they darkly ſtand. Unequal burſts
+ the hum of ſongs, between the roaring wind !
In his arms, came tall Duth-maruno; he from Croma of rocks, ſtern hunter
+ of the boar ! In his dark boat he roſe on waves, when CrumthormoDisplay note awaked its woods. In the chace he ſhone, among foes: No fear was thine, Duthmaruno
+ !
+
“Son of daring Comhal, ſhall my ſteps be forward through night? From this
+ ſhield ſhall I view them, over their gleaming tribes? Starno king of lakes, is before me, and
+ Swaran, the foe of ſtrangers. Their words are not in vain, by Loda's ſtone of power. — Should
+ Duthmaruno not return, his ſpouſe is lonely, at home, where meet two roaring ſtreams, on
+ Crathmo-craulo's plain. Around are hills, with echoing woods, the ocean is rolling near. My ſon
+ looks on ſcreaming ſea-fowl, a young wanderer on the field. Give the head of a boar to Can-donaDisplay note, tell him of his father's joy, when the
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+ briſtly ſtrength of I-thorno rolled on his lifted ſpear. Tell him of my
+ deeds in war ! Tell where his father fell!''
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+
+
“Nor forgetful of my fathers,” ſaid Fingal, “I have bounded over the ſeas. Theirs were the
+ times of danger, in the days of old. Nor ſettles darkneſs on me, before foes, tho' youthful in
+ my locks. Chief of Crathmo-craulo, the field of night is mine.”
+
Fingal ruſhed, in all his arms, wide-bounding over Turthor's ſtream, that ſent its ſullen
+ roar, by night, through Gormal's miſty vale. A moon-beam glittered on a rock; in the midſt,
+ ſtood a ſtately form; a form with floating locks, like Lochlin's white-boſomed maids. Unequal
+ are her ſteps, and ſhort. She throws a broken ſong on wind. At times ſhe toſſes her white arms
+ : for grief is dwelling in her ſoul.
+
“Torcul-TornoDisplay note, of aged locks !” ſhe ſaid, “where now are thy ſteps, by Lulan? Thou
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+ haſt failed, at thine own dark ſtreams, father of Conban-cârgla ! But I
+ behold thee, chief of Lulan, ſporting by Loda's hall, when the dark-ſkirted night is rolled
+ along the ſky.—Thou, ſometimes, hideſt the moon, with thy ſhield. I have ſeen her dim, in
+ heaven. Thou kindleſt thy hair into meteors, and ſaileſt along the night. Why am I forgot, in
+ my cave, king of ſhaggy boars? Look, from the hall of Loda, on thy lonely daughter.”
+
“Who art thou,” ſaid Fingal, “voice of night ?”
+
She, trembling, turned away.
+
“Who art thou, in thy darkneſs ?”
+
She ſhrunk into the cave.
+
The king looſed the thong from her hands. He aſked about her fathers.
+
“Torcul-Torno,” ſhe ſaid, “once dwelt at Lulan's foamy ſtream : he
+ dwelt—but, now, in Loda's hall, he ſhakes the ſounding ſhell. He met Starno of Lochlin, in war
+ ; long fought the dark-eyed kings. My father fell, in his blood, blue-ſhielded Torcul-torno! By
+ a rock, at Lulan's ſtream, I had pierced the bounding roe. My white hand gathered my hair, from
+ off the ruſhing winds. I heard a noiſe. Mine eyes were up. My ſoft breaſt roſe on high. My ſtep
+ was forward, at Lulan, to meet thee, Torcul-torno ! It was Starno, dreadful king ! His red eyes
+ rolled on me in love. Dark waved his ſhaggy brow, above his gathered ſmile. Where is my father;
+ I ſaid, he that was mighty in war? Thou art left alone among foes, O daughter of Torcul-torno!
+ He took my hand. He raiſed the ſail. In this cave he placed me dark. At times, he comes, a
+ gathered miſt. He lifts, before me, my father's ſhield. But often paſſes a beamDisplay note of youth, far-diſtant from my cave. The ſon of Starno moves, in my ſight. He dwells
+ lonely in my ſoul.”
+
“Maid of Lulan,” ſaid Fingal, “white
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+ handed daughter of grief! a cloud, marked with ſtreaks of fire, is
+ rolled along thy ſoul. Look not to that dark-robed moon ; look not to thoſe meteors of heaven.
+ My gleaming ſteel is around thee, the terror of thy foes! It is not the ſteel of the feeble,
+ nor of the dark in ſoul! The maids are not ſhut in ourDisplay note caves of ſtreams. They toſs not their white arms alone. They bend, fair within their
+ locks, above the harps of Selma. Their voice is not in the deſart wild. We melt along the
+ pleaſing ſound !”
+
* * * * * *
+
Fingal, again, advanced his ſteps, wide thro' the boſom of night, to where
+ the trees of Loda ſhook amid ſqually winds. Three ſtones, with heads of moſs, are there; a
+ ſtream, with foaming courſe: and dreadful, rolled around them, is the dark-red cloud of Loda.
+ High from its top looked forward a ghoſt, half-formed of the ſhadowy ſmoak. He poured his
+ voice, at times, amidſt the roaring ſtream. Near,
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+ bending beneath a blaſted tree, two heroes received his words : Swaran
+ of lakes, and Starno foe of ſtrangers. On their dun ſhields, they darkly leaned : their ſpears
+ are forward through night. Shrill ſounds the blaſt of darkneſs, in Starno's floating beard.
+
They heard the tread of Fingal. The warriors roſe in arms. “Swaran, lay
+ that wanderer low,” ſaid Starno, in his pride. “Take the ſhield of thy father. It is a rock in
+ war.”— Swaran threw his gleaming ſpear. It ſtood fixed in Loda's tree. Then came the foes
+ forward, with ſwords. They mixed their rattling ſteel. Through the thongs of Swaran's ſhield
+ ruſhed the bladeDisplay note of Luno. The ſhield fell rolling on earth. Cleft the helmetDisplay note fell down. Fingal ſtopt the lifted ſteel. Wrathful ſtood Swaran, unarmed. He rolled his
+ ſilent eyes; he threw his ſword on earth. Then, ſlowly ſtalking over the ſtream, he whiſtled as
+ he went.
+
Nor unſeen of his father is Swaran. Starno turns away in wrath. His ſhaggy
+ brows wave dark, above his gathered rage. He ſtrikes Loda's
+
+ [
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+ tree, with his ſpear. He raiſes the hum of ſongs. They come to the hoſt
+ of Lochlin, each in his own dark path; like two foam-covered ſtreams, from two rainy vales
+ !
+
To Turthor's plain Fingal returned. Fair roſe the beam of the eaſt. It ſhone on the ſpoils of
+ Lochlin in the hand of the king. From her cave came forth, in her beauty, the daughter of
+ Torcul-torno. She gathered her hair from wind. She wildly raiſed her ſong. The ſong of Lulan of
+ ſhells, where once her father dwelt. She ſaw Starno's bloody ſhield. Gladneſs roſe, a light, on
+ her face. She ſaw the cleft helmet of SwaranDisplay note. She ſhrunk, darkened, from Fingal.—“Art thou fallen, by thy hundred ſtreams, O love of
+ the mournful maid.”
+
U-Thorno, that riſeſt in waters! on whoſe ſide are the meteors of night! I
+ behold the dark moon deſcending, behind thy reſounding woods. On thy top dwells the miſty Loda:
+ the houſe of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the ſpirits of men! In the end of his cloudy hall, bends forward
+ Cruth-loda of ſwords. His form is dimly ſeen, amid his wavy miſt. His right-hand is on his
+ ſhield. In his left is the half-viewleſs ſhell. The roof of his dreadful hall is marked, with
+ nightly fires!
+
The race of Cruth-loda advance, a ridge of formleſs ſhades. He reaches the
+ ſounding ſhell, to thoſe who ſhone in war. But, between him and the feeble, his ſhield riſes, a
+ darkened orb. He is a ſetting meteor to the weak in arms. Bright, as a rainbow on ſtreams, came
+ Lulan's white-boſomed maid.
FINGAL returning, with day, devolves the command on Duthmaruno, who engages the enemy, and
+ drives them over the ſtream of Turthor. Having recalled his people, he congratulates
+ Duth-maruno on his ſucceſs, but diſcovers, that that hero had been mortally wounded in the
+ action. —Duthmaruno dies. Ulin, the bard, in honour of the dead, introduces the epiſode of
+ Colgorm and Strina-dona, which concludes this duan.
“Where art thou, ſon of the king,” ſaid dark-haired Duth-maruno ? “Where
+ haſt thou ſailed, young beam of Selma? He returns not, from the boſom of night ! Morning is
+ ſpread on U-thorno. In his miſt is the ſun, on his hill. Warriors, lift the ſhields, in my
+ preſence. He muſt not fall, like a fire from heaven, whoſe place is not marked on the ground.
+ He comes, like an eagle, from the ſkirt of his ſqually wind ! In his hand are the ſpoils of
+ foes. King of Selma, our ſouls were ſad !”
+
“Near us are the foes, Duth-maruno. They come forward, like waves in miſt,
+ when their foamy tops are ſeen, at times, above the low-ſailing vapour. The traveller ſhrinks
+ on his journey ; he knows not whither to fly. No trembling travellers are we ! Sons of heroes
+ call forth the ſteel. Shall the ſword of Fingal ariſe, or ſhall a warrior lead ?”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Display noteThe deeds of old, ſaid Duth-maruno, are like paths to our eyes, O
+ Fingal. Broad-ſhielded Trenmor, is ſtill ſeen, amidſt his own dim years. Nor feeble was the
+ ſoul of the king. There, no dark deed wandered in ſecret. From their hundred ſtreams came the
+ tribes, to graſſy Colglancrona. Their chiefs were before them. Each ſtrove to lead the war.
+ Their ſwords were often half-unſheathed. Red rolled their eyes of rage.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Separate they ſtood, and hummed their ſurly ſongs. “Why ſhould they
+ yield to each other ? their fathers were equal in war.” Trenmor was there, with his people,
+ ſtately in youthful locks. He ſaw the advancing foe. The grief of his ſoul aroſe. He bade the
+ chiefs to lead, by turns : they led, but they were rolled away. From his own moſſy hill,
+ blue-ſhielded Trenmor came down. He led wide-ſkirted battle, and the ſtrangers failed. Around
+ him the dark-browed warriors came : they ſtruck the ſhield of joy. Like a pleaſant gale, the
+ words of power ruſhed forth from Selma of kings. But the chiefs led, by turns, in war, till
+ mighty danger roſe : then was the hour of the king to conquer in the field.
+
“Not unknown, ſaid Cromma-glaſsDisplay note of
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhields, are the deeds of our fathers. But who ſhall now lead the war,
+ before the race of kings? Miſt ſettles on theſe four dark hills : within it let each warrior
+ ſtrike his ſhield. Spirits may deſcend in darkneſs, and mark us for the war.”
+
They went, each to his hill of miſt. Bards marked the ſounds of the
+ ſhields. Loudeſt rung thy boſs, Duth-maruno. Thou muſt lead in war!
+
Like the murmur of waters, the race of Uthorno came down. Starno led the
+ battle, and Swaran of ſtormy iſles. They looked forward from iron ſhields, like Cruth-loda
+ fiery-eyed, when he looks from behind the darkened moon, and ſtrews his ſigns on night. The
+ foes met by Turthor's ſtream. They heaved like ridgy waves. Their echoing ſtrokes are mixed.
+ Shadowy death flies over the hoſts. They were clouds of hail, with ſqually winds in their
+ ſkirts. Their
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhowers are roaring together. Below them ſwells the dark-rolling
+ deep.
+
Strife of gloomy U-thorno, why ſhould I mark thy wounds ! Thou art with
+ the years that are gone ! thou fadeſt on my ſoul !
+
Starno brought forward his ſkirt of war, and Swaran his own dark wing. Nor
+ a harmleſs fire is Duth-maruno's ſword. Lochlin is rolled over her ſtreams. The wrathful kings
+ are loſt in thought. They roll their ſilent eyes, over the flight of their land. The horn of
+ Fingal was heard; the ſons of woody Albion returned. But many lay, by Turthor's ſtream, ſilent
+ in their blood.
+
Chief of Crathmo, ſaid the king, Duthmaruno, hunter of boars ! not
+ harmleſs returns my eagle, from the field of foes! For this white-boſomed Lanul ſhall brighten,
+ at her ſtreams; Candona ſhall rejoice, as he wanders in Crathmo's fields.
+
ColgormDisplay note, replied the chief, was the firſt
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of my race in Albion; Colgorm, the rider of ocean, thro' its watry
+ vales. He ſlew his brother in I-thornoDisplay note: he left the land of his fathers. He choſe his place, in ſilence, by rocky
+ Crathmo-craulo. His race came forth, in their years; they came forth to war, but they always
+ fell. The wound of my fathers is mine, king of echoing iſles !
+
He drew an arrow from his ſide! He fell pale, in a land unknown. His ſoul
+ came forth to his fathers, to their ſtormy iſle. There they purſued boars of miſt, along the
+ ſkirts of winds. The chiefs ſtood ſilent around, as the ſtones of Loda, on their hill. The
+ traveller ſees them, through the twilight, from his lonely path. He thinks them the ghoſts of
+ the aged, forming future wars,
+
Night came down, on U-thorno. Still ſtood the chiefs in their grief. The
+ blaſt whiſtled by turns, thro' every warrior's hair. Fingal, at length, broke forth from the
+ thoughts of his ſoul. He called Ullin of harps, and bade the ſong to riſe. “No falling fire,
+ that is only ſeen, and then retires in night ; no
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ departing meteor was he that is laid ſo low. He was like the
+ ſtrong-beaming ſun, long rejoicing on his hill. Call the names of his fathers, from their
+ dwellings old !”
+
I-thornoDisplay note, ſaid the bard, that riſeſt midſt ridgy ſeas! Why is thy head ſo gloomy, in the ocean's
+ miſt ? From thy vales came forth a race, fearleſs as thy ſtrong-winged eagles; the race of
+ Colgorm of iron ſhields, dwellers of Loda's hall.
+
In Tormoth's reſounding iſle, aroſe Lurthan, ſtreamy hill. It bent its
+ woody head over a ſilent vale. There, at foamy Cruruth's ſource, dwelt Rurmar, hunter of boars!
+ His daughter was fair as a ſun-beam, white-boſomed Strinadona !
+
Many a king of heroes, and hero of iron ſhields; many a youth of heavy
+ locks came to Rurmar's echoing hall. They came to woo the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ maid, the ſtately huntreſs of Tormoth wild. But thou lookeſt careleſs
+ from thy ſteps, high-boſomed Strina-dona !
+
If on the heath ſhe moved, her breaſt was whiter than the down of CanaDisplay note ; if on the ſea-beat ſhore, than the foam of the rolling ocean. Her eyes were two ſtars
+ of light. Her face was heaven's bow in ſhowers. Her dark hair flowed round it, like the
+ ſtreaming clouds. Thou wert the dweller of ſouls, white-handed Strina-dona !
+
Colgorm came, in his ſhip, and Corcul-Suran, king of ſhells. The brothers
+ came, from I-thorno, to woo the ſun-beam of Tormoth wild. She ſaw them in their echoing ſteel.
+ Her ſoul was fixed on blue-eyed Colgorm. Ul-lochlin'sDisplay note nightly eye looked in, and ſaw the toſſing arms of Strina-dona.
+
Wrathful the brothers frowned. Their flaming eyes, in ſilence, met. They
+ turned away. They ſtruck their ſhields. Their hands were trembling on their ſwords. They ruſhed
+ into the ſtrife of heroes, for long-haired Strina-dona.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Corcul-suran fell in blood. On his iſle, raged the ſtrength of his father.
+ He turned Colgorm, from I-thorno, to wander on all the winds. In Crathmo-craulo's rocky field,
+ he dwelt by a foreign ſtream. Nor darkened the king alone, that beam of light was near, the
+ daughter of echoing Tormoth, white-armed Strina-donaDisplay note.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
Oſſian, after ſome general reflections, deſcribes the ſituation of
+ Fingal, and the poſition of the army of Lochlin.—The converſation of Starno and Swaran.—The
+ epiſode of Corman-trunar and Foinar-bragal.—Starno, from his own example, recommends to
+ Swaran, to ſurprize Fingal, who had retired alone to a neighbouring hill. Upon Swaran's
+ refuſal, Starno undertakes the enterprize himſelf, is overcome, and taken priſoner, by
+ Fingal.—He is diſmiſſed, after a ſevere reprimand for his cruelty.
Whence is the ſtream of years? Whither do they roll along? Where have
+ they hid, in miſt, their many-coloured ſides ?
+
I look into the times of old, but they ſeem dim to Oſſian's eyes, like reflected moon-beams,
+ on a diſtant lake. Here riſe the red beams of war! There, ſilent, dwells a feeble race ! They
+ mark no years with their deeds, as ſlow they paſs along. Dweller between the ſhields ! thou
+ that awakeſt the failing ſoul! deſcend from thy wall, harp of Cona, with thy voices three !
+ Come with that which kindles the paſt : rear the forms of old, on their own dark-brown years
+ !
Display noteUthorno, hill of ſtorms, I behold my race on thy ſide. Fingal is
+ bending, in night, over
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Duth-maruno's tomb. Near him are the ſteps of his heroes, hunters of the
+ boar. By Turthor's ſtream the hoſt of Lochlin is deep in ſhades. The wrathful kings ſtood on
+ two hills ; they looked forward from their boſſy ſhields. They looked forward to the ſtars of
+ night, red-wandering in the weſt. Cruth-loda bends from high, like a formleſs meteor in clouds,
+ He ſends
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ abroad the winds, and marks them, with his ſigns. Starno foreſaw, that
+ Morven's king was not to yield in war.
+
He twice ſtruck the tree in wrath. He ruſhed before his ſon. He hummed a
+ ſurly ſong ; and heard his hair in wind. TurnedDisplay note from one another, they ſtood, like two oaks, which different winds had bent; each hangs
+ over its own loud rill, and ſhakes its boughs in the courſe of blaſts.
+
“Annir,” ſaid Starno of lakes, “was a fire that conſumed of old. He poured
+ death from his eyes, along the ſtriving fields. His joy was in the fall of men. Blood, to him,
+ was a ſummer ſtream, that brings joy to withered vales, from its own moſſy rock. He came forth
+ to the lake Luth-cormo, to meet the tall Colman-trunar, he from Urlor of ſtreams, dweller of
+ battle's wing.”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“The chief of Urlor had come to Gormal, with his dark-boſomed ſhips. He
+ ſaw the daughter of Annir, white-armed Foina-brâgal. He ſaw her ! Nor careleſs rolled her eyes,
+ on the rider of ſtormy waves. She fled to his ſhip in darkneſs, like a moon-beam thro' a
+ nightly vale. Annir purſued along the deep; he called the winds of heaven. Nor alone was the
+ king ! Starno was by his ſide. Like U-thorno's young eagle, I turned my eyes on my father.
+
We ruſhed into roaring Urlor. With his people came tall Corman-trunar. We fought ; but the
+ foe prevailed. In his wrath my father ſtood. He lopped the young trees, with his ſword. His
+ eyes rolled red in his rage. I marked the ſoul of the king, and I retired in night. From the
+ field I took a broken helmet : a ſhield that was pierced with ſteel : pointleſs was the ſpear
+ in my hand. I went to find the foe.
+
On a rock ſat tall Corman-trunar, beſide his burning oak ; and near him,
+ beneath a tree, ſat deep-boſomed Foina-brâgal. I threw my broken ſhield before her. I ſpoke the
+ words of peace. “Beſide his rolling ſea, lies Annir of many lakes. The king was pierced in
+ battle ; and Starno is to raiſe his tomb. Me, a ſon of Loda, he ſends
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to white-handed Foina, to bid her ſend a lock from her hair, to reſt
+ with her father, in earth. And thou king of roaring Urlor, let the battle ceaſe, till Annir
+ receive the ſhell, from fiery-eyed Cruth-loda.Display noteBursting into tears, ſhe roſe, and tore a lock from her hair; a
+ lock, which wandered, in the blaſt, along her heaving breaſt. Corman-trunar gave the ſhell; and
+ bade me to rejoice before him, I reſted in the ſhade of night; and hid my face in my helmet
+ deep. Sleep deſcended on the foe. I roſe, like a ſtalking ghoſt. I pierced the ſide of
+ Cormantrunar. Nor did Foina-bragal eſcape. She rolled her white boſom in blood,
+
Why then, daughter of heroes, didſt thou wake my rage ?
+
Morning roſe. The foe were fled, like the departure of miſt. Annir ſtruck
+ his boſſy ſhield. He called his dark-haired ſon. I came, ſtreaked with wandering blood; thrice
+ roſe the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhout of the king, like the burſting forth of a ſquall of wind, from a
+ cloud, by night. We rejoiced, three days, above the dead, and called the hawks of heaven. They
+ came, from all their winds, to feaſt on Annir's foes. Swaran! Fingal is aloneDisplay note, on his hill of night. Let thy ſpear pierce the king in ſecret; like Annir, my ſoul
+ ſhall rejoice.
+
“Son of Annir,” ſaid Swaran, “I ſhall not ſlay in ſhades. I move forth in
+ light : the hawks ruſh from all their winds. They are wont to trace my courſe : it is not
+ harmleſs thro' war.”
+
Burning roſe the rage of the king. He thrice raiſed his gleaming ſpear.
+ But, ſtarting, he ſpared his ſon; and ruſhed into the night. By Turthor's ſtream a cave is
+ dark, the dwelling of Conban-carglas. There he laid the helmet of kings, and called the maid of
+ Lulan, but ſhe was diſtant far, in Loda's reſounding hall.
+
Swelling in his rage, he ſtrode, to where Fingal lay alone. The King was
+ laid on his ſhield, on his own ſecret hill.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Stern hunter of ſhaggy boars! no feeble maid is laid before thee. No boy,
+ on his ferny bed, by Turthor's murmuring ſtream. Here is ſpread the couch of the mighty, from
+ which they riſe to deeds of death ! Hunter of ſhaggy boars awaken not the terrible !
+
Starno came murmuring on. Fingal aroſe in arms. “Who art thou, ſon of
+ night?” Silent he threw the ſpear. They mixed their gloomy ſtrife. The ſhield of Starno fell,
+ cleft in twain. He is bound to an oak. The early beam aroſe, It was then Fingal beheld the
+ king. He rolled a while his ſilent eyes. He thought of other days, when white-boſomed Agandecca
+ moved like the muſic of ſongs. He looſed the thong from his hands. Son of Annir, he ſaid,
+ retire. Retire to Gormal of ſhells; a beam that was ſet returns. I remember thy white-boſomed
+ daughter; dreadful king away ! Go to thy troubled dwelling, cloudy foe of the lovely ! Let the
+ ſtranger ſhun thee, thou gloomy in the hall!
This poem is valuable on account of the light it throws on the antiquity of Oſſian's
+ compoſitions, The Caracul mentioned here is the ſame with Caracalla the ſon of Severus, who in
+ the year 211 commanded an expedition againſt the Caledonians, The variety of the meaſure ſhews
+ that the poem was originally ſet to muſic, and perhaps preſented before the chiefs upon ſolemn
+ occaſions. Tradition has handed down the ſtory more complete than it is in the poem. “Comala,
+ the daughter of Sarno king of Iniſtore or Orkney iſlands, fell in love with Fingal the ſon of
+ Comhal at a feaſt, to which her father had invited him, [Fingal, B. III.] upon his return from
+ Lochlin, after the death of Apandecca. Her paſſion was ſo violent, that ſhe followed him,
+ diſguiſed like a youth, who wanted to be employed in his wars. She was ſoon diſcovered by
+ Hidallan the ſon of Lamor, one of Fingal's heroes, whoſe love ſhe had ſlighted ſome time before.
+ Her romantic paſſion and beauty recommended her ſo much to the king, that he had reſolved to
+ make her his wife ; when news was brought him of Caracul's expedition. He marched to ſtop the
+ progreſs of the enemy, and Comala attended him. He left her on a hill, within ſight of Caracul's
+ army, when he himſelf went to battle, having previouſly promiſed, if he ſurvived, to return that
+ night,” The ſequel of the ſtory may be gathered from the poem itſelf.
The chace is over. No noiſe on Ardven but the torrent's roar! Daughter of
+ Morni, come from Crona's banks. Lay down the bow and take the harp. Let the night come on with
+ ſongs, Let our joy be great on Ardven.
Night comes apace, thou blue-eyed maid ; grey night grows dim along the
+ plain. I ſaw a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ deer at Crona's ſtream, a moſſy bank he ſeemed through the gloom, but ſoon
+ he bounded away. A meteor played round his branching horns ! the awful facesDisplay note of other times looked from the clouds of Crona !
These are the ſigns of Fingal's death. The king of ſhields is fallen! and
+ Caracul prevails. Riſe, ComalaDisplay note, from thy rock; daughter of Sarno, riſe in tears. The youth of thy love is low ; his
+ ghoſt is on our hills.
+
+
+ Melilcoma.
+
There Comala ſits forlorn! two grey dogs near ſhake their rough ears, and
+ catch the flying breeze. Her red cheek reſts upon her arm, the mountain wind is in her hair. She
+ turns her blue eyes toward the fields of his promiſe. Where art thou, O Fingal, the night is
+ gathering around ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Comala.
+
O CarunDisplay note of the ſtreams! why do I behold thy waters rolling in blood? Has the noiſe of the battle
+ been heard; and ſleeps the king of Morven? Riſe, moon, thou daughter of the ſky ! look from
+ between thy clouds, riſe that I may behold the gleam of his ſteel, on the field of his promiſe.
+ Or rather let the meteor, that lights our fathers through the night, come, with its red beam, to
+ ſhew me the way to my fallen hero. Who will defend me from ſorrow ? Who from the love of
+ Hidallan? Long ſhall Comala look before ſhe can behold Fingal in the midſt of his hoſt ; bright
+ as the coming forth of the morning, in the cloud of an early ſhower.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
Dwell, thou miſt of gloomy Crona, dwell on the path of the king. Hide his
+ ſteps from mine eyes, let me remember my friend no more, The bands of battle are ſcattered, no
+ crowding tread is round the noiſe of his ſteel. O Carun, roll thy ſtreams of blood, the chief of
+ the people is low.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Who fell on Carun's ſounding banks, ſon of the cloudy night? Was he white
+ as the ſnow of Ardven? Blooming as the bow of the ſhower? Was his hair like the miſt of the
+ hill, ſoft and curling in the day of the ſun? Was he like the thunder of heaven in battle? Fleet
+ as the roe of the deſart?
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
O That I might behold his love, fair-leaning from her rock ! Her red eye
+ dim in tears, her bluſhing cheek half hid in her locks! Blow, O gentle breeze, lift thou the
+ heavy locks of the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ maid, that I may behold her white arm, her lovely cheek in her
+ grief.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
And is the ſon of Comhal fallen, chief of the mournful tale? The thunder
+ rolls on the hill! The lightning flies on wings of fire! They frighten not Comala; for Fingal is
+ low. Say, chief of the mournful tale, fell the breaker of the ſhields ?
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
The nations are ſcattered on their hills! they ſhall hear the voice of the
+ king no more.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Confusion purſue thee over thy plains ! Ruin overtake thee, thou king of
+ the world ! Few be thy ſteps to thy grave; and let one virgin mourn thee. Let her be like
+ Comala, tearful in the days of her youth. Why haſt thou told me, Hidallan, that my hero fell? I
+ might have hoped a little while his return, I might have thought I ſaw him on the diſtant rock;
+ a tree might have deceived me with his appearance ; the wind of the hill might have been the
+ ſound of his horn in mine ear. O that I were on the banks of Carun! that my tears might be warm
+ on his cheek !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
He lies not on the banks of Carun : on Ardven heroes raiſe his tomb, Look
+ on them, O moon, from thy clouds ; be thy beam bright on his breaſt, that Comala may behold him
+ in the light of his armour.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Stop, ye ſons of the grave, till I behold my love ! He left me at the
+ chace alone. I knew not that he went to war. He ſaid he would return with the night; the king of
+ Morven is returned ! Why didſt thou not tell me that he would fall, O trembling dweller of the rockDisplay note! Thou ſaweſt him in the blood of his youth; but thou didſt not tell Comala !
+
+
+ Melilcoma.
+
What ſound is that on Ardven? Who is that bright in the vale? Who comes
+ like the ſtrength of rivers, when their crouded waters glitter to the moon ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Who is it but the foe of Comala, the ſon of the king of the world! Ghoſt
+ of Fingal! do thou, from thy cloud, direct Comala's bow. Let him fall like the hart of the
+ deſart. It is Fingal in the crowd of his ghoſts. Why doſt thou come, my love, to frighten and
+ pleaſe my ſoul ?
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Raise, ye bards the ſong, raiſe the wars of the ſtreamy Carun ! Caracul
+ has fled from our arms along the fields of his pride. He ſets far diſtant like a meteor, that
+ incloſes a ſpirit of night, when the winds drive it over the heath, and the dark woods are
+ gleaming around. I heard a voice, or was it the breeze of my hills? Is it the huntreſs of
+ Ardven, the whitehanded daughter of Sarno? Look from thy rocks, my love ; let me hear the voice
+ of Comala !
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Take me to the cave of thy reſt, O lovely ſon of death !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Come to the cave of my reſt. The ſtorm is paſt, the ſun is on our fields.
+ Come to the cave of my reſt, huntreſs of ecchoing Ardven!
+
+
+ Comala.
+
He is returned with his fame! I feel the right hand of his wars! But I
+ muſt reſt beſide the rock till my ſoul returns from my fear ! O let the harp be near! raiſe the
+ ſong, ye daughters of Morni !
+
+
+ Dersagrena.
+
Comala has ſlain three deer on Ardven, the fire aſcends on the rock; go to
+ the feaſt of Comala, king of the woody Morven.
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Raise, ye ſons of ſong, the wars of the ſtreamy Carun; that my
+ white-handed maid may rejoice: while I behold the feaſt of my love.
+
+
+ Bards.
+
Roll, ſtreamy Carun, roll in joy, the ſons of battle fled! The ſteed is
+ not ſeen on our
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ fields ; the wingsDisplay note of their pride ſpread in other lands. The ſun will now riſe in peace, and the ſhadows
+ deſcend in joy. The voice of the chace will be heard; the ſhields hang in the hall. Our delight
+ will be in the war of the ocean, our hands ſhall grow red in the blood of Lochlin. Roll, ſtreamy
+ Carun, roll in joy, the ſons of battle fled !
+
+
+ Melilcoma.
+
Descend, ye light miſts from high! Ye moon-beams, lift her ſoul. Pale lies
+ the maid at the rock ! Comala is no more ?
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Is the daughter of Sarno dead; the white-boſomed maid of my love? Meet me,
+ Comala, on my heaths, when I ſit alone at the ſtreams of my hills !
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
Ceased the voice of the huntreſs of Ardven ? Why did I trouble the ſoul of
+ the maid ? When ſhall I fee thee, with joy, in the chace of the dark-brown hinds ?
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Youth of the gloomy brow! no more ſhalt thou feaſt in my halls. Thou ſhalt
+ not purſue my chace, my foes ſhall not fall by thy ſwordDisplay note, Lead me to the place of her reſt that I may behold her beauty. Pale ſhe lies at the
+ rock, the cold winds lift her hair. Her bow-ſtring ſounds in the blaſt, her arrow was broken in
+ her fall. Raiſe the praiſe of the daughter of Sarno! give her name to the winds of heaven !
+
+
+ Bards.
+
See ! meteors gleam around the maid ! See! moon-beams lift her ſoul!
+ Around her, from their clouds, bend the awful faces of her fathers; SarnoDisplay note of the gloomy brow ! the red-rolling eyes of Fidallan ! When ſhall thy white hand ariſe?
+ When ſhall thy voice be heard on our rocks? The maids ſhall ſeek thee on the heath, but they
+ ſhall not find thee. Thou ſhalt come, at times, to their dreams, to ſettle peace
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in their ſoul. Thy voice ſhall remain in their ears, they ſhall
+ think with joy on the dreams of their reſt. Meteors gleam around the maid, and moon-beams lift
+ her ſoul!
Fingal, returning from an expedition which he had made into the Roman province, reſolved to
+ viſit Cathulla king of Iniſtore, and brother to Comala, whoſe ſtory is related, at large, in the
+ preceding dramatic poem. Upon his coming in ſight of Carric-thura, the palace of Cathulla, he
+ obſerved a flame on its top, which, in thoſe days, was a ſignal of diſtreſs. The wind drove him
+ into a bay, at ſome diſtance from Carric-thura, and he was obliged to paſs the night on the
+ ſhore. Next day he attacked the army of Frothal king of Sora, who had beſieged Cathulla in his
+ palace of Carric-thura, and took Frothal himſelf priſoner, after he had engaged him in a ſingle
+ combat. The deliverance of Carric-thura is the ſubject of the poem, but ſeveral other epiſodes
+ are interwoven with it. It appears from tradition, that this poem was addreſſed to a Culdee, or
+ one of the firſt Chriſtian miſſionaries, and that the ſtory of the Spirit of Loda,
+ ſuppoſed to be the ancient Odin of Scandinavia, was introduced by Oſſian in oppoſition to the
+ Culdee's doctrine. Be this as it will, it lets us into Oſſian's notions of a ſuperior being; and
+ ſhews that he was not addicted to the ſuperſtition which prevailed all the world over, before
+ the introduction of Chriſtianity.
HastDisplay note thou left thy blue courſe in heaven, golden-haired ſon of the ſky ! The weſt has opened
+ its gates ; the bed of thy repoſe is there. The waves come to behold thy beauty. They lift their
+ trembling heads. They ſee thee lovely in thy ſleep; they ſhrink away with fear. Reſt, in thy
+ ſhadowy cave, O ſun! let thy return be in joy.
+
But let a thouſand lights ariſe to the ſound of the harps of Selma : let the beam ſpread in the
+ hall, the king of ſhells is returned ! The ſtrife of Carun is paſtDisplay note, like ſounds that are no more. Raiſe the ſong, O bards, the king is returned, with his
+ fame!
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Such were the words of Ullin, when Fingal returned
+ from war: when he returned in the fair bluſhing of youth, with all his heavy locks. His blue arms
+ were on the hero; like a light cloud on the ſun, when he moves in his robes of miſt, and ſhews
+ but half his beams. His heroes follow the king : the feaſt of ſhells is ſpread. Fingal turns to
+ his bards, and bids the ſong to riſe.
+
Voices of ecchoing Cona ! he ſaid, O bards of other times! Ye, on whoſe
+ ſouls the blue hoſts of our fathers riſe! ſtrike the harp in my hall; and let me hear the ſong.
+ Pleaſant is the joy of grief! it is like the ſhower of ſpring, when it ſoftens the branch of the
+ oak, and the young leaf rears its green head. Sing on, O bards, to-morrow we lift the ſail. My
+ blue courſe is through the ocean, to Carric-thura's walls; the moſſy walls of Sarno, where Comála
+ dwelt, There the noble Cathulla, ſpreads the feaſt of ſhells. The boars of his woods are many ;
+ the ſound of the chace ſhall ariſe !
+
CronnanDisplay note, ſon of the ſong! ſaid Ullin, Minona, graceful at the harp! raiſe the tale of
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Shilric, to pleaſe the king of Morven. Let Vinvela come in her beauty,
+ like the ſhowery bow, when it ſhews its lovely head on the lake, and the ſetting ſun is bright.
+ She comes, O Fingal ! her voice is ſoft but ſad.
+
+ Vinvela.
+
My love is a ſon of the hill. He purſues the flying deer. His grey dogs
+ are panting around him ; his bow-ſtring ſounds in the wind. Doſt thou reſt by the fount of the
+ rock, or by the noiſe of the mountain-ſtream? the ruſhes are nodding to the wind, the miſt flies
+ over the hill. I will approach my love unſeen ; I will behold him from the rock. Lovely I ſaw
+ thee firſt by the aged oak of BrannoDisplay note ; thou wert returning tall from the chace ; the faireſt among thy friends.
+
+
+ Shilric.
+
What voice is that I hear ? that voice like the ſummer-wind ! I ſit not by
+ the nodding
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ruſhes ; I hear not the fount of the rock. Afar, VinvelaDisplay note, afar, I go to the wars of Fingal. My dogs attend me no more. No more I tread the hill.
+ No more from on high I ſee thee, fair-moving by the ſtream of the plain; bright as the bow of
+ heaven; as the moon on the weſtern wave.
+
+
+ Vinvela.
+
Then thou art gone, O Shilric ! I am alone on the hill ! The deer are ſeen
+ on the brow ; void of fear they graze along. No more they dread the wind; no more the ruſtling
+ tree. The hunter is far removed; he is in the field of graves. Strangers! ſons of the waves!
+ ſpare my lovely Shilric !
+
+
+ Shilric.
+
If fall I muſt in the field, raiſe high my grave, Vinvela. Grey ſtones and
+ heaped-up earth, ſhall mark me to future times. When the hunter ſhall ſit by the mound, and
+ produce his food at noon, “Some warrior reſts here,” he will ſay ; and my fame ſhall live in his
+ praiſe. Remember me, Vinvela, when low on earth I lie!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Vinvela.
+
Yes! I will remember thee; alas ! my Shilric will fall! What ſhall I do,
+ my love ! when thou art for ever gone? Through theſe hills I will go at noon : I will go through
+ the ſilent heath, There I will ſee the place of thy reſt, returning from the chace. Alas! my
+ Shilric will fall ; but I will remember Shilric.
+
And I remember the chief, ſaid the king of woody Morven; he conſumed the
+ battle in his rage. But now my eyes behold him not. I met him, one day, on the hill; his cheek
+ was pale; his brow was dark. The ſigh was frequent in his breaſt: his ſteps were towards the
+ deſart. But now he is not in the crowd of my chiefs, when the ſounds of my ſhields ariſe. Dwells
+ he in the narrow houſeDisplay note, the chief of high CarmoraDisplay note ?
+
Cronnan ! ſaid Ullin of other times, raiſe the ſong of Shilric; when he
+ returned to his hills, and Vinvela was no more. He leaned on her grey moſſy ſtone ; he thought
+ Vinvela lived. He ſaw her fair movingDisplay noteon the plain: but the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ bright form laſted not : the ſun-beam fled from the field, and ſhe was
+ ſeen no more. Hear the ſong of Shilric, it is ſoft but ſad!
+
I sit by the moſſy fountain; on the top of the hill of winds. One tree is
+ ruſtling above me. Dark waves roll over the heath. The lake is troubled below. The deer deſcend
+ fron the hill. No hunter at a diſtance is ſeen. It is mid-day : but all is ſilent. Sad are my
+ thoughts alone. Didſt thou but appear, O my love, a wanderer on the heath ! thy hair floating on
+ the wind behind thee; thy boſom heaving on the ſight; thine eyes full of tears for thy friends,
+ whom the miſt of the hill had concealed ! Thee I would comfort, my love, and bring thee to thy
+ father's houſe !
+
But is it ſhe that there appears, like a beam of light on the heath? bright
+ as the moon in autumn, as the ſun in a ſummer-ſtorm, comeſt thou, O maid, over rocks, over
+ mountains to me? She ſpeaks : but how weak her voice ! like the breeze in the reeds of the
+ lake.
+
“Returnest thou ſafe from the war? Where are thy friends, my love? I heard
+ of thy death on the hill; I heard and mourned thee, Shilric! Yes, my fair, I return; but I alone
+ of my race. Thou ſhalt ſee them no more : their graves I raiſed on the plain, But
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ why art thou on the deſert hill? Why on the heath alone ?”
+
“Alone I am, O Shilric! alone in the winter-houſe, With grief for thee I
+ fell. Shilric, I am pale in the tomb.”
+
She fleets, ſhe ſails away ; as miſt before the wind ! and, wilt thou not
+ ſtay, Vinvela ? Stay and behold my tears ! fair thou appeareſt, Vinvela ! fair thou waſt, when
+ alive !
+
By the moſſy fountain I will ſit; on the top of the hill of winds. When
+ mid-day is ſilent around, O talk with me, Vinvela! come on the light-winged gale ! on the breeze
+ of the deſart, come! Let me hear thy voice, as thou paſſeſt, when mid-day is ſilent around !
+
Such was the ſong of Cronnan, on the night of Selma's joy. But morning roſe
+ in the eaſt ; the blue waters rolled in light. Fingal bade his ſails to riſe; the winds came
+ ruſtling from their hills. Iniſtore roſe to fight, and Carric-thura's moſſy towers! But the ſign
+ of diſtreſs was on their top : the warning flame edged with ſmoke. The king of Morven ſtruck his
+ breaſt: he aſſumed, at once, his ſpear. His darkened brow bends forward to the coaſt: he looks
+ back to the lagging winds. His hair is diſordered on his back. The ſilence of the king is
+ terrible !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Night came down on the ſea; Rotha's bay received
+ the ſhip. A rock bends along the coaſt with all its ecchoing wood. On the top is the circleDisplay note of Loda, the moſſy ſtone of power! A narrow plain ſpreads beneath, covered with graſs
+ and aged trees, which the midnight winds, in their wrath, had torn from the ſhaggy rock. The
+ blue courſe of a ſtream is there ! the lonely blaſt of ocean purſues the thiſtle's beard. The
+ flame of three oaks aroſe: the feaſt is ſpread around: but the ſoul of the king is ſad, for
+ Carric-thura's Chief diſtreſt.
+
The wan, cold moon roſe, in the eaſt. Sleep deſcended on the youths! Their
+ blue helmets glitter to the beam ; the fading fire decays. But ſleep did not reſt on the king :
+ he roſe in the midſt of his arms, and ſlowly aſcended the hill to behold the flame of Sarno's
+ tower.
+
The flame was dim and diſtant; the moon hid her red face in the eaſt. A
+ blaſt came from the mountain, on its wings was the ſpirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrorsDisplay note, and ſhook
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ his duſky ſpear. His eyes appear like flames in his dark face; his voice
+ is like diſtant thunder. Fingal advanced his ſpear in night, and raiſed his voice on high.
+
Son of night, retire : call thy winds and fly ! Why doſt thou come to my
+ preſence, with thy ſhadowy arms? Do I fear thy gloomy form, ſpirit of diſmal Loda? Weak is thy
+ ſhield of clouds : feeble is that meteor, thy ſword. The blaſt rolls them together; and thou
+ thyſelf art loſt. Fly from my preſence ſon of night! call thy winds and fly !
+
Dost thou force me from my place, replied the hollow voice? The people bend
+ before me. I turn the battle in the field of the brave. I look on the nations and they vaniſh:
+ my noſtrils pour the blaſt of death. I come abroad on the winds: the tempeſts are before my
+ face. But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my reſt are pleaſant.
+
Dwell in thy pleaſant fields, ſaid the king : Let Comhal's ſon be forgot.
+ Do my ſteps aſcend, from my hills, into thy peaceful plains ? Do I meet thee, with a ſpear, on
+ thy cloud, ſpirit of diſmal Loda? Why then doſt thou frown on me? why ſhake thine airy ſpear ?
+ Thou frowneſt in vain: I never fled from the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ mighty in war. And ſhall the ſons of the wind frighten the king of
+ Morven? No: he knows the weakneſs of their arms !
+
Fly to thy land, replied the form : receive the wind and fly ! The blaſts
+ are in the hollow of my hand : the courſe of the ſtorm is mine. The king of Sora is my ſon, he
+ bends at the ſtone of my power. His battle is around Carricthura ; and he will prevail ! Fly to
+ thy land, ſon of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath !
+
He lifted high his ſhadowy ſpear ! He bent forward his dreadful height.
+ Fingal, advancing, drew his ſword; the blade of dark-brown LunoDisplay note. The gleaming path of the ſteel winds thro' the gloomy ghoſt. The form fell ſhapeleſs
+ into air, like a column of ſmoke, which the ſtaff of the boy diſturbs, as it riſes from the
+ half-extinguiſhed furnace.
+
The ſpirit of Loda ſhrieked, as, rolled into himſelf, he roſe on the wind.
+ Iniſtore ſhook at the ſound. The waves heard it on the deep. They ſtopped, in their courſe, with
+ fear : the friends of Fingal ſtarted, at once; and took their heavy ſpears. They miſſed the king
+ : they roſe in rage; all their arms reſound !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
The moon came forth in the eaſt. Fingal returned in the gleam of his
+ arms. The joy of his youth was great, their ſouls ſettled, as a ſea from a ſtorm. Ullin raiſed
+ the ſong of gladneſs. The hills of Iniſtore rejoiced. The flame of the oak aroſe; and the tales
+ of heroes are told.
+
But Frothal, Sora's wrathful king, ſits in ſadneſs beneath a tree. The hoſt
+ ſpreads around Carric-thura. He looks towards the walls with rage. He longs for the blood of
+ Cathulla, who, once, overcame him in war. When Annir reignedDisplay note in Sora, the father of ſea-borne Frothal, a ſtorm aroſe on the ſea, and carried Frothal
+ to Iniſtore. Three days he feaſted in Sarno's halls, and ſaw the ſlow rolling eyes of Comála. He
+ loved her, in the flame of youth, and ruſhed to ſeize the white-armed maid. Cathulla met the
+ chief. The gloomy battle roſe. Frothal was bound in the hall; three days he pined alone. On the
+ fourth, Sarno ſent him to his ſhip, and he returned to his land. But wrath darkened in his ſoul
+ againſt the noble
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Cathulla. When Annir's ſtoneDisplay note of fame aroſe, Frothal came in his ſtrength. The battle burned round Carric-thura, and
+ Sarno's moſſy walls.
+
Morning roſe on Iniſtore. Frothal ſtruck his dark-brown ſhield. His chiefs
+ ſtarted at the ſound; they ſtood, but their eyes were turned to the ſea. They ſaw Fingal coming
+ in his ſtrength; and firſt the noble Thubar ſpoke. “Who comes like the ſtag of the deſart, with
+ all his herd behind him? Frothal, it is a foe! I fee his forward ſpear. Perhaps it is the king
+ of Morven, Fingal the firſt of men. His deeds are well known in Lochlin; the blood of his foes
+ is in Starno's halls. Shall I aſk the peaceDisplay note of kings? His ſword is the bolt of heaven!”
+
Son of the feeble hand, ſaid Frothal, ſhall my days begin in a cloud? Shall
+ I yield before I have conquered, chief of ſtreamy Tora? The people would ſay in Sora, Frothal
+ flew forth like a meteor; but a darkneſs has met him; and his fame is no more. No: Thubar, I
+ will never yield ; my fame ſhall ſurround me like light, No : I will never yield, chief of
+ ſtreamy Tora !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ He went forth with the ſtream of his people, but they
+ met a rock: Fingal ſtood unmoved, broken they rolled back from his ſide. Nor did they ſafely
+ fly; the ſpear of the king purſued their ſteps. The field is covered with heroes. A riſing hill
+ preſerved the foe.
+
Frothal ſaw their flight. The rage of his boſom roſe. He bent his eyes to
+ the ground, and called the noble Thubar. Thubar ! my people are fled. My fame has ceaſed to
+ ariſe. I will fight the king; I feel my burning ſoul! Send a bard to demand the combat. Speak
+ not against Frothal's words! But, Thubar! I love a maid; she dwells by Thano's ſtream, the
+ white-boſomed daughter of Herman, Utha with ſoft-rolling eyes. She feared the low-laid Comála ;
+ her ſecret ſighs roſe, when I ſpread the ſail. Tell to Utha of harps, that my ſoul delighted in
+ her!
+
Such were his words, reſolved to fight, The ſoft ſigh of Utha was near !
+ She had followed her hero, in the armour of a man. She rolled her eye on the youth, in ſecret,
+ from beneath her ſteel. She ſaw the bard as he went; the ſpear fell thrice from her hand ! Her
+ looſe hair flew on the wind. Her white breaſt roſe, with ſighs. She raiſed her eyes to the king.
+ She would ſpeak, but thrice ſhe failed,
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Fingal heard the words of the bard; he came in the
+ ſtrength of his ſteel. They mixed their deathful ſpears: They raiſed the gleam of their arms.
+ But the ſword of Fingal deſcended and cut Frothal's ſhield in twain. His fair ſide is expoſed ;
+ half bent he foreſees his death. Darkneſs gathered on Utha's ſoul. The tear rolled down her
+ cheek. She ruſhed to cover the chief with her ſhield; but a fallen oak met her ſteps. She fell
+ on her arm of ſnow; her ſhield, her helmet flew wide. Her white boſom heaved to the ſight; her
+ dark-brown hair is ſpread on earth.
+
Fingal pitied the white-armed maid ! he ſtayed the uplifted ſword. The tear
+ was in the eye of the king, as, bending forward, he ſpoke. “King of ſtreamy Sora ! fear not the
+ ſword of Fingal. It was never ſtained with the blood of the vanquiſhed ; it never pierced a
+ fallen foe. Let thy people rejoice by thy native ſtreams. Let the maids of thy love be glad. Why
+ ſhouldeſt thou fall in thy youth, King of ſtreamy Sora ?” Frothal heard the words of Fingal, and
+ ſaw the riſing maid: theyDisplay note ſtood in ſilence, in their beauty : like two young trees of the plain, when the ſhower
+ of ſpring is on their leaves, and the loud winds are laid.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Daughter of Herman, ſaid Frothal, didſt thou come
+ from Tora's ſtreams ; didſt thou come, in thy beauty, to behold thy warrior low ? But he was low
+ before the mighty, maid of the ſlow-rolling eye ! The feeble did not overcome the ſon of
+ car-borne Annir ! Terrible art thou, O king of Morven! in battles of the ſpear. But, in peace,
+ thou art like the ſun, when he looks thro' a ſilent ſhower: the flowers lift their fair heads
+ before him ; the gales ſhake their ruſtling wings. O that thou wert in Sora ! that my feaſt were
+ ſpread The future kings of Sora would ſee thy arms and rejoice. They would rejoice at the fame
+ of their fathers, who beheld the mighty Fingal !
+
Son of Annir, replied the king, the fame of Sora's race ſhall be heard !
+ When chiefs are ſtrong in war, then does the ſong ariſe ! But if their ſwords are ſtretched over
+ the feeble : if the blood of the weak has ſtained their arms; the bard ſhall forget them in the
+ ſong, and their tombs ſhall not be known. The ſtranger ſhall come and build there, and remove
+ the heaped-up earth. An half-worn ſword ſhall riſe before him; bending above it, he will ſay,
+ “Theſe are the arms of the chiefs of old, but their names are not in ſong.” Come thou, O
+ Frothal, to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the feaſt of Iniſtore ; let the maid of thy love be there ; let our
+ faces brighten with joy !
+
Fingal took his ſpear, moving in the ſteps of his might. The gates of
+ Carric-thura are opened wide. The feaſt of ſhells is ſpread. The ſoft ſound of muſic aroſe.
+ Gladneſs brightened in the hall. The voice of Ullin was heard; the harp of Selma was ſtrung.
+ Utha rejoiced in his preſence, and demanded the ſong of grief; the big tear hung in her eye,
+ when the ſoftDisplay note Crimora ſpoke. Crimora the daughter of Rinval, who dwelt at Lotha'sDisplay note roaring ſtream ! The tale was long, but lovely ; and pleaſed the bluſhing Utha.
Who cometh from the hill, like a cloud tinged with the beam of the weſt?
+ Whoſe voice is that, loud as the wind, but pleaſant as the harp of CarrilDisplay note? It is my love in the light of
+
+ [
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+ ſteel; but ſad is his darkened brow ! Live the mighty race of Fingal? or
+ what darkens in Connal's ſoulDisplay note ?
+
+
+ Connal.
+
They live. They return from the chace, like a ſtream of light. The ſun is
+ on their ſhields. Like a ridge of fire they deſcend the hill. Loud is the voice of the youth !
+ the war, my love, is near ! To-morrow the dreadful Dargo comes to try the force of our race. The
+ race of Fingal he defies; the race of battle and wounds !
+
+
+ Crimora.
+
Connal, I ſaw his ſails like grey miſt on the dark-brown wave. They ſlowly
+ came to land, Connal, many are the warriors of Dargo!
+
+
+ Connal.
+
Bring me thy father's ſhield ; the boſſy, iron ſhield of Rinval ; that
+ ſhield like the full-orbed moon, when ſhe moves darkened through heaven.
+
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+
+
+
+ Crimora.
+
That ſhield I bring, O Connal; but it did not defend my father. By the
+ ſpear of Gormar he fell. Thou may'ft fall, O Connal !
+
+
+ Connal.
+
Fall I may! But raiſe my tomb, Crimora ! Grey ſtones, a mound of earth,
+ ſhall ſend my name to other times. Bend thy red eye over my grave, beat thy mournful heaving
+ breaſt. Though fair thou art, my love, as the light; more pleaſant than the gale of the hill;
+ yet I will not here remain. Raiſe my tomb, Crimora !
+
+
+ Crimora.
+
Then give me thoſe arms that gleam; that ſword, and that ſpear of ſteel. I
+ ſhall meet Dargo with Connal, and aid him in the fight. Farewel, ye rocks of Ardven! ye deer !
+ and ye ſtreams of the hill! We ſhall return no more. Our tombs are diſtant far !
+
+
“And did they return no more?” ſaid Utha's burſting figh. “Fell the mighty
+ in battle, and did Crimora live? Her ſteps were lonely ; her ſoul was ſad for Connal. Was he not
+ young and lovely; like the beam of the
+
+ [
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+ ſetting ſun ?” Ullin ſaw the virgin's tear, he took the ſoftly-trembling
+ harp : the ſong was lovely, but ſad, and ſilence was in Carric-thura,
+
Autumn is dark on the mountains ; grey miſt reſts on the hills. The
+ whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. A tree ſtands
+ alone on the hill, and marks the ſlumbering Connal. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and
+ ſtrew the grave of the dead. At times are ſeen here the ghoſts of the departed, when the muſing
+ hunter alone ſtalks ſlowly over the heath.
+
Who can reach the ſource of thy race, O Connal ? who recount thy fathers?
+ Thy family grew like an oak on the mountain, which meeteth the wind with its lofty head, But now
+ it is torn from the earth. Who ſhall ſupply the place of Connal? Here was the din of arms; here
+ the groans of the dying. Bloody are the wars of Fingal! O Connal! it was here thou didſt fall.
+ Thine arm was like a ſtorm; thy ſword a beam of the ſky; thy height, a rock on the plain; thine
+ eyes, a furnace of fire. Louder than a ſtorm was thy voice, in the battles of thy ſteel. Warriors
+ fell by thy ſword, as the thiſtle by the ſtaff of a boy. Dargo the mighty came on, darkening in
+ his rage. His brows were gathered into wrath. His eyes like two caves
+
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+ in a rock, Bright roſe their ſwords on each ſide; loud was the clang of
+ their ſteel.
+
The daughter of Rinval was near ; Crimora bright in the armour of man; her
+ yellow hair is looſe behind, her bow is in her hand. She followed the youth to the war, Connal
+ her much-beloved. She drew the ſtring on Dargo; but erring ſhe pierced her Connal. He falls like
+ an oak on the plain; like a rock from the ſhaggy hill. What ſhall ſhe do, hapleſs maid ! He
+ bleeds ; her Connal dies! All the night long ſhe cries, and all the day, “O Connal, my love, and
+ my friend!” With grief the ſad mourner dies! Earth here incloſes the lovelieſt pair on the hill.
+ The graſs grows between the ſtones of the tomb; I often ſit in the mournful ſhade. The wind ſighs
+ through the graſs ; their memory ruſhes on my mind. Undiſturbed you now ſleep together; in the
+ tomb of the mountain you reſt alone !
+
And ſoft be their reſt, ſaid Utha, hapleſs children of ſtreamy Lotha! I will remember them with
+ tears, and my ſecret ſong ſhall riſe; when the wind is in the groves of Tora, when the ſtream is
+ roaring near. Then ſhall they come on my ſoul, with all their lovely grief !
+
Three days feaſted the kings : on the fourth their white ſails aroſe. The
+ winds of the north
+
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+ drove Fingal to Morven's woody land. But the ſpirit of Loda ſat, in his
+ cloud, behind the ſhips of Frothal. He hung forward with all his blaſts, and ſpread the
+ white-boſomed ſails. The wounds of his form were not forgot ; he ſtill fearedDisplay note the hand of the king !
+
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This poem is compleat, and the ſubject of it, as of moſt of Oſſian's compoſitions, tragical.
+ In the time of Comhal the ſon of Trathal, and father of the celebrated Fingal, Cleſsámmor the
+ ſon of Thaddu and brother of Morna, Fingal's mother, was driven by a ſtorm into the river Clyde,
+ on the banks of which ſtood Balclutha, a town belonging to the Britons between the walls. He was
+ hoſpitably received by Reuthámir, the principal man in the place, who gave him Moina his only
+ daughter in marriage. Reuda, the ſon of Cormo, a Briton who was in love with Moina, came to
+ Reuthamir's houſe, and behaved haughtily towards Cleſsámmor. A quarrel inſued, in which Reada
+ was killed ; the Britons, who attended him preſſed ſo hard on Cleſsámmor, that he was obliged to
+ throw himſelf into the Clyde, and ſwim to his ſhip. He hoiſted ſail, and the wind being
+ favourable, bore him out to ſea. He often endeavoured to return, and carry off his beloved Moina
+ by night; but the wind continuing contrary, he was forced to deſiſt.
+
Moina, who had been left with child by her huſband, brought forth a ſon, and died ſoon after.
+ — Reuthámir named the child Carthon, i. e. the murmur of waves, from the ſtorm which
+ carried off Cleſsámmor his father, who was ſuppoſed to have been caſt away. When Carthon was
+ three years old, Comhal the father of Fingal, in one of his expeditions againſt the Britons,
+ took and burnt Balclutha, Reuthámir was killed in the attack: and Carthon was carried ſafe away
+ by his nurſe, who fled farther into the country of the Britons. Carthon, coming to man's eſtate
+ was reſolved to revenge the fall of Balclutha on Comhal's poſterity. He ſet ſail, from the
+ Clyde, and, falling on the coaſt of Morven, defeated two of Fingal's heroes, who came to oppoſe
+ his progreſs. He was, at laſt, unwittingly killed by his father Cleſsámmor, in a ſingle combat.
+ This ſtory is the foundation of the preſent poem, which opens on the night preceding the death
+ of Carthon, ſo that what paſſed before is introduced by way of epiſode. The poem is addreſſed to
+ Malvina the daughter of Toſcar.
A tale of the times of old ! The deeds of days of other years !
+
The murmur of thy ſtreams, O Lora, brings back the memory of the paſt. The
+ ſound of thy woods, Garmallar, is lovely in mine ear. Doſt thou not behold, Malvina, a rock with
+ its head of heath ? Three aged pines bend from its face; green is the narrow plain at its feet ;
+ there the flower of the mountain grows, and ſhakes its white head in the breeze. The thiſtle is
+ there alone, ſhedding its aged beard. Two ſtones, half ſunk in the ground, ſhew their heads of
+ moſs. The deer of the mountain avoids the place, for he beholds a dim ghoſt ſtanding thereDisplay note. The mighty lie, O Malvina, in the narrow plain of the rock.
+
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+ A tale of the times of old ! the deeds of days of other
+ years !
+
Who comes from the land of ſtrangers, with his thouſands around him ? the
+ ſun-beam pours its bright ſtream before him ; his hair meets the wind of his hills. His face is
+ ſettled from war. He is calm as the evening beam that looks, from the cloud of the weſt, on
+ Cona's ſilent vale. Who is it but Comhal's ſonDisplay note, the king of mighty deeds! He beholds his hills with joy, he bids a thouſand voices rife.
+ “Ye have fled over your fields, ye ſons of the diſtant land! The king of the world ſits in his
+ hall, and hears of his people's flight. He lifts his red eye of pride ; he takes his father's
+ ſword. Ye have fled over your fields, ſons of the diſtant land !”
+
Such were the words of the bards, when they came to Selma's halls. A
+ thouſand lightsDisplay note from the ſtranger's land roſe, in the midſt of the people. The feaſt is ſpread around;
+ the night paſſed away in joy. Where is the noble CleſsámmorDisplay note, ſaid the fair-haired Fingal ? Where is the brother of Morna, in the hour of my joy ?
+
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+ Sullen and dark he paſſes his days in the vale of ecchoing Lora : but,
+ behold, he comes from the hill, like a ſteed in his ſtrength, who finds his companions in the
+ breeze ; and toſſes his bright mane in the wind. Bleſt be the ſoul of Cleſsámmor, why ſo long
+ from Selma ?
+
Returns the chief, ſaid Cleſsámmor, in the midſt of his fame? Such was the
+ renown of Comhal in the battles of his youth. Often did we paſs over Carun to the land of the
+ ſtrangers : our ſwords returned, not unſtained with blood : nor did the kings of the world
+ rejoice. Why do I remember the times of our war? My hair is mixed with grey. My hand forgets to
+ bend the bow : I lift a lighter ſpear. O that my joy would return, as when I firſt beheld the
+ maid ; the white boſomed daughter of ſtrangers, MoinaDisplay note, with the dark-blue eyes !
+
Tell, ſaid the mighty Fingal, the tale of thy youthful days. Sorrow, like a
+ cloud on the ſun, ſhades the ſoul of Cleſámmor. Mournful are thy thoughts, alone, on the banks of
+ the roaring Lora. Let us hear the ſorrow of thy youth, and the darkneſs of thy days!
+
+
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+ “It was in the days of peace,” replied the great
+ Cleſsámmor, “I came, in my bounding ſhip, to Balclutha'sDisplay note walls of towers. The winds had roared behind my ſails, and Clutha'sDisplay note ſtreams received my dark-boſomed ſhip. Three days I remained in Reuthámir's halls, and
+ ſaw his daughter, that beam of light. The joy of the ſhell went round, and the aged hero gave the
+ fair. Her breaſts were like foam on the wave, and her eyes like ſtars of light: her hair was dark
+ as the raven's wing: her ſoul was generous and mild. My love for Moina was great: my heart poured
+ forth in joy.”
+
“The ſon of a ſtranger came ; a chief who loved the white-boſomed Moina. His
+ words were mighty in the hall ; he often half-unſheathed his ſword. Where, ſaid he, is the mighty
+ Comhal, the reſtleſs wandererDisplay note of the heath ? Comes he, with his hoſt, to Balclutha, ſince Cleſsámmor is ſo bold? My
+ ſoul, I replied, O warrior! burns in a
+
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+ light of its own. I ſtand without fear in the midſt of thouſands,
+ though the valiant are diſtant far. Stranger ! thy words are mighty, for Cleſsámmor is alone. But
+ my ſword trembles by my ſide, and longs to glitter in my hand. Speak no more of Comhal, ſon of
+ the winding Clutha !”
+
“The ſtrength of his pride aroſe. We fought; he fell beneath my ſword. The
+ banks of Clutha heard his fall ; a thouſand ſpears glittered around. I fought : the ſtrangers
+ prevailed : I plunged into the ſtream of Clutha. My white ſails roſe over the waves, and I
+ bounded on the dark-blue ſea. Moina came to the ſhore, and rolled the red eye of her tears: her
+ looſe hair flew on the wind; and I heard her mournful, diſtant cries. Often did I turn my ſhip !
+ but the winds of the Eaſt prevailed. Nor Clutha ever ſince have I ſeen, nor Moina of the dark
+ brown hair. She fell in Balclutha, for I have ſeen her ghoſt. I knew her as ſhe came through the
+ duſky night, along the murmur of Lora : ſhe was like the new moon, ſeen through the gathered miſt
+ : when the ſky pours down its flaky ſnow, and the world is ſilent and dark.”
+
RaiseDisplay note , ye bards, ſaid the mighty Fingal,
+
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+ the praiſe of unhappy Moina. Call her ghoſt, with your ſongs, to our hills;
+ that ſhe may reſt with the fair of Morven, the ſun-beams of other days, the delight of heroes of
+ old. I have ſeen the walls of Balclutha, but they were deſolate. The fire had reſounded in the
+ halls: and the voice of the people is heard no more. The ſtream of Clutha was removed from its
+ place, by the fall of the walls. The thiſtle ſhook, there, its lonely head: the moſs whiſtled to
+ the wind. The fox looked out, from the windows, the rank graſs of the wall waved round its head.
+ Deſolate is the dwelling of Moina, ſilence is in the houſe of her fathers. Raiſe the ſong of
+ mourning, O bards, over the land of ſtrangers. They have but fallen before us: for, one day, we
+ muſt fall. Why doſt thou build the hall, ſon of the winged days? Thou lookeſt from thy towers
+ to-day ; yet a few years, and the blaſt of the deſart comes; it howls in thy empty court, and
+ whiſtles round thy half-worn ſhield. And let the blaſt of the deſart come! we ſhall be renowned
+ in our day ! The mark of my arm ſhall be in battle; my name in the ſong of bards. Raiſe
+
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+ ]
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+ the ſong ; ſend round the ſhell : let joy be heard in my hall. When thou,
+ ſun of heaven, ſhalt fail ! if thou ſhalt fail, thou mighty light! if thy brightneſs is for a
+ ſeaſon, like Fingal ; our fame ſhall ſurvive thy beams !
+
Such was the ſong of Fingal, in the day of his joy. His thouſand bards
+ leaned forward from their ſeats, to hear the voice of the king. It was like the muſic of harps on
+ the gale of the ſpring: Lovely were thy thoughts, O Fingal ! why had not Oſſian the ſtrength of
+ thy ſoul ? But thou ſtandeſt alone, my father ! who can equal the king of Selma ?
+
The night paſſed away in ſong; morning returned in joy. The mountains ſhewed
+ their grey heads; the blue face of ocean ſmiled. The white wave is ſeen tumbling round the
+ diſtant rock; a miſt roſe, ſlowly, from the lake. It came, in the figure of an aged man, along
+ the ſilent plain. Its large limbs did not move in ſteps; for a ghoſt ſupported it in mid air. It
+ came towards Selma's hall, and diſſolved in a ſhower of blood.
+
The king alone beheld the ſight ; he foreſaw the death of the people. He
+ came, in ſilence, to his hall; and took his father's ſpear. The mail rattled on his breaſt. The
+ heroes roſe around. They looked, in ſilence, on each
+
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+ other, marking the eyes of Fingal. They ſaw battle in his face : the death
+ of armies on his ſpear. A thouſand ſhields, at once, are placed on their arms; they drew a
+ thouſand ſwords. The hall of Selma brightened around. The clang of arms aſcends. The grey dogs
+ howl in their place. No word is among the mighty chiefs. Each marked the eyes of the king; and
+ half aſſumed his ſpear.
+
Sons of Morven, begun the king, this is no time to fill the ſhell. The
+ battle darkens near us; death hovers over the land. Some ghoſt, the friend of Fingal, has
+ forewarned us of the foe. The ſons of the ſtranger come from the darkly-rolling ſea. For, from
+ the water, came the ſign of Morven's gloomy danger. Let each aſſume his heavy ſpear, each gird on
+ his father's ſword. Let the dark helmet riſe on every head; the mail pour its lightening from
+ every ſide. The battle gathers like a ſtorm; ſoon ſhall ye hear the roar of death.
+
The hero moved on before his hoſt, like a cloud before a ridge of green
+ fire; when it pours on the ſky of night, and mariners foreſee a ſtorm. On Cona's riſing heath
+ they ſtood : the white-boſomed maids beheld them above like a grove ; they foreſaw the death of
+ the youth, and looked towards the ſea with fear. The white
+
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+ wave deceived them for diſtant ſails; the tear is on their cheek ! The
+ ſun roſe on the ſea, and we beheld a diſtant fleet. Like the miſt of ocean they came: and poured
+ their youth upon the coaſt. The chief was among them, like the ſtag in the midſt of the herd. His
+ ſhield is ſtudded with gold; ſtately ſtrode the king of ſpears. He moved towards Selma ; his
+ thouſands moved behind.
+
Go, with a ſong of peace, ſaid Fingal; go, Ullin, to the king of ſwords.
+ Tell him that we are mighty in war ; that the ghoſts of our foes are many. But renowned are they
+ who have feaſted in my halls! they ſhew the armsDisplay note of my fathers in a foreign land: the ſons of the ſtrangers wonder, and bleſs the friends
+ of Morven's race ; for our names have been heard afar : the kings of the world ſhook in the midſt
+ of their hoſt.
+
Ullin went with his ſong. Fingal reſted on his ſpear : he ſaw the mighty foe
+ in his armour : he bleſt the ſtranger's ſon. “How ſtately art thou, ſon of the ſea! ſaid the king
+ of woody Morven. Thy ſword is a beam of fire by thy
+
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+ ſide : thy ſpear is a pine that defies the ſtorm. The varied face of the
+ moon is not broader than thy ſhield. Ruddy is thy face of youth! ſoft the ringlets of thy hair !
+ But this tree may fall ; and his memory be forgot ! The daughter of the ſtranger will be ſad,
+ looking to the rolling ſea : the children will ſay, “We ſee a ſhip ; perhaps it is the king of
+ Balclutha.” The tear ſtarts from their mother's eye. Her thoughts are of him who ſleeps in Morven
+ !”
+
Such were the words of the king, when Ullin came to the mighty Carthon : he
+ threw down the ſpear before him ; he raiſed the ſong of peace. “Come to the feaſt of Fingal,
+ Carthon, from the rolling ſea ! partake of the feaſt of the king, or lift the ſpear of war ! The
+ ghoſts of our foes are many : but renowned are the friends of Morven ! Behold that field, O
+ Carthon ; many a green hill riſes there, with moſſy ſtones and ruſtling graſs : theſe are the
+ tombs of Fingal's foes, the ſons of the rolling ſea !”
+
“Dost thou ſpeak to the weak in arms!” ſaid Carthon, “bard of the woody
+ Morven ? Is my face pale for fear, ſon of the peaceful ſong ? Why, then, doſt thou think to
+ darken my ſoul with the tales of thoſe who fell? My arm has fought in battle; my renown is known
+ afar. Go to the feeble in arms, bid them yield to
+
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+ Fingal. Have not I ſeen the fallen Balclutha? And ſhall I feaſt with
+ Comhal's ſon? Comhal! who threw his fire, in the midſt of my father's hall ! I was young, and
+ knew not the cauſe, why the virgins wept. The columns of ſmoke pleaſed mine eye, when they roſe
+ above my walls ! I often looked back, with gladneſs, when my friends fled along the hill. But
+ when the years of my youth came on, I beheld the moſs of my fallen walls : my ſigh aroſe with the
+ morning, and my tears deſcended with night. Shall I not fight, I ſaid to my ſoul, againſt the
+ children of my foes? And I will fight, O bard! I feel the ſtrength of my ſoul.”
+
His people gathered around the hero, and drew, at once, their ſhining
+ ſwords. He ſtands, in the midſt, like a pillar of fire; the tear half-ſtarting from his eye ; for
+ he thought of the fallen Balclutha ; the crowded pride of his ſoul aroſe. Sidelong he looked up
+ to the hill, where our heroes ſhone in arms; the ſpear trembled in his hand: bending forward, he
+ ſeemed to threaten the king.
+
Shall I, ſaid Fingal to his ſoul, meet, at once, the youth ? Shall I ſtop
+ him, in the midſt of his courſe, before his fame ſhall ariſe ? But the bard, hereafter, may ſay,
+ when he ſees the tomb
+
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+ of Carthon ; Fingal took his thouſands to battle, before the noble Carthon
+ fell. No : bard of the times to come ! thou thalt not leſſen Fingal's fame. My heroes will fight
+ the youth, and Fingal behold the war. If he overcomes, I ruſh, in my ſtrength, like the roaring
+ ſtream of Cona. Who, of my chiefs, will meet the ſon of the rolling ſea? Many are his warriors on
+ the coaſt : and ſtrong is his aſhen ſpear !
+
CathulDisplay note roſe, in his ſtrength, the ſon of the mighty Lormar : three hundred youths attend the
+ chief, the raceDisplay note of his native ſtreams. Feeble was his arm againſt Carthon, he fell; and his heroes fled. ConnalDisplay note reſumed the battle, but he broke his heavy ſpear : he lay bound on the field : Carthon
+ purſued his people.
+
Clessammor ! ſaid the king Display note of Morven, where is the ſpear of thy ſtrength? Wilt thou behold Connal bound ; thy
+ friend, at the ſtream of Lora? Riſe, in the light of thy ſteel,
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image companion of valiant Comhal. Let the youth of
+ Balclutha feel the ſtrength of Morven's race. He roſe in the ſtrength of his ſteel, ſhaking his
+ grizly locks. He fitted the ſhield to his ſide ; he ruſhed, in the pride of valour.
+
Carthon ſtood, on a rock; he ſaw the hero ruſhing on. He loved the dreadful
+ joy of his face : his ſtrength, in the locks of age ! “Shall I lift that ſpear, he ſaid, that
+ never ſtrikes, but once, a foe? Or ſhall I, with the words of peace, preſerve the warrior's life
+ ? Stately are his ſteps, of age! lovely the remnant of his years! Perhaps it is the huſband of
+ Moina ; the father of car-borne Carthon. Often have I heard, that he dwelt at the ecchoing ſtream
+ of Lora.”
+
Such were his words, when Cleſámmor came, and lifted high his ſpear. The
+ youth received it on his ſhield, and ſpoke the words of peace. “Warrior of the aged locks! Is
+ there no youth to lift the ſpear ? Haſt thou no ſon, to raiſe the ſhield before his father, to
+ meet the arm of youth? Is the ſpouſe of thy love no more? or weeps ſhe over the tombs of thy
+ ſons? Art thou of the kings of men? What will be the fame of my ſword ſhould'ſt thou fall ?
+
It will be great, thou ſon of pride ! begun the tall Cleſsámmor. I have been
+ renowned in
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+ battle; but I never told my nameDisplay note to a foe. Yield to me, ſon of the wave, then ſhalt thou know, that the mark of my ſword
+ is in many a field. “I never yielded, king of ſpears ! replied the noble pride of Carthon : I
+ have alſo fought in war; I behold my future fame. Deſpiſe me not, thou chief of men; my arm, my
+ ſpear is ſtrong. Retire among thy friends, let younger heroes fight.” Why doſt thou wound my
+ ſoul, replied Cleſsámmor with a tear? Age does not tremble on my hand; I ſtill can lift the
+ ſword. Shall I fly in Fingal's ſight; in the ſight of him I love? Son of the ſea! I never fled :
+ exalt thy pointed ſpear.
+
They fought, like two contending winds, that ſtrive to roll the wave.
+ Carthon bade his ſpear to err; he ſtill thought that the foe was the ſpouſe of Moina. He broke
+ Cleſsámmor's beamy ſpear in twain: he ſeized his ſhining ſword. But as Carthon was binding the
+ chief ; the chief drew the dagger of his fathers. He
+
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+ ſaw the foe's uncovered ſide; and opened, there, a wound.
+
Fingal ſaw Cleſsámmor low : he moved in the ſound of his ſteel. The hoſt
+ ſtood ſilent, in his preſence ; they turned their eyes to the king. He came, like the ſullen
+ noiſe of a ſtorm, before the winds ariſe : the hunter hears it in the vale, and retires to the
+ cave of the rock. Carthon ſtood in his place : the blood is ruſhing down his ſide : he ſaw the
+ coming down of the king ; his hopes of fame aroſeDisplay note ; but pale was his cheek : his hair flew looſe, his helmet ſhook on high : the force of
+ Carthon failed ; but his ſoul was ſtrong.
+
Fingal beheld the heroe's blood ; he ſtopt the uplifted ſpear. “Yield, king
+ of ſwords ! ſaid Comhal's ſon ; I behold thy blood. Thou haſt been mighty in battle; and thy fame
+ ſhall never fade.” Art thou the king ſo far renowned, replied the car-borne Carthon? Art thou
+ that light of death, that frightens the kings of the world ? But why ſhould Carthon aſk? for he
+ is like the ſtream of his hills; ſtrong as a river, in
+
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+ his courſe: ſwift as the eagle of heaven. O that I had fought with the
+ king; that my fame might be great in ſong! that the hunter, beholding my tomb, might ſay, he
+ fought with the mighty Fingal. But Carthon dies unknown; he has poured out his force on the
+ weak.”
+
But thou ſhalt not die unknown, replied the king of woody Morven: my bards
+ are many, O Carthon, their ſongs deſcend to future times. The children of years to come ſhall
+ hear the fame of Carthon; when they ſit round the burning oakDisplay note, and the night is ſpent in ſongs of old. The hunter, ſitting in the heath, ſhall hear the
+ ruſtling blaſt; and, raiſing his eyes, behold the rock where Carthon fell. He ſhall turn to his
+ ſon, and ſhew the place where the mighty fought; “There the king of Balclutha fought, like the
+ ſtrength of a thouſand ſtreams.”
+
Joy roſe in Carthon's face: he lifted his heavy eyes. He gave his ſword to
+ Fingal, to lie within his hall, that the memory of Balclutha's king might remain in Morven. The
+
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+ battle ceaſed along the field, the bard had ſung the ſong of peace. The
+ chiefs gathered round the falling Carthon ; they heard his words, with ſighs. Silent they leaned
+ on their ſpears, while Balclutha's hero ſpoke. His hair ſighed in the wind, and his voice was ſad
+ and low.
+
“King of Morven, Carthon ſaid, I fall in the midſt of my courſe. A foreign
+ tomb receives, in youth, the laſt of Reuthámir's race. Darkneſs dwells in Balclutha : the ſhadows
+ of grief in Crathmo. But raiſe my remembrance on the banks of Lora: where my fathers dwelt.
+ Perhaps the huſband of Moina will mourn over his fallen Carthon.” His words reached the heart of
+ Cleſsámmor : he fell, in ſilence, on his ſon. The hoſt ſtood darkened around: no voice is on the
+ plain. Night came, the moon, from the eaſt, looked on the mournful field : but ſtill they ſtood,
+ like a ſilent grove that lifts its head on Gormal, when the loud winds are laid, and dark autumn
+ is on the plain.
+
Three days they mourned above Carthon ; on the fourth his father died. In
+ the narrow plain of the rock they lie; a dim ghoſt defends their tomb. There lovely Moina is
+ often ſeen; when the ſun-beam darts on the rock, and all around is dark. There ſhe is ſeen,
+ Malvina,
+
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+ but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the ſtranger's
+ land ; and ſhe is ſtill alone !
+
Fingal was ſad for Carthon ; he commanded his bards to mark the day, when
+ ſhadowy autumn returned : And often did they mark the day and ſing the hero's praiſe. “Who comes
+ ſo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's ſhadowy cloud? Death is trembling in his hand ! his eyes
+ are flames of fire! Who roars along dark Lora's heath? Who but Carthon, king of ſwords? The
+ people fall! ſee ! how he ſtrides, like the ſullen ghoſt of Morven! But there he lies a goodly
+ oak, which ſudden blaſts overturned ! When ſhalt thou riſe, Balclutha's joy ! When, Carthon,
+ ſhalt thou ariſe? Who comes ſo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's ſhadowy cloud?” Such were
+ the words of the bards, in the day of their mourning : Oſſian often joined their voice; and added
+ to their ſong. My ſoul has been mournful for Carthon ; he fell in the days of his youth: and
+ thou, O Cleſsámmor ! where is thy dwelling in the wind? Has the youth forgot his wound? Flies he,
+ on clouds, with thee? I feel the ſun, O Malvina, leave me to my reſt. Perhaps they may come to my
+ dreams; I think I hear
+
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+ a feeble voice! The beam of heaven delights to ſhine on the grave of
+ Carthon: I feel it warm around !
+
O THOU that rolleſt above, round as the ſhield of my fathers! Whence are thy
+ beams, O ſun! thy everlaſting light? Thou comeſt forth, in thy awful beauty ; the ſtars hide
+ themſelves in the ſky; the moon, cold and pale, ſinks in the weſtern wave. But thou thyſelf
+ moveſt alone: who can be a companion of thy courſe! The oaks of the mountains fall : the
+ mountains themſelves decay with years; the ocean ſhrinks and grows again : the moon herſelf is
+ loſt in heaven; but thou art for ever the ſame ; rejoicing in the brightneſs of thy courſe. When
+ the world is dark with tempeſts ; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies ; thou lookeſt in thy
+ beauty, from the clouds, and laugheſt at the ſtorm. But to Oſſian, thou lookeſt in vain ; for he
+ beholds thy beams no more ; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eaſtern clouds, or thou
+ trembleſt at the gates of the weſt. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a ſeaſon, thy years will
+ have an end. Thou ſhalt ſleep in thy clouds, careleſs of the voice of the morning. Exult then, O
+ ſun, in the ſtrength of thy youth ! Age is dark and unlovely ; it is like the
+
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+ glimmering light of the moon, when it ſhines through broken clouds, and the
+ miſt is on the hills; the blaſt of north is on the plain, the traveller ſhrinks in the midſt of
+ his journey.
After an addreſs to Malvina, the daughter of Toſcar, Oſſian proceeds to relate his own
+ expedition to Fuärfed, an iſland of Scandinavia. Mal-orchol, king of Fuärfed, being hard preſſed
+ in war, by Ton-thormod, chief of Sar-dronlo, (who had demanded, in vain, the daughter of
+ Mal-orchol in marriage) Fingal ſent Oſſian to his aid. Oſſian, on the day after his arrival,
+ came to battle with Ton-thormod, and took him priſoner. Mal-orchol offers his daughter
+ Oina-morul to Oſſian ; but he, diſcovering her paſſion for Tonthormod, generouſly ſurrenders her
+ to her lover, and brings about a reconciliation between the two kings.
As flies the unconſtant ſun, over Larmon's graſſy hill; ſo paſs the tales
+ of old, along my ſoul, by night! When bards are removed to their place; when harps are hung in
+ Selma's hall; then comes a voice to Oſſian, and awakes his ſoul! It is the voice of years that
+ are gone ! they roll before me, with all their deeds ! I ſeize the tales, as they paſs, and pour
+ them forth in ſong. Nor a troubled ſtream is the ſong of the king, it is like the riſing of muſic
+ from Lutha of the ſtrings. Lutha of many ſtrings, not ſilent are thy ſtreamy rocks, when the
+ white hands of Malvina move upon the harp! Light of the ſhadowy thoughts, that fly acroſs my
+ ſoul, daughter of Toſcar of helmets, wilt thou not hear the ſong! We call back, maid of Lutha,
+ the years that have rolled away !
+
It was in the days of the king, while yet my locks were young, that I marked
+
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+ Con-cathlinDisplay note, on high, from ocean's nightly wave. My courſe was towards the iſle of Fuärfed, woody
+ dweller of ſeas! Fingal had ſent me to the aid of Mal-orchol, king of Fuärfed wild : for war was
+ around him, and our fathers had met, at the feaſt.
+
In Col-coiled, I bound my ſails; I ſent my ſword to Mal-orchol of ſhells. He
+ knew the ſignal of Albion, and his joy aroſe. He came from his own high hall, and ſeized my hand
+ in grief. “Why comes the race of heroes to a falling king ? Ton-thormod of many ſpears is the
+ chief of wavy Sar-dronlo. He ſaw and loved my daughter, white-boſomed Oina-morul. He ſought ; I
+ denied the maid ; for our fathers had been foes, He came, with battle, to
+
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+ Fuärfed; my people are rolled away, Why comes the race of heroes to a
+ falling king?”
+
I come not, I ſaid, to look, like a boy, on the ſtrife. Fingal remembers
+ Mal-orchol, and his hall for ſtrangers. From his waves, the warrior deſcended, on thy woody iſle.
+ Thou wert no cloud before him. Thy feaſt was ſpread with ſongs. For this my ſword ſhall rife; and
+ thy foes perhaps may fail. Our friends are not forgot in their danger, tho' diſtant is our
+ land.
+
“Deſcendant of the daring Trenmor, thy words are like the voice of Cruth-loda, when he ſpeaks,
+ from his parting cloud, ſtrong dweller of the ſky! Many have rejoiced at my feaſt but they all
+ have forgot Mal-orchol, I have looked towards all the winds ; but no white ſails were ſeen. But ſteelDisplay note reſounds in my hall; and
+
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+ not the joyful ſhells. Come to my dwelling, race of heroes;
+ dark-ſkirted night is near. Hear the voice of ſongs, from the maid of Fuärfed wild.
+
WE went. On the harp aroſe the white hands of Oina-morul. She waked her own
+ ſad tale, from every trembling ſtring. I ſtood in ſilence; for bright in her locks was the
+ daughter of many iſles! Her eyes were two ſtars, looking forward thro' a ruſhing ſhower. The
+ mariner marks them on high, and bleſſes the lovely beams. With morning we ruſhed to battle, to
+ Tormul's reſounding ſtream: the foe moved to the ſound of Ton-thormod's boſſy ſhield, From wing
+ to wing the ſtrife was mixed. I met Ton-thormod in fight. Wide flew his broken ſteel. I ſeized
+ the king in war. I gave his hand, bound faſt with thongs, to Mal-orchol, the giver of ſhells. Joy
+ roſe at the feaſt of Fuärfed, for the foe had failed. Ton-thormod turned his face away, from
+ Oina-morul of iſles !
+
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+ Son of Fingal, begun Mal-orchol, not forgot ſhalt
+ thou paſs from me. A light ſhall dwell in thy ſhip, Oina-morul of ſlow-rolling eyes. She ſhall
+ kindle gladneſs, along thy mighty ſoul. Nor unheeded ſhall the maid move in Selma, thro' the
+ dwelling of kings!
+
In the hall I lay in night. Mine eyes were half-cloſed in ſleep. Soft muſic
+ came to mine ear: it was like the riſing breeze, that whirls, at firſt, the thiſtle's beard; then
+ flies, dark-ſhadowy, over the graſs. It was the maid of Fuärfed wild ! ſhe raiſed the nightly
+ ſong; ſhe knew that my ſoul was a ſtream, that flowed at pleaſant ſounds. “Who looks,” ſhe ſaid,
+ “from his rock, on ocean's cloſing miſt ? His long locks, like the raven's wing, are wandering on
+ the blaſt. Stately are his ſteps in grief ! The tears are in his eyes! His manly breaſt is
+ heaving over his burſting ſoul! Retire, I am diſtant far; a wanderer in lands unknown. Tho' the
+ race of kings are around me, yet my ſoul is dark. Why have our fathers been foes, Ton-thormod
+ love of maids !”
+
“Soft voice of the ſtreamy iſle,” I ſaid, why doſt thou mourn by night ? The
+ race of daring Trenmor are not the dark in ſoul. Thou ſhalt not wander, by ſtreams unknown,
+ blue-eyed Oina-morul ! Within this boſom is a voice;
+
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+ it comes not to other ears: it bids Oſſian hear the hapleſs, in their
+ hour of woe. Retire, ſoft ſinger by night; Ton-thormod ſhall not mourn on his rock !”
+
With morning I looſed the king. I gave the long-haired maid. Mal-orchol
+ heard my words, in the midſt of his echoing halls. “King of Fuärfed wild, why ſhould Ton-thormod
+ mourn? He is of the race of heroes, and a flame in war. Your fathers have been foes, but now
+ their dim ghoſts rejoice in death. They ſtretch their hands of miſt to the ſame ſhell in Loda.
+ Forget their rage, ye warriors, it was the cloud of other years.”
+
Such were the deeds of Oſſian, while yet his locks were young : tho'
+ lovelineſs, with a robe of beams, clothed the daughter of many iſles. We call back, maid of
+ Lutha, the years that have rolled away !
Fingal diſpatches Oſſian and Toſcar, the ſon of Conloch and father of
+ Malvina, to raiſe a ſtone, on the banks of the ſtream of Crona, to perpetuate the memory of a
+ victory, which he had obtained in that place, When they were employed in that work, Car-ul, a
+ neighbouring chief, invited them to a feaſt, They went : and Toſcar fell deſperately in love
+ with Colna-dona, the daughter of Car-ul. Colna-dona became no leſs enamoured of Toſcar. An
+ incident, at a hunting party, brings their loves to a happy iſſue.
Display noteColamon of troubled ſtreams, dark wanderer of diſtant vales, I behold thy courſe,
+ between trees, near Car-ul's echoing halls! There dwelt bright Colna-dona, the daughter of the
+ king. Her eyes were rolling ſtars; her arms were white as the foam of ſtreams. Her breaſt roſe
+ ſlowly to ſight, like ocean's heaving wave. Her ſoul was a ſtream of
+
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+ light. Who, among the maids, was like the love of heroes ?
+
Beneath the voice of the king, we moved to CronaDisplay note of the ſtreams, Toſcar of graſſy Lutha, and
+ Oſſian, young in fields. Three bards attended with ſongs. Three boſſy ſhields were born before us
+ : for we were to rear the ſtone, in memory of the paſt. By Crona's moſſy courſe, Fingal had
+ ſcattered his foes : he had rolled away the ſtrangers, like a troubled ſea. We came to the place
+ of renown: from the mountains deſcended night. I tore an oak from its hill, and raiſed a flame on
+ high. I bade my fathers to look down, from the clouds of their hall; for, at the fame of their
+ race, they brighten in the wind.
+
I took a ſtone from the ſtream, amidſt the ſong of bards. The blood of
+ Fingal's foes hung curdled in its ooze. Beneath, I placed, at
+
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+ intervals, three boſſes from the ſhields of foes, as roſe or fell the
+ ſound of Ullin's nightly ſong. Toſcar laid a dagger in earth, a mail of ſounding ſteel. We raiſed
+ the mould around the ſtone, and bade it ſpeak to other years.
+
Oozy daughter of ſtreams, that now art reared on high, ſpeak to the feeble,
+ O ſtone, after Selma's race have ſailed ! Prone, from the ſtormy night, the traveller ſhall lay
+ him, by thy ſide : thy whiſtling moſs ſhall ſound in his dreams ; the years that were paſt ſhall
+ return. Battles riſe before him, blue-ſhielded kings deſcend to war : the darkened moon looks
+ from heaven, on the troubled field, He ſhall burſt, with morning, from dreams, and ſee the tombs
+ of warriors round. He ſhall aſk about the ſtone, and the aged ſhall reply, “This grey ſtone was
+ raiſed by Oſſian, a chief of other years !”Display noteFrom Col-amon came a bard, from Car-ul, the friend of ſtrangers, He bade us to the feaſt
+
+
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+ of kings, to the dwelling of bright Colna-dona. We went to the hall of
+ harps. There Car-ul brightened between his aged locks, when he beheld the ſons of his friends,
+ like two young branches before him.
+
“Sons of the mighty,” he ſaid; “ye bring back the days of old, when firſt I
+ deſcended from waves, on Selma's ſtreamy vale ! I purſued Duthmocarglos, dweller of ocean's wind.
+ Our fathers had been foes, we met by Clutha's winding waters. He fled, along the ſea, and my
+ ſails were ſpread behind him. Night deceived me, on the deep. I came to the dwelling of kings, to
+ Selma of high-boſomed maids. Fingal came forth with his bards, and Conloch, arm of death. I
+ feaſted three days in the hall, and ſaw the blue-eyes of Erin, Ros-crana, daughter of heroes,
+ light of Cormac's race, Nor forgot did my ſteps depart : the kings gave their ſhields to Car-ul :
+ they hang, on high, in Col-amon, in memory of the paſt. Sons of the daring kings, ye bring back
+ the days of old !
+
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+ Car-ul kindled the oak of feaſts. He took two boſſes
+ from our ſhields. He laid them in earth, beneath a ſtone, to ſpeak to the hero's race. “When
+ battle,” ſaid the King, “ſhall roar, and our ſons are to meet in wrath. My race ſhall look,
+ perhaps, on this ſtone, when they prepare the ſpear. Have not our fathers met in peace, they will
+ ſay, and lay aſide the ſhield ?”
+
Night came down. In her long locks moved the daughter of Car-ul. Mixed with
+ the harp aroſe the voice of white-armed Colna-dona. Toſcar darkened in his place, before the love
+ of heroes. She came on his troubled ſoul, like a beam to the dark-heaving ocean : when it burſts
+ from a cloud, and brightens the foamy ſide of a waveDisplay note
+
* * *
+
With morning we awaked the woods ; and hung forward on the path of the roes.
+ They fell by their wonted ſtreams. We returned thro' Crona's vale. From the wood a youth came
+ forward, with a ſhield and pointleſs ſpear. “Whence, ſaid Toſcar of Lutha, is the flying beam ?
+ Dwells there peace at Col-amon, round bright Colna-dona of harps ?
+
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+ “By Col-amon of ſtreams,” ſaid the youth, “bright
+ Colna-dona dwelt. She dwelt ; but her courſe is now in deſarts, with the ſon of the king ; he
+ that ſeized with love her ſoul as it wandered thro' the hall.” “Stranger of tales,” ſaid Toſcar,
+ “haſt thou marked the warrior's courſe? He muſt fall, give thou that boſſy ſhield !” In wrath he
+ took the ſhield. Fair behind it roſe the breaſts of a maid, white as the boſom of a ſwan, riſing
+ graceful on ſwift-rolling waves. It was Colna-dona of harps, the daughter of the king ! Her blue
+ eyes had rolled on Toſcar, and her love aroſe !
Gaul, the ſon of Morni, attended Lathmon into his own country, after his being defeated in
+ Morven, as related in the preceding poem. He was kindly entertained by Nuäth, the father of
+ Lathmon, and fell in love with his daughter Oithona. The lady was no leſs enamoured of Gaul, and
+ a day was fixed for their marriage. In the mean time Fingal, preparing for an expedition into
+ the country of the Britons, ſent for Gaul. He obeyed, and went; but not without promiſing to
+ Oithona to return, if he ſurvived the war, by a certain day. Lathmon too was obliged to attend
+ his father Nuäth in his wars, and Oithona was left alone at Dunlathmon, the ſeat of the family.
+ Dunrommath, lord of Uthal, ſuppoſed to be one of the Orkneys, taking advantage of the abſence of
+ her friends, came and carried off, by force, Oithona, who had formerly rejected his love, into
+ Tromithon, a deſart iſland, where he concealed her in a cave.
+
Gaul returned on the day appointed; heard of the rape, and ſailed to Tromathon, to revenge
+ himſelf on Dunrommath. When he landed, he found Oithona diſconſolate, and reſolved not to
+ ſurvive the loſs of her honour. She told him the ſtory of her misfortunes, and ſhe ſcarce ended,
+ when Dunrommath, with his followers, appeared at the further end of the iſland. Gaul prepared to
+ attack him, recommending to Oithona to retire, till the battle was over. She ſeemingly obeyed ;
+ but ſhe ſecretly armed herſelf, ruſhed into the thickeſt of the battle, and was mortally
+ wounded. Gaul purſuing the flying enemy, found her juſt expiring on the field; he mourned over
+ her, raiſed her tomb, and returned to Morven. Thus is the ſtory handed down by tradition ; nor
+ is it given with any material difference in the Poem, which opens with Gaul's return to
+ Dunlathmon, after the rape of Oithona.
Darkness dwells around Dunlathmon, though the moon ſhews half her face on
+ the hill. The daughter of night turns her eyes away ; ſhe beholds the approaching grief. The ſon
+ of Morni is on the plain : there is no ſound in the hall. No long-ſtreaming beam of light comes
+ trembling through the gloom. The voice of OithonaDisplay note is not heard amidſt the noiſe of the ſtreams of Duvranna. “Whither art thou gone in thy
+ beauty, dark-haired daughter of Nuäth ? Lathmon is in the field of the valiant, but thou didſt
+ promiſe to remain in the hall; thou didſt promiſe to remain in the hall till the ſon of Morni
+ returned. Till he returned from Strumon, to the maid of his love ! The tear was on thy cheek at
+ his departure ; the ſigh roſe in ſecret in thy breaſt. But thou doſt not come forth
+
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+ with ſongs, with the lightly-trembling ſound of the harp!”
+
Such were the words of Gaul, when he came to Dunlathmon's towers. The gates
+ were open and dark. The winds were bluſtering in the hall. The trees ſtrowed the threſhold with
+ leaves ; the murmur of night was abroad. Sad and ſilent, at a rock, the ſon of Morni ſat : his
+ ſoul trembled for the maid , but he knew not whither to turn his courſe! The ſonDisplay note of Leth ſtood at a diſtance, and heard the winds in his buſhy hair. But he did not raiſe
+ his voice, for he ſaw the ſorrow of Gaul !
+
Sleep deſcended on the chiefs. The viſions of night aroſe. Oithona ſtood,
+ in a dream, before the eyes of Morni's ſon. Her hair was looſe and diſordered : her lovely eye
+ rolled deep in tears. Blood ſtained her ſnowy arm. The robe half hid the wound of her breaſt.
+ She ſtood over the chief, and her voice was feebly heard. “Sleeps the ſon of Morni, he that was
+ lovely in the eyes of Oithona? Sleeps Gaul at the diſtant rock, and the daughter of Nuäth low :
+ The ſea rolls round the dark iſle of Tromáthon. I ſit in my tears in the cave! Nor do I ſit
+ alone, O
+
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+ Gaul, the dark chief of Cuthal is there. He is there in the rage of his
+ love. What can Oithona do!”
+
A rougher blaſt ruſhed through the oak. The dream of night departed. Gaul
+ took his aſpen ſpear. He ſtood in the rage of his ſoul. Often did his eyes turn to the eaſt. He
+ accuſed the lagging light. At length the morning came forth. The hero lifted up the ſail. The
+ winds came ruſtling from the hill ; he bounded on the waves of the deep. On the third day aroſe TromáthonDisplay note, like a blue ſhield in the midſt of the ſea. The white wave roared againſt its rocks ;
+ ſad Oithona ſat on the coaſt ! She looked on the rolling waters, and her tears came down. But
+ when ſhe ſaw Gaul in his arms, ſhe ſtarted and turned her eyes away. Her lovely cheek is bent
+ and red ; her white arm trembles by her ſide. Thrice ſhe ſtrove to fly from his preſence ;
+ thrice her ſteps failed her as ſhe went !
+
“Daughter of Nuäth,” ſaid the hero, “why doſt thou fly from Gaul. Do my
+ eyes ſend forth the flame of death ! Darkens hatred in my ſoul ? Thou art to me the beam of the
+ eaſt, riſing in a land unknown. But thou covereſt thy face with ſadneſs, daughter of car-borne
+ Näith ! Is the foe
+
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+ of Oithona near ? My ſoul burns to meet him in fight. The ſword trembles
+ by the ſide of Gaul, and longs to glitter in his hand. Speak, daughter of Nuäth, doſt thou not
+ behold my tears ?”
+
“Young chief of Strumon,” replied the maid, “why comeſt thou over the
+ dark-blue wave, to Nuäth's mournful daughter? Why did I not paſs away in ſecret, like the flower
+ of the rock, that lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrows its withered leaves on the blaſt? Why
+ didſt thou come, O Gaul, to hear my departing ſigh? I vaniſh in my youth ; my name ſhall not be
+ heard. Or it will be heard with grief ; the tears of Nuäth muſt fall. Thou wilt be ſad, ſon of
+ Morni, for the departed fame of Oithona. But ſhe ſhall ſleep in the narrow tomb, far from the
+ voice of the mourner. Why didſt thou come, chief of Strumon, to the ſea-beat rocks of Tromáthon
+ ?”
+
“I came to meet thy foes, daughter of car-borne Nuäth! the death of
+ Cuthal's chief darkens before me; or Morni's ſon ſhall fall! Oithona ! when Gaul is low, raiſe
+ my tomb on that oozy rock. When the dark-bounding ſhip ſhall paſs, call the ſons of the ſea!
+ call them, and give this ſword, to bear it hence to Morni's hall. The grey-haired chief will
+ then
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+ ceaſe to look towards the deſart, for the return of his ſon.”
+
“Shall the daughter of Nuäth live?” ſhe replied with a burſting figh.
+ “Shall I live in Tromathon, and the ſon of Morni low ? My heart is not of that rock; nor my ſoul
+ careleſs as that ſea; which lifts its blue waves to every wind, and rolls beneath the ſtorm !
+ The blaſt which ſhall lay thee low, ſhall ſpread the branches of Oithona on earth. We ſhall
+ wither together, ſon of car-borne Morni ! The narrow houſe is pleaſant to me, and the grey ſtone
+ of the dead : for never more will I leave thy rocks, O ſea-ſurrounded Tromáthon ! NightDisplay note came on with her clouds, after the departure of Lathmon, when he went to the wars of his
+ fathers, to the moſs-covered rock of Duthormoth. Night came on. I ſat in the hall, at the beam
+ of the oak! The wind was abroad in the trees. I heard the ſound of arms. Joy roſe in my face. I
+ thought of thy return. It was the chief of Cuthal, the red-haired ſtrength of Dunrommath. His
+ eyes rolled in fire : the blood of my people was on his ſword. They who defended Oithona fell by
+ the gloomy chief! What could I do? My arm was weak. I could not lift the ſpear.
+
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+ He took me in my grief, amidſt my tears he raiſed the ſail. He feared the
+ returning Lathmon, the brother of unhappy Oithona ! But behold he comes with his people! the
+ dark wave is divided before him ! Whither wilt thou turn thy ſteps, ſon of Morni? Many are the
+ warriors of thy foe !”
+
“My ſteps never turned from battle,” Gaul ſaid and unſheathed his ſword.
+ Shall I then begin to fear, Oithona, when thy foes are near? Go to thy cave, my love, till our
+ battle ceaſe on the field. Son of Leth, bring the bows of our fathers! the ſounding quiver of
+ Morni ! Let our three warriors bend the yew. Ourſelves will lift the ſpear. They are an hoſt on
+ the rock ! our ſouls are ſtrong in war !”
+
Oithona went to the cave. A troubled joy roſe on her mind, like the red
+ path of lightning on a ſtormy cloud ! Her ſoul was reſolved , the tear was dried from her
+ wildly-looking eye. Dunrommath ſlowly approached. He ſaw the ſon of Morni. Contempt contracted
+ his face, a ſmile is on his dark-brown cheek; his red eye rolled, half-conceal'd, beneath his
+ ſhaggy brows !
+
“Whence are the ſons of the ſea,” begun the gloomy chief? “Have the winds
+ driven you on the rocks of Tromáthon? Or come
+
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+ you in ſearch of the white-handed maid ? The ſons of the unhappy, ye
+ feeble men, come to the hand of Dunrommath ! His eye ſpares not the weak ; he delights in the
+ blood of ſtrangers. Oithona is a beam of light, and the chief of Cuthal enjoys it in ſecret;
+ wouldſt thou come on its lovelineſs, like a cloud, ſon of the feeble hand ! Thou mayſt come, but
+ ſhalt thou return to the halls of thy fathers?” “Doſt thou not know me,” ſaid Gaul, “red-haired
+ chief of Cuchal ? Thy feet were ſwift on the heath, in the battle of car-borne Lathmon ; when
+ the ſword of Morni's ſon purſued his hoſt, in Morven's woody land. Dunrommath! thy words are
+ mighty, for thy warriors gather behind thee. But do I fear them, ſon of pride? I am not of the
+ race of the feeble !”
+
Gaul advanced in his arms; Dunrommath ſhrunk behind his people. But the
+ ſpear of Gaul pierced the gloomy chief; his ſword lopped off his head, as it bended in death.
+ The ſon of Morni ſhook it thrice by the lock ; the warriors of Dunrommath fled. The arrows of
+ Morven purſued them : ten fell on the moſſy rocks. The reſt lift the ſounding ſail, and bound on
+ the troubled deep. Gaul advanced towards the cave of Oithona. He beheld a youth leaning on a
+ rock. An arrow had pierced
+
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+ his ſide; his eye rolled faintly beneath his helmet. The ſoul of Morni's
+ ſon was ſad, he came and ſpoke the words of peace.
+
“Can the hand of Gaul heal thee, youth of the mournful brow? I have
+ ſearched for the herbs of the mountains; I have gathered them on the ſecret banks of their
+ ſtreams. My hand has cloſed the wound of the brave, their eyes have bleſſed the ſon of Morni.
+ Where dwelt thy fathers, warrior? Were they of the ſons of the mighty ? Sadneſs ſhall come, like
+ night, on thy native ſtreams. Thou art fallen in thy youth !”
+
“My fathers,” replied the ſtranger, “Were of the race of the mighty ; but
+ they ſhall not be ſad; for my fame is departed like morning miſt. High walls riſe on the banks
+ of Duvranna ; and ſee their moſſy towers in the ſtream; a rock aſcends behind them with its
+ bending pines. Thou mayſt behold it far diſtant. There my brother dwells. He is renowned in
+ battle : give him this glittering helm.”
+
The helmet fell from the hand of Gaul. It was the wounded Oithona ! She had
+ armed herſelf in the cave, and came in ſearch of death. Her heavy eyes are half cloſed ; the
+ blood pours from her heaving ſide. “Son of Morni,” ſhe ſaid, “prepare the narrow tomb. Sleep
+ grows, like
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+ darkneſs, on my ſoul. The eyes of Oithona are dim ! O had I dwelt at
+ Duvranna, in the bright beam of my fame ! then had my years come on with joy; the virgins would
+ then bleſs my ſteps. But I fall in youth, ſon of Morni ; my father ſhall bluſh in his hall
+ !”
+
She fell pale on the rock of Tromáthon. The mournful warrior raiſed her
+ tomb. He came to Morven ; we ſaw the darkneſs of his ſoul. Oſſian took the harp in the praiſe of
+ Oithona. The brightneſs of the face of Gaul returned. But his ſigh roſe, at times, in the midſt
+ of his friends; like blaſts that ſhake their unfrequent wings, after the ſtormy winds are laid !
Malvina the daughter of Toſcar is overheard by Oſſian lamenting the death of Oſcar her lover.
+ Oſſian, to divert her grief, relates his own actions in an expedition which he undertook, at
+ Fingal's command, to aid Crothar the petty king of Croma, a country in Ireland, againſt Rothmar
+ who invaded his dominions. The ſtory is delivered down thus in tradition. Crothar king of Croma
+ being blind with age, and his ſon too young for the field, Rothmar the chief of Tromlo reſolved
+ to avail himſelf of the opportunity offered of annexing the dominions of Crothar to his own. He
+ accordingly marched into the country ſubject to Crothar, but which he held of Arth or Artho, who
+ was, at the time, ſupreme king of Ireland.
+
Crothar being, on account of his age and blindneſs, unfit for action, ſent for aid to Fingal
+ king of Scotland; who ordered his ſon Oſſian to the relief of Crothar. But before his arrival
+ Fovargormo, the ſon of Crothar, attacking Rothmar, was ſlain himſelf, and his forces totally
+ defeated. Oſſian renewed the war; came to battle, killed Rothmar, and routed his army. Croma
+ being thus delivered of its enemies, Oſſian returned to Scotland.
“It was the voice of my love! ſeldom art thou, in the dreams of Malvina!
+ Open your airy halls, O fathers of Toſcar of ſhields ! Unfold the gates of your clouds : the
+ ſteps of Malvina are near. I have heard a voice in my dream. I feel the fluttering of my ſoul.
+ Why didſt thou come, O blaſt, from the dark-rolling face of the lake? Thy ruſtling wing was in
+ the tree; the dream of Malvina fled. But ſhe beheld her love, when his robe of miſt flew on the
+ wind. A ſun-beam was on his ſkirts, they glittered like the gold of the ſtranger. It was the
+ voice of my love! ſeldom comes he to my dreams!”
+
“But thou dwelleſt in the ſoul of Malvina, ſon of mighty Oſſian! My ſighs
+ ariſe with the beam of the eaſt; my tears deſcend with the drops of night. I was a lovely tree,
+ in thy
+
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+ preſence, Oſcar, with all my branches round me; but thy death came like a
+ blaſt from the deſart, and laid my green head low. The ſpring returned with its ſhowers; no leaf
+ of mine aroſe ! The virgins ſaw me ſilent in the hall; they touched the harp of joy. The tear was
+ on the cheek of Malvina : the virgins beheld me in my grief. Why art thou ſad, they ſaid ; thou
+ firſt of the maids of Lutha? Was he lovely as the beam of the morning, and ſtately in thy
+ ſight?”
+
Pleasant is thy ſong in Oſſian's ear, daughter of ſtreamy Lutha! Thou haſt
+ heard the muſic of departed bards, in the dream of thy reſt, when ſleep fell on thine eyes, at
+ the murmur of MoruthDisplay note. When thou didſt return from the chace, in the day of the ſun, thou haſt heard the muſic
+ of bards, and thy ſong is lovely ! It is lovely, O Malvina, but it melts the ſoul. There is a joy
+ in grief when peace dwells in the breaſt of the ſad. But ſorrow waſtes the mournful, O daughter
+ of Toſcar, and their days are few! They fall away, like the flower on which the ſun hath looked
+ in his ſtrength after the mildew has paſſed over it, when its head is heavy with the drops of
+ night. Attend to the tale of Oſſian, O maid. He remembers the days of his youth !
+
+
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+ The king commanded; I raiſed my ſails, and ruſhed into
+ the bay of Croma; into Croma's ſounding bay in lovely InisfailDisplay note. High on the coaſt aroſe the towers of Crothar king of ſpears; Crothar renowned in the
+ battles of his youth ; but age dwelt then around the chief. Rothmar had raiſed the ſword againſt
+ the hero; and the wrath of Fingal burned. He ſent Oſſian to meet Rothmar in war, for the chief of
+ Croma was the friend of his youth. I ſent the bard before me with ſongs. I came into the hall of
+ Crothar. There ſat the chief amidſt the arms of his fathers, but his eyes had failed. His grey
+ locks waved around a ſtaff, on which the warrior leaned. He hummed the ſong of other times, when
+ the ſound of our arms reached his ears. Crothar roſe, ſtretched his aged hand and bleſſed the ſon
+ of Fingal.
+
“Ossian!” ſaid the hero, “the ſtrength of Crothar's arm has failed. O could
+ I lift the ſword, as on the day that Fingal fought at Strutha ! He was the firſt of men ! but
+ Crothar had alſo his fame. The king of Morven praiſed me ; he placed on my arm the boſſy ſhield
+ of Calthar, whom the king had flain in his wars. Doſt thou not behold it on the wall, for
+
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+ Crothar's eyes have failed ? Is thy ſtrength, like thy fathers, Oſſian
+ ? let the aged feel thine arm !”
+
I gave my arm to the king; he felt it with his aged hands. The ſigh roſe in
+ his breaſt, and his tears came down. “Thou art ſtrong, my ſon, he ſaid, but not like the king of
+ Morven! But who is like the hero among the mighty in war! Let the feaſt of my hall be ſpread; and
+ let my bards exalt the ſong. Great is he that is within my walls, ye ſons of ecchoing Croma !”
+ The feaſt is ſpread. The harp is heard; and joy is in the hall. But it was joy covering a ſigh,
+ that darkly dwelt in every breaſt. It was like the faint beam of the moon ſpread on a cloud in
+ heaven. At length the muſic ceaſed, and the aged king of Croma ſpoke; he ſpoke without a tear,
+ but ſorrow ſwelled in the midſt of his voice.
+
“Son of Fingal! behold'ſt thou not the darkneſs of Crothar's joy? My ſoul
+ was not ſad at the feaſt, when my people lived before me. I rejoiced in the preſence of
+ ſtrangers, when my ſon ſhone in the hall. But, Oſſian, he is a beam that is departed. He left no
+ ſtreak of light behind. He is fallen, ſon of Fingal, in the wars of his father. Rothmar the chief
+ of graſſy Tromlo heard that theſe eyes had failed; he heard that my arms were fixed in the hall,
+
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+ and the pride of his ſoul aroſe! He came towards Croma ; my people fell
+ before him. I took my arms in my wrath, but what could ſightleſs Crothar do? My ſteps were
+ unequal; my grief was great. I wiſhed for the days that were paſt. Days! wherein I fought; and
+ won in the field of blood. My ſon returned from the chace ; the fair-haired Fovar-gormoDisplay note. He had not lifted his ſword in battle, for his arm was young. But the ſoul of the youth
+ was great ; the fire of valour burnt in his eyes. He ſaw the diſordered ſteps of his father, and
+ his ſigh aroſe. “King of Croma,” he ſaid, “is it becauſe thou haſt no ſon; is it for the weakneſs
+ of Forar-gormo's arm that thy ſighs ariſe ? I begin, my father, to feel my ſtrength ; I have
+ drawn the ſword of my youth; and I have bent the bow. Let me meet this Rothmar, with the ſons of
+ Croma : let me meet him, O my father; I feel my burning ſoul!” And thou ſhalt meet him, I ſaid,
+ ſon of the ſightleſs Crothar ! But let others advance before thee, that I may hear the tread of
+ thy feet at thy return; for my eyes behold thee not, fair-haired Fovar-gormo ! He went, he met
+ the foe; he fell. Rothmar advances to Croma. He who ſlew my ſon is near, with all his pointed
+ ſpears.”
+
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+
+
This is no time to fill the ſhell, I replied, and took my ſpear! My people
+ ſaw the fire of my eyes ; they all aroſe around. Through night we ſtrode along the heath. Grey
+ morning roſe in the eaſt. A green narrow vale appeared before us; nor wanting was its winding
+ ſtream. The dark hoſt of Rothmar are on its banks, with all their glittering arms. We fought
+ along the vale. They fled. Rothmar ſunk beneath my ſword ! Day had not deſcended in the weſt,
+ when I brought his arms to Crothar. The aged hero felt them with his hands; and joy brightened
+ over all his thoughts.
+
The people gather to the hall. The ſhells of the feaſt are heard. Ten harps
+ are ſtrung ; five bards advance, and ſing, by turnsDisplay note, the praiſe
+
+
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+ of Oſſian ; they poured forth their burning ſouls, and the ſtring
+ anſwered to their voice. The joy of Croma was great : for peace returned to the
+
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+ land. The night came on with ſilence; the morning returned with joy. No
+ foe came in darkneſs, with his glittering ſpear. The joy of Croma was great; for the gloomy
+ Rothmar had fallen!
+
+
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+ I raised my voice for Fovar-gormo, when they laid the
+ chief in earth. The aged Crothar was there, but his ſigh was not heard. He
+
+
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+ ſearched for the wound of his ſon, and found it in his breaſt. Joy roſe
+ in the face of the aged.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ He came and ſpoke to Oſſian, “King of ſpears !” he ſaid, “my ſon has not
+ fallen without his fame. The young warrior did not fly; but met death, as he went forward in his
+ ſtrength. Happy are they who die in youth, when their renown is heard! The feeble will not behold
+ them in the hall; or ſmile at their trembling hands. Their memory ſhall be honoured in ſong ; the
+ young tear of the virgin will fall. But the aged wither away, by degrees, the fame of their
+ youth, while yet they live is all forgot. They fall in ſecret. The ſigh of their ſon is not
+ heard. Joy is around their tomb; the ſtone of their fame is placed without a tear. Happy are they
+ who die in youth, when their renown is around them.
+
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This piece, as many more of Oſſian's compoſitions, is addreſſed to one of the firſt Chriſtian
+ miſſionaries. The ſtory of the poem is handed down, by tradition, thus. In the country of the
+ Britons between the walls, two chiefs lived in the days of Fingal, Dunthalmo, lord of Teutha,
+ ſuppoſed to be the Tweed ; and Rathmor, who dwelt at Clutha, well known to be the river Clyde.
+ Rathmore was not more renowned for his generoſity and hoſpitality, than Dunthalmo was infamous
+ for his cruelty and ambition. Dunthalmo, through envy, or on account of ſome private feuds,
+ which ſubſiſted between the families, murdered Cathmore at a feaſt ; but being afterwards
+ touched with remorſe, he educated the two ſons of Rathmore, Calthon and Colmar, in his own
+ houſe. They growing up to man's eſtate, dropped ſome hints that they intended to revenge the
+ death of their father, upon which Dunthilmo ſhut them up in two caves on the banks of Teutha,
+ intending to take them off privately. Colmal, the daughter of Dunthalmo, who was ſecretly in
+ love with Calthon, helped him to make his eſcape from priſon, and fled with him to Fingal,
+ diſguiſed in the habit of a young warrior, and implored his aid againſt Dunthalmo. Fingal ſent
+ Oſſian with three hundred men, to Colmar's relief. Dunthalmo having previouſly murdered Colmar,
+ came to a battle with Oſſian; but he was killed by that hero, and his army totally defeated,
+
Calthon married Colmal, his deliverer; and Oſſian returned to Morven.
Pleasant is the voice of thy ſong, thou lonely dweller of the rock. It
+ comes on the ſound of the ſtream, along the narrow vale. My ſoul awakes, O ſtranger! in the midſt
+ of my hall. I ſtretch my hand to the ſpear, as in the days of other years. I ſtretch my hand, but
+ it is feeble ; and the ſigh of my boſom grows. Wilt thou not liſten, ſon of the rock, to the ſong
+ of Oſſian ? My ſoul is full of other times ; the joy of my youth returns. Thus the ſun appears in
+ the weſt, after the ſteps of his brightneſs have moved behind a ſtorm ; the green hills lift
+ their dewy heads. the blue ſtreams rejoice in the vale. The aged hero comes forth on his ſtaff;
+ his grey hair glitters in the beam. Doſt thou not behold, ſon of the rock, a ſhield in Oſſian's
+ hall ? It is marked with the ſtrokes of battle; and the brightneſs of its boſſes has failed,
+
+
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+ That ſhield the great Dunthalmo bore, the chief of ſtreamy
+ Teutha. Dunthalmo bore it in battle, before he fell by Oſſian's ſpear. Liſten, ſon of the rock,
+ to the tale of other years !
+
Rathmor was a Chief of Clutha. The feeble dwelt in his hall. The gates of
+ Rathmor were never ſhut; his feaſt was always ſpread. The ſons of the ſtranger came. They bleſſed
+ the generous chief of Clutha. Bards raiſed the ſong, and touched the harp: joy brightened on the
+ face of the ſad ! Dunthalmo came, in his pride, and ruſhed into the combat of Rathmor. The chief
+ of Clutha overcame : the rage of Dunthalmo roſe. He came, by night, with his warriors; the mighty
+ Rathmor fell. He fell in his halls, where his feaſt was often ſpread for ſtrangers.
+
Colmar and Calthon were young, the ſons of car-borne Rathmor. They came, in
+ the joy of youth, into their father's hall. They behold him in his blood ; their burſting tears
+ deſcend. The ſoul of Dunthalmo melted, when he ſaw the children of youth. He brought them to Alteutha'sDisplay note walls ; they grew in the houſe of
+
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+ their foe. They bent the bow in his preſence ; and came forth to his
+ wars. They ſaw the fallen walls of their fathers; they ſaw the green thorn in the hall. Their
+ tears ruſhed forth in ſecret. At times, their faces were ſad. Dunthalmo beheld their grief: his
+ darkening ſoul deſigned their death. He cloſed them in two caves, on the ecchoing banks of
+ Teutha. The ſun did not come there with his beams ; nor the moon of heaven by night. The ſons of
+ Rathmor remained in darkneſs, and foreſaw their death.
+
The daughter of Dunthalmo wept in ſilence, the fair-haired, blue-eyed ColmalDisplay note. Her eye had rolled in ſecret on Calthon ; his lovelineſs ſwelled in her ſoul. She
+ trembled for her warrior; but what could Colmal do? Her arm could not lift the ſpear; nor was the
+ ſword formed for her ſide. Her white breaſt never roſe beneath a mail. Neither was her eye the
+ terror of heroes. What canſt thou do, O Colmal ! for the falling chief? Her ſteps are unequal ;
+ her hair is looſe : her eye looks wildly through her tears. She came, by night, to the hallDisplay note. She
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ armed her lovely form in ſteel ; the ſteel of a young warrior,
+ who fell in the firſt of his battles. She came to the cave of Calthon, and looſed the thong from
+ his hands.
+
“Arise, ſon of Rathmor,” the ſaid, “ariſe, the night is dark! Let us fly to
+ the king of SelmaDisplay note, chief of fallen Clutha ! I an the ſon of Lamgal, who dwelt in thy father's hall. I heard
+ of thy dark dwelling in the cave, and my ſoul aroſe. Ariſe, ſon of Rathmor, ariſe, the night is
+ dark !” “Bleſt voice!” replied the chief, “comeſt thou from the clouds to Calthon? The ghoſts of
+ his fathers have often deſcended in his dreams, ſince the ſun has retired from his eyes, and
+ darkneſs has dwelt around him. Or art thou the ſon of Lamgal, the chief I often ſaw in Clutha ?
+ But ſhall I fly to Fingal, and Colmar my brother low ? Will I fly to Morven, and the hero cloſed
+ in night? No: give me that ſpear, ſon of Lamgal, Calthon will defend his brother !”
+
“A thousand warriors,” replied the maid, ſtretch their ſpears round
+ car-borne Colmar. What can Calthon do againſt a hoſt ſo great ? Let us fly to the King of Morven,
+ he will come
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ with war. His arm is ſtretched forth to the unhappy ; the lightning of his
+ ſword is round the weak. Ariſe, thou ſon of Rathmor; the ſhadows will fly away. Ariſe, or thy
+ ſteps may be ſeen, and thou muſt fall in youth !”
+
The ſighing hero roſe ; his tears deſcend for car-borne Colmar. He came with
+ the maid to Selma's hall ; but he knew not that it was Colmal. The helmet cover'd her lovely
+ face. Her boſom heaved beneath the ſteel. Fingal returned from the chace, and found the lovely
+ ſtrangers. They were like two beams of light, in the midſt of the hall of ſhells. The king heard
+ the tale of grief; and turned his eyes around. A thouſand heroes half-roſe before him ; claiming
+ the war of Teutha. I came with my ſpear from the hill ; the joy of battle roſe in my breaſt : for
+ the king ſpoke to Oſſian in the midſt of a thouſand chiefs.
+
“Son of my ſtrength,” began the king, “take thou the ſpear of Fingal. Go to
+ Teutha's ruſhing ſtream, and ſave the car-borne Colmar. Let thy fame return before thee like a
+ pleaſant gale ; that my ſoul may rejoice over my ſon, who renews the renown of our fathers.
+ Oſſian ! be thou a ſtorm in war ; but mild when the foe is low ! It was thus my fame aroſe, O my
+ ſon; be thou like Selma's chief. When the haughty
+
+ [
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+ come to my halls, my eyes behold them not. But my arm is
+ ſtretched forth to the unhappy. My ſword defends the weak.”
+
I rejoiced in the words of the king. I took my rattling arms. DiaranDisplay note roſe at my ſide, and DargoDisplay note king of ſpears. Three hundred youths
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ followed our ſteps : the lovely ſtrangers were at my ſide. Dunthalmo
+ heard the ſound of our approach. He gathered the ſtrength of Teutha. He ſtood on a hill with his
+ hoſt. They were like rocks broken with thunder, when their bent trees are ſinged and bare, and
+ the ſtreams of their chinks have failed. The ſtream of Teutha rolled, in its pride, before the
+ gloomy foe. I ſent a bard to Dunthalmo, to offer the combat on the plain ; but he ſmiled in the
+ darkneſs of his pride. His unſettled hoſt moved on the hill ; like the mountain-cloud, when the
+ blaſt has entered its womb, and ſcatters the curling gloom on every ſide.
+
They brought Colmar to Teutha's bank, bound with a thouſand thongs. The chief is ſad, but
+ ſtately. His eye is on his friends ; for we ſtood, in our arms, whilſt Teutha's waters rolled
+ between. Dunthalmo came with his ſpear, and pierced the hero's ſide : he rolled on the bank in
+ his blood. We heard his broken ſighs. Calthon ruſhed into the ſtream : I bounded forward on my
+ ſpear. Teutha's race fell before us.
+
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+ Night came rolling down. Dunthalmo reſted on a rock, amidſt an
+ aged wood. The rage of his boſom burned againſt the car-borne Calthon. But Calthon ſtood in his
+ grief; he mourned the fallen Colmar ; Colmar ſlain in youth, before his fame aroſe!
+
I bade the ſong of woe to riſe, to ſooth the mournful chief; but he ſtood
+ beneath a tree, and often threw his ſpear on earth. The humid eye of Colmal rolled near in a
+ ſecret tear : ſhe foreſaw the fall of Dunthalmo, or of Clutha's warlike chief. Now half the night
+ had paſſed away. Silence and darkneſs were on the field. Sleep reſted on the eyes of the heroes:
+ Calthon's ſettling ſoul was ſtill. His eyes were half-cloſed ; but the murmur of Teutha had not
+ yet failed in his ear. Pale, and ſhewing his wounds, the ghoſt of Colmar came: he bent his head
+ over the hero, and raiſed his feeble voice !
+
“Sleeps the ſon of Rathmor in his night, and his brother low? Did we not
+ riſe to the chace together? Purſued we not the dark-brown hinds ? Colmar was not forgot till he
+ fell : till death had blaſted his youth. I lie pale beneath the rock of Lona. O let Calthon riſe!
+ the morning comes with its beams; Durthalmo will diſhonour the fallen.” He paſſed away in his
+ blaſt. The riſing Calthon ſaw the ſteps of his departure.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ He ruſhed in the ſound of his ſteel. Unhappy Colmal roſe. She followed
+ her hero through night, and dragged her ſpear behind. But when Calthon came to Lona's rock, he
+ found his fallen brother. The rage of his boſom roſe; he ruſhed among the foe. The groans of
+ death aſcend. They cloſe around the chief. He is bound in the midſt, and brought to gloomy
+ Dunthalmo. The ſhout of joy aroſe ; and the hills of night replied.
+
I started at the ſound: and took my father's ſpear. Diaran roſe at my ſide;
+ and the youthful ſtrength of Dargo. We miſſed the chief of Clutha, and our ſouls were ſad. I
+ dreaded the departure of my fame. The pride of my valour roſe! “Sons of Morven,” I ſaid, “it is
+ not thus our fathers fought. They reſted not on the field of ſtrangers, when the foe was not
+ fallen before them. Their ſtrength was like the eagles of heaven; their renown is in the ſong.
+ But our people fall by degrees. Our fame begins to depart. What ſhall the king of Morven ſay, if
+ Oſſian conquers not at Teutha? Riſe in your ſteel, ye warriors; follow the ſound of Oſſian's
+ courſe. He will not return, but renowned, to the ecchoing walls of Selma.”
+
Morning roſe on the blue waters of Teutha. Colmal ſtood before me in tears.
+ She told of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ the chief of Clutha : thrice the ſpear fell from her hand. My
+ wrath turned againſt the ſtranger ; for my ſoul trembled for Calthon. “Son of the feeble hand,” I
+ ſaid, “do Teutha's warriors fight with tears? The battle is not won with grief; nor dwells the
+ ſigh in the ſoul of war. Go to the deer of Carmun, to the lowing herds of Teutha. But leave theſe
+ arms, thou ſon of fear. A warrior may lift them in fight.”
+
I tore the mail from her ſhoulders. Her ſnowy breaſt appeared. She bent her
+ bluſhing face to the ground. I looked in ſilence to the chiefs. The ſpear fell from my hand ; the
+ ſigh of my boſom roſe ! But when I heard the name of the maid, my crowding tears ruſhed down. I
+ bleſſed the lovely beam of youth, and bade the battle move !
+
Why, ſon of the rock, ſhould Oſſian tell how Teutha's warriors died ? They
+ are now forgot in their land ; their tombs are not ſound on the heath. Years came on with their
+ ſtorms. The green mounds are mouldered away. Scarce is the grave of Dunthalmo ſeen, or the place
+ where he fell by the ſpear of Oſſian. Some grey warrior, half blind with age, ſitting by night at
+ the flaming oak of the hall, tells now my deeds to his ſons, and the fall of the dark Dunthalmo,
+ The faces of youth bend ſidelong
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ towards his voice. Surprize and joy burn in their eyes! I found Calthon
+ bound to an oak ; my ſword cut the thongs from his hands. I gave him the white-boſomed Colmal.
+ They dwelt in the halls of Teutha.
Caros is probably the noted uſurper Carauſius, by birth a Menapian, who aſſumed the purple in
+ the year 284: and, ſeizing on Britain, defeated the Emperor Maximian Herculius in ſeveral naval
+ engagements, which gives propriety to his being called in this poem the king of ſhips.
+ He repaired Agricola's wall, in order to obſtruct the incurſions of the Caledonians; and when he
+ was employed in that work, it appears he was attacked by a party under the command of Oſcar the
+ ſon of Oſſian. This battle is the foundation of the preſent poem, which is addreſſed to Malvina
+ the daughter of Toſcar.
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 CronaDisplay note. But it is the miſt of the deſart, 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
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ lightens his face. He often looks back to Caros. It is RynoDisplay note 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 wingsDisplay note of his pride, bard of the times of old?” “He ſpreads them, Oſcar,” replied the bard, “but
+ it is behind his gathered heapDisplay note. He looks over his ſtones with fear. He beholds thee terrible, as the ghoſt of night,
+ that rolls the wave to his ſhips !”
+
“Go, thou firſt of my bards,” ſays Oſcar, “take the ſpear of Fingal. Fix a flame on its point.
+ Shake it to the winds of heaven. Bid him, in ſongs, to advance, and leave the rolling of his
+ wave. Tell to Caros that I long for battle; that my bow is weary of the chace of Cona. Tell him
+ the mighty are not here; and that my arm is young.”
+
He went with the murmur of ſongs. Oſcar reared his voice on high. It reached his heroes on
+ Ardven, like the noiſe of a cave; when the ſea of Togorma rolls before it; and its trees meet the
+ roaring winds. They gather round
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ my ſon like the ſtreams of the hill ; when, after rain, they roll in the
+ pride of their courſe. Ryno came to the mighty Caros. He ſtruck his flaming ſpear. Come to the
+ battle of Oſcar, O thou that ſitteſt on the rolling of waves. Fingal is diſtant far; he hears the
+ ſongs of bards in Morven : the wind of his hall is in his hair. His terrible ſpear is at his
+ ſide; his ſhield that is like the darkened moon ! Come to the battle of Oſcar ; the hero is alone
+ !
+
He came not over the ſtreamy CarunDisplay note. The bard returned with his ſong. Grey night grows dim on Crona. The feaſt of ſhells is
+ ſpread. A hundred oaks burn to the wind; faint light gleams over the heath. The ghoſts of Ardven
+ paſs through the beam, and ſhew their dim and diſtant forms. ComalaDisplay note is half unſeen on her meteor ; Hidallan is ſullen and dim, like the darkened moon behind
+ the miſt of night.
+
“Why art thou ſad ?” ſaid Ryno; for he alone beheld the chief. “Why art thou ſad, Hidallan?
+ haſt thou not received thy fame ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ The ſongs of Oſſian have been heard ; thy ghoſt has brightened in
+ wind, when thou didſt bend from thy cloud, to hear the ſong of Morven's bard! “And do thine
+ eyes,” ſaid Oſcar, “behold the chief, like the dim meteor of night ? Say, Ryno, ſay, how fell
+ Hidallan, the renowned in the days of my fathers? His name remains on the rocks of Cona. I have
+ often ſeen the ſtreams of his hills !”
+
Fingal, replied the bard, drove Hidallan from his wars. The king's ſoul was
+ ſad for Comala, and his eyes could not behold the chief. Lonely, ſad along the heath he, ſlowly,
+ moved, with ſilent ſteps. His arms hang diſordered on his ſide. His hair flies looſe from his
+ brow. The tear is in his down-caſt eyes; a ſigh half-ſilent in his breaſt! Three days he ſtrayed
+ unſeen, alone, before he came to Lamor's halls : the moſſy halls of his fathers, at the ſtream of BalvaDisplay note. There Lamor ſat alone beneath a tree; for he had ſent his people with Hidallan to war.
+ The ſtream ran at his feet, his grey head reſted on his ſtaff. Sightleſs are his aged eyes. He
+ hums the ſong of other times.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ The noiſe of Hidallan's feet came to his ear : he knew the tread of his
+ ſon.
+
“Is the ſon of Lamor returned; or is it the ſound of his ghoſt? Haſt thou fallen on the banks
+ of Carun, ſon of the aged Lamor ? Or, if I hear the ſound of Hidallan's feet; where are the
+ mighty in the war? where are my people, Hidallan, that were wont to return with their echoing
+ ſhields? Have they fallen on the banks of Carun ?”
+
“No: replied the ſighing youth, the people of Lamor live. They are renowned in war, my father;
+ but Hidallan is renowned no more. I muſt ſit alone on the banks of Balva, when the roar of the
+ battle grows.”
+
“But thy fathers never ſat alone,” replied the riſing pride of Lamor. “They never ſat alone on
+ the banks of Balva, when the roar of battle roſe. Doſt thou not behold that tomb ? My eyes
+ diſcern it not; there reſts the noble Garmállon, who never fled from war! Come, thou renowned in
+ battle, he ſays, come to thy father's tomb. How am I renowned, Garmállon? my ſon has fled from
+ war!”
+
“King of the ſtreamy Balva !” ſaid Hidallan with a ſigh, “why doſt thou
+ torment my ſoul? Lamor, I never fled. Fingal was ſad for
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ Comala ; he denied his wars to Hidallan. Go to the grey ſtreams of
+ thy land, he ſaid ; moulder like a leafleſs oak, which the winds have bent over Balva, never more
+ to grow!”
+
“And muſt I hear,” Lamor replied, “the lonely tread of Hidallan's feet?
+ When thouſands are renowned in battle, ſhall he bend over my grey ſtreams? Spirit of the noble
+ Garmállon ! carry Lamor to his place; his eyes are dark; his ſoul is ſad ; his ſon has loft his
+ fame !”
+
“Where,” ſaid the youth, “ſhall I ſearch for fame to gladden the ſoul of
+ Lamor? From whence ſhall I return with renown, that the ſound of my arms may be pleaſant in his
+ ear ? If I go to the chace of hinds, my name will not be heard. Lamor will not feel my dogs, with
+ his hands, glad at my arrival from the hill. He will not enquire of his mountains, or of the
+ dark-brown deer of his deſarts !”
+
“I must fall,” ſaid Lamor, “like a leafleſs oak: it grew on a rock! it was
+ overturned by the winds! My ghoſt will be ſeen on my hills, mournful for my young Hidallan. Will
+ not ye, ye miſts, as ye riſe, hide him from my ſight? My ſon! go to Lamor's hall : there the arms
+ of our fathers hang. Bring the ſword of Garmallon ; he took it from a foe!”
+
+
+
+
+ [
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+ He went and brought the ſword with all its ſtudded thongs. He gave it to
+ his father. The grey-haired hero felt the point with his hand.
+
“My ſon! lead me to Garmállon's tomb : it riſes beſide that ruſtling tree.
+ The long graſs is withered; I hear the breezes whiſtling there. A little fountain murmurs near,
+ and ſends its water to Balva. There let me reſt; it is noon ; the ſun is on our fields !”
+
He led him to Garmállon's tomb. Lamor pierced the ſide of his ſon. They
+ ſleep together : their ancient halls moulder away. Ghoſts are ſeen there at noon : the valley is
+ ſilent, and the people ſhun the place of Lamor.
+
“Mournful is thy tale,” ſaid Oſcar, “ſon of the times of old ! My ſoul ſighs
+ for Hidallan; he fell in the days of his youth. He flies on the blaſt of the deſart, his
+ wandering is in a foreign land. Sons of the ecchoing Morven! draw near to the foes of Fingal.
+ Send the night away in ſongs; watch the ſtrength of Caros. Oſcar goes to the people of other
+ times ; to the ſhades of ſilent Ardven; where his fathers ſit dim in their clouds, and behold the
+ future war. And art thou there, Hidallan, like a half-extinguiſhed meteor ? Come to my ſight, in
+ thy ſorrow, chief of the winding Balva!”
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ The heroes move with their ſongs. Oſcar ſlowly
+ aſcends the hill. The meteors of night ſet on the heath before him. A diſtant torrent faintly
+ roars. Unfrequent blaſts ruſh through aged oaks. The half-enlightened moon ſinks dim and red
+ behind her hill. Feeble voices are heard on the heath. Oſcar drew his ſword !
+
“Come,” ſaid the hero, “O ye ghoſts of my fathers! ye that fought againſt
+ the kings of the world! Tell me the deeds of future times ; and your converſe in your caves; when
+ you talk together and behold your ſons in the fields of the brave.”
+
Trenmor came, from his hill, at the voice of his mighty ſon. A cloud, like
+ the ſteed of the ſtranger, ſupported his airy limbs. His robe is of the miſt of Lano, that brings
+ death to the people. His ſword is a green meteor half-extinguiſhed. His face is without form, and
+ dark. He ſighed thrice over the hero : thrice the winds of night roared around ! Many were his
+ words to Oſcar ; but they only came by halves to our ears: they were dark as the tales of other
+ times, before the light of the ſong aroſe. He ſlowly vaniſhed, like a miſt that melts on the
+ ſunny hill. It was then, O daughter of Toſcar, my ſon began firſt to be ſad. He foreſaw the fall
+ of his race. At times,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ he was thoughtful and dark; like the ſun when he carries a cloud on his
+ face, but again he looks forth from his darkneſs on the green hills of Cona.
+
Oscar paſſed the night among his fathers, grey morning met him on Carun's
+ banks. A green vale ſurrounded a tomb which aroſe in the times of old. Little hills lift their
+ head at a diſtance; and ſtretch their old trees to the wind. The warriors of Caros ſat there, for
+ they had paſſed the ſtream by night. They appeared, like the trunks of aged pines, to the pale
+ light of the morning. Oſcar ſtood at the tomb, and raiſed thrice his terrible voice. The rocking
+ hills ecchoed around ; the ſtarting roes bounded away: And the trembling ghoſts of the dead fled,
+ ſhrieking on their clouds. So terrible was the voice of my ſon, when he called his friends!
+
A thousand ſpears aroſe around ; the people of Caros roſe. Why, daughter of
+ Toſcar, why that tear? My ſon, though alone, is brave, Oſcar is like a beam of the ſky; he turns
+ around and the people fall. His hand is the arm of a ghoſt, when he ſtretches it from a cloud ;
+ the reſt of his thin form is unſeen; but the people die in the vale! My ſon beheld the approach
+ of the foe; he ſtood in the ſilent darkneſs of his ſtrength. “Am I alone, ſaid Oſcar, in the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ midſt of a thouſand foes? Many a ſpear is there ! many a
+ darkly-rolling eye ! Shall I fly to Ardven? But did my fathers ever fly? The mark of their arm is
+ in a thouſand battles. Oſcar too ſhall be renowned ! Come, ye dim ghoſts of my fathers, and
+ behold my deeds in war! I may fall; but I will be renowned like the race of the ecchoing Morven.”
+ He ſtood, growing in his place, like a flood in a narrow vale ! The battle came, but they fell :
+ bloody was the ſword of Oſcar !
+
The noiſe reached his people at Crona ; they came like a hundred ſtreams.
+ The warriors of Caros fled ; Oſcar remained like a rock left by the ebbing ſea. Now dark and
+ deep, with all his ſteeds, Caros rolled his might along: the little ſtreams are loſt in his
+ courſe; the earth is rocking round. Battle ſpreads from wing to wing : ten thouſand ſwords gleam
+ at once in the ſky. But why ſhould Oſſian ſing of battles? For never more ſhall my ſteel ſhine in
+ war. I remember the days of my youth with grief; when I feel the weakneſs of my arm. Happy are
+ they who fell in their youth, in the midſt of their renown! They have not beheld the tombs of
+ their friend : or failed to bend the bow of their ſtrength. Happy art thou, O Oſcar, in the midſt
+ of thy ruſhing blaſt. Thou often
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ goeſt to the fields of thy fame, where Caros fled from thy lifted
+ ſword.
+
Darkness comes on my ſoul, O fair daughter of Toſcar, I behold not the form
+ of my ſon at Carun; nor the figure of Oſcar on Crona. The ruſtling winds have carried him far
+ away ; and the heart of his father is ſad. But lead me, O Malvina, to the ſound of my woods; to
+ the roar of my mountain ſtreams. Let the chace be heard on Cona ; let me think on the days of
+ other years. And bring me the harp, O maid, that I may touch it, when the light of my ſoul ſhall
+ ariſe, Be thou near, to learn the ſong ; future times ſhall hear of me! The ſons of the feeble
+ hereafter will lift the voice on Cona ; and, looking up to the rocks, ſay, “Here Oſſian dwelt.”
+ They ſhall admire the chiefs of old, the race that are no more! while we ride on our clouds,
+ Malvina, on the wings of the roaring winds. Our voices ſhall be heard, at times, in the deſart;
+ we ſhall ſing on the breeze of the rock.
An addreſs to Malvina, the daughter of Toſcar. The poet relates the arrival of Cathlin in
+ Selma, to ſolicit aid againſt Duth-carmor of Cluba, who had killed Cathmol, for the ſake of his
+ daughter Lanŭl. Fingal declining to make a choice among his heroes, who were all claiming the
+ command of the expedition ; they retired each to his hill of ghoſts ; to be determined
+ by dreams. The ſpirit of Trenmor appears to Oſſian and Oſcar : they ſail, from the bay of
+ Carmona, and, on the fourth day, appear off the valley of Rath-col, in Inis-huna, where
+ Duth-carmor had fixed his reſidence. Oſſian diſpatches a bard to Duth-carmor to demand battle.
+ Night comes on. The diſtreſs of Cathlin of Clutha. Oſſian devolves the command on Oſcar, who,
+ according to the cuſtom of the kings of Morven, before battle, retired to a neighbouring hill.
+ Upon the coming on of day, the battle joins. Oſcar and Duth-carmor meet. The latter falls. Oſcar
+ carries the mail and helmet of Duth-carmor to Cathlin, who had retired from the field. Cathlin
+ is diſcovered to be the daughter of Cathmol, in diſguiſe, who had been carried off, by force,
+ by, and had made her eſcape from, Duth-carmor.
Display noteCome, thou beam that art lonely, from watching in the night! The
+ ſqually winds are around thee, from all their echoing hills. Red, over my hundred ſtreams, are
+ the
+
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+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ light-covered paths of the dead. They rejoice, on the eddying
+ winds, in the ſeaſon of night. Dwells there no joy in ſong, white hand of the harps of Lutha ?
+ Awake the voice of the ſtring ; roll my ſoul to me. It is a ſtream that has failed. Malvina pour
+ the ſong.
+
I hear thee, from thy darkneſs, in Selma, thou that watcheſt, lonely, by
+ night! Why didſt thou with-hold the ſong, from Oſſian's failing ſoul ? As the falling brook to
+ the ear of the hunter, deſcending from his ſtorm-covered hill ; in a ſun-beam rolls the echoing
+ ſtream ; he hears, and ſhakes his dewy locks: ſuch is the voice of Lutha, to the friend of the
+ ſpirits of heroes. My ſwelling boſom beats high. I look back on the days that are paſt. Come,
+ thou beam that art lonely, from watching in the night !
+
In the echoing bay of CarmonaDisplay note we ſaw, one day, the bounding ſhip. On high, hung
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ a broken ſhield ; it was marked with wandering blood. Forward came a
+ youth, in arms, and ſtretched his pointleſs ſpear. Long, over his tearful eyes, hung looſe his
+ diſordered locks. Fingal gave the ſhell of kings. The words of the ſtranger aroſe. “In his hall
+ lies Cathmol of Clutha, by the winding of his own dark ſtreams. Duth-carmor ſaw white-boſomed LanulDisplay note, and pierced her father's ſide. In the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ruſhy deſart were my ſteps. He fled in the ſeaſon of night. Give
+ thine aid to Cathlin to revenge his father. I ſought thee not as a beam, in a land of clouds.
+ Thou, like the ſun, art known, king of echoing Selma !
+
Selma's king looked around. In his preſence, we roſe in arms. But who
+ ſhould lift the ſhield ? for all had claimed the war. The night came down; we ſtrode, in
+ ſilence; each to his hill of ghoſts : that ſpirits might deſcend, in our dreams, to mark us for
+ the field. We ſtruck the ſhield of the dead : we raiſed the hum of ſongs. We thrice called the
+ ghoſts of our fathers. We laid us down in dreams. Trenmor came, before mine eyes, the tall form
+ of other years ! His blue hoſts were behind him in half-diſtinguiſhed rows. Scarce ſeen is their
+ ſtrife in miſt, or their ſtretching forward to deaths. I liſtened ; but no ſound was there. The
+ forms were empty wind!
+
I started from the dream of ghoſts. On a ſudden blaſt flew my whiſtling
+ hair. Low-ſounding, in the oak, is the departure of the dead. I took my ſhield from its bough.
+ Onward came the rattling of ſteel. It was OſcarDisplay note of
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Lego. He had ſeen his fathers. “As ruſhes forth the blaſt, on the boſom
+ of whitening waves; ſo careleſs ſhall my courſe be, through ocean, to the dwelling of foes. I
+ have ſeen the dead, my father ! My beating ſoul is high ! My fame is bright before me, like the
+ ſtreak of light on a cloud, when the broad ſun comes forth, red traveller of the ſky !”
+
“Grandson of Branno,” I ſaid; “not Oſcar alone ſhall meet the foe. I ruſh
+ forward, thro' ocean, to the woody dwelling of heroes. Let us contend, my ſon, like eagles, from
+ one rock, when they lift their broad wings, againſt the ſtream of winds.” We raiſed our ſails in
+ Carmona. From three ſhips, they marked my ſhield on the wave, as I looked on nightly Ton-thenaDisplay note, red traveller between the clouds. Four days came the breeze abroad. Lumon came
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ forward in miſt. In winds were its hundred groves. Sun-beams
+ marked, at times, its brown ſide. White, leapt the foamy ſtreams, from all its echoing
+ rocks.
+
A green field, in the boſom of hills, winds ſilent with its own blue
+ ſtream. Here, midſt the waving of oaks, were the dwellings of kings of old. But ſilence, for
+ many dark-brown years, had ſettled in graſſy Rath-colDisplay note ; for the race of heroes had failed, along the pleaſant vale. Duthcarmor was here, with
+ his people, dark rider of the wave. Ton-thena had hid her head in the ſky. He bound his
+ white-boſomed ſails. His courſe is on the hills of Rath-col, to the ſeats of roes. We came. I
+ ſent the bard, with ſongs, to call the foe to fight. Duth-carmor heard him, with joy. The king's
+ ſoul was like a beam of fire; a beam of fire, marked with ſmoak, ruſhing, varied, thro' the
+ boſom of night. The deeds of Duth-carmor were dark, tho' his arm was ſtrong.
+
Night came, with the gathering of clouds. By the beam of the oak we ſat
+ down. At a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ diftance ſtood Cathlin of Clutha. I ſaw the changefulDisplay note ſoul of the ſtranger. As ſhadows fly over the field of graſs, ſo various is Cathlin's
+ cheek. It was fair, within locks, that roſe on Rath-col's wind. I did not ruſh, amidſt his ſoul,
+ with my words. I bade the ſong to riſe.
+
“Oscar of Lego,” I ſaid, “be thine the ſecret hillDisplay note , to-night. Strike the ſhield, like Morven's kings. With day, thou ſhalt lead in
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ war. From my rock, I ſhall ſee thee, Oſcar, a dreadful form
+ aſcending in fight, like the appearance of ghoſts, amidſt the ſtorms they raiſe: Why ſhould mine
+ eyes return to the dim times of old, ere yet the ſong had burſted forth, like the ſudden riſing
+ of winds? But the years, that are paſt, are marked with mighty deeds. As the nightly rider of
+ waves looks up to Ton-thena of beams : ſo let us turn our eyes to Trenmor, the father of
+ kings.”
+
“Wide, in Caracha's echoing field, Carmal had poured his tribes. They were
+ a dark ridge of waves. The grey-haired bards were like moving foam on their face. They kindled
+ the ſtrife around, with their red-rolling eyes. Nor alone were the dwellers of rocks; a ſon of
+ Loda was there; a voice, in his own dark land, to call the ghoſts from high. On his hill, he had
+ dwelt; in Lochlin, in the midſt of a leafleſs grove. Five ſtones lifted, near, their heads. Loud
+ roared his ruſhing ſtream. He often raiſed his voice to the winds, when meteors marked their
+ nightly wings; when the dark-robed moon was rolled behind her hill. Nor unheard of ghoſts was he
+ ! They came with the ſound of eagle wings. They turned battle, in fields, before the kings of
+ men.
+
“But, Trenmor, they turned not from battle. He drew forward that troubled
+ war ; in its dark
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſkirt was Trathal, like a riſing light. It was dark; and Loda's ſon
+ poured forth his ſigns, on night. The feeble were not before thee, ſon of other lands!Display note Then roſe the ſtrife of kings, about the hill of night; but it was ſoft as two ſummer
+ gales, ſhaking their light wings, on a lake. Trenmor yielded to his ſon ; for the fame of the
+ king had been heard. Trathal came forth before his father, and the foes failed, in echoing
+ Caracha. The years that are paſt, my ſon, are marked with mighty deedsDisplay note.”
+
In clouds roſe the eaſtern light. The foe came forth in arms. The ſtrife is
+ mixed on Rath-col, like the roar of ſtreams. Behold the contending of kings ! They meet beſide
+ the oak. In gleams of ſteel the dark forms are loſt ; ſuch is the meeting of meteors, in a vale
+ by night : red light is ſcattered round, and men foreſee the ſtorm ! Duth-carmor is low in
+ blood! The ſon of Oſſian overcame ! Not harmleſs in battle was he, Malvina hand of harps !
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Nor, in the field, were the ſteps of Cathlin. The ſtranger ſtood by a
+ ſecret ſtream, where the foam of Rath-col ſkirted the moſſy ſtones. Above, bends the branchy
+ birch, and ſtrews its leaves, on wind. The inverted ſpear of Cathlin touched, at times, the
+ ſtream. Oſcar brought Duth-carmor's mail : his helmet with its eagle-wing. He placed them before
+ the ſtranger, and his words were heard. “The foes of thy father have failed. They are laid in
+ the field of ghoſts. Renown returns to Morven, like a riſing wind. Why art thou dark, chief of
+ Clutha ? Is there cauſe for grief?
+
“Son of Oſſian of harps, my ſoul is darkly ſad. I behold the arms of
+ Cathmol, which he raiſed in war. Take the mail of Cathlin, place it high in Selma's hall; that
+ thou mayſt remember the hapleſs in thy diſtant land.” From white breaſts deſcended the mail. It
+ was the race of kings; the ſoft-handed daughter of Cathmol, at the ſtreams of Clutha!
+ Duth-carmor ſaw her bright in the hall, he had come, by night, to Clutha. Cathmol met him, in
+ battle, but the hero fell. Three days dwelt the foe, with the maid. On the fourth ſhe fled in
+ arms. She remembered the race of kings, and felt her burſting ſoul!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+
+
Why, maid of Toſcar of Lutha, ſhould I tell how Cathlin failed? Her tomb is
+ at ruſhy Lumon, in a diſtant land. Near it were the ſteps of Sul-malla, in the days of grief.
+ She raiſed the ſong, for the daughter of ſtrangers, and touched the mournful harp.
+
Come, from the watching of night, Malvina, lonely beam !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
This poem, which, properly ſpeaking, is a continuation of the laſt, opens
+ with an addreſs to Sul-malla, the daughter of the king of Inis-huna, whom Oſſian met, at the
+ chace, as he returned from the battle ef Rath-col. Sul-malla invites Oſſian and Oſcar to a
+ feaſt, at the reſidence of her father, who was then abſent in the wars. Upon hearing their name
+ and family, ſhe relates an expedition of Fingal into Inis huna. She caſually mentioning Cathmor,
+ chief of Atha, (who then aſſiſted her father againſt his enemies) Oſſian introduces the epiſode
+ of Culgorm and Surandronlo, two Scandinavian kings, in whoſe wars Oſſian himſelf and Cathmor
+ were engaged on oppoſite ſides. The ſtory is imperfect, a part of the original being loſt.
+ Oſſian, warned, in a dream, by the ghoſt of Trenmor, ſets ſail from Inishuna.
Display noteWho moves ſo ſtately, on Lumon, at the roar of the foamy waters? Her
+ hair falls upon her heaving breaſt. White is her arm behind, as ſlow the bends the bow. Why
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ doſt thou wander in deſarts, like a light thro' a cloudy field
+ ? The young roes are panting, by their ſecret rocks. Return, thou daughter of kings! the cloudy
+ night is near! It was the young branch of green Inis-huna, Sul-malla of blue eyes. She ſent the
+ bard from her rock, to bid us to her feaſt. Amidſt the ſong we ſat down, in Cluba's ecchoing
+ hall. White moved the hands of Sul-malla, on the trembling ſtrings. Half-heard amidſt the ſound,
+ was the name of Atha's king : he that was abſent in battle for her own green land. Nor abſent
+ from her ſoul was he; he came midſt her thoughts by night. Ton-thena looked in, from the ſky, and
+ ſaw her toſſing arms.
+
The ſound of ſhells had ceaſed. Amidſt long locks, Sul-malla roſe. She ſpoke
+ with bended eyes, and aſked of our courſe thro' ſeas ; “for of the kings of men are ye, tall
+ riders of the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ waveDisplay note.” “Not unknown,” I ſaid, “at his ſtreams is he, the father of our race. Fingal has been
+ heard of at Cluba, blue-eyed daughter of kings. Nor only, at Cona's ſtream, is Oſſian and Oſcar
+ known. Foes trembled at our voice, and ſhrunk in other lands.”
+
“Not unmarked,” ſaid the maid, “by Sul-malla, is the ſhield of Morven's
+ king. It hangs high, in my father's hall, in memory of the paſt; when Fingal came to Cluba, in
+ the days of other years. Loud roared the boar of Culdarnu, in the midſt of his rocks and woods.
+ Inis-huna ſent her youths, but they failed ; and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ virgins wept over tombs. Careleſs went Fingal to Culdarnu. On
+ his ſpear rolled the ſtrength of the woods. He was bright, they ſaid, in his locks, the firſt of
+ mortal men. Nor at the feaſt were heard his words. His deeds paſſed from his ſoul of fire, like
+ the rolling of vapours from the face of the wandering ſun. Not careleſs looked the blue eyes of
+ Cluba on his ſtately ſteps. In white boſoms roſe the king of Selma, in the midſt of their
+ thoughts by night. But the winds bore the ſtranger to the ecchoing vales of his roes. Nor loſt to
+ other lands was he, like a meteor that ſinks in a cloud. He came forth, at times, in his
+ brightneſs, to the diſtant dwelling of foes. His fame came, like the ſound of winds, to Cluba's
+ woody valeDisplay note.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Darkness dwells in Cluba of harps : the race of kings
+ is diſtant far ; in battle is my father Conmor: and LormarDisplay note my brother, king of ſtreams. Nor darkening alone are they; a beam, from other lands, is
+ nigh; the friend of ſtrangersDisplay note in Atha, the troubler of the field. High, from their miſty hills, look forth the blue
+ eyes of Erin; for he is far away, young dweller of their ſouls! Nor, harmleſs, white hands of
+ Erin ! is Cathmor in the ſkirts of war; he rolls ten thouſand before him, in his diſtant
+ field.”
+
“Not unſeen by Oſſian,” I ſaid, “ruſhed Cathmor from his ſtreams, when he
+ poured his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtrength on I-thornoDisplay note, iſle of many waves! In ſtrife met two kings in I-thorno, Culgorm and Suran-dronlo : each
+ from his ecchoing iſle, ſtern hunters of the boar !”
+
“They met a boar, at a foamy ſtream : each pierced him with his ſpear. They
+ ſtrove for the fame of the deed; and gloomy battle roſe. From iſle to iſle they ſent a ſpear,
+ broken and ſtained with blood, to call the friends of their fathers, in their ſounding arms.
+ Cathmor came, from Erin, to Culgorm, red-eyed king : I aided Suran-dronlo, in his land of
+ boars.”
+
“We ruſhed on either ſide of a ſtream, which roared thro' a blaſted heath.
+ High broken rocks were round, with all their bending trees. Near were two circles of Loda, with
+ the ſtone of power ; where ſpirits deſcended, by night, in dark-red ſtreams of fire. There, mixed
+ with the murmur of waters, roſe the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ voice of aged men, they called the forms of night, to aid them in their war.”Display noteHeedless I ſtood, with my people, where fell the foamy ſtream from
+ rocks. The moon moved red from the mountain. My ſong, at times, aroſe. Dark, on the other ſide,
+ young Cathmor heard my voice; for he lay, beneath the oak, in all his gleaming arms. Morning
+ came; we ruſhed to fight: from wing to wing is the rolling of ſtrife. They fell, like the
+ thiſtle's head, beneath autumnal winds.
+
In armour came a ſtately form : I mixed my ſtrokes with the chief. By turns
+ our ſhields are pierced : loud rung our ſteely mails. His helmet fell to the ground. In
+ brightneſs ſhone the foe. His eyes, two pleaſant flames, rolled between his wandering locks. I
+ knew Cathmor of Atha, and threw my ſpear on earth. Dark, we turned, and ſilent paſſed to mix with
+ other foes.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Not ſo paſſed the ſtriving kingsDisplay note. They, mixed in ecchoing fray ; like the meeting of ghoſts, in the dark wing of winds.
+ Thro' either breaſt ruſhed the ſpears ; nor yet lay the foes on earth ! A rock received their
+ fall ; half-reclined they lay in death. Each held the lock of his foe; each grimly ſeemed to roll
+ his eyes. The ſtream of the rock leapt on their ſhields, and mixed below with blood.
+
The battle ceaſed in I-thorno. The ſtrangers met in peace: Cathmor from Atha
+ of ſtreams, and Oſſian, king of harps. We placed the dead in earth. Our ſteps were by Runar's
+ bay. With the bounding boat, afar, advanced a ridgy wave. Dark was the rider of ſeas, but a beam
+ of light was there, like the ray of the ſun, in Stromlo's rolling ſmoak. It was the daughterDisplay note of Suran-dronlo, wild in brightened looks.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Her eyes were wandering flames, amidſt diſordered locks. Forward is her
+ white arm, with the ſpear ; her high-heaving breaſt is ſeen, white as foamy waves that rife, by
+ turns, amidſt rocks. They are beautiful, but terrible, and mariners call the winds !”
+
“Come, ye dwellers of Loda!” ſhe ſaid, “come, Carchar, pale in the midſt of
+ clouds !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ Sluthmor, that ſtrideſt in airy halls ! Corchtur, terrible in
+ winds ! Receive, from his daughter's ſpear, the foes of Suran-dronlo. No ſhadow, at his roaring
+ ſtreams; no mildly-looking form was he ! When he took up his ſpear, the hawks ſhook their
+ ſounding wings: for blood was poured around the ſteps of dark-eyed Suran-dronlo. He lighted me,
+ no harmleſs beam, to glitter on his ſtreams. Like meteors, I was bright, but I blaſted the foes
+ of Suran-dronlo.”
+
* * * *
+
Nor unconcerned heard Sul-malla, the praiſe of Cathmor of ſhields. He was
+ within her ſoul, like a fire in ſecret heath, which awakes at the voice of the blaſt, and ſends
+ its beam abroad. Amidſt the ſong removed the daughter of kings, like the voice of a
+ ſummer-breeze; when it lifts the heads of flowers, and curls the lakes and ſtreams. The ruſtling
+ ſound gently ſpreads o'er the vale, foſtly-pleaſing as it ſaddens the ſoul.
+
By night came a dream to Oſſian; formleſs ſtood the ſhadow of Trenmor. He ſeemed to ſtrike the
+ dim ſhield, on Selma's ſtreamy rock. I roſe, in my rattling ſteel ; I knew that war was near,
+ before the winds our ſails were ſpread ; when Lumon ſhewed its ſtreams to the morn.
+
Come from the watching of night, Malvina, lonely beam !
Reflections on the poet's youth. An apoſtrophe to Selma. Oſcar obtains leave to go to
+ Inis-thona, an iſland of Scandinavia. The mournful ſtory of Argon and Kuro, the two ſons of the
+ king of Inis-thona. Oſcar revenges their death, and returns in triumph to Selma. A ſoliloquy by
+ the poet himſelf.
Our youth is like the dream of the hunter on the hill of heath. He ſleeps
+ in the mild beams of the ſun ; he awakes amidſt a ſtorm; the red lightning flies around : trees
+ ſhake their heads to the wind ! He looks back with joy, on the day of the ſun; and the pleaſant
+ dreams of his reſt! When ſhall Oſſian's youth return ? When his ear delight in the ſound of arms
+ ? When ſhall I, like Oſcar, travel in the light of my ſteel? Come, with your ſtreams, ye hills of
+ Cona ! liſten to the voice of Oſſian. The ſong riſes, like the ſun, in my ſoul. I feel the joys
+ of other times !
+
I behold thy towers, O Selma ! the oaks of thy ſhaded wall: thy ſtreams
+ ſound in my ear thy heroes gather around. Fingal ſits in the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ midſt. He leans on the ſhield of Trenmor: his ſpear ſtands
+ againſt the wall ; he liſtens to the ſong of his bards. The deeds of his arm are heard; the
+ actions of the king in his youth ! Oſcar had returned from the chace, and heard the hero's
+ praiſe. He took the ſhield of BrannoDisplay note from the wall; his eyes were filled with tears. Red was the cheek of youth. His voice was
+ trembling, low. My ſpear ſhook its bright head in his hand : he ſpoke to Morven's king.
+
“Fingal! thou king of heroes! Oſſian, next to him in war! ye have fought in
+ your youth; your names are renowned in ſong. Oſcar is like the miſt of Cona ; I appear and I
+ vaniſh away. The bard will not know my name. The hunter will not ſearch in the heath for my tomb.
+ Let me fight, O heroes, in the battles of Inis-Thona. Diſtant is the land of my war! ye ſhall not
+ hear of Oſcar's fall ! Some bard may find me there ; ſome bard may give my name to ſong. The
+ daughter of the ſtranger ſhall ſee my tomb, and weep over the youth, that came from afar. The
+ bard ſhall ſay, at the feaſt, “hear the ſong of Oſcar from the diſtant land !”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“Oscar,” replied the king of Morven ; “thou ſhalt fight, ſon of my fame !
+ Prepare my dark-boſomed ſhip to carry my hero to Inisthona. Son of my ſon, regard our fame ; thou
+ art of the race of renown ! Let not the children of ſtrangers ſay, feeble are the ſons of Morven
+ ! Be thou, in battle, a roaring ſtorm : mild as the evening ſun in peace ! Tell, Oſcar, to
+ Inisthona's king, that Fingal remembers his youth; when we ſtrove in the combat together, in the
+ days of Agandecca.”
+
They lifted up the ſounding ſail; the wind whiſtled through the thongsDisplay note of their maſts. Waves laſh the oozy rocks: the ſtrength of ocean roars. My ſon beheld,
+ from the wave, the land of groves, He ruſhed into Runa's ſounding bay, and ſent his ſword to
+ Annir of ſpears. The grey-haired hero roſe, when he ſaw the ſword of Fingal. His eyes were full
+ of tears; he remembered his battles in youth. Twice had they lifted the ſpear, before the lovely
+ Agandecca : heroes ſtood far diſtant, as if two ſpirits were ſtriving in winds.
+
“But now,” began the king, “I am old; the ſword lies uſeleſs in my hall.
+ Thou, who
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+ art of Morven's race! Annir has ſeen the battle of ſpears ;
+ but now he is pale and withered, like the oak of Lano. I have no ſon to meet thee with joy, to
+ bring thee to the halls of his fathers. Argon is pale in the tomb, and Ruro is no more. My
+ daughter is in the hall of ſtrangers : ſhe longs to behold my tomb. Her ſpouſe ſhakes ten
+ thouſand ſpears; he comesDisplay note a cloud of death from Lano. Come, to ſhare the feaſt of Annir, ſon of ecchoing Morven
+ !”
+
Three days they feaſted together; on the fourth, Annir heard the name of
+ Oſcar. They rejoiced in the ſhellDisplay note. They purſued the boars of Runa. Beſide the fount of moſſy ſtones, the weary heroes reſt.
+ The tear ſteals in ſecret from Annir: he broke the riſing ſigh. “Here darkly reſt,” the hero
+ ſaid, “the children of my youth. This ſtone is the tomb of Ruro; that tree ſounds
+
+ [
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+ over the grave of Argon. Do ye hear my voice, O my ſons, within your
+ narrow houſe ? Or do ye ſpeak in theſe ruſtling leaves, when the winds of the deſart riſe ?”
+
“King of Inis-thona,” ſaid Oſcar, “how fell the children of youth? The wild
+ boar ruſhes over their tombs, but he does not diſturb their repoſe. They purſue deerDisplay note formed of clouds, and bend their airy bow. They ſtill love the ſport of their youth ; and
+ mount the wind with joy.”
+
“Cormalo,” replicd the king, “is a chief of ten thouſand ſpears. He dwells
+ at the waters of LanoDisplay note, which ſends forth the vapour of death. He came to Runa's ecchoing halls, and ſought the
+ honour of the ſpearDisplay note. The youth was lovely as the firſt beam of the ſun ; few were they who could meet him in
+ fight ! My heroes yielded to Cormalo : my daughter was ſeized in his love.
+
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+ Argon and Ruro returned from the chace; the tears of their
+ pride deſcend : they roll their ſilent eyes on Runa's heroes, who had yielded to a ſtranger.
+ Three days they feaſted with Cormalo : on the fourth young Argon fought. But who could fight with
+ Argon ! Cormalo is overcome. His heart ſwelled with the grief of pride; he reſolved, in ſecret,
+ to behold the death of my ſons? They went to the hills of Runa : they purſued the dark-brown
+ hinds. The arrow of Cormalo flew in ſecret ; my children fell in blood. He came to the maid of
+ his love ; to Inis-thona's long-haired maid. They fled over the deſart. Annir remained alone.
+ Night came on and day appeared; nor Argon's voice, nor Ruro's came. At length their much-loved
+ dog was ſeen ; the fleet and bounding Runar. He came into the hall and howled ; and ſeemed to
+ look towards the place of their fall. We followed him : we ſound them here : we laid them by this
+ moſſy ſtream. This is the haunt of Annir, when the chace of the hinds is paſt. I bend like the
+ trunk of an aged oak; my tears for ever flow !
+
“O Ronnan !” ſaid the riſing Oſcar, “Ogar king of ſpears! call my heroes to
+ my ſide, the ſons of ſtreamy Morven. To-day we go to Lano's water, that ſends forth the vapour of
+
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+ death. Cormalo will not long rejoice: death is often at the point of our
+ ſwords !”
+
They came over the deſart like ſtormy clouds, when the winds roll them along
+ the heath : their edges are tinged with lightning ; the ecchoing groves foreſee the form! The
+ horn of Oſcar's battle is heard ; Lano ſhook over all its waves. The children of the lake
+ convened around the ſounding ſhield of Cormalo. Oſcar fought, as he was wont in war. Cormalo fell
+ beneath his ſword : the ſons of diſmal Lano fled to their ſecret vales! Oſcar brought the
+ daughter of Inis-thona to Annir's ecchoing halls. The face of age is bright with joy ; he bleſt
+ the king of ſwords !
+
How great was the joy of Oſſian, when he beheld the diſtant fail of his ſon! it was like a
+ cloud of light that riſes in the eaſt, when the traveller is ſad in a land unknown; and diſmal
+ night, with her ghoſts, is fitting around in ſhades! We brought him, with ſongs, to Selma's
+ halls. Fingal ſpread the feaſt of ſhells. A thouſand bards raiſed the name of Oſcar : Morven
+ anſwered to the ſound. The daughter of Toſcar was there; her voice was like the harp; when the
+ diſtant ſound comes, in the evening, on the foſt-ruſtling breeze of the vale!
+
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+
+
O Lay me, ye that ſee the light, near ſome rock of my hills ! let the thick
+ hazels be around, let the ruſtling oak be near. Green be the place of my reſt; let the ſound of
+ the diſtant torrent be heard. Daughter of Toſcar, take the harp, and raiſe the lovely ſong of
+ Selma ; that ſleep may overtake my ſoul in the midſt of joy ; that the dreams of my youth may
+ return, and the days of the mighty Fingal. Selma! I behold thy towers, thy trees, thy ſhaded wall
+ ! I ſee the heroes of Morven ; I hear the ſong of bards ! Oſcar lifts the ſword of Cormalo; a
+ thouſand youths admire its ſtudded thongs. They look with wonder on my ſon: They admire the
+ ſtrength of his arm. They mark the joy of his father's eyes; they long for an equal fame. And ye
+ ſhall have your fame, O ſons of ſtreamy Morven! My ſoul is often brightened with ſong; I remember
+ the friends of my youth. But ſleep deſcends, in the ſound of the harp! pleaſant dreams begin to
+ riſe! Ye ſons of the chace ſtand far diſtant, nor diſturb my reſt. The bard of other times holds
+ diſcourſe with his fathers, the chief of the days of old ! Sons of the chace, ſtand far diſtant !
+ diſturb not the dreams of Oſſian !
Addreſs to the evening ſtar. An apoſtrophe to Fingal and his times. Minona ſings before the
+ king the ſong of the unfortunate Colma; and the bards exhibit other ſpecimens of their poetical
+ talents; according to an annual cuſtom eſtabliſhed by the monarchs of the ancient Caledonians
Star of deſcending night! fair is thy light in the weſt ! thou lifteſt thy
+ unſhorn head from thy cloud : thy ſteps are ſtately on thy hill. What doſt thou behold in the
+ plain ? The ſtormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb
+ the diſtant rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings; the hum of their courſe is on
+ the field. What doſt thou behold, fair light ? But thou doſt ſmile and depart. The waves come
+ with joy around thee : they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewel, thou ſilent beam ! Let the light of
+ Oſſian's ſoul ariſe !
+
And it does ariſe in its ſtrength! I behold my departed friends. Their
+ gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other years. Fingal comes like a watry column of miſt;
+ his heroes are around : And ſee the bards of ſong,
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+ grey-haired Ullin! ſtately Ryno! AlpinDisplay note, with the tuneful voice! the ſoft complaint of Minona! How are ye changed, my friends,
+ ſince the days of Selma's feaſt ? when we contended, like gales of ſpring, as they fly along the
+ hill, and bend by turns the feebly-whiſtling graſs.
+
MinonaDisplay note came forth in her beauty ; with down-caſt look and tearful eye. Her hair flew ſlowly on
+ the blaſt, that ruſhed unfrequent from the hill. The ſouls of the heroes were ſad when ſhe raiſed
+ the tuneful voice. Often had they ſeen the grave of Salgar Display note, the dark dwelling of white-boſomed ColmaDisplay note. Colma left alone on the hill, with all her voice of ſong! Salgar promiſed to come: but
+ the night deſcended around. Hear the voice of Colma, when ſhe ſat alone on the hill !
It is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of ſtorms. The wind is heard
+ in the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on
+ the hill of winds !
+
Rise, moon ! from behind thy clouds. Stars of the night ariſe! Lead me,
+ ſome light, to the place, where my love reſts from the chace alone! his bow near him, unſtrung:
+ his dogs panting around him. But here I muſt ſit alone, by the rock of the moſſy ſtream. The
+ ſtream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of my love! Why delays my Salgar, why the
+ chief of the hill, his promiſe ? Here is the rock, and here the tree! here is the roaring ſtream
+ ! Thou didſt promiſe with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgar gone ? With thee I would
+ fly, from my father ; with thee, from my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes ; we are
+ not foes, O Salgar!
+
Cease a little while, O wind! ſtream, be thou ſilent a while! let my voice
+ be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me ! Salgar ! it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree, and
+ the rock. Salgar, my love! I am here. Why delayeſt thou thy coming? Lo! the calm moon
+
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+ comes forth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are
+ grey on the ſteep. I ſee him not on the brow. His dogs come not before him, with tidings of his
+ near approach. Here I muſt ſit alone !
+
Who lie on the heath beſide me? Are they my love and my brother ? Speak to
+ me, O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speak to me: I am alone! My ſoul is tormented
+ with fears! Ah! they are dead ! Their ſwords are red from the fight. O my brother ! my brother !
+ why haſt thou ſlain my Salgar? why, O Salgar! haſt thou ſlain my brother ? Dear were ye both to
+ me ! what ſhall I ſay in your praiſe ? Thou wert fair on the hill among thouſands ! he was
+ terrible in fight. Speak to me; hear my voice; hear me, ſons of my love! They are ſilent; ſilent
+ for ever! Cold, cold are their breaſts of clay! Oh! from the rock on the hill; from the top of
+ the windy ſteep, ſpeak, ye ghoſts of the dead ! ſpeak, I will not be afraid ! Whither are ye
+ gone to reſt? In what cave of the hill ſhall I find the departed ? No feeble voice is on the
+ gale : no anſwer half-drowned in the ſtorm !
+
I sit in my grief! I wait for morning in my tears! Rear the tomb, ye
+ friends of the dead. Cloſe it not till Colma come, My life flies
+
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+ away like a dream : why ſhould I ſtay behind ? Here ſhall I
+ reſt with my friends, by the ſtream of the ſounding rock. When night comes on the hill; when the
+ loud winds ariſe; my ghoſt ſhall ſtand in the blaſt, and mourn the death of my friends. The
+ hunter ſhall hear from his booth. He ſhall fear but love my voice! For ſweet ſhall my voice be
+ for my friends: pleaſant were her friends to Colma !
+
Such was thy ſong, Minona, ſoftly-bluſhing daughter of Torman. Our tears
+ deſcended for Colma, and our ſouls were ſad! Ullin came with his harp ; he gave the ſong of
+ Alpin. The voice of Alpin was pleaſant ; the ſoul of Ryno was a beam of fire! But they had
+ reſted in the narrow houſe : their voice had ceaſed in Selma. Ullin had returned, one day, from
+ the chace, before the heroes fell. He heard their ſtrife on the hill; their ſong was ſoft but
+ ſad! They mourned the fall of Morar, firſt of mortal men ! His ſoul was like the ſoul of Fingal
+ ; his ſword like the ſword of Oſcar. But he fell, and his father mourned : his ſiſter's eyes
+ were full of tears. Minona's eyes were full of tears, the ſiſter of car-borne Morar. She retired
+ from the ſong of Ullin, like the moon in the weſt, when ſhe foreſees the ſhower, and hides her
+ fair head
+
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+ in a cloud. I touched the harp, with Ullin; the ſong of
+ mourning roſe !
+
+
+ Ryno.
+
The wind and the rain are paſt: calm is the noon of day. The clouds are
+ divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies the inconſtant ſun. Red through the ſtony vale
+ comes down the ſtream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O ſtream ! but more ſweet is the voice
+ I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the ſon of ſong, mourning for the dead ! Bent is his head of
+ age; red his tearful eye. Alpin, thou ſon of ſong, why alone on the ſilent hill? why complaineſt
+ thou, as a blaſt in the wood; as a wave on the lonely ſhore ?
+
+
+ Alpin.
+
My tears, O Ryno! are for the dead; my voice for thoſe that have paſſed
+ away. Tall thou art on the hill, fair among the ſons of the vale. But thou ſhalt fall like MorarDisplay note; the mourner ſhall ſit on thy tomb. The hills ſhall know thee no more; thy bow ſhall lie
+ in the hail, unſtrung !
+
Thou wert ſwift, O Morar! as a roe on the deſart; terrible as a meteor of
+ fire. Thy wrath
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+ was as the ſtorm. Thy ſword in battle, as lightning in the
+ field. Thy voice was a ſtream after rain; like thunder on diſtant hills. Many fell by thy arm;
+ they were conſumed in the flames of thy wrath. But when thou didſt return from war, how peaceful
+ was thy brow ! Thy face was like the ſun after rain ; like the moon in the ſilence of night;
+ calm as the breaſt of the lake when the loud wind is laid.
+
Narrow is thy dwelling now! dark the place of thine abode ! With three
+ ſteps I compaſs thy grave, O thou who waſt ſo great before ! Four ſtones, with their heads of
+ moſs, are the only memorial of thee. A tree with ſcarce a leaf, long graſs, which whiſtles in
+ the wind, mark to the hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed.
+ Thou haſt no mother to mourn thee; no maid with her tears of love. Dead is ſhe that brought thee
+ forth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan.
+
Who on his ſtaff is this? who is this, whoſe head is white with age ? whoſe
+ eyes are red with tears? who quakes at every ſtep? It is thy fatherDisplay note, O Morar! the father of no ſon but thee. He heard of thy fame in war; he heard
+
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+ of foes diſperſed. He heard of Morar's renown ; why did he not
+ hear of his wound ? Weep, thou father of Morar ! weep ; but thy ſon heareth thee not. Deep is
+ the ſleep of the dead ; low their pillow of duſt. No more ſhall he hear thy voice; no more awake
+ at thy call. When ſhall it be morn in the grave, to bid the ſlumberer awake? Farewel, thou
+ braveſt of men ! thou conqueror in the field ! but the field ſhall ſee thee no more ; nor the
+ dark wood be lightened with the ſplendor of thy ſteel. Thou haſt left no ſon, The ſong ſhall
+ preſerve thy name. Future times ſhall hear of thee; they ſhall hear of the fallen Morar !
+
The grief of all aroſe, but moſt the burſting ſigh of ArminDisplay note. He remembers the death of his ſon, who fell in the days of his youth. CarmorDisplay note was near the hero, the chief of the ecchoing Galmal. Why burſts the ſigh of Armin, he
+ ſaid? Is there a cauſe to mourn ? The ſong comes, with its muſic, to melt and pleaſe the ſoul.
+ It is like ſoft miſt, that, riſing from a lake, pours on the ſilent vale; the green flowers are
+ filled with dew, but the ſun returns in his ſtrength, and the miſt is gone, Why
+
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+ art thou ſad, O Armin, chief of ſea-ſurrounded Gorma ?
+
Sad ! I am ! nor ſmall is my cauſe of woe ! Carmor, thou haſt loſt. Colgar
+ the valiant lives; and Annira faireſt maid. The boughs of thy houſe aſcend, O Carmor! but Armin
+ is the laſt of his race. Dark is thy bed, O Daura ! deep thy ſleep in the tomb ! When ſhalt thou
+ awake with thy ſongs? with all thy voice of muſic ?
+
Arise, winds of autumn, ariſe ; blow along the heath ! ſtreams of the
+ mountains roar ! roar, tempeſts, in the groves of my oaks! walk through broken clouds, O moon!
+ ſhow thy pale face, at intervals! bring to my mind the night, when all my children fell ; when
+ Arindal the mighty fell ; when Daura the lovely failed ! Daura, my daughter! thou wert fair;
+ fair as the moon on FuraDisplay note; white as the driven ſnow ; ſweet as the breathing gale. Arindal, thy bow was ſtrong.
+ Thy ſpear was ſwift in the field. Thy look was like miſt on the wave : thy ſhield, a red cloud
+ in a ſtorm. Armar, renowned in war, came, and ſought Daura's love. He was not long refuſed :
+ fair was the hope of their friends !
+
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+
+
Erath, ſon of Odgal, repined : his brother had been ſlain by Armor. He came
+ diſguiſed like a ſon of the ſea: fair was his ſkiff on the wave ; white his locks of age; calm
+ his ſerious brow. Faireſt of women, he ſaid, lovely daughter of Armin! a rock not diſtant in the
+ ſea, bears a tree on its ſide ; red ſhines the fruit afar! There Armor waits for Daura. I come
+ to carry his love ! She went; ſhe called on Armar. Nought anſwered, but the ſonDisplay note of the rock, Armor, my love! my love! why tormenteſt thou me with fear ? hear, ſon of
+ Arnart, hear : it is Daura who calleth thee! Erath the traitor fled laughing to the land. She
+ lifted up her voice ; ſhe called for her brother and her father. Arindal ! Armin ! none to
+ relieve your Daura !
+
Her voice came over the ſea. Arindal my ſon deſcended from the hill ; rough
+ in the ſpoils of the chace. His arrows rattled by his ſide; his bow was in his hand : five dark
+ grey dogs attend his ſteps. He ſaw fierce Erath on the ſhore: he ſeized and bound him to an oak.
+
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+ Thick wind the thongsDisplay note of the hide around his limbs; he loads the wind with his groans. Arindal aſcends the
+ deep in his boat, to bring Daura to land. Armar came in his wrath, and let fly the
+ grey-feathered ſhaft. It ſung ; it ſunk in thy heart, O Arindal my ſon ! for Erath the traitor
+ thou diedſt. The oar is ſtopped at once; he panted on the rock and expired. What is thy grief, O
+ Daura, when round thy feet is poured thy brother's blood ! The boat is broken in twain. Armar
+ plunges into the ſea, to reſcue his Daura or die. Sudden a blaſt from the hill came over the
+ waves. He ſunk, and he roſe no more.
+
Alone, on the ſea-beat rock, my daughter was heard to complain. Frequent
+ and loud were her cries. What could her father do? All night I ſtood on the ſhore, I ſaw her by
+ the faint beam of the moon. All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind ; the rain beat hard
+ on the hill. Before morning appeared, her voice was weak. It died away, like the evening-breeze
+ among the graſs of the rocks. Spent with grief ſhe expired. And left thee Armin alone: gone is
+ my ſtrength in war! fallen my pride among women! When the ſtorms aloft
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ ariſe : when the north lifts the wave on high; I ſit by the
+ ſounding ſhore, and look on the fatal rock. Often by the ſetting moon, I ſee the ghoſts of my
+ children. Half-viewleſs, they walk in mournful conference together. Will none of you ſpeak in
+ pity ? They do not regard their father. I am ſad, O Carmor, nor ſmall is my cauſe of woe !
+
+
Such were the words of the bards in the days of ſong; when the King heard
+ the muſic of harps, the tales of other times ! The chiefs gathered from all their hills, and
+ heard the lovely ſound. They praiſed the voiceDisplay note of Cona ! the firſt among a thouſand bards! But age is now on my tongue; my ſoul has
+ failed! I hear, at times, the ghoſts of bards, and learn their pleaſant ſong.
+ But memory fails on my mind. I hear the call of years!
+ They ſay, as they paſs along, why does Oſſian ſing ? Soon ſhall he be in the narrow houſe, and no
+ bard ſhall raiſe his fame ! Roll on, ye dark-brown years; ye bring no joy on your courſe! Let the
+ tomb open to Oſſian, for his ſtrength has failed. The ſons of ſong are gone to reſt. My voice
+ remains, like a blaſt, that roars, lonely, on a ſea-ſurrounded rock, after the winds are laid.
+ The dark moſs whiſtles there; the diſtant mariner ſees the waving trees !
Cuthullin, (general of the Iriſh tribes, in the minority of Cormac, king of Ireland) ſitting
+ alone beneath a tree, at the gate of Tura, a caſtle of Ulſter, (the other chiefs having gone on a
+ hunting party to Cromla, a neighbouring hill) is informed of the landing of Swaran, king of
+ Lochlin, by Moran, the ſon of Fithil, one of his ſcouts. He convenes the chiefs ; a council is
+ held, and diſputes run high about giving battle to the enemy. Connal, the petty king of Togorma,
+ and an intimate friend of Cuthullin, was for retreating till Fingal, king of thoſe Caledonians
+ who inhabited the north-weſt coaſt of Scotland, whoſe aid had been previouſly ſollicited, ſhould
+ arrive ; but Calmar, the ſon of Matha, lord of Lara, a country in Connaught, was for engaging the
+ enemy immediately. Cuthullin, of himſelf willing to fight, went into the opinion of Calmar.
+ Marching towards the enemy, he miſſed three of his braveſt heroes, Fergus, Duchomar, and Cathba.
+ Fergus arriving, tells Cuthullin of the death of the two other chiefs ; which introduces the
+ affecting epiſode of Morna, the daughter of Cormac. The army of Cuthullin is deſcried at a
+ diſtance by Swaran, who ſent the ſon of Arno to obſerve the motions of the enemy, while he
+ himſelf ranged his forces in order of battle. The ſon of Arno returning to Swaran, deſcribes to
+ him Cuthullin's chariot, and the terrible appearance of that hero. The armies engage, but night
+ coming on, leaves the victory undecided. Cuthullin, according to the hoſpitality of the times,
+ ſends to Swaran a formal invitation to a feaſt, by his bard Carril, the ſon of Kinfena. Swaran
+ refuſes to come. Carril relates to Cuthullin the ſtory of Grudar and Braſſolis. A party, by
+ Connal's advice, is ſent to obſerve the enemy ; which cloſes the action of the firſt day.
FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS. BOOK I.
+
CuthullinDisplay note ſat by Tura's wall : by the tree of the ruſtling ſound. His ſpear leaned againſt a rock.
+ His ſhield lay on graſs, by his
+
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+ ſide. Amid his thoughts of mighty CarbarDisplay note, a hero ſlain by the chief in war; the ſcoutDisplay note of ocean comes, MoranDisplay note the ſon of Fithil !
+
“Arise,” ſays the youth, “Cuthullin, ariſe. I ſee the ſhips of the north !
+ Many, chief of men, are the foe. Many the heroes of the ſea-borne Swaran !'' “Moran!” replied the
+ blue-eyed chief, “thou ever trembleſt, ſon of Fithil ! “Thy fears have increaſed the foe. It is
+ Fingal, kingDisplay note of deſarts, with aid to green Erin of ſtreams.” “I beheld their chief,” ſays Moran, “tall
+ as a glittering rock. His ſpear is a blaſted
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ pine. His ſhield the riſing moon ! He ſat on the ſhore ! like
+ a cloud of miſt on the ſilent hill ! Many, chief of heroes ! I ſaid, many are our hands of war.
+ Well art thou named, the Mighty Man : but many mighty men are ſeen from Tura's windy walls.”
+
“He ſpoke, like a wave on a rock, who in this land appears like me? Heroes
+ ſtand not in my preſence: they fall to earth from my hand. Who can meet Swaran in fight? Who but
+ Fingal, king of Selma of ſtorms? Once we wreſtled on MalmorDisplay note ; our heels overturned the woods. Rocks fell from their place ; rivulets, changing their
+ courſe, fled murmuring from our ſide ? Three days we renewed the ſtrife; heroes ſtood at a
+ diſtance and trembled. On the fourth, Fingal ſays, that the king of the ocean fell ! but Swaran
+ ſays, he ſtood ! Let dark Cuthullin yield to him, that is ſtrong as the ſtorms of his land !”
+
“No!” replied the blue-eyed chief, “I never yield to mortal man ! Dark
+ Cuthullin ſhall be great or dead! Go, ſon of Fithil, take my ſpear. Strike the ſounding ſhield of SemoDisplay note.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ It hangs at Tura's ruſtling gate. The ſound of peace is not its
+ voice! My heroes ſhall hear and obey.” He went. He ſtruck the boſſy ſhield. The hills, the rocks
+ reply. The ſound ſpreads along the wood: deer ſtart by the lake of roes. CurachDisplay note leaps from the ſounding rock; and Connal of the bloody ſpear ! Crugal'sDisplay note breaſt of ſnow beats high. The ſon of Fari leaves the dark-brown hind. It is the ſhield
+ of war, ſaid Ronnar ! the ſpear of Cuthullin, ſaid Lugar! ſon of the ſea put on thy arms! Calmar
+ lift thy ſounding ſteel Puno! dreadful hero, ariſe! Cairbar from thy red tree of Cromla ! Bend
+ thy knee, O Eth; deſcend from the ſtreams of Lena. Ca-olt ſtretch thy 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 rocky CuthonDisplay note.
+
Now I behold the chiefs, in the pride of their former deeds! Their ſouls are
+ kindled at the battles of old; at the actions of other times. Their eyes are flames of fire. They
+ roll in ſearch of the foes of the land. Their mighty hands are on their ſwords. Lightning pours
+ from their ſides of ſteel. They come like ſtreams from the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ mountains ; each ruſhes roaring from his hill. Bright are the
+ chiefs of battle, in the armour of their fathers. Gloomy and dark their heroes follow, like the
+ gathering of the rainy clouds behind the red meteors of heaven. The ſounds of craſhing arms
+ aſcend. The grey dogs howl between. Unequal burſts the ſong of battle. Rocking CromlaDisplay note ecchoes round. On Lena's duſky heath they ſtand, like miſt that ſhades the hills of
+ autumn : when broken and dark it ſettles high, and lifts its head to heaven !
+
“Hail,” ſaid Cuthullin, “ſons of the narrow vales ! hail, 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 war ! or yield green ErinDisplay note to Lochlin ! O ConnalDisplay note ſpeak, thou firſt of men! thou breaker of the ſhields! thou haſt often fought with
+ Lochlin : wilt thou lift thy father's ſpear ?
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Cuthullin!” calm the chief replied, “the ſpear
+ of Connal is keen. It delights to ſhine in battle; to mix with the blood of thouſands. But tho'
+ my hand is bent on fight, my heart is for the peace of ErinDisplay note. Behold, thou firſt in Cormac's war, the ſable fleet of Swaran. His maſts are many on our
+ coaſt, like reeds in the lake of Lego. His ſhips are foreſts cloathed with miſt, when the trees
+ yield by turns to the ſqually wind. Many are his chiefs in battle. Connal is for peace! Fingal
+ would ſhun his arm the firſt of mortal men ! Fingal, who ſcatters the mighty, as ſtormy winds the
+ heath; when ſtreams roar thro' ecchoing Cona : and night ſettles with all her clouds on the hill
+ !
+
“Fly, thou man of peace,” ſaid CalmarDisplay note, “ fly,” ſaid the ſon of Matha ; “go, Connal, to thy ſilent hills, where the ſpear never
+ brightens in war ! Purſue the dark-brown deer of Cromla : ſtop with thine arrows the bounding
+ roes of Lena. But, blue-eyed ſon of Semo,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Cuthullin, ruler of the field, ſcatter thou the ſons of LochlinDisplay note; roar thro' the ranks of their pride, Let no veſſel of the kingdom of Snow bound on the
+ dark-rolling waves of Inis toreDisplay note. Riſe, ye dark winds of Erin riſe ! roar whirlwinds of Lara of hinds! Amid the tempeſt
+ let me die, torn, in a cloud, by angry ghoſts of men ; amid the tempeſt let Calmar die, if ever
+ chace was ſport to him, ſo much as the battle of ſhields !”
+
“Calmar !” Connal ſlow replied, “I never fled, young ſon of Matha! I was
+ ſwift with my friends in fight ; but ſmall is the fame of Connal ! The battle was won in my
+ preſence; the valiant overcame! But, ſon of Semo, hear my voice, regard the ancient throne of
+ Cormac. Give wealth and half the land for peace, till Fingal ſhall arrive on our coaſt. Or, if
+ war be thy choice, I lift the ſword and ſpear. My Joy ſhall be in the midſt of thouſands; my ſoul
+ ſhall lighten through the gloom of the fight!”
+
“To me,” Cuthullin replies, “pleaſant is the noiſe of arms ! pleaſant as the thunder of heaven,
+ before the ſhower of ſpring ! But gather all the ſhining tribes that I may view the ſons of war!
+ Let them paſs along the heath, bright as
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the ſun-ſhine before a ſtorm ; when the weſt wind collects the
+ clouds and Morven ecchoes over all her oaks ! But where are my friends in battle ? The ſupporters
+ of my arm in danger ? Where art thou, white-boſom'd Cathbar? Where is that cloud in war, DuchômarDisplay note ? Haſt thou left me; O FergusDisplay note! in the day of the ſtorm? Fergus, firſt in our joy at the feaſt ! ſon of Roſſa! arm of
+ death ! comeſt thou like a roe from Malmor. Like a hart from thy echoing hills? Hail thou ſon of
+ Roſſa! what ſhades the ſoul of war ?”
+
“Four ſtonesDisplay note,” replied the chief, “riſe on the grave of Câthba. Theſe hands have laid in earth
+ Duchômar, that cloud in war ! Câthba, ſon of Torman! thou wert a ſun-beam in Erin. And thou, O
+ valiant Duchômar, a miſt of the marſhy Lano ; when it moves on the plains of autumn, bearing the
+ death of thouſands along; Morna! faireſt of maids ! calm is thy ſleep in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the cave of the rock ! Thou haſt fallen in darkneſs, like a
+ ſtar, that ſhoots acroſs the deſart ; when the traveller is alone, and mourns the tranſient beam
+ !”
+
“Say,” ſaid Semo's blue-eyed ſon, “ſay how fell the chiefs of Erin? Fell
+ they by the ſons of Lochlin, ſtriving in the battle of heroes ? Or what confines the ſtrong in
+ arms to the dark and narrow houſe ?” “Cathba,” replied the hero, “fell by the
+ ſword of Duchômar at the oak of the noiſy ſtreams. Duchômar came to Tura's cave; he ſpoke to the
+ lovely Morna. MornaDisplay note, faireſt among women, lovely daughter of ſtrong-armed Cormac! Why in the circle of
+ ſtones? in the cave of the rock alone? The ſtream murmurs along. The old tree groans in the wind.
+ The lake is troubled before thee ; dark are the clouds of the ſky! But thou art ſnow on the heath
+ ; thy hair is the miſt of Cromla ; when it curls on the hill; when it ſhines to the beam of the
+ weſt ! Thy breaſts are two ſmooth rocks ſeen from Branno of ſtreams. Thy arms, like two white
+ pillars, in the halls of the great Fingal.
+
“From whence,” the fair-haired maid replied, “from whence, Duchômar, moſt
+ gloomy of men? Dark are thy brows and terrible! Red
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ are thy rolling eyes! Does Swaran appear on the ſea? What of
+ the foe, Duchômar ?” “From the hill I return, O Morna, from the hill of the dark-brown hinds.
+ Three have I ſlain with my bended yew. Three with my long bounding dogs of the chace. Lovely
+ daughter of Cormac, I love thee as my ſoul! I have ſlain one ſtately deer for thee. High was his
+ branchy head; and fleet his feet of wind.” “Duchômar!” calm the maid replied, “I love thee not,
+ thou gloomy man ! hard is thy heart of rock; dark is thy terrible brow. But Cathba, young ſon of TormanDisplay note, thou art the love of Morna. Thou art a ſun-beam, in the day of the gloomy ſtorm. Saweſt
+ thou the ſon of Torman, lovely on the hill of his hinds? Here the daughter of Cormac waits the
+ coming of Câthba !”
+
“Long ſhall Morna wait,” Duchomar ſaid, “long ſhall Morna wait for Câthba !
+ Behold this ſword unſheathed ! Here wanders the blood of Câthba. Long ſhall Morna wait. He fell
+ by the ſtream of Branno ! On Croma I will raiſe his tomb, daughter of blue-ſhielded Cormac ! Turn
+ on Duchômar thine eyes; his arm is ſtrong as a ſtorm.” “Is the ſon of Torman fallen ?” ſaid the
+ wildly burſting voice of the maid, “Is he fallen on his ecchoing hills, the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ youth with the breaſt of ſnow ? The firſt in the chace of
+ hinds? The foe of the ſtrangers of ocean ? Thou art darkDisplay note to me, Duchômar, cruel is thine arm to Morna ! Give me that ſword, my foe! I love the
+ wandering blood of Câthba !”
+
He gave the ſword to her tears. She pierced his manly breaſt! He fell, like
+ the bank of a mountain-ſtream, and ſtretching forth his hand, he ſpoke. “Daughter of
+ blue-ſhielded Cormac! Thou haſt ſlain me in youth ! The ſword is cold in my breaſt: Morna, I feel
+ it cold. Give me to MoinaDisplay note the maid. Duchômar was the dream of her night ! She will raiſe my tomb ; the hunter ſhall
+ raiſe my fame. But draw the ſword from my breaſt. Morna, the ſteel is cold !” She came, in all
+ her tears, ſhe came; ſhe drew the ſword from his breaſt. He pierced her white ſide! He ſpread her
+ fair locks on the ground ! Her burſting blood ſounds from her ſide: her white arm is ſtained with
+ red. Rolling in death ſhe lay. The cave re-ecchoed to her ſighs.”
+
“Peace,” ſaid Cuthullin, “to the ſouls of the heroes! their deeds were great
+ in fight. Let them ride aroundDisplay note me on clouds. Let them
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhew their features of war. My ſoul ſhall then be firm in danger;
+ mine arm like the thunder of heaven ! But be thou on a moon-beam, O Morna ! near the window of my
+ reſt; when my thoughts are of peace; when the din of arms is paſt. Gather the ſtrength of the
+ tribes ! Move to the wars of Erin! Attend the car of my battles! Rejoice in the noiſe of my
+ courſe! Place three ſpears by my ſide : follow the bounding of my ſteeds! That my ſoul may be
+ ſtrong in my friends, when battle darkens round the beams of my ſteel !
+
As ruſhes a ſtream of foam from the dark ſhady deep of Cromla; when the
+ thunder is travelling above, and dark-brown night ſits on half the hill. Through the breaches of
+ the tempeſt look forth the dim faces of ghoſts. So fierce, ſo vaſt, ſo terrible ruſhed on the
+ ſons of Erin. The chief like a whale of ocean, whom all his billows purſue, poured valour forth,
+ as a ſtream, rolling his might along the ſhore. The ſons of Lochlin heard the noiſe, as the ſound
+ of a winterform. Swaran ſtruck his boſſy ſhield: he called the ſon of Arno, “What murmur rolls
+ along the hill, like the gathered flies of the eve? The ſons of Erin deſcend, or ruſtling winds
+ roar in the diſtant wood! Such is the noiſe of Gormal, before the white tops of my waves ariſe.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ O ſon of Arno, aſcend the hill; view the dark face of the
+ heath!”
+
He went. He trembling, ſwift returned. His eyes rolled wildly round. His
+ heart beat high againſt his ſide. His words were faultering, broken, ſlow. “Ariſe, ſon of ocean,
+ ariſe, chief of the dark-brown ſhields! I ſee the dark, the mountain-ſtream of battle ! The
+ deep-moving ſtrength of the ſons of Erin! The car, the car of war comes on, like the flame of
+ death ! the rapid car of Cuthullin, the noble ſon of Semo ! It bends behind like a wave near a
+ rock ; like the ſun-ſtreaked miſt of the heath. Its ſides are emboſſed with ſtones, and ſparkle
+ like the ſea round the boat of night. Of poliſhed yew is its beam; its ſeat of the ſmootheſt
+ bone. The ſides are repleniſhed with ſpears; the bottom is the foot-ſtool of heroes ! Before the
+ right ſide of the car is ſeen the ſnorting horſe! The high-maned, broad-breaſted, proud,
+ wide-leaping, ſtrong ſteed of the hill. Loud and reſounding is his hoof; the ſpreading of his
+ mane above is like a ſtream of ſmoke on a ridge of rocks. Bright are the ſides of the ſteed ! his
+ name is Sulin-Sifadda!”
+
“Before the left ſide of the car is ſeen the ſnorting horſe ! The
+ thin-maned, high-headed, ſtrong-hoofed, fleet, bounding ſon of the hill : his name is Duſronnal,
+ among the ſtormy ſons
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of the ſword! A thouſand thongs bind the car on high. Hard
+ poliſhed bits ſhine in a wreath of foam. Thin thongs bright-ſtudded with gems, bend on the
+ ſtately necks of the ſteeds. The ſteeds that like wreaths of miſt fly over the ſtreamy vales! The
+ wildneſs of deer is in their courſe, the ſtrength of eagles deſcending on the prey. Their noiſe
+ is like the blaſt of winter, on the ſides of the ſnow-headed Gormal.
+
Within the car is ſeen the chief; the ſtrong-armed ſon of the ſword. The hero's name is
+ Cuthullin, ſon of Semo king of ſhells. His red cheek is like my poliſhed yew. The look of his
+ blue-rolling eye is wide, beneath the dark arch of his brow. His hair flies from his head like a
+ flame, as bending forward he wields the ſpear, Fly, king of ocean, fly! He comes, like a ſtorm,
+ along the ſtreamy vale !
+
“When did I fly,” replied the king? When fled Swaran from the battle of ſpears? When did I
+ ſhrink from danger, chief of the little ſoul? I met the ſtorm of Gormal, when the foam of my
+ waves beat high. I met the ſtorm of the clouds; ſhall Swaran fly from a hero? Were Fingal himſelf
+ before me, my ſoul ſhould not darken with fear. Ariſe to battle, my thouſands! pour round me like
+ the ecchoing main, Gather round the bright ſteel of your
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ king; ſtrong as the rocks of my land; that meet the ſtorm, with
+ joy, and ſtretch their dark pines to the wind !”
+
Like autumn's dark ſtorms, pouring from two ecchoing hills, toward each
+ other approached the heroes. Like two deep ſtreams from high rocks meeting, mixing, roaring on
+ the plain; loud, rough and dark in battle meet Lochlin and Innis-fail. Chief mixes his ſtrokes
+ with chief, and man with man ; ſteel, clanging, ſounds on ſteel. Helmets are cleft on high. Blood
+ burſts and ſmokes around. Strings murmur on the poliſhed yews. Darts ruſh along the ſky. Spears
+ fall like the circles of light, which gild the face of night. As the noiſe of the troubled ocean,
+ when roll the waves on high. As the laſt peal of thunder in heaven, ſuch is the din of war!
+ Though Cormac's hundred bards were there, to give the fight to ſong; feeble was the voice of a
+ hundred bards to ſend the deaths to future times ! For many were the deaths of heroes; wide
+ poured the blood of the brave !
+
Mourn, ye ſons of ſong, mourn the death of the noble SithâllinDisplay note. Let the ſighs of Fiöna riſe, on the lone plains of her lovely Ardan.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ They fell, like two hinds of the deſart, by the hands of the
+ mighty Swaran; when, in the midſt of thouſands, he roared; like the ſhrill ſpirit of a ſtorm. He
+ ſits dim, on the clouds of the north, and enjoys the death of the mariner. Nor ſlept thy hand by
+ thy ſide, chief of the iſle of miſtDisplay note! many were the deaths of thine arm, Cathullin, thou ſon of Semo ! His ſword was like the
+ beam of heaven when it pierces the ſons of the vale; when the people are blaſted and fall, and
+ all the hills are burning around. DuſronnalDisplay note ſnorted over the bodies of heroes. SifaddaDisplay note bathed his hoof in blood. The battle lay behind them, as groves overturned on the deſart
+ of Cromla ; when the blaſt has paſſed the heath, laden with the ſpirits of night!
+
Weep on the rocks of roaring winds, O maid of IniſtoreDisplay note! Bend thy fair head over the waves,
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ thou lovelier than the ghoſt of the hills; when it moves, in a
+ ſun-beam, at noon, over the ſilence of Morven ! He is fallen! thy youth is low ! pale beneath the
+ ſword of Cuthullin! No more ſhall valour raiſe thy love to match the blood of kings. Trenar,
+ graceful Trenar died, O maid of Iniſtore. His grey dogs are howling at home ; they ſee his
+ paſſing ghoſt. His bow is in the hall unſtrung. No ſound is in the hill of his hinds !
+
As roll a thouſand waves to the rocks, ſo Swaran's hoſt came on. As meets a rock a thouſand
+ waves, ſo Erin met Swaran of ſpears. Death raiſes all his voices around, and mixes with the
+ ſounds of ſhields. Each hero is a pillar of darkneſs; the ſword a beam of fire in his hand. The
+ field ecchoes from wing to wing, as a hundred hammers that riſe, by turns, on the red ſon of the
+ furnace. Who are theſe on Lena's heath, theſe ſo gloomy and dark ? Who are theſe like two clouds
+ and their ſwords like lightning above them? The little hills are troubled around; the rocks
+ tremble with all their moſs. Who is it but Ocean's ſon and the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ car-borne chief of Erin? Many are the anxious eyes of their
+ friends, as they ſee them dim on the heath. But night conceals the chiefs in clouds, and ends the
+ dreadful ſight !
+
It was on Cromla's ſhaggy ſide that Dorglas had placed the deerDisplay note; the early fortune of the chace, before the heroes left the hill. A hundred youths
+ collect the heath; ten warriors wake the fire; three hundred chuſe the poliſh'd ſtones. The feaſt
+ is ſmoaking wide! Cuthullin, chief of Erin's war, reſumed his mighty ſoul. He ſtood upon his
+ beamy ſpear, and ſpoke to the ſon of ſongs ; to Carril of other times, the grey-haired ſon of KinfenaDisplay note. “Is this feaſt ſpread for me alone and the king of Lochlin on Erin's ſhore ; far from
+ the deer of his hills, and ſounding halls of his feaſts? Riſe, Carril of other times; carry my
+ words to Swaran. Te!l him from the roaring of waters, that Cuthullin gives his feaſt.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Here let him liſten to the ſound of my groves, amidſt the
+ clouds of night. For cold and bleak the bluſtering winds ruſh over the foam of his ſeas. Here let
+ him praiſe the trembling harp, and hear the ſongs of heroes !”
+
Old Carril went, with ſofteſt voice. He called the king of dark-brown
+ ſhields! “Riſe from the ſkins of thy chace, riſe, Swaran king of groves! Cuthullin gives the joy
+ of ſhells. Partake the feaſt of Erin's blue-eyed chief!” He anſwered like the ſullen ſound of
+ Cromla before a ſtorm. “Though all thy daughters, Inis-fail! ſhould ſtretch their arms of ſnow;
+ ſhould raiſe the heavings of their breaſts, and ſoftly roll their eyes of love; yet, fixed as
+ Lochlin's thouſand rocks, here Swaran ſhould remain ; till morn, with the young beams of the
+ eaſt, ſhall light me to the death of Cuthullin. Pleaſant to my ear is Lochlin's wind ! It ruſhes
+ over my ſeas ! It ſpeaks aloft in all my ſhrouds, and brings my green foreſts to my mind: The
+ green foreſts of Gormal, which often ecchoed to my winds, when my ſpear was red in the chace of
+ the boar. Let dark Cuthullin yield to me the ancient thrones of Cormac; or Erin's torrents ſhall
+ ſhew from their hills the red foam of the blood of his pride !”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Sad is tbe ſound of Swaran's voice,” ſaid
+ Carril of other times! “Sad to himſelf alone,” ſaid the blue-eyed ſon of Semo. “But, Carril,
+ raiſe the voice on high; tell the deeds of other times. Send thou the night away in ſong ; and
+ give the joy of grief. For many heroes and maids of love, have moved on Inis-fail : And lovely
+ are the ſongs of woe that are heard in Albion's rocks; when the noiſe of the chace is paſt, and
+ the ſtreams of Cona anſwer to the voice of OſſianDisplay note.”
+
“In other daysDisplay note,” Carril replies, “came the ſons of Ocean to Erin! A thouſand veſſels bounded on waves to
+ Ullin's lovely plains, The ſons of Inis-fail aroſe, to meet the race of dark-brown ſhields.
+ Cairbar, firſt of men, was there, and Grudar, ſtately youth ! Long had they ſtrove for the
+ ſpotted bull, that lowed on
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Golbun'sDisplay note ecchoing heath. Each claimed him as his own. Death was often at the point of their ſteel
+ ! Side by ſide the heroes fought ; the ſtrangers of Ocean fled. Whoſe name was fairer on the
+ hill, than the name of Cairbar and Grudar! But ah! why ever lowed the bull, on Golbun's ecchoing
+ heath. They ſaw him leaping like ſnow. The wrath of the chiefs returned !”
+
“On Lubar'sDisplay note graſſy banks they fought ; Grudar fell in his blood. Fierce Cairbar came to the vale,
+ where BraſſolisDisplay note, faireſt of his ſiſters, all alone, raiſed the ſong of grief. She ſang of the actions of
+ Grudar, the youth of her ſecret ſoul! She mourned him in the field of blood ; but ſtill ſhe hoped
+ for his return. Her white boſom is ſeen from her robe, as the moon from the clouds of night, when
+ its edge heaves white on the view, from the darkneſs, which covers its orb. Her voice was ſofter
+ than the harp to raiſe the ſong of grief. Her ſoul was fixed on Grudar. The ſecret look of her
+ eye was his. “When ſhalt thou come in thine arms, thou mighty in the war?”
+
“Take, Braſſiolis,” Cairbar came and ſaid, “take, Braſſiolis, this ſhield of
+ blood. Fix it
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+ on high within my hall, the armour of my foe ! Her ſoft heart
+ beat againſt her ſide. Diſtracted, pale, ſhe flew. She found her youth in all his blood; ſhe died
+ on Cromla's heath. Here reſts their duſt, Cuthullin ; theſe lonely yews ſprung from their tombs,
+ and ſhade them from the ſtorm. Fair was Braſſolis on the plain! Stately was Grudar on the hill !
+ The bard thall preſerve their names, and ſend them down to future times !”
+
“Pleasant is thy voice, O Carril,” ſaid the blue-eyed chief of Erin.
+ “Pleaſant are the words of other times! They are like the calm ſhower of ſpring; when the ſun
+ looks on the field, and the light cloud flies over the hills. O ſtrike the harp in praiſe of my
+ love, the lonely ſun-beam of Dunſcaith. Strike the harp in the praiſe of Bragéla ; ſhe that I
+ left in the Iſle of Miſt, the ſpouſe of Semo's ſon! Doſt thou raiſe thy fair face from the rock
+ to find the ſails of Cuthullin? The ſea is rolling diſtant far ; its white foam deceives thee for
+ my ſails. Retire, for it is night, my love; the dark winds ſign in thy hair. Retire to the halls
+ of my feaſts ; think of the times that are paſt. I will not return till the ſtorm of war is
+ ceaſed. O Connal, ſpeak of war and arms, and ſend her from my mind. Lovely with her flowing hair
+ is the white-boſomed daughter of Sorglan.”
+
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+ Connal, ſlow to ſpeak, replied, “Guard
+ againſt the race of Ocean. Send thy troop of night abroad, and watch the ſtrength of Swaran.
+ Cuthullin ! I am for peace till the race of Selma come; till Fingal come, the firſt of men, and
+ beam, like the ſun, on our fields !” The hero ſtruck the ſhield of alarms, the warriors of the
+ night moved on! The reſt lay in the heath of the deer, and ſlept beneath the duſky wind. The ghoſtsDisplay note of the lately dead were near, and ſwam on the gloomy clouds: And far diſtant, in the dark
+ ſilence of Lena, the feeble voices of death were faintly heard.
+
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The ghoſt of Crugal, one of the Iriſh heroes who was killed in battle, appearing to Connal,
+ foretels the defeat of Cuthullin in the next battle; and earneſtly adviſes him to make peace with
+ Swaran. Connal communicates the viſion; but Cuthullin is inflexible; from a principle of honour
+ he would not be the firſt to ſue for peace, and he reſolved to continue the war. Morning comes;
+ Swaran propoſes diſhonourable terms to Cuthullin, which are rejected. The battle begins, and is
+ obſtinately fought for ſome time, until, upon the flight of Grumal, the whole Iriſh army gave
+ way. Cuthullin and Connal cover their retreat: Carril leads them to a neighbouring hill, whither
+ they are ſoon followed by Cuthullin himſelf, who deſcries the fleet of Fingal making towards the
+ coaſt; but, night coming on, he loſt ſight of it again. Cuthullin, dejected after his defeat,
+ attributes his ill ſucceſs to the death of Ferda his friend, whom he had killed ſome time before.
+ Carril, to ſhew that ill ſucceſs did not always attend thoſe who innocently killed their friends,
+ introduces the epiſode of Comal and Galvina.
FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS. BOOK II.
+
ConnalDisplay note lay by the ſound of the mountain ſtream, beneath the aged tree. A ſtone, with its moſs,
+ ſupported his head. Shrill thro' the heath of Lena, he heard the voice of night. At diſtance from
+ the heroes he lay ; the ſon of the ſword feared no foe! The hero beheld, in his reſt, a dark-red
+ ſtream of fire ruſhing down from the hill. Crugal ſat upon the beam, a chief who fell in fight.
+ He fell by the hand of Swaran, ſtriving in the battle of heroes. His face is like the beam of the
+ ſetting
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+ moon. His robes are of the clouds of the hill. His eyes are
+ two decaying flames ! Dark is the wound of his breaſt! “Crugal,” ſaid the mighty Connal, ſon of
+ Dedgal famed on the hill of hinds ! “Why ſo pale and ſad, thou breaker of the ſhields? Thou haſt
+ never been pale for fear! What diſturbs the departed Crugal?” Dim, and in tears, he ſtood and
+ ſtretched his pale hand over the hero. Faintly he raiſed his feeble voice, like the gale of the
+ reedy Lego !
+
“My ſpirit, Connal, is on my hills: my corſe on the ſands of Erin. Thou
+ ſhalt never talk with Crugal, nor find his lone ſteps in the heath. I am light as the blaſt of
+ Cromla. I move like the ſhadow of miſt ! Connal, ſon of Colgar, I ſee a cloud of death: it hovers
+ dark over the plains of Lena. The ſons of green Erin muſt fall. Remove from the field of ghoſts.”
+ Like the darkened moon he retired, in the midſt of the whiſtling blaſt. “Stay,” ſaid the mighty
+ Connal, “ſtay my dark-red friend. Lay by that beam of heaven, ſon of the windy Cromla! What cave
+ is thy lonely houſe ? What green-headed hill the place of thy repoſe ? Shall we not hear thee in
+ the ſtorm ? In the noiſe of the mountain-ſtream? When the feeble ſons of the wind come forth, and
+ ſcarcely ſeen, paſs over the deſart ?”
+
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+ The ſoft-voiced Connal rofe, in the midſt
+ of his ſounding arms. He ſtruck his ſhield above Cuthullin. The ſon of battle waked. “Why,” ſaid
+ the ruler of the car, “comes Connal through my night? My ſpear might turn againſt the ſound; and
+ Cuthullin mourn the death of his friend. Speak, Connal; ſon of Colgar, ſpeak, thy counſel is the
+ ſun of heaven!” “Son of Semo!” replied the chief, “the ghoſt of Crugal came from his cave. The
+ ſtars dim-twinkled through his form. His voice was like the ſound of a diſtant ſtream. He is a
+ meſſenger of death ! He ſpeaks of the dark and narrow houſe ! Sue for peace, O chief of Erin ! or
+ fly over the heath of Lena.”
+
“He ſpoke to Connal,” replied the hero, “though ſtars dim-twinkled through
+ his form ! Son of Colgar, it was the wind that murmured acroſs thy ear. Or if it was the formDisplay note of Crugal, why didſt thou not force him to my ſight ? Haſt thou enquired where is his
+ cave? The houſe of that ſon of wind ? My ſword might find that voice, and force his knowlege from
+ Crugal.
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+ But ſmall is his knowlege, Connal; he was here to-day. He could not
+ have gone beyond our hills! who could tell him there of our fall?” “Ghoſts fly on clouds and ride
+ on winds,” ſaid Connal's voice of wiſdom. “They reſt together in their caves, and talk of mortal
+ men.”
+
“Then let them talk of mortal men; of every man but Erin's chief. Let me be
+ forgot in their cave, I will not fly from Swaran! If fall I muſt, my tomb ſhall riſe, amid the
+ fame of future times. The hunter ſhall ſhed a tear on my ſtone; ſorrow ſhall dwell round the
+ high-boſomed Bragéla. I fear not death, to fly I fear ! Fingal has ſeen me victorious ! Thou dim
+ phantom of the hill, ſhew thyſelf to me ! come on thy beam of heaven, ſhew me my death in thine
+ hand; yet I will not fly, thou feeble ſon of the wind! Go, ſon of Colgar, ſtrike the ſhield. It
+ hangs between the ſpears. Let my warriors riſe to the ſound, in the midſt of the battles of Erin.
+ Though Fingal delays his coming with the race of his ſtormy iſles; we ſhall fight, O Colgar's
+ ſon, and die in the battle of heroes !”
+
The ſound ſpreads wide. The heroes riſe, like the breaking of a blue-rolling
+ wave. They ſtood on the heath, like oaks with all their
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+ branches round them; when they eccho to the ſtream of froſt,
+ and their withered leaves are ruſtling to the wind! High Cromla's head of clouds is grey. Morning
+ trembles on the half-enlightened ocean. The blue miſt ſwims ſlowly by, and hides the ſons of
+ Inis-fail !
+
“Rise ye,” ſaid the king of the dark-brown ſhields, “ye that came from
+ Lochlin's waves. The ſons of Erin have fled from our arms; purſue them over the plains of Lena!
+ Morla, go to Cormac's hall. Bid them yield to Swaran before his people ſink to the tomb ; and
+ ſilence ſpread over his iſle.” They roſe ruſtling like a flock of ſea-fowl, when the waves expel
+ them from the ſhore. Their ſound was like a thouſand ſtreams that meet in Cona's vale, when after
+ a ſtormy night, they turn their dark eddies, beneath the pale light of the morn.
+
As the dark ſhades of autumn fly over the hills of graſs: ſo gloomy, dark,
+ ſucceſſive came the chiefs of Lochlin's ecchoing woods. Tall as the ſtag of Morven moved ſtately
+ before them, the king. His ſhining ſhield is on his ſide, like a flame on the heath at night.
+ When the world is ſilent and dark, and the traveller ſees ſome ghoſt ſporting in the beam! Dimly
+ gleam the hills around, and ſhew indiſtinctly their oaks! A blaſt from the troubled ocean removed
+ the
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+ ſettled miſt. The ſons of Erin appear, like a ridge of rocks on
+ the coaſt; when mariners, on ſhores unknown, are trembling at veering winds !
+
“Go, Morla, go,” ſaid the king of Lochlin, “offer peace to theſe! Offer the
+ terms we give to kings, when nations bow down to our ſwords. When the valiant are dead in war;
+ when virgins weep on the field !” Tall Morla came, the ſon of Swarth, and ſtately ſtrode the
+ youth along ! He ſpoke to Erin's blue-eyed chief, among the leſſer heroes. “Take Swaran's peace,”
+ the warrior ſpoke, “the peace he gives to kings, when nations bow to his ſword. Leave Erin's
+ ſtreamy plains to us, and give thy ſpouſe and dog. Thy ſpouſe high-boſom'd, heaving fair ! Thy
+ dog that overtakes the wind ! Give theſe to prove the weakneſs of thine arm ; live then beneath
+ our power ! ”
+
“Tell Swaran, tell that heart of pride, Cuthullin never yields. I give him
+ the dark rolling ſea; I give his people graves in Erin. But never ſhall a ſtranger have the
+ pleaſing ſun-beam of my love. No deer ſhall fly on Lochlin's hills, before ſwift-footed Luäth.”
+ “Vain ruler of the car,” ſaid Morla,“wilt thou then fight the king ? The king whoſe ſhips of many
+ groves could carry off thine ile ? So little is thy green-hilled Erin to him who rules
+
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+ the ſtormy waves!” “In words I yield to many, Morla. My ſword
+ ſhall yield to none. Erin ſhall own the ſway of Cormac, while Connal and Cuthullin live! O
+ Connal, firſt of mighty men, thou hear'ft the words of Morla. Shall thy thoughts then be of
+ peace, thou breaker of the ſhields? Spirit of fallen Crugal ! why didſt thou threaten us with
+ death? The narrow houſe ſhall receive me, in the midſt of the light of renown. Exalt, ye ſons of
+ Erin, exalt the ſpear and bend the bow : ruſh on the foe in darkneſs, as the ſpirits of ſtormy
+ nights !”
+
Then diſmal, roaring, fierce, and deep the gloom of battle poured along; as
+ miſt that is rolled on a valley, when ſtorms invade the ſilent ſun-ſhine of heaven! Cuthullin
+ moves before in arms, like an angry ghoſt before a cloud ; when meteors incloſe him with fire;
+ when the dark winds are in his hand. Carril, far on the heath, bids the horn of battle ſound. He
+ raiſes the voice of ſong, and pours his ſoul into the minds of the brave.
+
“Where,” ſaid the mouth of the ſong, “where is the fallen Crugal ? He lies
+ forgot on earth; the hall of ſhellsDisplay note is ſilent. Sad is the
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+ ſpouſe of Crugal! She is a ſtrangerDisplay note in the hall of her grief. But who is ſhe, that, like a ſunbeam, flies before the ranks of
+ the foe? It is DegrenaDisplay note, lovely fair, the ſpouſe of fallen Crugal. Her hair is on the wind behind. Her eye is red
+ ; her voice is ſhrill, Pale, empty is thy Crugal now ! His form is in the cave of the hill. He
+ comes to the ear of reſt; he raiſes his feeble voice ; like the humming of the mountain-bee ;
+ like the collected flies of the eve ! But Degrena falls like a cloud of the morn; the ſword of
+ Lochlin is in her ſide. Cairbar, ſhe is fallen, the riſing thought of thy youth. She is fallen, O
+ Cairbar, the thought of thy youthful hours !”
+
Fierce Cairbar heard the mournful ſound. He ruſhed along like ocean's whale.
+ He ſaw the death of his daughter: He roared in the midſt of thouſands. His ſpear met a ſon of
+ Lochlin ; battle ſpreads from wing to wing ! As a hundred winds in Lochlin's groves ; as fire in
+ the pines of a hundred hills; ſo loud, ſo ruinous, ſo vaſt the ranks of men are hewn down.
+ Cuthullin cut off heroes like thiſtle ; Swaran waſted Erin. Curach fell by his hand, Cairbar
+
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+ of the boſſy ſhield ! Morglan lies in laſting reſt! Ca-olt
+ trembles as he dies! His white breaſt is ſtained with blood ; his yellow hair ſtretched in the
+ duſt of his native land ! He often had ſpread the feaſt where he fell. He often there had raiſed
+ the voice of the harp: when his dogs leapt around for joy ; and the youths of the chace prepared
+ the bow !
+
Still Swaran advanced, as a ſtream, that burſts from the deſart. The little
+ hills are rolled in its courſe ; the rocks are half-ſunk by its ſide! But Cuthullin ſtood before
+ him, like a hill, that catches the clouds of heaven. The winds contend on its head of pines; the
+ hail rattles on its rocks. But, firm in its ſtrength, it ſtands, and ſhades the ſilent vale of
+ Cona ! So Cuthullin ſhaded the ſons of Erin, and ſtood in the midſt of thouſands. Blood riſes
+ like the fount of a rock, from panting heroes around. But Erin falls on either wing, like ſnow in
+ the day of the ſun.
+
“O sons of Erin,” ſaid Grumal, “Lochlin conquers on the field. Why ſtrive we
+ as reeds againſt the wind? Fly to the hill of dark-brown hinds.” He fled like the flag of Morven;
+ his ſpear is a trembling beam of light behind him. Few fled with Grumal, chief of the little ſoul
+ ; they fell in the battle of heroes, on Lena's
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+ ecchoing heath. High on his car, of many gems, the chief of Erin
+ ſtood. He ſlew a mighty ſon of Lochlin, and ſpoke, in haſte, to Connal. “O Connal, firſt of
+ mortal men, thou haſt taught this arm of death ! Though Erin's ſons have fled, ſhall we not fight
+ the foe? Carril, ſon of other times, carry my friends to that buſhy hill. Here, Connal, let us
+ ſtand, like rocks, and ſave our flying friends.”
+
Connal mounts the car of gems. They ſtretch their ſhields, like the darkened
+ moon, the daughter of the ſtarry ſkies, when ſhe moves, a dun circle, thro' heaven; and dreadful
+ change is expected by men. Sithfadda panted up the hill, and Sronnal haughty ſteed. Like waves
+ behind a whale behind them ruſhed the foe. Now on the riſing ſide of Cromla ſtood Erin's few ſad
+ ſons; . like a grove through which the flame had ruſhed, hurried on by the winds of the ſtormy
+ night; diſtant, withered, dark they ſtand, with not a leaf to ſhake in the gale.
+
Cuthullin ſtood beſide an oak. He rolled his red eye in ſilence, and heard
+ the wind in his buſhy hair ; the ſcout of ocean came, Moran the ſon of Fithil. “The ſhips,” he
+ cried,“the ſhips of the lonely iſles. Fingal comes the firſt of men, the breaker of the ſhields!
+ The waves foam before his black prows ! His maſts with
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+ ſails are like groves in clouds !” “Blow,” ſaid Cuthullin,
+ “blow ye winds that ruſh along my iſle of miſt. Come to the death of thouſands, O king of
+ reſounding Selma ! Thy ſails, my friend, are to me the clouds of the morning; thy ſhips the light
+ of heaven ; and thou thyſelf a pillar of fire that beams on the world by night. O Connal, firſt
+ of men, how pleaſing, in grief, are our friends! But the night is gathering around ! Where now
+ are the ſhips of Fingal ? Here let us paſs the hours of darkneſs; here wiſh for the moon of
+ heaven.”
+
The winds come down on the woods. The torrents ruſh from the rocks. Rain
+ gathers round the head of Cromla, The red ſtars tremble between the flying clouds. Sad, by the
+ ſide of a ſtream whoſe ſound is ecchoed by a tree, ſad by the ſide of a ſtream the chief of Erin
+ ſits. Connal ſon of Colgar is there, and Carril of other times. “Unhappy is the hand of
+ Cuthullin,” ſaid the ſon of Semo, “unhappy is the hand of Cuthullin, ſince he ſlew his friend !
+ Ferda, ſon of Damman, I loved thee as myſelf !”
+
“How, Cuthullin, ſon of Semo ! how fell the breaker of the ſhields? Well I
+ remember,” ſaid Connal, “the ſon of the noble Damman. Tall and fair he was like the rain-bow of
+
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+ heaven.” Ferda from Albion came, the chief of a hundred hills. In Muri'sDisplay note hall he learned the ſword, and won the friendſhip of Cuthullin. We moved to the chace
+ together : one was our bed in the heath !
+
Deugala was the ſpouſe of Cairbar, chief of the plains of Ullin. She was
+ covered with the light of beauty, but her heart was the houſe of pride. She loved that ſun-beam
+ of youth, the ſon of noble Damman. Cairbar, ſaid the whitearmed Deugala, give me half of the
+ herd. No more I will remain in your halls. Divide the herd, dark Cairbar! “Let Cuthullin,” ſaid
+ Cairbar, “divide my herd on the hill. His breaſt is the ſeat of juſtice, Depart, thou light of
+ beauty !” I went and divided the herd. One ſnow-white bull remained. I gave that bull to Cairbar.
+ The wrath of Deugala roſe !
+
“Son of Damman,” begun the fair, “Cuthullin hath pained my ſoul. I muſt hear
+ of his death, or Lubar's ſtream ſhall roll over me. My pale ghoſt ſhall wander near thee, and
+ mourn the wound of my pride. Pour out the blood of Cuthullin or pierce this heaving breaſt.”
+ “Deugala,” ſaid the fair-haired youth, “how ſhall I ſlay the ſon of Semo ? He is the friend of my
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+ ſecret thoughts. Shall I then lift the ſword ?” She wept
+ three days before the chief, on the fourth he ſaid he would fight. “I will fight my friend,
+ Deugala ! but may I fall by his ſword ! Could I wander on the hill alone ? Could I behold the
+ grave of Cuthullin ?” We fought on the plain of Muri. Our ſwords avoid a wound. They ſlide on the
+ helmets of ſteel ; or ſound on the ſlippery ſhields. Deugala was near with a ſmile, and ſaid to
+ the ſon of Damman : “Thine arm is feeble, ſun-beam of youth ! Thy years are not ſtrong for ſteel.
+ Yield to the ſon of Semo. He is a rock on Malmor.”
+
“The tear is in the eye of youth. He faultering ſaid to me: “Cuthullin,
+ raiſe thy boſſy ſhield. Defend thee from the hand of thy friend. My ſoul is laden with grief: for
+ I muſt ſlay the chief of men !” I ſighed as the wind in the cleft of a rock. I lifted high the
+ edge of my ſteel. The ſun-beam of battle fell : the firſt of Cuthullin's friends ! Unhappy is the
+ hand of Cuthullin ſince the hero fell !
+
“Mournful is thy tale, ſon of the car,” ſaid Carril of other times. “It
+ ſends my ſoul back to the ages of old, to the days of other years. Often have I heard of Comal,
+ who ſlew the friend he loved ; yet victory attended his ſteel: the battle was conſumed in his
+ preſence !
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+
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Comal was a ſon of Albion ; the chief of an hundred hills! His deer drunk of
+ a thouſand ſtreams. A thouſand rocks replied to the voice of his dogs. His face was the mildneſs
+ of youth. His hand the death of heroes. One was his love, and fair was ſhe ! the daughter of
+ mighty Conloch. She appeared like a ſun-beam among women. Her hair was the wing of the raven. Her
+ dogs were taught to the chace. Her bowſtring ſounded on the winds. Her ſoul was fixed on Comal.
+ Often met their eyes of love. Their courſe in the chace was one. Happy were their words in
+ ſecret. But Grumal loved the maid, the dark chief of the gloomy Ardven. He watched her lone ſteps
+ in the heath; the foe of unhappy Comal !
+
One day, tired of the chace, when the miſt had concealed their friends,
+ Comal and the daughter of Conloch met, in the cave of Ronan. It was the wonted haunt of Comal.
+ Its ſides were hung with his arms. A hundred ſhields of thongs were there; a hundred helms of
+ ſounding ſteel. “Reſt here,” he ſaid, “my love Galbina : thou light of the cave of Ronan! A deer
+ appears on Mora's brow. I go; but I will ſoon return.” “I fear,” ſhe ſaid, “dark Grumal my foe:
+ he haunts the cave of Ronan !
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+ I will reſt among the arms ; but ſoon return, my love !”
+
He went to the deer of Mora. The daughter of Conloch would try his love. She
+ cloathed her fair ſides with his armour ; ſhe ſtrode from the cave of Ronan! He thought it was
+ his foe. His heart beat high. His colour changed, and darkneſs dimmed his eyes. He drew the bow.
+ The arrow flew. Galbina fell in blood ! He run with wildneſs in his ſteps : he called the
+ daughter of Conloch. No anſwer in the lonely rock. Where art thou, O my love? He ſaw, at length,
+ her heaving heart, beating around the arrow he threw. “O Conloch's daughter, is it thou? He ſunk
+ upon her breaſt! The hunters ſound the hapleſs pair; he afterwards walked the hill. But many and
+ ſilent were his ſteps round the dark dwelling of his love. The fleet of the ocean came. He
+ fought, the ſtrangers fled. He ſearched for death along the field. But who could ſlay the mighty
+ Comhal ! He threw away his dark-brown ſhield. An arrow ſound his manly breaſt. He ſleeps with his
+ loved Galbina at the noiſe of the ſounding ſurge ! Their green tombs are ſeen by the mariner,
+ when he bounds on the waves of the north.
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Cuthullin, pleaſed with the ſtory of Carril, inſiſts with that bard for more of his ſongs. He
+ relates the actions of Fingal in Lochlin, and death of Agandecca the beautiful ſiſter of Swaran.
+ He had ſcarce finiſhed when Calmar the ſon of Matha, who had adviſed the firſt battle, came
+ wounded from the field, and told them of Swaran's deſign to ſurpriſe the remains of the Iriſh
+ army. He himſelf propoſes to withſtand ſingly the whole force of the enemy, in a narrow paſs,
+ till the Iriſh ſhould make good their retreat, Cuthullin, touched with the gallant propoſal of
+ Calmar, reſolves to accompany him, and orders Carril to carry off the few that remained of the
+ Iriſh. Morning comes, Calmar dies of his wounds ; and, the ſhips of the Caledonians appearing,
+ Swaran gives over the purſuit of the Iriſh, and returns to oppoſe Fingal's landing. Cuthullin
+ aſhamed, after his defeat, to appear before Fingal, retires to the cave of Tura. Fingal engages
+ the enemy, puts them to flight; but the coming on of night makes the victory not deciſive, The
+ King, who had obſerved the gallant behaviour of his grandſon Oſcar, gives him advices concerning
+ his conduct in peace and war. He recommends to him to place the example of his fathers before his
+ eyes, as the beſt model for his conduct ; which introduces the epiſode concerning Fainaſollis,
+ the daughter of the king of Craca, whom Fingal had taken under his protection, in his youth.
+ Fillan and Oſcar are diſpatched to obſerve the motions of the enemy by night ; Gaul the ſon of
+ Morni deſires the command of the army, in the next battle; which Fingal promiſes to give him.
+ Some general reflections of the poet cloſe the third day.
“Pleasant are the words of the ſong,” ſaid Cuthullin ! “lovely the tales of
+ other times! They are, like the calm dew of the morning on the hill of roes; when the ſun is
+ faint on its ſide, and the lake is ſettled and blue in the vale. O Carril, raiſe again thy voice
+ ; let me hear the ſong of Selma : which was ſung in my halls of joy, when Fingal king of ſhields
+ was there, and glowed at the deeds of his fathers.”
+
“Fingal! thou dweller of battle,” ſaid Carril, “early were thy deeds in
+ arms. Lochlin
+
+ [
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+ was conſumed in thy wrath, when thy youth ſtrove with the
+ beauty of maids. They ſmiled at the fair-blooming face of the hero; but death was in his hands.
+ He was ſtrong as the waters of Lora. His followers were the roar of a thouſand ſtreams. They took
+ the king of Lochlin in war; they reſtored him to his ſhips. His big heart ſwelled with pride ;
+ the death of the youth was dark in his ſoul. For none ever, but Fingal, had overcome the ſtrength
+ of the mighty StarnoDisplay note. He ſat in the hall of his ſhells in Lochlin's woody land. He called the grey-haired
+ Snivan, that often ſung round the circleDisplay note of Loda : when the ſtone of power heard his voice, and battle turned in the field of the
+ valiant!
+
“Go; grey-haired Snivan,” Starno ſaid, “go to Ardven's ſea-ſurrounded rocks.
+ Tell to the king of Selma; he the faireſt among his thouſands, tell him I give him my daughter,
+ the lovelieſt maid, that ever heaved a breaſt of ſnow. Her arms are white as the foam of my
+ waves. Her ſoul is generous and mild. Let him come with his braveſt heroes, to the daughter of
+ the
+
+ [
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+ ſecret hall!” Snivan came to Selma's hall : Fair-haired
+ Fingal attended his ſteps. His kindled ſoul flew to the maid, as he bounded on the waves of the
+ north. “Welcome,” ſaid the dark-brown Starno, “welcome, king of rocky Morven : Welcome his heroes
+ of might ; ſons of the diftant iſle! Three days within my halls ſhall ye feaſt; three days purſue
+ my boars; that your fame may reach the maid who dwells in the ſecret hall.”
+
Starno deſigned their death. He gave the feaſt of ſhells. Fingal, who
+ doubted the foe, kept on his arms of ſteel. The ſons of death were afraid : They fled from the
+ eyes of the king. The voice of ſprightly mirth aroſe. The trembling harps of joy were ſtrung.
+ Bards ſung the battle of heroes: They ſung the heaving breaſt of love. Ullin, Fingal's bard, was
+ there : the ſweet voice of reſounding Cona. He praiſed the daughter of Lochlin; and Morven'sDisplay note high-deſcended chief. The daughter of Lochlin overheard. She left the hall of her ſecret
+ ſigh ! She came in all her beauty, like the moon from the cloud of the eaſt. Lovelineſs was
+ around her as light. Her ſteps were the muſic of ſongs. She
+
+ [
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+ ſaw the youth and loved him. He was the ſtolen ſigh of her
+ ſoul. Her blue eye rolled on him in ſecret : ſhe bleſt the chief of reſounding Morven.
+
The third day with all its beams, ſhone bright on the wood of boars. Forth
+ moved the dark-browed Starno; and Fingal, king of ſhields. Half the day they ſpent in the chace ;
+ the ſpear of Selma was red in blood. It was then the daughter of Starno, with blue eyes rolling
+ in tears; it was then ſhe came with her voice of love and ſpoke to the king of Norven. “Fingal,
+ high deſcended chief, truſt not Starno's heart of pride. Within that wood he has placed his
+ chiefs. Beware of the wood of death. But, remember, ſon of the iſle, remember Agandecca : ſave me
+ from the wrath of my father, king of the windy Morven !”
+
The youth, with unconcern, went on ; his heroes by his ſide. The ſons of
+ death fell by his hand; and Gormal ecchoed around ! Before the halls of Starno the ſons of the
+ chace convened. The king's dark brows were like clouds. His eyes like meteors of night. “Bring
+ hither,” he ſaid, “Agandecca to her lovely king of Morven ! His hand is ſtained with the blood of
+ my people ; her words have not been in vain !” She came with the red eye of tears. She came
+
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+ with looſely flowing locks. Her white breaſt heaved with
+ broken ſighs, like the foam of the ſtreamy Lubar. Starno pierced her ſide with ſteel. She fell,
+ like a wreath of ſnow, which ſlides from the rocks of Ronan ; when the woods are ſtill, and eccho
+ deepens in the vale ! Then Fingal eyed his valiant chiefs, his valiant Chiefs took arms. The
+ gloom of battle roared ; Lochlin fled or died. Pale, in his bounding ſhip he cloſed the maid of
+ the ſofteſt ſoul. Her tomb aſcends on Ardven; the ſea roars round her narrow dwelling.
+
“Blessed be her ſoul,” ſaid Cuthullin ; “bleſſed be the mouth of the ſong!
+ Strong was the youth of Fingal; ſtrong is his arm of age. Lochlin ſhall fall again before the
+ king of ecchoing Morven. Shew thy face from a cloud, O moon; light his white ſails on the wave:
+ And if any ſtrong ſpiritDisplay note of heaven ſits on that low-hung cloud; turn his dark ſhips from the rock, thou rider of
+ the ſtorm !
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+
+
Such were the words of Cuthullin at the ſound of the mountain-ſtream ; when
+ Calmar aſcended the hill, the wounded ſon of Matha. From the field he came in his blood. He
+ leaned on his bending ſpear. Feeble is the arm of battle ! but ſtrong the ſoul of the hero
+ “Welcome! O ſon of Matha,” ſaid Connal, “welcome art thou to thy friends ! Why burſts that broken
+ ſigh, from the breaſt of him who never feared before? And never, Connal, will he fear, chief of
+ the pointed ſteel! My ſoul brightens in danger: in the noiſe of arms. I am of the race of battle.
+ My fathers never feared.”
+
“Cormar was the firſt of my race. He ſported through the ſtorms of waves.
+ His black ſkiff bounded on ocean; he travelled on the wings of the wind. A ſpirit once embroiled
+ the night. Seas ſwell and rocks reſound. Winds drive along the clouds. The lightning flies on
+ wings of fire. He feared and came to land: then bluſhed that he feared at all. He ruſhed again
+ among the waves to find the ſon of the wind. Three youths guide the bounding bark ; he ſtood with
+ ſword unſheathed. When the low-hung vapour paſſed, he took it by the curling head. He ſearched
+ its dark womb with
+
+ [
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+ his ſteel. The ſon of the wind forſook the air. The moon and
+ ſtars returned ! Such was the boldneſs of my race. Calmar is like his fathers. Danger flies from
+ the lifted ſword. They beſt ſucceed who dare !”
+
But now, ye ſons of green Erin, retire from Lena's bloody heath. Collect the
+ ſad remnant of our friends, and join the ſword of Fingal. I heard the ſound of Lochlin's
+ advancing arms ! Calmar will remain and fight. My voice ſhall be ſuch, my friends, as if
+ thouſands were behind me. But, ſon of Semo, remember me. Remember Calmar's lifeleſs corſe. When
+ Fingal ſhall have waſted the field, place me by ſome ſtone of remembrance, that future times may
+ hear my fame ; that the mother of Calmar may rejoice in my renown.”
+
“No: ſon of Matha,” ſaid Cuthullin, “I will never leave thee here. My joy is
+ in unequal fight: my ſoul increaſes in danger. Connal, and Carril of other times, carry off the
+ ſad ſons of Erin. When the battle is over, ſearch for us in this narrow way. For near this oak we
+ ſhall fall, in the ſtream of the battle of thouſands !” O Fithil's ſon, with flying ſpeed ruſh
+ over the heath of Lena. Tell to Fingal that Erin is fallen. Bid the king of Morven come. O let
+
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+ him come, like the ſun in a ſtorm, to lighten, to reſtore the
+ iſle !
+
Morning is grey on Cromla. The ſons of the ſea aſcend. Calmar ſtood forth to
+ meet them in the pride of his kindling ſoul. But pale was the face of the chief. He leaned on his
+ father's ſpear. That ſpear which he brought from Lara, when the ſoul of his mother was ſad ; the
+ ſoul of the lonely Alcletha, waining in the ſorrow of years. But ſlowly now the hero falls, like
+ a tree on the plain. Dark Cuthullin ſtands alone like a rock in a ſandy vale. The ſea comes with
+ its waves, and roars on its hardened ſides. Its head is covered with foam ; the hills are
+ ecchoing around.
+
Now from the grey miſt of the ocean, the white-ſailed ſhips of Fingal
+ appear. High is the grove of their maſts, as they nod, by turns, on the rolling wave. Swaran ſaw
+ them from the hill. He returned from the ſons of Erin. As ebbs the reſounding ſea, through the
+ hundred iſles of Iniſtore; ſo loud, ſo vaſt, ſo immenſe returned the ſons of Lochlin againſt the
+ king. But bending, weeping, ſad, and ſlow, and dragging his long ſpear behind, Cuthullin ſunk in
+ Cromla's wood, and mourned his fallen friends. He feared the face of Fingal, who was wont to
+ greet him from the fields of renown !
+
+ [
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+ “How many lie there of my heroes! the
+ chiefs of Erin's race! they that were chearful in the hall, when the ſound of the ſhells aroſe !
+ No more ſhall I find their ſteps in the heath. No more ſhall I hear their voice in the chace.
+ Pale, ſilent, low on bloody beds, are they who were my friends! O ſpirits of the lately dead,
+ meet Cuthullin on his heath. Speak to him on the wind, when the ruſtling tree of Tura's cave
+ reſounds. There, far remote, I ſhall lie unknown. No bard ſhall hear of me. No grey tone ſhall
+ riſe to my renown. Mourn me with the dead, O Bragela ! departed is my fame.” Such were the words
+ of Cuthullin, when he ſunk in the woods of Cromla !
+
Fingal, tall in his ſhip, ſtretched his bright lance before him. Terrible
+ was the gleam of the ſteel : it was like the green meteor of death, ſetting in the heath of
+ Malmor, when the traveller is alone, and the broad moon is darkened in heaven.
+
“The battle is paſt,” ſaid the king, “I behold the blood of my friends. Sad
+ is the heath of Lena! mournful the oaks of Cromla. The hunters have fallen in their ſtrength :
+ the ſon of Semo is no more. Ryno and Fillan, my ſons, ſound the horn of Fingal. Aſcend that hill
+ on the ſhore; call the children of the foe.
+
+ [
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+ Call them from the grave of Lamdarg, the chief of other
+ times. Be your voice like that of your father, when he enters the battles of his ſtrength. I wait
+ for the mighty ſtranger. I wait on Lena's ſhore for Swaran. Let him come with all his race;
+ ſtrong in battle are the friends of the dead !”
+
Fair Ryno as lightning gleamed along : Dark Fillan ruſhed like the ſhade of
+ autumn. On Lena's heath their voice is heard. The ſons of ocean heard the horn of Fingal. As the
+ roaring eddy of ocean returning from the kingdom of ſnows; ſo ſtrong, ſo dark, ſo ſudden came
+ down the ſons of Lochlin. The king in their front appears, in the diſmal pride of his arms !
+ Wrath burns on his dark-brown face : his eyes roll in the fire of his valour. Fingal beheld the
+ ſon of Starno: he remembered Agandecca. For Swaran with the tears of youth had mourned his
+ white-boſomed ſiſter. He ſent Ullin of ſongs to bid him to the feaſt of ſhells : For pleaſant on
+ Fingal's ſoul returned the memory of the firſt of his loves !
+
Ullin came with aged ſteps, and ſpoke to Starno's ſon. “O thou that dwelleſt
+ afar, ſurrounded, like a rock, with thy waves ! come to the feaſt of the King, and paſs the day
+ in reſt. To-morrow let us fight, O Swaran, and break
+
+ [
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+ the ecchoing ſhields.” “To-day,” ſaid Starno's wrathful ſon,
+ “we break the ecchoing ſhields: to-morrow my feaſt ſhall be ſpread ; but Fingal ſhall lie on
+ earth,” “To-morrow let his feaſt be ſpread,” ſaid Fingal with a ſmile. “To-day, O my ſons, we
+ ſhall break the ecchoing ſhields. Oſſian, ſtand thou near my arm. Gaul, lift thy terrible ſword.
+ Fergus, bend thy crooked yew. Throw, Fillan, thy lance through heaven. Lift your ſhields, like
+ the darkened moon. Be your ſpears the meteors of death. Follow me in the path of my fame. Equal
+ my deeds in battle.”
+
As a hundred winds on Morven; as the ſtreams of a hundred hills; as clouds
+ fly ſucceſſive over heaven; as the dark ocean aſſails the ſhore of the deſart: ſo roaring, ſo
+ vaſt, ſo terrible the armies mixed on Lena's ecchoing heath. The groan of the people ſpread over
+ the hills: it was like the thunder of night, when the cloud burſts on Cona ; and a thouſand
+ ghoſts ſhriek at once on the hollow wind. Fingal ruſhed on in his ſtrength, terrible as the
+ ſpirit of Trenmor; when, in a whirlwind, he comes to Morven, to ſee the children of his pride.
+ The oaks reſound on their mountains, and the rocks fall down before him. Dimly ſeen, as
+
+
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+ lightens the night, he ſtrides largely from hill to hill.
+ Bloody was the hand of my father, when he whirled the gleam of his ſword. He remembers the
+ battles of his youth. The field is waſted in his courſe !
+
Ryno went on like a pillar of fire. Dark is the brow of Gaul. Fergus ruſhed
+ forward with feet of wind. Fillan like the miſt of the hill. Oſſian, like a rock, came down. I
+ exulted in the ſtrength of the king. Many were the deaths of my arm ! diſmal the gleam of my
+ ſword! My locks were not then ſo grey ; nor trembled my hands with age. My eyes were not cloſed
+ in darkneſs; my feet failed not in the race !
+
Who can relate the deaths of the people ? Who the deeds of mighty heroes ?
+ when Fingal, burning in his wrath, conſumed the ſons of Lochlin? groans ſwelled on groans from
+ hill to hill, till night had covered all. Pale, ſtaring like a herd of deer, the ſons of Lochlin
+ convene on Lena. We ſat and heard the ſprightly harp, at Lubar's gentle ſtream. Fingal himſelf
+ was next to the foe. He liſtened to the tales of his bards. His godlike race were in the ſong,
+ the chiefs of other times. Attentive, leaning on his ſhield, the king of Morven ſat. The wind
+ whiſtled through his locks; his thoughts are of
+
+ [
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+ the days of other years. Near him on his bending ſpear, my
+ young, my valiant Oſcar ſtood. He admired the king of Morven: his deeds were ſwelling in his
+ ſoul!
+
“Son of my ſon,” begun the king, “O Oſcar, pride of youth ! I ſaw the
+ ſhining of thy ſword. I gloried in my race. Purſue the fame of our fathers; be thou what they
+ have been, when Trenmor lived, the firſt of men, and Trathal the father of heroes! They fought
+ the battle in their youth. They are the ſong of bards. O Oſcar ! bend the ſtrong in arm : but
+ ſpare the feeble hand. Be thou a ſtream of many tides againſt the foes of thy people ; but like
+ the gale, that moves the graſs, to thoſe who aſk thine aid. So Trenmor lived; ſuch Trathal was ;
+ and ſuch has Fingal been. My arm was the ſupport of the injured ; the weak reſted behind the
+ lightning of my ſteel.”
+
“Oscar! I was young like thee, when lovely Fainaſóllis came : that ſun-beam!
+ that mild light of love! the daughter of Craca'sDisplay note king! I then returned from Cona's heath, and
+
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+
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+ few were in my train: A white-ſailed boat appeared far off;
+ we ſaw it like a miſt, that rode on ocean's wind. It ſoon approached. We ſaw the fair. Her white
+ breaſt heaved with ſighs, The wind was in her looſe dark hair : her roſy cheek had tears.
+ “Daughter of beauty,” calm I ſaid, “what ſigh is in thy breaſt? Can I, young as I am, defend
+ thee, daughter of the ſea? My ſword is not unmatched in war, but dauntleſs is my heart.”
+
“To thee I fly,” with ſighs ſhe ſaid, “O prince of mighty men! To thee I
+ fly, chief of the generous ſhells, ſupporter of the feeble hand ! The king of Craca's ecchoing
+ iſle owned me the ſunbeam of his race. Cromala's hills have heard the ſighs of love for unhappy
+ Fainaſóllis ! Sora's chief beheld me fair; he loved the daughter of Craca. His ſword is a beam of
+ light upon the warrior's ſide. But dark is his brow ; and tempeſts are in his ſoul. I ſhun him,
+ on the roaring ſea ; but Sora's chief purſues.”
+
“Rest thou,” I ſaid, “behind my ſhield; reſt in peace, thou beam of light!
+ The gloomy chief of Sora will fly, if Fingal's arm is like his ſoul. In ſome lone cave I might
+ conceal thee, daughter of the ſea! But Fingal never flies. Where the danger threatens, I rejoice
+ in the ſtorm of ſpears.” I ſaw the tears upon her
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ cheek. I pitied Craca's fair. Now, like a dreadful wave
+ afar, appeared the ſhip of ſtormy Borbar. His maſts high-bended over the ſea behind their ſheets
+ of ſnow. White roll the waters on either ſide. The ſtrength of ocean ſounds. “Come thou,” I ſaid,
+ “from the roar of ocean, thou rider of the ſtorm ! Partake the feaſt within my hall. It is the
+ houſe of ſtrangers.”
+
The maid ſtood trembling by my ſide. He drew the bow. She fell. “Unerring is
+ thy hand,” I ſaid, “but feeble was the foe!” We fought, nor weak the ſtrife of death! He ſank
+ beneath my ſword. We laid them in two tombs of ſtone; the hapleſs lovers of youth! Such have I
+ been in my youth, O Oſcar; be thou like the age of Fingal. Never ſearch thou for battle ; nor
+ ſhun it when it comes.
+
“Fillan and Oſcar of the dark-brown hair ! ye, that are ſwift in the race !
+ fly over the heath in my preſence. View the ſons of Lochlin. Far off I hear the noiſe of their
+ fear, like diſtant ſounds in woods. Go: that they may not fly from my ſword, along the waves of
+ the north. For many chiefs of Erin's race, lie here on the dark bed of death. The children of war
+ are low ; the ſons of ecchoing Cromla.”
+
+ [
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+
+
The heroes flew like two dark clouds: two dark clouds that are the chariots
+ of ghoſts; when air's dark children come forth to frighten hapleſs men. It was then that GaulDisplay note, the ſon of Morni, ſtood like a rock in night. His ſpear is glittering to the ſtars; his
+ voice like many ſtreams.
+
“Son of battle,” cried the chief, “O Fingal, king of ſhells! let the bards
+ of many ſongs ſooth Erin's friends to reſt. Fingal, ſheath thou thy ſword of death; and let thy
+ people fight, We wither away without our fame ; our king is the only breaker of ſhields! When
+ morning riſes on our hills, behold, at a diſtance, our deeds. Let Lochlin feel the ſword of
+ Morni's ſon ; that bards may ſing of me. Such was the cuſtom heretofore of Fingal's noble race.
+ Such was thine own, thou king of ſwords, in battles of the ſpear.”
+
“O son of Morni,” Fingal replied, “I glory in thy fame. Fight; but my ſpear
+ ſhall
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ be near, to aid thee in the midſt of danger. Raiſe, raiſe
+ the voice, ye ſons of ſong, and lull me into reſt. Here will Fingal lie, amidſt the wind of
+ night. And if thou, Agandecca, art near, among the children of thy land ; if thou ſitteſt on a
+ blaſt of wind, among the high-ſhrowded maſts of Lochlin; come to my dreamsDisplay note, my fair one. Shew thy bright face to my ſoul.”
+
Many a voice and many a harp, in tuneful ſounds aroſe. Of Fingal's noble
+ deeds they ſung ; of Fingal's noble race: And ſometimes, on the lovely ſound, was heard the name
+ of Oſſian. I often fought, and often won, in battles of the ſpear. But blind, and tearful, and
+ forlorn I walk with little men! O Fingal, with thy race of war I now behold thee not! The wild
+ roes feed on the green tomb of the mighty king of Morven! Bleſt be thy ſoul, thou king of ſwords,
+ thou moſt renowned on the hills of Cona !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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The action of the poem being ſuſpended by night, Oſſian takes that opportunity to relate his
+ own actions at the lake of Lego, and his courtſhip of Evirallin, who was the mother of Oſcar, and
+ had died ſome time before the expedition of Fingal into Ireland. Her ghoſt appears to him, and
+ tells him that Oſcar, who had been ſent, the beginning of the night, to obſerve the enemy, was
+ engaged with an advanced party, and almoſt overpowered. Oſſian relieves his ſon; and an alarm is
+ given to Fingal of the approach of Swaran. The king riſes, calls his army together, and, as he
+ had promiſed the preceding night, devolves the command on Gaul the ſon of Morni, while he
+ himſelf, after charging his ſons to behave gallantly and defend his people, retires to a hill,
+ from whence he could have a view of the battle. The battle joins; the poet relates Oſcar's great
+ actions. But when Oſcar, in conjunction with his father, conquered in one wing, Gaul, who was
+ attacked by Swaran in perſon, was on the point of retreating in the other. Fingal ſends Ullin his
+ bard to encourage him with a war ſong, but notwithſtanding Swaran prevails; and Gaul and his army
+ are obliged to give way. Fingal, deſcending from the hill, rallies them again: Swaran deſiſts
+ from the purſuit, poſſeſſes himſelf of a riſing ground, reſtores the ranks, and waits the
+ approach of Fingal. The king, having encouraged his men, gives the neceſſary orders, and renews
+ the battle. Cuthullin, who, with his friend Connal, and Carril his bard, had retired to the cave
+ of Tura, hearing the noiſe, came to the brow of the hill, which overlooked the field of battle,
+ where he ſaw Fingal engaged with the enemy. He, being hindered by Connal from joining Fingal, who
+ was himſelf upon the point of obtaining a complete victory, ſends Carril to congratulate that
+ hero on his ſucceſs.
FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS, BOOK IV.
+
Display noteWho comes with her ſongs from the hill, like the bow of the ſhowery
+ Lena? It is the maid of the voice of love ! The white-armed daughter of Toſcar ! Often haſt thou
+ heard my ſong; often given the tear of beauty. Doſt thou come to the wars of thy people? to hear
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+ the actions of Oſcar ? When ſhall I ceaſe to mourn, by the
+ ſtreams of reſounding Cona ? My years have paſſed away in battle. My age is darkened with
+ grief!
+
“Daughter of the hand of ſnow! I was not ſo mournful and blind. I was not ſo
+ dark and forlorn, when Everallin loved me ! Everallin with the dark-brown hair, the white-boſomed
+ daughter of Branno! A thouſand heroes ſought the maid, ſhe refuſed her love to a thouſand. The
+ ſons of the ſword were deſpiſed : for graceful in her eyes was Oſſian! I went, in ſuit of the
+ maid, to Lego's ſable ſurge. Twelve of my people were there, the ſons of ſtreamy Morven ! We came
+ to Branno, friend of ſtrangers! Branno of the ſounding mail! “From whence,” he ſaid, “are the
+ arms of ſteel? Not eaſy to win is the maid, who has denied the blue-eyed ſons of Erin ! But bleſt
+ be thou, O ſon of Fingal! Happy is the maid that waits thee! Tho' twelve daughters of beauty were
+ mine, thine were the choice, thou ſon of fame !”
+
He opened the hall of the maid, the dark-haired Everallin. Joy kindled in
+ our manly breaſts. We bleſt the maid of Branno. “Above us on the hill appeared the people of
+ ſtately Cormac. Eight were the heroes of the chief. The heath flamed wide with their arms. There
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+ Colla ; there Durra of wounds, there mighty Toſcar, and Tago,
+ there Freſtal the victorious ſtood ; Dairo of the happy deeds: Dala the battle's bulwark in the
+ narrow way ! The ſword flamed in the hand of Cormac. Graceful was the look of the hero! Eight
+ were the heroes of Oſſian. Ullin ſtormy ſon of-war. Mullo of the generous deeds. The noble, the
+ graceful Scelacha, Oglan, and Cerdal the wrathful. Dumariccan's brows of death! And why ſhould
+ Ogar be the laſt; ſo wide renowned on the hills of Ardven ?”
+
“Ogar met Dala the ſtrong, face to face, on the field of heroes. The battle
+ of the chiefs was, like wind, on ocean's foamy waves. The dagger is remembered by Ogar ; the
+ weapon which he loved. Nine times he drowned it in Dela's ſide. The ſtormy battle turned. Three
+ times I broke on Cormac's ſhield : three times he broke his ſpear. But, unhappy youth of love! I
+ cut his head away. Five times I ſhook it by the lock. The friends of Cormac fled. Whoever would
+ have told me, lovely maid, when then I ſtrove in battle; that blind, forſaken, and forlorn I now
+ ſhould paſs the night; firm ought his mail to have been; unmatched his arm in war !”
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OnDisplay note Lena's gloomy heath, the voice of muſic died away. The unconſtant blaſt blew hard. The
+ high oak ſhook its leaves around. Of Everallin were my thoughts, when in all the light of beauty
+ ſhe came. Her blue eyes rolling in tears. She ſtood on a cloud before my ſight, and ſpoke with
+ feeble voice ! “Riſe, Oſſian, riſe and ſave my ſon; ſave Oſcar prince of men. Near the red oak of
+ Luba's ſtream, he fights with Lochlin's ſons.” She ſunk into her cloud again, I covered me with
+ ſteel. My ſpear ſupported my ſteps; my rattling armour rung. I hummed, as I was wont in danger,
+ the ſongs of heroes of old. Like diſtant thunder Lochlin heard. They fled ; my ſon purſued.”
+
“I called him like a diſtant ſtream. Oſcar return over Lena. “No further
+ purſue the foe,” I ſaid, “though Oſſian is behind thee.” He came ; and pleaſant to my ear was
+ Oſcar's ſounding ſteel. “Why didſt thou ſtop my hand,” he ſaid, “till death had covered all ? For
+ dark and dreadful by the ſtream they met
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+ thy ſon and Fillan ! They watched the terrors of the night.
+ Our ſwords have conquered ſome. But as the winds of night pour the ocean, over the white ſands of
+ Mora, ſo dark advance the ſons of Lochlin, over Lena's ruſtling heath ! The ghoſts of night
+ ſhriek afar: I have ſeen the meteors of death. Let me awake the king of Morven, he that ſmiles in
+ danger ! He that is like the ſun of heaven, riſing in a ſtorm !”
+
Fingal had ſtarted from a dream, and leaned on Trenmor's ſhield ; the
+ dark-brown ſhield of his fathers ; which they had lifted of old in war. The hero had ſeen, in his
+ reſt, the mournful form of Agandecca. She came from the way of the ocean. She ſlowly, lonely,
+ moved over Lena. Her face was pale like the miſt of Cromla. Dark were the tears of her cheek. She
+ often raiſed her dim hand from her robe: her robe which was of the clouds of the deſart: ſhe
+ raiſed her dim hand over Fingal, and turned away her ſilent eyes! “Why weeps the daughter of
+ Starno ?” ſaid Fingal, with a ſigh; “why is thy face ſo pale, fair wanderer of the clouds ?” She
+ departed: on the wind of Lena. She left him in the midſt of the night. She mourned the ſons of
+ her people, that were to fall by the hand of Fingal.
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+ The hero ſtarted from reſt. Still he beheld
+ her in his ſoul. The ſound of Oſcar's ſteps approached. The king ſaw the grey ſhield on his ſide
+ : For the faint beam of the morning came over the waters of Ullin. “What do the foes in their
+ fear ?” ſaid the riſing king of Morven ; “or fly they through ocean's foam, or wait they the
+ battle of ſteel? But why ſhould Fingal aſk ? I hear their voice on the early wind ! Fly over
+ Lena's heath : O Oſcar, awake our friends !”
+
The king ſtood by the ſtone of Lubar. Thrice he reared his terrible voice.
+ The deer ſtarted from the fountains of Cromla. The rocks ſhook on all their hills. Like the noiſe
+ of a hundred mountain-ſtreams, that burſt, and roar, and foam ! like the clouds, that gather to a
+ tempeſt on the blue face of the ſky ! ſo met the ſons of the deſart, round the terrible voice of
+ Fingal. Pleaſant was the voice of the king of Morven to the warriors of his land. Often had he
+ led them to battle ; often returned with the ſpoils of the foe !
+
“Come to battle,” ſaid the king, “ye children of ecchoing Selma ! Come to
+ the death of thouſands. Comhal's ſon will ſee the fight. My ſword ſhall wave on the hill the
+ defence of my people in war. But never may you need it,
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+ warriors : while the ſon of Morni fights, the chief of mighty
+ men ! He ſhall lead my battle; that his fame may riſe in ſong! O ye ghoſts of heroes dead ! ye
+ riders of the ſtorm of Cromla ! receive my falling people with joy, and bear them to four hills.
+ And may the blaſt of Lena carry them over my ſeas, that they may come to my ſilent dreams, and
+ delight my ſoul in reſt! Fillan and Oſcar, of the dark-brown hair ! fair Ryno, with the pointed
+ ſteel! advance with valour to the fight. Behold the ſon of Morni ! Let your ſwords be like his in
+ ſtrife ; behold the deeds of his hands. Protect the friends of your father. Remember the chiefs
+ of old. My children, I will ſee you yet, though here ye ſhould fall in Erin. Soon ſhall our cold,
+ pale ghoſts meet in a cloud on Cona's eddying winds.”
+
Now like a dark and ſtormy cloud, edged round with the red lightning of
+ heaven ; flying weſtward from the morning's beam, the king of Selma removed. Terrible is the
+ light of his armour ; two ſpears are in his hand. His grey hair falls on the wind. He often looks
+ back on the war. Three bards attend the ſon of fame, to bear his words to the chiefs. High on
+ Cromla's ſide he ſat, waving the lightning of his ſword, and as he waved we moved.
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Joy riſes in Oſcar's face. His cheek is red. His eye ſheds tears. The ſword
+ is a beam of fire in his hand. He came, and ſmiling, ſpoke to Oſſian. “O ruler of the ſight of
+ ſteel! my father, hear thy ſon! Retire with Morven's mighty chief. Give me the fame of Oſſian. If
+ here I fall : O chief, remember that breaſt of ſnow, the lonely ſun-beam of my love, the
+ white-handed daughter of Toſcar ! For, with red cheek from the rock, bending over the ſtream, her
+ ſoft hair flies about her boſom, as ſhe pours the ſigh for Oſcar. Tell her I am on my hills, a
+ lightly-bounding ſon of the wind; tell her, that in a cloud, I may meet the lovely maid of
+ Toſcar.” Raiſe, Oſcar, rather raiſe my tomb. I will not yield the war to thee. The firſt and
+ bloodieſt in the ſtrife, my arm ſhall teach thee how to fight. But, remember, my ſon, to place
+ this ſword, this bow, the horn of my deer, within that dark and narrow houſe, whoſe mark is one
+ grey ſtone ! Oſcar, I have no love to leave to the care of my ſon. Evirallin is no more, the
+ lovely daughter of Branno !
+
Such were our words, when Gaul's loud voice came growing on the wind. He
+ waved on high the ſword of his father. We ruſhed to death and wounds. As waves, white-bubbling
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+ over the deep, come ſwelling, roaring on; as rocks of ooze
+ meet roaring waves : ſo foes attacked and fought. Man met with man, and ſteel with ſteel. Shields
+ ſound, and warriors fall. As a hundred hammers on the red ſon of the furnace, ſo roſe, ſo rung
+ their ſwords !
+
Gaul ruſhed on, like a whirlwind in Ardven. The deſtruction of heroes is on
+ his ſword. Swaran was like the fire of the deſart in the ecchoing heath of Gormal! How can I give
+ to the ſong the death of many ſpears? My ſword roſe high, and flamed in the ſtrife of blood.
+ Oſcar, terrible wert thou, my beſt, my greateſt ſon! I rejoiced in my ſecret ſoul, when his ſword
+ flamed over the ſlain. They fled amain through Lena's heath. We purſued and ſlew. As ſtones that
+ bound from rock to rock ; as axes in ecchoing woods ; as thunder ro!ls from hill to hill, in
+ diſmal broken peals; ſo blow ſucceeded to blow, and death to death, from the hand of Oſcar and
+ mine.
+
But Swaran cloſed round Morni's ſon, as the ſtrength of the tide of
+ Iniſtore. The king half-roſe from his hill at the ſight. He half-aſſumed the ſpear. “Go, Ullin,
+ go, my aged bard,” begun the king of Morven. “Remind the mighty Gaul of war. Remind him of his
+ fathers. Support the yielding fight with ſong;
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+ for ſong enlivens war.” Tall Ullin went, with ſtep of age, and
+ ſpoke to the king of ſwords. “SonDisplay note of the chief of generous ſteeds ! high-bounding king of ſpears. Strong arm in every
+ perilous toil. Hard heart that never yields. Chief of the pointed arms of death. Cut down the
+ foe; let no white ſail bound round dark Iniſtore. Be thine arm like thunder. Thine eyes like
+ fire, thy heart of ſolid rock. Whirl round thy ſword as a meteor at night; lift thy ſhield like
+ the flame of death. Son of the chief of generous ſteeds, cut down the foe. Deſtroy !” The hero's
+ heart beat high. But Swaran came with battle. He cleft the ſhield of Gaul in twain. The ſons of
+ Selma fled.
+
Fingal at once aroſe in arms. Thrice he reared his dreadful voice. Cromla
+ anſwered around. The ſons of the deſart ſtood ſtill. They bent their bluſhing faces to earth,
+ aſhamed at the preſence of the king. He came, like a cloud of rain in the day of the ſun, when
+ ſlow it rolls on the hill, and fields expect the ſhower. Silence attends its ſlow progreſs aloft
+ ; but the tempeſt is ſoon to ariſe. Swaran beheld the
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+ terrible king of Morven. He ſtopped in the midſt of his
+ courſe. Dark he leaned on his ſpear, rolling his red eyes around. Silent and tall he ſeemed as an
+ oak on the banks of Lubar, which had its branches blaſted of old by the lightning of heaven. It
+ bends over the ſtream : the grey moſs whiſtles in the wind: ſo ſtood the king. Then ſlowly he
+ retired to the riſing heath of Lena. His thouſands pour around the hero. Darkneſs gathers on the
+ hill !
+
Fingal, like a beam from heaven, ſhone in the midſt of his people. His
+ heroes gather around him. He ſends forth the voice of his power. “Raiſe my ſtandards on high ;
+ ſpread them on Lena's wind, like the flames of an hundred hills! Let them ſound on the winds of
+ Erin, and remind us of the fight. Ye ſons of the roaring ſtreams, that pour from a thouſand
+ hills, be near the king of Morven ! attend to the words of his power ! Gaul ſtrongeſt arm of
+ death ! O Oſcar, of the future fights! Connal, ſon of the blue ſhields of Sora ! Dermid of the
+ dark-brown hair ! Oſſian king of many ſongs, be near your father's arm !” We reared the ſunbeamDisplay note of battle; the ſtandard of the king!
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+ Each hero exulted with joy, as, waving, it flew on the wind. It
+ was ſtudded with gold above, as the blue wide ſhell of the nightly ſky. Each hero had his
+ ſtandard too; and each his gloomy men !
+
“Behold,” ſaid the king of generous ſhells, “how Lochlin divides on Lena!
+ They ſtand like broken clouds on a hill; or an half conſumed grove of oaks; when we ſee the ſky
+ through its branches, and the meteor paſſing behind ! Let every chief among the friends of Fingal
+ take a dark troop of thoſe that frown ſo high: Nor let a ſon of the ecchoing groves, bound on the
+ waves of Iniſtore !
+
“Mine,” ſaid Gaul, “be the ſeven chiefs, that came from Lano's lake.” “Let
+ Iniſtore's dark king,” ſaid Oſcar, “come to the ſword of Oſſian's ſon. To mine the king of
+ Iniſcon,” ſaid Connal, “heart of ſteel!” “Or Mudan's chief or I,” ſaid brown-haired Dermid,
+ “ſhall ſleep on clay-cold earth,” “My choice, though now ſo weak and dark, was Terman's battling
+ king; I promiſed with my hand to win the hero's dark-brown ſhield.” “Bleſt and victorious be my
+ chiefs,” ſaid Fingal of the mildeſt look. “Swaran, king of roaring waves, thou art the choice of
+ Fingal !”
+
Now, like an hundred different winds, that pour through many vales; divided,
+ dark the
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+ ſons of Selma advanced, Cromla ecchoed around! How can I
+ relate the deaths, when we cloſed in the ſtrife of arms! O daughter of Toſcar ! bloody were our
+ hands! The gloomy ranks of Lochlin fell, like the banks of the roaring Cona! Our arms were
+ victorious on Lena : each chief fulfilled his promiſe ! Beſide the murmur of Branno thou didſt
+ often ſit, O maid ! thy white boſom roſe frequent, like the down of the ſwan when ſlow ſhe ſwims
+ on the lake, and ſidelong winds blow on her ruffled wing. Thou haſt ſeen the ſun retire, red and
+ ſlow behind his cloud : night gathering round on the mountain, while the unfrequent blaſt roared
+ in the narrow vales. At length the rain beats hard: thunder rolls in peals. Lightning glances on
+ the rocks! Spirits ride on beams of fire ! The ſtrength of the mountain-ſtreams comes roaring
+ down the hills. Such was the noiſe of battle, maid of the arms of ſnow ! Why, daughter of Toſcar,
+ why that tear? The maids of Lochlin have cauſe to weep ! The people of their country fell. Bloody
+ were the blue ſwords of the race of my heroes ! But I am ſad, forlorn, and blind: no more the
+ companion of heroes. Give, lovely maid, to me thy tears. I have ſeen the tombs of all my friends
+ !
It was then, by Fingal's hand, a hero fell, to his grief! Grey-haired he
+ rolled in the duſt. He lifted his faint eyes to the king : “And is it by me thou haſt fallen,”
+ ſaid the ſon of Comhal, “thou friend of Agandecca ! I have ſeen thy tears for the maid of my love
+ in the halls of the bloody Starno ! Thou haſt been the foe of the foes of my love, and haſt thou
+ fallen by my hand? Raiſe, Ullin, raiſe the grave of Mathon; and give his name to Agandecca's
+ ſong. Dear to my ſoul haſt thou been, thou darkly-dwelling maid of Ardven !”
+
Cuthullin, from the cave of Cromla, heard the noiſe of the troubled war. He
+ called to Connal chief of ſwords; to Carril of other times. The grey-haired heroes heard his
+ voice, They took their pointed ſpears. They came, and ſaw the tide of battle, like ocean's
+ crowded waves : when the dark wind blows from the deep, and rolls the billows through the ſandy
+ vale! Cuthullin kindled at the ſight. Darkneſs gathered on his brow. His hand is on the ſword of
+ his fathers: his red-rolling eyes on the foe. He thrice attempted to ruſh to battle. He thrice
+ was ſtopt by Connal. “Chief of the iſle of miſt,” he ſaid, “Fingal ſubdues the foe. Seek not a
+ part of the fame of the king ; himſelf is like the ſtorm!”
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+
“Then, Carril, go,” replied the chief,
+ “go greet the king of Morven. When Lochlin falls away like a ſtream after rain: when the noiſe of
+ the battle is paſt. Then be thy voice ſweet in his ear to praiſe the king of Selma ! Give him the
+ ſword of Caithbat. Cuthullin is not worthy to lift the arms of his fathers ! Come, O ye ghoſts of
+ the lonely Cromla ! ye ſouls of chiefs that are no more ! be near the ſteps of Cuthullin; talk to
+ him in the cave of his grief. Never more ſhall I be renowned, among the mighty in the land. I am
+ a beam that has ſhone ; a miſt that has fled away : when the blaſt of the morning came, and
+ brightened the ſhaggy ſide of the hill! Connal ! talk of arms no more : departed is my fame. My
+ ſighs ſhall be on Cromla's wind ; till my footſteps ceaſe to be ſeen. And thou, white-boſom'd
+ Bragela, mourn over the fall of my fame: vanquiſhed, I will never return to thee, thou ſun-beam
+ of my ſoul !”
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Cuthullin and Connal ſtill remain on the hill. Fingal and Swaran meet; the combat is
+ deſcribed. Swaran is overcome, bound and delivered over as a priſoner to the care of Oſſian and
+ Gaul the ſon of Morni ; Fingal, his younger ſons, and Oſcar, ſtill purſue the enemy. The epiſode
+ of Orla a Chief of Lochlin, who was mortally wounded in the battle, is introduced. Fingal,
+ touched with the death of Orla, orders the purſuit to be diſcontinued; and calling his ſons
+ together, he is informed that Ryno, the youngeſt of them, was ſlain. He laments his death, hears
+ the ſtory of Lamdarg and Gelchoſſa, and returns towards the place where he had left Swaran.
+ Carril, who had been ſent by Cuthullin to congratulate Fingal on his victory, comes in the mean
+ time to Oſſian. The converſation of the two poets cloſes the action of the fourth day.
FINGAL AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. in SIX BOOKS. BOOK V.
+
On Cromla's reſounding ſide, Connal ſpoke to the chief of the noble car.
+ Why that gloom, ſon of Semo? Our friends are the mighty in fight. Renowned art thou, O warrior !
+ many were the deaths of thy ſteel. Often has Bragela met, with blue-rolling eyes of joy : often
+ has ſhe met her hero, returning in the midſt of the valiant; when his ſword was red with
+ ſlaughter ; when his foes were ſilent in the fields of the tomb. Pleaſant to her ears were thy
+ bards, when thy deeds aroſe in ſong.
+
But behold the king of Morven! He moves, below, like a pillar of fire. His
+ ſtrength is like the ſtream of Lubar, or the wind of the ecchoing Cromla ; when the branchy
+ foreſts of night are
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+ torn from all their rocks! Happy are thy people, O Fingal!
+ thine arm ſhall finiſh their wars. Thou art the firſt in their dangers : the wiſeſt in the days
+ of their peace. Thou ſpeakeſt and thy thouſands obey : armies tremble at the ſound of thy ſteel.
+ Happy are thy people, O Fingal, king of reſounding Selma ! Who is that ſo dark and terrible
+ coming in the thunder of his courſe? who but Starno's ſon to meet the king of Morven? Behold the
+ battle of the chiefs ! it is the ſtorm of the ocean, when two ſpirits meet far diſtant, and
+ contend for the rolling of waves. The hunter hears the noiſe on his hill. He ſees the high
+ billows advancing to Ardven's ſhore !
+
Such were the words of Connal, when the heroes met, in fight. There was the
+ clang of arms ! there every blow, like the hundred hammers of the furnace ! Terrible is the
+ battle of the Kings; dreadful the look of their eyes. Their dark-brown ſhields are cleft in
+ twain. Their ſteel flies, broken, from their helms. They fling their weapons down. Each ruſhes to
+ his hero's graſp: Their ſinewy arms bend round each other: they turn from ſide to ſide, and train
+ and ſtretch their large ſpreading limbs below. But when the pride of their ſtrength aroſe, they
+ ſhook the hill with their heels.
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+ Rocks tumble from their places on high; the green-headed
+ buſhes are overturned. At length the ſtrength of Swaran fell: the king of the groves is bound.
+ Thus have I ſeen on Cona ; but Cona I behold no more ! thus have I ſeen two dark hills, removed
+ from their place, by the ſtrength of the burſting ſtream. They turn from ſide to ſide in their
+ fall; their tall oaks meet one another on high. Then they tumble together with all their rocks
+ and trees. The ſtreams are turned by their ſide. The red ruin is ſeen afar.
+
“Sons of diſtant Morven,” ſaid Fingal : “guard the king of Lochlin. He is
+ ſtrong as his thouſand waves. His hand is taught to war. His race is of the times of old. Gaul,
+ thou firſt of my heroes; Oſſian king of ſongs, attend. He is the friend of Agandecca ; raiſe to
+ joy his grief. But, Oſcar, Fillan, and Ryno, ye children of the race ! purſue Lochlin over Lena;
+ that no veſſel may hereafter bound, on the dark-rolling waves of Iniſtore !
+
They flew ſudden acroſs the heath. He ſlowly moved, like a cloud of thunder,
+ when the ſultry plain of ſummer is ſilent and dark! His ſword is before him as a ſun-beam ;
+ terrible as the ſtreaming meteor of night. He came toward a chief of Lochlin. He ſpoke to the
+
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+ ſon of the wave. “Who is that ſo dark and ſad, at the rock of
+ the roaring ſtream ? He cannot bound over its courſe: How ſtately is the chief! His boſſy ſhield
+ is on his ſide; his ſpear, like the tree of the deſart! Youth of the dark-red hair, art thou of
+ the foes of Fingal ?”
+
I am a ſon of Lochlin,” he cries, “ſtrong is my arm in war. My ſpouſe is
+ weeping at home. Orla ſhall never return !” “Or fights or yields the hero,” ſaid Fingal of the
+ noble deeds? “foes do not conquer in my preſence : my friends are renowned in the hall. Son of
+ the wave, follow me, partake the feaſt of my ſhells: purſue the deer of my deſart: be thou the
+ friend of Fingal.” “No:” ſaid the hero, “I aſſiſt the feeble. My ſtrength is with the weak in
+ arms. My ſword has been always unmatched, O warrior : let the king of Morven yield!” “I never
+ yielded, Orla, Fingal never yielded to man. Draw thy ſword aud chuſe thy foe. Many are my heroes
+ !”
+
“Does then the king refuſe the fight,” ſaid Orla of the dark-brown ſhield ?
+ “Fingal is a match for Orla : and he alone of all his race !” “But, king of Morven, if I ſhall
+ fall; as one time the warrior muſt die ; raiſe my tomb in the midſt : let it be the greateſt on
+ Lena. Send, over the dark-blue wave, the ſword of Orla to
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+ the ſpouſe of his love; that ſhe may ſhew it to her ſon, with
+ tears, to kindle his ſoul to war.” “Son of the mournful tale,” ſaid Fingal, “why doſt thou awaken
+ my tears? One day the warriors muſt die, and the children ſee their uſeleſs arms in the hall.
+ But, Orla, thy tomb ſhall riſe. Thy white-boſomed ſpouſe ſhall weep over thy ſword.”
+
They fought on the heath of Lena. Feeble was the arm of Orla. The ſword of
+ Fingal deſcended, and cleft his ſhield in twain. It fell and glittered on the ground, as the moon
+ on the ruffled ſtream. “King of Morven,” ſaid the hero, “lift thy ſword and pierce my breaſt,
+ Wounded and faint from battle, my friends have left me here. The mournful tale ſhall come to my
+ love, on the banks of the ſtreamy Lota ; when ſhe is alone in the wood; and the ruſtling blaſt in
+ the leaves !”
+
“No;” ſaid the king of Morven, “I will never wound thee, Orla. On the banks
+ of Lota let her ſee thee, eſcaped from the hands of war. Let thy grey-haired father, who,
+ perhaps, is blind with age. Let him hear the ſound of thy voice, and brighten within his hall.
+ With joy let the hero riſe, and ſearch for his ſon with his hands !” “But never will he find him,
+ Fingal;” ſaid the youth of the ſtreamy Lota. “On
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+ Lena's heath I muſt die : foreign bards ſhall talk of me. My
+ broad belt covers my wound of death. I give it to the wind!”
+
The dark blood poured from his ſide, he fell pale on the heath of Lena.
+ Fingal bent over him as he dies, and called his younger chiefs. “Oſcar and Fillan, my ſons, raiſe
+ high the memory of Orla. Here let the dark-haired hero reſt, far from the ſpouſe of his love.
+ Here let him reſt in his narrow houſe far from the ſound of Lota. The feeble will find his bow at
+ home; but will not be able to bend it. His faithful dogs howl on his hills ; his boars, which he
+ uſed to purſue, rejoice. Fallen is the arm of battle ! the mighty among the valiant is low !”
+ “Exalt the voice, and blow the horn, ye ſons of the king of Morven ! Let us go back to Swaran, to
+ ſend the night away on ſong. Fillan, Oſcar, and Ryno, fly over the heath of Lena. Where, Ryno,
+ art thou, young ſon of fame? Thou art not wont to be the laſt to anſwer thy father's voice !”
+
“Ryno,” ſaid Ullin firſt of bards, “is with the awful forms of his fathers.
+ With Trathal king of ſhields; with Trenumor of mighty deeds. The youth is low, the youth is pale,
+ he lies on Lena's heath !” “Fell the ſwifteſt in the race,” ſaid the king, “the firſt to bend the
+ bow ?
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+ Thou ſcarce haſt been known to me? why did young Ryno fall?
+ But ſleep thou ſoftly on Lena, Fingal ſhall ſoon behold thee. Soon ſhall my voice be heard no
+ more, and my footſteps ceaſe to be ſeen. The bards will tell of Fingal's name. The ſtones will
+ talk of me. But, Ryno, thou art low indeed ! thou haſt not received thy fame. Ullin, ſtrike the
+ harp for Ryno; tell what the chief would have been. Farewel, thou firſt in every field ! No more
+ ſhall I direct thy dart ! Thou that haſt been ſo fair ! I behold thee not. Farewel.” The tear is
+ on the cheek of the king, for terrible was his ſon in war. His ſon! that was like a beam of fire
+ by night on a hill; when the foreſts ſink down in its courſe, and the traveller trembles at the
+ ſound! But the winds drive it beyond the ſteep. It ſinks from ſight, and darkneſs prevails,
+
“Whose fame is in that dark-green tomb,” begun the king of generous ſhells ?
+ “four ſtones with their heads of moſs ſtand there! They mark the narrow houſe of death. Near it
+ let Ryno reſt. A neighbour to the brave let him lie. Some chief of fame is here, to fly, with my
+ ſon, on clouds. O Ullin, raiſe the ſongs of old. Awake their memory in their tomb. If in the
+ field, they never fled, my ſon ſhall reſt by their
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+ ſide. He ſhall reſt, far-diſtant from Morven, on Lena's
+ reſounding plains !”
+
“Here,” ſaid the bard of ſong, “here reſt the firſt of heroes. Silent is LamdergDisplay note in this place: dumb is Ullin, king of ſwords: And who, ſoft ſmiling from her cloud, ſhews
+ me her face of love? Why, daughter, why ſo pale art thou, firſt of the maids of Cromla ? Doſt
+ thou ſleep with the foes in battle, white-boſomed daughter of Tuathal? Thou haſt been the love of
+ thouſands, but Lamderg was thy love. He came to Tura's moſſy towers, and, ſtriking his dark
+ buckler, ſpoke :” “Where is Gelchoſſa, my love, the daughter of the noble Tuathal? I left her in
+ the hall of Tura, when I fought with great Ulfada. Return ſoon, O Lamderg, ſhe ſaid, for here I
+ fit in grief. Her white breaſt roſe with ſighs. Her cheek was wet with tears. But I ſee her not
+ coming to meet me; to ſooth my ſoul after war. Silent is the hall of my joy ! I hear not the
+ voice of the bard. BranDisplay note does
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+ not ſhake his chains at the gate, glad at the coming of
+ Lamderg. Where is Gelchoſſa, my love, the mild daughter of the generous Tuathal ?”
+
“Lamderg!” ſays Ferchios ſon of Aidon, “Gelchoſſa moves ſtately on Cromla.
+ She and the maids of the bow purſue the flying deer !” « Ferchios !” replied the chief of Cromla,
+ “no noiſe meets the ear of Lamderg ! No ſound is in the woods of Lena. No deer fly in my ſight.
+ No panting dog purſues. I ſee not Gelchoſſa my love, fair as the full moon ſetting on the hills.
+ Go, Ferchios, go to AlladDisplay note the greyhaired ſon of the rock. His dwelling is in the circle of ſtones. He may know of
+ the bright Gelchoſſa !”
+
“The ſon of Aidon went. He ſpoke to the ear of age. Allad ! dweller of rocks
+ : thou that trembleſt alone ! what ſaw thine eyes of age ?” «« I ſaw,” anſwered Allad the old,
+ “Ullin the ſon of Cairbar. He came, in darkneſs, from Cromla. He hummed a ſurly ſong, like a
+ blaſt
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+ in a leafleſs wood. He entered the hall of Tura. “Lamderg,” he
+ ſaid, “moſt dreadful of men, fight or yield to Ullin.” “Lamderg,” replied Gelchoſſa, “the ſon of
+ battle, is not here. He fights Ulfada mighty chief. He is not here, thou firſt of men! But
+ Lamderg never yields. He will fight the ſon of Cairbar!” “Lovely art thou,” ſaid terrible
+ Ullin,“daughter of the generous Tuathal. I carry thee to Cairbar's halls. The valiant ſhall have
+ Gelchoſſa. Three days I remain on Cramla, to wait that ſon of battle, Lamderg. On the fourth
+ Gelchoſſa is mine; if the mighty Lamderg flies.”
+
“Allad !” ſaid the chief of Cromla, “peace to thy dreams in the cave.
+ Ferchios, ſound the horn of Lamderg, that Ullin may hear in his halls. Lamderg, like a roaring
+ ſtorm, aſcended the hill from Tura. He hummed a ſurly ſong as he went, like the noiſe of a
+ falling ſtream, He darkly ſtood upon the hill, like a cloud varying its form to the wind, He
+ rolled a ſtone, the ſign of war. Ullin heard in Cairbar's hall. The hero heard, with joy, his
+ foe. He took his father's ſpear. A ſmile brightens his dark-brown cheek, as he places his ſword
+ by his ſide. The dagger glittered in his hand. He whiſtled as he went.
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+
+
Gelchossa ſaw the ſilent chief, as a wreath of miſt aſcending the hill. She
+ ſtruck her white and heaving breaſt; and ſilent, tearful, feared for Lamderg. “Cairbar, hoary chief of ſhells,” ſaid the maid of the tender hand.“I muſt bend the bow on
+ Cromla. I ſee the darkbrown hinds!” She haſted up the hill. In vain! the gloomy heroes fought.
+ Why ſhould I tell to Selma's king, how wrathful heroes fight? Fierce Ullin fell. Young Lamderg
+ came, all pale to the daughter of generous Tuathal ! “What blood, my love, she trembling ſaid ?
+ what blood runs down my warrior's ſide ?” “It is Ullin's blood, the chief replied, thou fairer
+ than the ſnow ! Gelchoſſa, let me reſt here a little while. The mighty Lamderg died !” “And
+ ſleepeſt thou ſo ſoon on earth, O chief of ſhady Tura ? three days ſhe mourned beſide her love.
+ The hunters found her cold. They raiſed this tomb above the three. Thy ſon, O king of Morven, may
+ reſt here with heroes !”
+
And here my ſon ſhall reſt, ſaid Fingal. The voice of their fame is in mine
+ ears. Fillan, and Fergus ! bring hither Orla ; the pale youth of the ſtream of Lota! Not
+ unequalled ſhall Ryno lie in earth, when Orla is by his ſide. Weep, ye daughters of Morven! ye
+ maids of the ſtreamy Lota weep ! Like a tree they grew on
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+ the hills. They have fallen like the oak of the deſart ; when it
+ lies acroſs a ſtream, and withers in the wind. Oſcar ! chief of every youth! thou ſeeſt how they
+ have fallen. Be thou like them, on earth renowned. Like them the ſong of bards. Terrible were
+ their forms in battle ; but calm was Ryno in the days of peace. He was like the bow of the ſhower
+ ſeen far diſtant on the ſtream ; when the ſun is ſetting on Mora; when ſilence dwells on the hill
+ of deer. Reſt, youngeſt of my ſons! reſt, O Ryno, on Lena. We too ſhall be no more. Warriors one
+ day muſt fall!” !
+
Such was thy grief, thou king of ſwords, when Ryno lay on earth. What muſt
+ the grief of Oſſian be, for thou thyſelf art gone ! I hear not thy diſtant voice on Cona. My eyes
+ perceive thee not. Often forlorn and dark I ſit at thy tomb; and feel it with my hands. When I
+ think I hear thy voice, it is but the paſſing blaſt. Fingal has long ſince fallen aſleep, the
+ ruler of the war !
+
Then Gaul and Oſſian ſat with Swaran, on the ſoft green banks of Lubar. I
+ touched the harp to pleaſe the king. But gloomy was his brow. He rolled his red eyes towards
+ Lena. The hero mourned his hoſt. I raiſed mine eyes to Cromla's brow, I ſaw the ſon of generous
+
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+ Semo. Sad and ſlow he retired, from his hill, towards the
+ lonely cave of Tura. He ſaw Fingal victorious, and mixed his joy with grief. The ſun is bright on
+ his armour. Connal ſlowly ſtrode behind. They ſunk behind the hill, like two pillars of the fire
+ of night: when winds purſue them over the mountain, and the flaming heath reſounds ! Beſide a
+ ſtream of roaring foam his cave is in a rock. One tree bends above it. The ruſhing winds eccho
+ againſt its ſides. Here reſts the chief of Erin, the ſon of generous Semo. His thoughts are on
+ the battles he loſt. The tear is on his cheek. He mourned the departure of his fame, that fled
+ like the miſt of Cona. O Bragela, thou art too far remote, to cheer the ſoul of the hero. But let
+ him ſee thy bright form in his mind : that his thoughts may return to the lonely ſun-beam of his
+ love !
+
Who comes with the locks of age? It is the ſon of ſongs. “Hail, Carril of
+ other times ! Thy voice is like the harp in the halls of Tura. Thy words are pleaſant as the
+ ſhower, which falls on the ſunny field. Carril of the times of old, why comeſt thou from the ſon
+ of the generous Semo ?”
+
“Oſſian, king of ſwords,” replied the bard, “thou beſt can raiſe the ſong.
+ Long haſt thou been known to Carril, thou ruler of war! Often
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+ have I touched the harp to lovely Evirallin. Thou too haſt often
+ joined my voice, in Branno's hall of generous ſhells. And often, amidſt our voices, was heard the
+ mildeſt Evirallin. One day ſhe ſung of Cormac's fall, the youth, who died for her love. I ſaw the
+ tears on her cheek, and on thine, thou chief of men ! Her ſoul was touched for the unhappy,
+ though ſhe loved him not. How fair among a thouſand maids, was the daughter of generous Branno
+ !”
+
“Bring not, Carril,” I replied, “bring not her memory to my mind. My ſoul
+ muſt melt at the remembrance. My eyes muſt have their tears. Pale in the earth is ſhe, the
+ ſoftly-bluſhing fair of my love ! But ſit thou on the heath, O bard, and let us hear thy voice.
+ It is pleaſant as the gale of ſpring, that ſighs on the hunter's ear; when he awakens from dreams
+ of joy, and has heard the muſic of the ſpirits of the hill !”
Night comes on. Fingal gives a feaſt to his army, at which Swaran is preſent. The king
+ commands Ullin his bard to give the ſong of peace; a cuſtom always obſerved at the end
+ of a war. Ullin relates the actions of Trenmor, great grandfather to Fingal, in Scandinavia, and
+ his marriage with Inibaca, the daughter of a king of Lochlin who was anceſtor to Swaran ; which
+ conſideration, together with his being brother to Agandecca, with whom Fingal was in love in his
+ youth, induced the king to releaſe him, and permit him to return, with the remains of his army,
+ into Lochlin, upon his promiſe of never returning to Ireland, in a hoſtile manner. The night is
+ ſpent in ſettling Swaran's departure, in ſongs of bards, and in a converſation in which the ſtory
+ of Grumal is introduced by Fingal. Morning comes. Swaran departs; Fingal goes on a hunting party,
+ and finding Cuthullin in the cave of Tura, comforts him, and ſets ſail, the next day, for
+ Scotland; which concludes the poem.
FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS. BOOK VI.
+
The clouds of night come rolling down. Darkneſs reſts on the ſteeps of
+ Cromla. The ſtars of the north ariſe over the rolling of Erin's waves: they ſhew their heads of
+ fire, through the flying miſt of heaven. A diſtant wind roars in the wood. Silent and dark is the
+ plain of death ! Still on the duſky Lena aroſe in my ears the voice of Carril. He ſung of the
+ friends of our youth; the days of former years ! when we met on the banks of Lego: when we ſent
+ round the joy of the ſhell. Cromla, anſwered to his voice. The ghoſts of thoſe he ſung came in
+ their ruſtling winds. They were ſeen to bend with joy, towards the ſound of their praiſe !
+
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+ Be thy ſoul bleſt, O Carril, in the midſt
+ of thy eddying winds. O that thou wouldſt come to my hall, when I am alone by night! And thou
+ doſt come, my friend, I hear often thy light hand on my harp ; when it hangs, on the diſtant
+ wall, and the feeble ſound touches my ear. Why doſt thou not ſpeak to me in my grief, and tell
+ when I ſhall behold my friends ? But thou paſſeſt away in thy murmuring blaſt ; the wind whiſtles
+ thro' the grey hair of Oſſian !
+
Now, on the ſide of Mora, the heroes gathered to the feaſt. A thouſand aged oaks are burning to
+ the wind. The ſtrengthDisplay note of the ſhells goes round. The ſouls of warriors brighten with joy. But the king of
+ Lochlin is ſilent. Sorrow reddens in the eyes of his pride. He often turned toward Lena. He
+ remembered that he fell. Fingal leaned on the ſhield of his fathers. His grey locks ſlowly waved
+ on the wind, and glittered to the beam of night, He ſaw the grief of Swaran, and ſpoke to the
+ firſt of bards.
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+
+
“Raise, Ullin, raiſe the ſong of peace. O ſooth my ſoul from war. Let mine
+ ear forget, in the ſound, the diſmal noiſe of arms. Let a hundred harps be near to gladden the
+ king of Lochlin. He muſt depart from us with joy. None ever went ſad from Fingal. Oſcar ! the
+ lightning of my ſword is againſt the ſtrong in fight. Peaceful it lies by my ſide when warriors
+ yield in war.”
+
“TrenmorDisplay note,” ſaid the mouth of ſongs, “lived in the days of other years. He bounded over the waves
+ of the north : companion of the ſtorm ! The high rocks of the land of Lochlin; its groves of
+ murmuring ſounds appeared to the hero through miſt : he bound his white-boſomed ſails. Trenmor
+ purſued the boar, that roared through the woods of Gormal. Many had fled from its preſence: but
+ it rolled in death on the ſpear of Trenmor. Three chiefs, who beheld the deed, told of the mighty
+ ſtranger. They told that he ſtood, like a pillar of fire, in the bright arms of his valour. The
+ king of Lochlin prepared the feaſt. He called the blooming Trenmor. Three days he feaſted at
+ Gormal's windy towers; and received his choice in the combat. The land of Lochlin had no hero,
+ that
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+ yielded not to Trenmor. The ſhell of joy went round with
+ ſongs, in praiſe of the king of Morven. He that came over the waves, the firſt of mighty men
+ !”
+
Now when the fourth gray morn aroſe, the hero launched his ſhip. He walked
+ along the ſilent ſhore, and called for the ruſhing wind: For loud and diſtant he heard the blaſt
+ murmuring behind the groves. Covered over with arms of ſteel, a ſon of the woody Gormal appeared.
+ Red was his cheek and fair his hair. His ſkin like the ſnow of Morven. Mild rolled his blue and
+ ſmiling eye, when he ſpoke to the king of ſwords.
+
“Stay, Trenmor, ſtay thou firſt of men, thou haſt not conquered Lonval's
+ ſon. My ſword has often met the brave. The wiſe ſhun the ſtrength of my bow.” “Thou fair-haired
+ youth,” Trenmor replied, “I will not fight with Lonval's ſon. Thine arm is feeble, ſunbeam of
+ youth. Retire to Gormal's dark-brown hinds.” “But I will retire,” replied the youth, “with the
+ ſword of Trenmor ; and exult in the ſound of my fame. The virgins ſhall gather with ſmiles,
+ around him who conquered mighty Trenmor. They ſhall ſigh with the ſighs of love, and admire the
+ length of thy ſpear ; when
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+ I ſhall carry it among thouſands ; when I lift the glittering
+ point to the ſun.”
+
“Thou ſhalt never carry my ſpear,” ſaid the angry king of Morven. “Thy
+ mother ſhall find thee pale on the ſhore; and, looking over the dark-blue deep, ſee the ſails of
+ him that ſlew her ſon!” “I will not lift the ſpear,” replied the youth,“my arm is not ſtrong with
+ years. But, with the feathered dart, I have learned to pierce a diſtant foe. Throw down that
+ heavy mail of ſteel. Trenmor is covered from death. I firſt, will lay my mail on earth. Throw now
+ thy dart, thou king of Morven !'” He ſaw the heaving of her breaſt. It was the ſiſter of the
+ king. She had ſeen him in the hall; and loved his face of youth. The ſpear dropt from the hand of
+ Trenmor : he bent his red cheek to the ground. She was to him a beam of light that meets the ſons
+ of the cave; when they reviſit the fields of the ſun, and bend their aching eyes !
+
“Chief of the windy Morven,” begun the maid of the arms of ſnow. “Let me
+ reſt in thy bounding ſhip, far from the love of Corlo. For he, like the thunder of the deſart, is
+ terrible to Inibaca. He loves me in the gloom of pride. He ſhakes ten thouſand ſpears !” “Reſt
+ thou in peace,” ſaid the mighty Trenmor. “Reſt behind the ſhield of my fathers. I will not fly
+ from the chief, though he ſhakes ten
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+ thouſand ſpears!” Three days he waited on the ſhore. He ſent
+ his horn abroad. He called Corlo to battle, from all his ecchoing hills. But Corlo came not to
+ battle, The king of Lochlin deſcends from his hall. He feaſted on the roaring ſhore. He gave the
+ maid to Trenmor !
+
“King of Lochlin,” ſaid Fingal, “thy blood flows in the veins of thy foe.
+ Our fathers met in battle, becauſe they loved the ſtrife of ſpears. But often did they feaſt in
+ the hall: and ſend round the joy of the ſhell. Let thy face brighten with gladneſs, and thine ear
+ delight in the harp. Dreadful as the ſtorm of thine ocean, thou haſt poured thy valour forth; thy
+ voice has been like the voice of thouſands when they engage in war. Raiſe, to-morrow, raiſe thy
+ white ſails to the wind, thou brother of Agandecca ! Bright as the beam of noon, ſhe comes on my
+ mournful ſoul. I have ſeen thy tears for the fair one. I ſpared thee in the halls of Starno ;
+ when my ſword was red with ſlaughter ; when my eye was full of tears for the maid. Or doſt thou
+ chuſe the fight ? The combat which thy fathers gave to Trenmor is thine ! that thou mayeſt depart
+ renowned, like the ſun ſetting in the weſt!”
+
“King of the race of Morven,” ſaid the chief of reſounding Lochlin! “never
+ will Swaran fight with thee, firſt of a thouſand heroes! I have ſeen thee in the halls of Starno
+ : few were
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+ thy years beyond my own. When ſhall I, I ſaid to my ſoul,
+ lift the ſpear like the noble Fingal? We have fought heretofore, O warrior, on the ſide of the
+ ſhaggy Malmor ; after my waves had carried me to thy halls, and the feaſt of a thouſand ſhells
+ was ſpread. Let the bards ſend his name who overcame to future years, for noble was the ſtrife of
+ Malmor! But many of the ſhips of Lochlin have loſt their youths on Lena. Take theſe, thou king of
+ Morven, and be the friend of Swaran ! When thy ſons ſhall come to Gormal, the feaſt of ſhells
+ ſhall be ſpread, and the combat offered on the vale.”
+
“Nor ſhip,” replied the king, “ſhall Fingal take, nor land of many hills.
+ The deſart is enough to me, with all its deer and woods. Riſe on thy waves again, thou noble
+ friend of Agandecca. Spread thy white ſails to the beam of the morning; return to the ecchoing
+ hills of Gormal.” “Bleſt be thy ſoul, thou king of ſhells, ſaid Swaran of the dark-brown ſhield.
+ “In peace thou art the gale of ſpring. In war the mountain-ſtorm. Take now my hand in friendſhip,
+ king of ecchoing Selma! Let thy bards mourn thoſe who fell. Let Erin give the ſons of Lochlin to
+ earth. Raiſe high the moſſy ſtones of their fame : that the children of the north hereafter may
+ behold the place, where their fathers fought. The hunter may ſay, when he leans on a moſſy
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ tomb, here Fingal and Swaran fought, the heroes of other years.
+ Thus hereafter ſhall he ſay, and our fame ſhall laſt for ever!”
+
“Swaran, ſaid the king of hills,“to-day our fame is greateſt. We ſhall paſs
+ away like a dream. No ſound will remain in our fields of war. Our tombs will be loſt in the
+ heath. The hunter ſhall not know the place of our reſt. Our names may be heard in ſong. What
+ avails it, when our ſtrength hath ceaſed? O Oſſian, Carril, and Ullin, you know of heroes that
+ are no more. Give us the ſong of other years. Let the night paſs away on the ſound, and morning
+ return with joy.”
+
We gave the ſong to the kings. An hundred harps mixed their ſound with our
+ voice. The face of Swaran brightened, like the full moon of heaven ; when the clouds vaniſh away,
+ and leave her calm and broad, in the midſt of the ſky !
+
“Where, Carril,” ſaid the great Fingal, « Carril of other times! Where is
+ the ſon of Semo ? the king of the iſle of miſt? has he retired, like the meteor of death, to the
+ dreary cave of Tura ?” “Cuthullin,” ſaid Carril of other times, “lies in the dreary cave of Tura.
+ His hand is on the ſword of his ſtrength. His thoughts on the battles he loſt. Mournful is the
+ king of ſpears; till now unconquered in war. He ſends his ſword to reſt on the ſide of Fingal :
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ For, like the ſtorm of the deſart, thou haſt ſcattered all
+ his foes. Take, O Fingal, the ſword of the hero. His fame is departed like miſt, when it flies,
+ before the ruſtling wind, along the brightening vale.
+
“No:” replied the king, “Fingal ſhall never take his ſword. His arm is
+ mighty in war : his fame ſhall never fail. Many have been overcome in battle; whoſe renown aroſe
+ from their fall. O Swaran, king of reſounding woods, give all thy grief away, The vanquiſhed, if
+ brave, are renowned. They are like the ſun in a cloud, when he hides his face in the ſouth, but
+ looks again on the hills of graſs !
+
“Grumal was a Chief of Cona, He ſought the battle on every coaſt. His ſoul
+ rejoiced in blood. His ear in the din of arms. He poured his warriors on Craca; Craca's king met
+ him from his grove: for then, within the circle of BrumoDisplay note, he ſpoke to the ſtone of power. Fierce was the battle of the heroes, for the maid of the
+ breaſt of ſnow. The fame of the daughter of Craca had reached Grumal at the ſtream of Cona : he
+ vowed to have the white-boſomed maid, or die on ecchoing Craca. Three days they ſtrove together,
+ and Grumal on the fourth
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ was bound. Far from his friends they placed him, in the horrid
+ circle of Brumo ; where often, they ſaid, the ghoſts of the dead howled round the ſtone of their
+ fear. But he afterwards ſhone, like a pillar of the light of heaven. They fell by his mighty
+ hand. Grumal had all his fame !”
+
“Raise, ye bards of other times,” continued the great Fingal, “raiſe high
+ the praiſe of heroes : that my ſoul may ſettle on their fame; that the mind of Swaran may ceaſe
+ to be ſad.” They lay in the heath of Mora. The dark winds ruſtled over the chiefs. A hundred
+ voices, at once, aroſe : a hundred harps were ſtrung. They ſung of other times ; the mighty
+ chiefs of former years! When now ſhall I hear the bard? When rejoice at the fame of my fathers?
+ The harp is not ſtrung on Morven. The voice of muſic aſcends not on Cona. Dead, with the mighty,
+ is the bard. Fame is in the deſart no more.
+
Morning trembles with the beam of the eaſt; it glimmers on Comla's ſide.
+ Over Lena is heard the horn of Swaran. The ſons of the ocean gather around. Silent and ſad they
+ riſe on the wave. The blaſt of Erin is behind their ſails. White, as the miſt of Morven, they
+ float along the ſea. “Call,” ſaid Fingal, “call my
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ dogs, the long-bounding ſons of the chace. Call
+ white-breaſted Bran and the ſurly ſtrength of Luath! Fillan, and Ryno; but he is not here ! My
+ ſon reſts on the bed of death. Fillan and Fergus ! blow the horn, that the joy of the chace may
+ ariſe : that the deer of Cromla may hear and ſtart at the lake of roes.”
+
The ſhrill ſound ſpreads along the wood. The ſons of heathy Cromla ariſe. A
+ thouſand dogs fly off at once, grey-bounding through the heath. A deer fell by every dog ; three
+ by the white-breaſted Bran. He brought them, in their flight, to Fingal, that the joy of the king
+ might be great ! One deer fell at the tomb of Ryno. The grief of Fingal returned. He ſaw how
+ peaceful lay the ſtone of him, who was the firſt at the chace ! “No more ſhalt thou riſe, O my
+ ſon, to partake of the feaſt of Cromla. Soon will thy tomb be hid, and the graſs grow rank on thy
+ grave. The ſons of the feeble ſhall paſs along. They ſhall not know where the mighty lie.
+
“Ossian and Fillan, ſons of my ſtrength. Gaul, chief of the blue ſteel of
+ war! let us aſcend the hill to the cave of Tura. Let us find the chief of the battles of Erin.
+ Are theſe the walls of Tura ? grey and lonely they riſe on the heath. The chief of ſhells is ſad,
+ and the halls
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ are ſilent and lonely. Come, let us find Cuthullin, and give
+ him all our joy. But is that Cuthullin, O Fillan, or a pillar of ſmoke on the heath? The wind of
+ Cromla is on my eyes. I diſtinguiſh not my friend.”
+
“Fingal !” replied the youth, “it is the ſon of Semo ! Gloomy and ſad is the
+ hero! his hand is on his ſword. Hail to the ſon of battle, breaker of the ſhields?” “Hail to
+ thee,” replied Cuthullin, “hail to all the ſons of Morven ! Delightful is thy preſence, O Fingal,
+ it is the ſun on Cromla ; when the hunter mourns his abſence for a ſeaſon, and ſees him between
+ the clouds. Thy ſons are like ſtars that attend thy courſe. They give light in the night. It is
+ not thus thou haſt ſeen me, O Fingal, returning from the wars of thy land : when the kings of the worldDisplay note had fled, and joy returned to the hill of hinds!” “Many are thy words, Cuthullin,” ſaid ConnanDisplay note of ſmall renown. “Thy words are many, ſon of Semo, but where are thy deeds in arms? Why
+ did we come, over
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ ocean, to aid thy feeble ſword ? Thou flyeſt to thy cave of
+ grief, and Connan fights thy battles. Reſign to me theſe arms of light. Yield them, thou chief of
+ Erin!” “No hero,” replied the chief,“ever ſought the arms of Cuthullin ; and had a thouſand
+ heroes ſought them, it were in vain, thou gloomy youth! I fled not to the cave of grief, till
+ Erin failed at her ſtreams.”
+
“Youth of the feeble arm,” ſaid Fingal, “Connan ceaſe thy words! Cuthullin is renowned in
+ battle ; terrible over the world. Often have I heard thy fame, thou ſtormy chief of Inis-fail.
+ Spread now thy white ſails for the iſle of miſt, See Bragela leaning on her rock. Her tender eye
+ is in tears; the winds lift her long hair from her heaving breaſt. She liſtens to the breeze of
+ night, to hear the voice of thy rowersDisplay note; to hear the ſong of the ſea ! the ſound of thy diſtant harp!
+
Long ſhall ſhe liſten in vain. Cuthullin ſhall never return! How can I
+ behold Bragela, to raiſe the ſigh of her breaſt? Fingal, I was always victorious, in battles of
+ other ſpears !” “And hereafter thou ſhalt be victorious,” ſaid Fingal of generous ſhells. “The
+ fame
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Cuthullin ſhall grow, like the branchy tree of Cromla. Many
+ battles await thee, O chief! Many ſhall be the wounds of thy hand ! Bring hither, Oſcar, the
+ deer! Prepare the feaſt of ſhells. Let our ſouls rejoice after danger, and our friends delight in
+ our preſence !”
+
We ſat. We feaſted, We ſung. The ſoul of Cuthullin roſe. The ſtrength of his
+ arm returned. Gladneſs brightened along his face. Ullin gave the ſong ; Carril raiſed the voice.
+ I joined the bards, and ſung of battles of the ſpear. Battles! where I often fought. Now I fight
+ no more ! The fame of my former deeds is ceaſed. I ſit forlorn at the tombs of my friends !
+
Thus the night paſſed away in ſong. We brought back the morning with joy.
+ Fingal aroſe on the heath, and ſhook his glittering ſpear. He moved firſt toward the plains of
+ Lena. We followed in all our arms.
+
“Spread the ſail,” ſaid the king, “ſeize the winds as they pour from Lena.”
+ We roſe on the wave with ſongs. We ruſhed, with joy, through the foam of the deep.
Lathmon, a Britiſh prince, taking advantage of Fingal's abſence on an expedition in Ireland,
+ made a deſcent on Morven, and advanced within ſight of Selma, the royal reſidence. Fingal
+ arrived in the mean time, and Lathmon retreated to a hill, where his army was ſurprized by
+ night, and himſelf taken priſoner by Oſſian and Gaul the ſon of Morni. The poem opens, with the
+ firſt appearance of Fingal on the coaſt of Morven, and ends, it may be ſuppoſed, about noon the
+ next day.
Selma, thy halls are ſilent. There is no ſound in the woods of Morven. The
+ wave tumbles alone on the coaſt. The ſilent beam of the ſun is on the field. The daughters of
+ Morven come forth, like the bow of the ſhower; they look towards green Erin for the white ſails
+ of the king. He had promiſed to return, but the winds of the north aroſe !
+
Who pours from the eaſtern hill, like a ſtream of darkneſs? It is the hoſt
+ of Lathmon. He has heard of the abſence of Fingal. He truſts in the wind of the north. His ſoul
+ brightens with joy. Why doſt thou come, O Lathmon ? The mighty are not in Selma. Why comeſt thou
+ with thy forward ſpear ? Will the daughters of Morven fight? But ſtop, O mighty ſtream, in thy
+ courſe! Does not Lathmon behold theſe ſails? Why doſt thou vaniſh, Lathmon, like the miſt of the
+ lake? But the ſqually ſtorm is behind thee; Fingal purſues thy ſteps !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The king of Morven had ſtarted from ſleep, as we rolled
+ on the dark-blue wave. He ſtretched his hand to his ſpear, his heroes roſe around. We knew that
+ he had ſeen his fathers, for they often deſcended to his dreams, when the ſword of the foe roſe
+ over the land; and the battle darkened before us. “Whither haſt thou fled, O wind?” ſaid the king
+ of Morven. “Doſt thou ruſtle in the chambers of the ſouth, purſueſt thou the ſhower in other
+ lands ? Why doſt thou not come to my ſails? to the blue face of my ſeas? The foe is in the land
+ of Morven, and the king is abſent far. But let each bind on his mail, and each aſſume his ſhield.
+ Stretch every ſpear over the wave; let every ſword be unſheathed. LathmonDisplay note is before us with his hoſt ; he that fledDisplay note from Fingal on the plains of Lona. But he returns, like a collected ſtream, and his roar
+ is between our hills.”
+
Such were the words of Fingal. We ruſhed into Carmona's bay. Oſſian aſcended
+ the hill : He thrice ſtruck his boſſy ſhield. The rock of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Morven replied ; the bounding roes came forth. The foe was troubled in my
+ preſence ; he collected his darkened hoſt. I ſtood, like a cloud on the hill, rejoicing in the
+ arms of my youth.
+
MorniDisplay note ſat beneath a tree, at the roaring waters of StrumonDisplay note : his locks of age are grey : he leans forward on his ſtaff; young Gaul is near the hero,
+ hearing the battles of his father. Often did he riſe, in the fire of his ſoul, at the mighty
+ deeds of Morni. The aged heard the ſound of Oſſian's ſhield : he knew the ſign of war. He ſtarted
+ at once from his place. His grey hair parted on his back. He remembered the deeds of other
+ years.
+
“My ſon,” he ſaid to fair-haired Gaul, “I hear the ſound of war. The king of
+ Morven is returned, his ſignals are ſpread on the wind. Go to the halls of Strumon ; bring his
+ arms to Morni. Bring the ſhield of my father's latter years, for my arm begins to fail. Take thou
+ thy armour, O Gaul; and ruſh to the firſt of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ thy battles. Let thine arm reach to the renown of thy fathers. Be thy
+ courſe in the field, like the eagle's wing. Why ſhouldſt thou fear death, my ſon ? the valiant
+ fall with fame; their ſhields turn the dark ſtream of danger away ; renown dwells on their aged
+ hairs. Doſt thou not ſee, O Gaul, how the ſteps of my age are honoured ? Morni moves forth, and
+ the young meet him, with awe, and turn their eyes, with ſilent joy, on his courſe. But I never
+ fled from danger, my ſon! my ſword lightened through the darkneſs of war. The ſtranger melted
+ before me; the mighty were blaſted in my preſence.”
+
Gaul brought the arms to Morni: the aged warrior is covered with ſteel. He
+ took the ſpear in his hand, which was ſtained with the blood of the valiant. He came towards
+ Fingal, his ſon attended his ſteps. The ſon of Comhal aroſe before him with joy, when he came in
+ his locks of age.
+
Chief of roaring Strumon! ſaid the riſing ſoul of Fingal ; do I behold thee
+ in arms, after thy ſtrength has failed ? Often has Morni ſhone in fight, like the beam of the
+ aſcending ſun ; when he diſperſes the ſtorms of the hill, and brings peace to the glittering
+ fields. But why didſt thou not reſt in thine age? Thy renown
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ is in the ſong. The people behold thee, and bleſs the departure of mighty
+ Morni. Why didſt thou not reſt in thine age? The foe will vaniſh before Fingal !
+
Son of Comhal, replied the chief, the ſtrength of Morni's arm has failed. I
+ attempt to draw the ſword of my youth, but it remains in its place. I throw the ſpear, but it
+ falls ſhort of the mark. I feel the weight of my ſhield. We decay like the graſs of the hill :
+ our ſtrength returns no more. I have a ſon, O Fingal, his ſoul has delighted in Morni's deeds;
+ but his ſword has not been lifted againſt a foe, neither has his fame begun. I come with him to
+ war; to direct his arm in fight. His renown will be a light to my ſoul, in the dark hour of my
+ departure. O that the name of Morni were forgot among the people! that the heroes would only ſay,
+ “Behold the father of Gaul !”
+
King of Strumon, Fingal replied, Gaul ſhall lift the ſword in fight. But he
+ ſhall lift it before Fingal; my arm ſhall defend his youth. But reſt thou in the halls of Selma ;
+ and hear of our renown. Bid the harp to be ſtrung ; and the voice of the bard to ariſe, that
+ thoſe who fall may rejoice in their fame; and the ſoul of Morni brighten with joy. Oſſian ! thou
+ haſt fought in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ battles: the blood of ſtrangers is on thy ſpear : thy courſe be with
+ Gaul, in the ſtrife; but depart not from the ſide of Fingal! leſt the foe ſhould find you alone,
+ and your fame fail in my preſence.
+
I sawDisplay note Gaul in his arms; my ſoul was mixed with his. The fire of the battle was in his eyes! he
+ looked to the foe with joy. We ſpoke the words of friendſhip in ſecret; the lightning of our
+ ſwords poured together ; for we drew them behind the wood, and tried the ſtrength of our arms on
+ the empty air.
+
Night came down on Morven. Fingal ſat at the beam of the oak. Morni ſat by
+ his ſide with all his grey waving locks. Their words were of other times, of the mighty deeds of
+ their fathers. Three bards, at times, touched the harp: Ullin was near with his ſong. He ſung of
+ the mighty Comhal ; but darkneſs gatheredDisplay note
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ on Morni's brow. He rolled his red eye on Ullin : at once ceaſed the ſong of
+ the bard. Fingal obſerved the aged hero, and he mildly ſpoke. “Chief of Strumon, why that
+ darkneſs ? Let the days of other years be forgot. Our fathers contended in war ; but we meet
+ together, at the feaſt. Our ſwords are turned on the foe of our land : he melts before us in the
+ field. Let the days of our fathers be forgot, hero of moſſy Strumon !”
+
“King of Morven, replied the chief, “I remember thy father with joy. He was
+ terrible in battle; the rage of the chief was deadly. My eyes were full of tears, when the king
+ of heroes fell. The valiant fall, O Fingal! the feeble remain on the hills! How many heroes have
+ paſſed away, in the days of Morni! Yet I did not ſhun the battle; neither did I fly from the
+ ſtrife of the valiant. Now let the friends of Fingal reſt ; for the night is around ; that they
+ may riſe, with ſtrength, to battle againſt car-borne Lathmon. I hear the ſound of his hoſt, like
+ thunder moving on the hills. Oſſian ! and fair-haired Gaul! ye are young and ſwift in the race.
+ Obſerve the foes of Fingal from that woody hill. But approach them not, your fathers are not near
+ to ſhield you. Let not
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ your fame fall at once. The valour of youth may fail !”
+
We heard the words of the chief with joy. We moved in the clang of our arms.
+ Our ſteps are on the woody hill. Heaven burns with all its ſtars. The meteors of death fly over
+ the field. The diſtant noiſe of the foe reached our ears. It was then Gaul ſpoke, in his valour :
+ his hand half-unſheathed the ſword.
+
“Son of Fingal,” he ſaid, “why burns the ſoul of Gaul? My heart beats high. My ſteps are
+ diſordered ; my hand trembles on my ſword. When I look towards the foe, my ſoul lightens before
+ me. I ſee their ſleeping hoſt. Tremble thus the ſouls of the valiant in battles of the ſpear? How
+ would the ſoul of Morni riſe if we ſhould ruſh on the foe! Our renown would grow in ſong : Our
+ ſteps would be ſtately in the eyes of the brave.”
+
“Son of Morni,” I replied, “my ſoul delights in war. I delight to ſhine in
+ battle alone, to give my name to the bards. But what if the foe ſhould prevail; can I behold the
+ eyes of the king ? They are terrible in his diſpleaſure, and like the flames of death. But I will
+ not behold them in his wrath ! Oſſian ſhall prevail or fall. But ſhall the fame of the vanquiſhed
+ riſe ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ They paſs like a ſhade away. But the fame of Oſſian ſhall riſe! His deeds
+ ſhall be like his fathers. Let us ruſh in our arms; ſon of Morni, let us ruſh to fight. Gaul! if
+ thou ſhouldſt return, go to Selma's lofty Hall. Tell to Evirallin that I fell with fame; carry
+ this ſword to Pranno's daughter. Let her give it to Oſcar, when the years of his youth ſhall
+ ariſe,”
+
“Son of Fingal,” Gaul replied with a ſigh “ſhall I return after Oſſian is
+ low ? What would my father ſay, what Fingal the king of men ? The feeble would turn their eyes
+ and ſay, “Behold Gaul who left his friend in his blood !” Ye ſhall not behold me, ye feeble, but
+ in the midſt of my renown. Oſſian! I have heard from my father the mighty deeds of heroes ; their
+ mighty deeds when alone; for the ſoul increaſes in danger.”
+
“Son of Morni,” I replied and ſtrode before him on the heath, “our fathers ſhall praiſe our
+ valour, when they mourn our fall. A beam of gladneſs ſhall riſe on their ſouls, when their eyes
+ are full of tears. They will ſay, “Our ſons have not fallen unknown : they ſpread death around
+ them.” But why ſhould we think of the narrow houſe ? The ſword defends the brave.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ But death purſues the flight of the feeble ; their renown is never
+ heard.”
+
We ruſhed forward through night ; we came to the roar of a ſtream, which
+ bent its blue courſe round the foe, through trees that ecchoed to its ſound. We came to the bank
+ of the ſtream, and ſaw the ſleeping hoſt. Their fires were decayed on the plain; the lonely ſteps
+ of their ſcouts were diſtant far. I ſtretched my ſpear before me to ſupport my ſteps over the
+ ſtream. But Gaul took my hand, and ſpoke the words of the brave. “Shall the ſon of Fingal ruſh on
+ the ſleeping foe ? Shall he come like a blaſt by night, when it overturns the young trees in
+ ſecret ? Fingal did not thus receive his fame, nor dwells renown on the grey hairs of Morni, for
+ actions like theſe. Strike, Oſſian, ſtrike the ſhield, and let their thouſands riſe. Let them
+ meet Gaul in his firſt battle, that he may try the ſtrength of his arm.”
+
My ſoul rejoiced over the warrior: my burſting tears came down. “And the foe
+ ſhall meet thee, Gaul!” I ſaid : “the fame of Morni's ſon ſhall ariſe. But ruſh not too far, my
+ hero : let the gleam of thy ſteel be near to Oſſian. Let our hands join in ſlaughter. Gaul ! doſt
+ thou not behold that rock? Its grey ſide dimly
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ gleams to the ſtars. Should the foe prevail, let our back be towards the
+ rock. Then ſhall they fear to approach our ſpears; for death is in our hands !”
+
I struck thrice my ecchoing ſhield. The ſtarting foe aroſe. We ruſhed on in
+ the ſound of our arms. Their crouded ſteps fly over the heath. They thought that the mighty
+ Fingal was come. The ſtrength of their arms withered away. The ſound of their flight was like
+ that of flame, when it ruſhes thro' the blaſted groves. It was then the ſpear of Gaul flew in its
+ ſtrength; it was then his ſword aroſe. Cremor fell; and mighty Leth. Dunthormo ſtruggled in his
+ blood. The ſteel ruſhed through Crotho's ſide, as bent, he roſe on his ſpear ; the black ſtream
+ poured from the wound, and hiſſed on the half-extinguiſhed oak. Cathmin ſaw the ſteps of the hero
+ behind him, he aſcended a blaſted tree but the ſpear pierced him from behind. Shrieking, panting,
+ he fell. Moſs and withered branches purſue his fall, and ſtrew the blue arms of Gaul.
+
Such were thy deeds, ſon of Morni, in the firſt of thy battles. Nor ſlept
+ the ſword by thy ſide, thou laſt of Fingal's race ! Oſſian ruſhed forward in his ſtrength ; the
+ people fell before
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ him ; as the graſs by the ſtaff of the boy, when he whiſtles along the
+ field, and the grey beard of the thiſtle falls. But careleſs the youth moves on; his ſteps are
+ towards the deſart. Gray morning roſe around us, the winding ſtreams are bright along the heath.
+ The foe gathered on a hill; and the rage of Lathmon roſe. He bent the red eye of his wrath : he
+ is ſilent in his riſing grief. He often ſtruck his boſſy ſhield ; and his ſteps are unequal on
+ the heath. I ſaw the diſtant darkneſs of the hero, and I ſpoke to Morni's ſon.
+
Car-borne chief of Strumon, doſt thou behold the foe ? They gather on the
+ hill in their wrath. Let our ſteps be towards the kingDisplay note. He ſhall riſe in his ſtrength, and the hoſt of Lathmon vaniſh. Our fame is around us,
+ warrior, the eyes of the agedDisplay note will rejoice. But let us fly, ſon of Morni, Lathmon deſcends the hill. “Then let our
+ ſteps be ſlow,” replied the fair-haired Gaul ; “leſt the foe ſay, with a ſmile, “Behold the
+ warriors of night. They are, like ghoſts, terrible in darkneſs; they melt away before the beam of
+ the eaſt.” Oſſian, take the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhield of Gormar who fell beneath thy ſpear. The aged heroes will rejoice
+ beholding the deeds of their ſons.”
+
Such were our words on the plain, when SulmathDisplay note came to car-borne Lathmon : Sulmath chief of Dutha at the dark-rolling ſtream of DuvrannaDisplay note. “Why doſt thou not ruſh, ſon of Nuäth, with a thouſand of thy heroes? Why doſt thou not
+ deſcend with thy hoſt, before the warriors fly ? Their blue arms are beaming to the riſing light,
+ and their ſteps are before us on the heath !”
+
“Son of the feeble hand,” ſaid Lathmon, “ſhall my hoſt deſcend ! They are
+ but two, ſon of Dutha; ſhall a thouſand lift their ſteel ! Nuäth would mourn, in his hall, for
+ the departure of his fame. His eyes would turn from Lathmon, when the tread of his feet
+ approached. Go thou to the heroes, chief of Dutha. I behold the ſtately ſteps of Oſſian. His fame
+ is worthy of my ſteel! let us contend in fight.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The noble Sulmath came. I rejoiced in the words of
+ the king. I raiſed the ſhield on my arm ; Gaul placed in my hand the ſword of Morni. We returned
+ to the murmuring ſtream ; Lathmon came down in his ſtrength. His dark hoſt rolled, like clouds,
+ behind him : but the ſon of Nuäth was bright in his ſteel !
+
“Son of Fingal,” ſaid the hero, “thy fame has grown on our fall. How many
+ lie there of my people by thy hand, thou king of men ! Lift now thy ſpear againſt Lathmon ; lay
+ the ſon of Nuäth low! Lay him low among his warriors, or thou thyſelf muſt fall ! It ſhall never
+ be told in my halls that my people fell in my preſence ; that they fell in the preſence of
+ Lathmon when his ſword reſted by his ſide : the blue eyes of Cutha would roll in tears ; her
+ ſteps be lonely in the vales of Dunlathmon !
+
“Neither ſhall it be told,” I replied, “that the ſon of Fingal fled. Were
+ his ſteps covered with darkneſs, yet would not Oſſian fly! his ſoul would meet him and ſay, “Does
+ the bard of Selma fear the foe?” “No: he does not fear the foe. His joy is in the midſt of battle
+ !”
+
Lathmon came on with his ſpear. He pierced the ſhield of Oſſian. I felt the
+ cold ſteel
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ by my ſide. I drew the ſword of Morni. I cut the ſpear in twain. The bright
+ point fell glittering on earth. The ſon of Nuäth burnt in his wrath. He lifted high his ſounding
+ ſhield. His dark eyes rolled above it, as bending forward, it ſhone like a gate of braſs! But
+ Oſſian's ſpear pierced the brightneſs of its boſſes, and ſunk in a tree that roſe behind. The
+ ſhield hung on the quivering lance ! but Lathmon ſtill advanced ! Gaul foreſaw the fall of the
+ chief. He ſtretched his buckler before my ſword ; when it deſcended, in a ſtream of light, over
+ the king of Dunlathmon !
+
Lathmon beheld the ſon of Morni. The tear ſtarted from his eye. He threw the
+ ſword of his fathers on earth, and ſpoke the words of the brave. “Why ſhould Lathmon fight
+ againſt the firſt of men ? Your ſouls are beams from heaven; your ſwords the flames of death! Who
+ can equal the renown of the heroes, whoſe deeds are ſo great in youth ? O that ye were in the
+ halls of Nuäth, in the green dwelling of Lathmon ! then would my father ſay, that his ſon did not
+ yield to the weak! But who comes, a mighty ſtream, along the ecchoing heath? the little hills are
+ troubled before him ; a thouſand ghoſts are on the beams of his ſteel; the ghoſts
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of thoſe who are to fallDisplay note, by the arm of the king of reſounding Morven. Happy art thou, O Fingal, thy ſons ſhall
+ fight thy wars. They go forth before thee ; they return with the ſteps of their renown !”
+
Fingal came, in his mildneſs, rejoicing in ſecret over the deeds of his ſon.
+ Morni's face brightened with gladneſs; his aged eyes look faintly through tears of joy. We came
+ to the halls of Selma. We ſat around the feaſt of ſhells. The maids of ſong came into our
+ preſence, and the mildly bluſhing Evirallin ! Her hair ſpreads on her neck of ſnow, her eye rolls
+ in ſecret on Oſſian. She touched the harp of muſic; we bleſſed the daughter of Branno ?
+
Fingal roſe in his place, and ſpoke to Lathmon king of ſpears. The ſword of
+ Trenmor ſhook by his ſide, as high he raiſed his mighty arm. “Son of Nuäth,” he ſaid, “why doſt
+ thou ſearch for fame in Morven? We are not of the race of the feeble; our ſwords gleam not over
+ the weak. When did we rouſe thee, O Lathmon, with the ſound of war? Fingal does not delight in
+ battle, though his arm is ſtrong ! My
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ renown grows on the fall of the haughty. The light of my ſteel pours on
+ the proud in arms. The battle comes; and the tombs of the valiant riſe; the tombs of my people
+ riſe, O my fathers ! I at laſt muſt remain alone ! But I will remain renowned ; the departure of
+ my ſoul ſhall be a ſtream of light. Lathmon ! retire to thy place! Turn thy battles to other
+ lands! The race of Morven are renowned ; their foes are the ſons of the unhappy !”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
It may not be improper here, to give the ſtory which is the foundation of this poem, as it is
+ handed down by tradition. Uſnoth lord of Etha, which is probably that part of Argyleſhire which
+ is near Loch Eta, an arm of the ſea in Lorn, had three ſons, Nathos, Althos, and Ardan by
+ Sliſſáma, the daughter of Semo and ſiſter to the celebrated Cuthullin. The three brothers, when
+ very young, were ſent over to Ireland, by their father, to learn the uſe of arms, under their
+ uncle, Cuthullin, who made a great figure in that kingdom. They were juſt landed in Ulſter when
+ the news of Cuthullin's death arrived. Nathos, though very young, took the command of
+ Cuthullin's army, made head againſt Cairbar the uſurper, and defeated him in ſeveral battles.
+ Cairbar at laſt having found means to murder Cormac the lawful king, the army of Nathos ſhifted
+ ſides, and he himſelf was obliged to return into Ulſter, in order to paſs over into
+ Scotland.
+
Dar-thula, the daughter of Colia, with whom Cairbar was in love, reſided, at that time, in
+ Selama, a caſtle in Ulſter : ſhe ſaw, fell in love, and fled with Nathos; but a ſtorm riſing at
+ ſea, they were unfortunately driven back on that part of the coaſt of Ulſter, where Cairbar was
+ encamped with his army. The three brothers, after having defended themſelves, for ſome time,
+ with great bravery, were overpowered and ſlain, and the unfortunate Dar-thula killed herſelf
+ upon the body of her beloved Nathos.
+
The poem opens, on the night preceding the death of the ſons of Uſnoth, and brings in, by way
+ of epiſode, what paſſed before. It relates the death of Dar-thula differently from the common
+ tradition ; this account is the moſt probable, as ſuicide ſeems to have been unknown in thoſe
+ early times: for no traces of it are found in the old poetry.
Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! the ſilence of thy face is pleaſant!
+ Thou comeſt forth in lovelineſs. The ſtars attend thy blue courſe in the eaſt. The clouds rejoice
+ in thy preſence, O moon: They brighten their dark-brown ſides. Who is like thee in heaven, light
+ of the ſilent night? The ſtars are aſhamed in thy preſence. They turn away, their ſparkling eyes.
+ Whither doſt thou retire from thy courſe, when the darkneſs of thy countenance grows? Haſt thou
+ thy hall, like Oſſian ? Dwelleſt thou in the ſhadow of grief? Have thy ſiſters fallen from
+ heaven? Are they who rejoiced with thee, at night, no more? Yes! they have fallen, fair light!
+ and thou doſt often retire to mourn. But thou thyſelf ſhalt fail, one night; and leave thy blue
+ path in heaven. The ſtars will then lift their heads: they, who were aſhamed in thy preſence,
+ will rejoice. Thou art now clothed
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ with thy brightneſs. Look from thy gates in the ſky. Burſt the cloud, O
+ wind, that the daughter of night may look forth! that the ſhaggy mountains may brighten, and the
+ ocean roll its white waves, in light.
+
NathosDisplay note is on the deep, and Althos, that beam of youth. Ardan is near his brothers. They move in
+ the gloom of their courſe. The ſons of Uſnoth move in darkneſs, from the wrath of CairbarDisplay note of Erin. Who is that dim, by their ſide ? the night has covered her beauty ! Her hair
+ ſighs on ocean's wind. Her robe ſtreams in duſky wreaths. She is, like the fair ſpirit of heaven,
+ in the midſt of his ſhadowy miſt. Who is it but Dar-thulaDisplay note, the firſt of Erin's maids ? She has fled from the love of Cairbar, with blue-ſhielded
+ Nathos. But the winds deceive thee, O Dar-thula. They deny the woody Etha, to thy ſails. Theſe
+ are not the mountains of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ Nathos; nor is that the roar of his climbing waves. The halls of Cairbar
+ are near: the towers of the foe lift their heads ! Erin ſtretches its green head into the ſea.
+ Tura's bay receives the ſhip. Where have ye been, ye ſouthern winds! when the ſons of my love
+ were deceived? But ye have been ſporting on plains, purſuing the thiſtle's beard. O that ye had
+ been ruſtling, in the ſails of Nathos, till the hills of Etha aroſe! till they aroſe in their
+ clouds, and ſaw their returning chief! Long haſt thou been abſent, Nathos! The day of thy return
+ is paſt !
+
But the land of ſtrangers ſaw thee, lovely : thou waſt lovely in the eyes of
+ Dar-thula. Thy face was like the light of the morning. Thy hair like the raven's wing. Thy ſoul
+ was generous and mild, like the hour of the ſetting ſun. Thy words were the gale of the reeds ;
+ the gliding ſtream of Lora! But when the rage of battle roſe, thou waſt a ſea in a ſtorm. The
+ clang of thy arms was terrible : the hoſt vaniſhed at the ſound of thy courſe. It was then
+ Dar-thula beheld thee, from the top of her moſſy tower: from the tower of SelámaDisplay note, where her fathers dwelt.
+
+
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ “Lovely art thou, O ſtranger!” ſhe ſaid, “for her
+ trembling ſoul aroſe. Fair art thou in thy battles, friend of the fallen CormacDisplay note ! Why doſt thou ruſh on, in thy valour, youth of the ruddy look ? Few are thy hands, in
+ fight, againſt the dark-browed Cair-bar ! O that I might be freed from his loveDisplay note! that I might rejoice in the preſence of Nathos ! Bleſt are the rocks of Etha ! they will
+ behold his ſteps at the chace ! they will ſee his white boſom, when the winds lift his flowing
+ hair !” Such were thy words, Dar-thula, in Seláma's moſſy towers. But, now, the night is around
+ thee. The winds have deceived thy ſails. The winds have deceived thy ſails, Dar-thula! Their
+ bluſtering ſound is high. Ceaſe a little while, O north wind. Let me hear the voice of the
+ lovely. Thy voice is lovely, Dar-thula, between the ruſtling blaſts !
+
“Are theſe the rocks of Nathos?” ſhe ſaid, “This the roar of his
+ mountain-ſtreams ? Comes that beam of light from Uſnoth's nightly hall ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The miſt ſpreads around; the beam is feeble and diſtant far. But the
+ light of Dar-thula's ſoul dwells in the chief of Etha! Son of the generous Uſnoth, why that
+ broken ſigh? Are we in the land of ſtrangers, chief of ecchoing Etha !”
+
“These are not the rocks of Nathos,” he replied, “nor this the roar of his
+ ſtreams. No light comes from Etha's halls, for they are diſtant far. We are in the land of
+ ſtrangers, in the land of cruel Cairbar. The winds have deceived us, Dar-thula. Erin lifts here
+ her hills. Go towards the north, Althos : be thy ſteps, Ardan, along the coaſt ; that the foe may
+ not come in darkneſs, and our hopes of Etha fail,” “I will go towards that moſſy tower, to ſee
+ who dwells about the beam. Reſt, Dar-thula, on the ſhore ! reſt in peace, thou lovely light! the
+ ſword of Nathos is around thee, like the lightning of heaven!”
+
He went. She ſat alone; ſhe heard the rolling of the wave. The big tear is
+ in her eye. She looks for returning Nathos. Her ſoul trembles at the blaſt. She turns her ear
+ towards the tread of his feet. The tread of his feet is not heard. “Where art thou, ſon of my
+ love ! The roar of the blaſt is around me. Dark is the cloudy
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ night. But Nathos does not return. What detains thee, chief of Etha? Have
+ the foes met the hero in the ſtrife of the night ?”
+
He returned, but his face was dark. He had ſeen his departed friend ! It was
+ the wall of Tura. The ghoſt of Cuthullin ſtalked there alone : The ſighing of his breaſt was
+ frequent. The decayed flame of his eyes was terrible ! His ſpear was a column of miſt. The ſtars
+ looked dim through his form. His voice was like hollow wind in a cave : his eye a light ſeen
+ afar. He told the tale of grief. The ſoul of Nathos was ſad, like the ſun in the day of miſt,
+ when his face is watry and dim.
+
“Why art thou ſad, O Nathos ?” ſaid the lovely daughter of Colla. “Thou art
+ a pillar of light to Dar-thula. The joy of her eyes is in Etha's chief. Where is my friend, but
+ Nathos ? My father, my brother is fallen ! Silence dwells on Seláma. Sadneſs ſpreads on the blue
+ ſtreams of my land. My friends have fallen, with Cormac. The mighty were ſlain in the battles of
+ Erin. Hear, ſon of Uſnoth ! hear, O Nathos, my tale of grief.”
+
“Evening darkened on the plain. The blue ſtreams ſailed before mine eyes.
+ The unfrequent blaſt came ruſtling, in the tops of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ Seláma's groves. My ſeat was beneath a tree, on the walls of my fathers.
+ Truthil paſt before my ſoul : the brother of my love : He that was abſent in battle, againſt the
+ haughty Cairbar! Bending on his ſpear, the grey-haired Colla came. His downcaſt face is dark, and
+ ſorrow dwells in his ſoul. His ſword is on the ſide of the hero : the helmet of his fathers on
+ his head. The battle grows in his breaſt. He ſtrives to hide the tear.”
+
“Dar-thula, my daughter,” he ſaid, “thou art the laſt of Colla's race!
+ Truthil is fallen in battle. The chief of Seláma is no more ! Cairbar comes, with his thouſands,
+ towards Selama's walls. Colla will meet his pride, and revenge his ſon. But where ſhall I find
+ thy ſafety, Dar-thula with the dark-brown hair ! thou art lovely as the ſun-beam of heaven, and
+ thy friends are low ! “Is the ſon of battle fallen,” I ſaid, with a burſting ſigh? Ceaſed the
+ generous ſoul of Truthil to lighten through the field? My ſafety, Colla, is in that bow. I have
+ learned to pierce the deer. Is not Cairbar, like the hart of the deſart, father of fallen
+ Truthil?”
+
“The face of age brightened with joy. The crouded tears of his eyes poured
+ down. The lips
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Colla trembled. His grey beard whiſtled in the blaſt. “Thou art the
+ ſiſter of Truthil,” he ſaid; “thou burneſt in the fire of his ſoul. Take, Dar-thula, take that
+ ſpear, that brazen ſhield, that burniſhed helm: they are the ſpoils of a warrior, a ſon of early
+ youth! When the light riſes on Seláma, we go to meet the car-borne Cairbar. But keep thou near
+ the arm of Colla, beneath the ſhadow of my ſhield. Thy father, Darthula, could once defend thee;
+ but age is trembling on his hand. The ſtrength of his arm has failed. His ſoul is darkened with
+ grief.”
+
We paſſed the night in ſorrow. The light of morning roſe. I ſhone in the
+ arms of battle. The grey-haired hero moved before. The ſons of Seláma convened, around the
+ ſounding ſhield of Colla. But few were they in the plain, and their locks were grey. The youths
+ had fallen with Truthil, in the battle of car-borne Cormac. “Friends of my youth !” ſaid Colla,
+ “it was not thus you have ſeen me in arms. It was not thus I ſtrode to battle, when the great
+ Confadan fell. But ye are laden with grief. The darkneſs of age comes like the miſt of the
+ deſart. My ſhield is worn with years! my
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſword is fixedDisplay note in its place! I ſaid to my ſoul, thy evening ſhall be calm : Thy departure like a fading
+ light. But the ſtorm has returned. I bend like an aged oak. My boughs are fallen on Seláma. I
+ tremble in my place. Where art thou, with thy fallen heroes, O my beloved Truthil ! Thou
+ anſwereſt not from thy ruſhing blaſt. The ſoul of thy father is ſad. But I will be ſad no more,
+ Cairbar or Colla muſt fall! I feel the returning ſtrength of my arm. My heart leaps at the ſound
+ of war,
+
The hero drew his ſword. The gleaming blades of his people roſe. They moved
+ along the plain. Their grey hair ſtreamed in the wind. Cairbar ſat at the feaſt, in the ſilent
+ plain of LonaDisplay note. He ſaw the coming of the heroes. He called his chiefs to war.
+ WhyDisplay note ſhould I
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ tell to Nathos, how the ſtrife of battle grew ? I have ſeen thee, in the
+ midſt of thouſands, like the beam of heaven's fire: it is beautiful, but terrible; the people
+ fall in its dreadful courſe. The ſpear of Colla flew. He remembered the battles of his youth. An
+ arrow came with its ſound. It pierced the hero's ſide. He fell on his ecchoing ſhield. My ſoul
+ ſtarted with fear. I ſtretched my buckler over him; but my heaving breaſt was ſeen! Cairbar came,
+ with his ſpear. He beheld Seláma's maid. Joy roſe on his dark-brown face. He ſtayed the lifted
+ ſteel. He raiſed the tomb of Colla. He brought me weeping to Seláma. He ſpoke the words of love,
+ but my ſoul was ſad. I ſaw the ſhields of my fathers ; the ſword of car-borne Truthil. I ſaw the
+ arms of the dead ; the tear was on my cheek ! Then thou didſt come, O Nathos : and gloomy Cairbar
+ fled. He fled like the ghoſt of the deſart before the morning's beam. His hoſt was not near ; and
+ feeble was his arm againſt thy ſteel! Why art thou ſad, O Nathos! ſaid the lovely daughter of
+ Colla ?
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ “I have met,” replied the hero, “the battle in my
+ youth. My arm could not lift the ſpear, when danger firſt aroſe. My ſoul brightened in the
+ preſence of war, as the green narrow vale, when the ſun pours his ſtreamy beams, before he hides
+ his head in a ſtorm. The lonely traveller feels a mournful joy. He ſees the darkneſs, that lowly
+ comes. My ſoul brightened in danger before I ſaw Seláma's fair; before I ſaw thee, like a ſtar,
+ that ſhines on the hill, at night: the cloud advances, and threatens the lovely light! We are in
+ the land of foes. The winds have deceived us, Dar-thula ! The ſtrength of our friends is not
+ near, nor the mountains of Etha. Where ſhall I find thy peace, daughter of mighty Colla! The
+ brothers of Nathos are brave! and his own ſword has ſhone in fight. But what are the ſons of
+ Uſnoth to the hoſt of dark-browed Cairbar ! O that the winds had brought thy ſails, OſcarDisplay note king of men! Thou didſt promiſe to come to the battles of fallen Cormac! Then would my
+ hand be ſtrong, as the flaming arm of death. Cairbar
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ would tremble in his halls, and peace dwell round the lovely Dar-thula.
+ But why doſt thou fall, my ſoul? The ſons of Uſnoth may prevail!”
+
“And they will prevail, O Nathos!” ſaid the riſing ſoul of the maid. “Never
+ ſhall Darthula behold the halls of gloomy Cairbar. Give me thoſe arms of braſs, that glitter to
+ the paſſing meteor. I ſee them dimly in the dark-boſomed ſhip. Dar-thula will enter the battle of
+ ſteel. Ghoſt of the noble Colla ! do I behold thee on that cloud? Who is that dim beſide thee? Is
+ it the car-borne Truthil ? Shall I behold the halls of him that ſlew Seláma's chief ? No: I will
+ not behold them, ſpirits of my love !”
+
Joy roſe in the face of Nathos, when he heard the white-boſomed maid. “Daughter of Seláma !
+ thou ſhineſt along my ſoul. Come, with thy thouſands, Cairbar ! the ſtrength of Nathos is
+ returned ! Thou, O aged Uſnoth, ſhalt not hear that thy ſon has fled. I remember thy words on
+ Etha; when my ſails began to riſe : when I ſpread them towards Erin, towards the moſſy walls of
+ Tura! “Thou goeſt,” he ſaid, “O Nathos, to the king of ſhields! Thou goeſt to Cuthullin, chief of
+ men, who never fled from
+
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+ danger. Let not thine arm be feeble : neither be thy thoughts of flight ;
+ leſt the ſon of Semo ſhould ſay, that Etha's race are weak. His words may come to Uſnoth, and
+ ſadden his ſoul in the hall. The tear was on my father's cheek. He gave this ſhining ſword !”
+
“I came to Tura's bay : but the halls of Tura were ſilent. I looked around, and there was none
+ to tell of the ſon of generous Semo. I went to the hall of ſhells, where the arms of his fathers
+ hung. But the arms were gone, and aged LamhorDisplay note ſat in tears. Whence are the arms of ſteel, ſaid the riſing Lamhor ? The light of the
+ ſpear has long been abſent from Tura's duſky walls. Come ye from the rolling ſea ? Or from Temora'sDisplay note mournful halls ?
+
“We come from the ſea,” I ſaid, “from Uſnoth's riſing towers. We are the
+ ſons of Slis-sámaDisplay note, the daughter of car-borne Semo. Where is Tura's chief, ſon of the ſilent hall ? But why
+ ſhould Nathos aſk ? for I behold thy tears. How did the mighty fall, ſon of the
+
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+ lonely Tura?” “He fell not,” Lamhor replied, “like the ſilent ſtar of
+ night, when it flies through darkneſs and is no more. But he was like a meteor that ſhoots into a
+ diſtant land. Death attends its dreary courſe. Itſelf is the ſign of wars. Mournful are the banks
+ of Lego; and the roar of ſtreamy Lara ! There the hero fell, ſon of the noble Uſnoth.” “The hero
+ fell in the midſt of ſlaughter,” I ſaid with a burſting ſigh. “His hand was ſtrong in war. Death
+ dimly ſat behind his ſword.”
+
We came to Lego's ſounding banks. We found his riſing tomb. His friends in
+ battle are there : his bards of many ſongs. Three days we mourned over the hero: on the fourth, I
+ ſtruck the ſhield of Caithbat. The heroes gathered around with joy, and ſhook their beamy ſpears.
+ Corlath was near with his hoſt, the friend of car-borne Cairbar. We came like a ſtream by night.
+ His heroes fell before us. When the people of the valley roſe, they ſaw their blood with
+ morning's light. But we rolled away, like wreaths of miſt, to Cormac's ecchoing hall. Our ſwords
+ roſe to defend the king. But Temora's halls were empty. Cormac had fallen in his youth. The king
+ of Erin was no more !
+
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+ Sadness ſeized the ſons of Erin. They ſlowly, gloomily
+ retired : like clouds that, long having threatened rain, vaniſh behind the hills. The ſons of
+ Uſnoth moved, in their grief, towards Tura's ſounding bay. We paſſed by Seláma. Cairbar retired
+ like Lano's miſt, when driven before the winds. It was then I beheld thee, O Dar-thula, like the
+ light of Etha's ſun. “Lovely is that beam!” I ſaid. The crowded ſigh of my boſom roſe. “Thou
+ cameſt in thy beauty, Dar-thula, to Etha's mournful chief. But the winds have deceived us,
+ daughter of Colla, and the foe is near !”
+
“Yes! the foe is near,” ſaid the ruſhing ſtrength of AlthosDisplay note. I heard their clanging arms on the coaſt. I ſaw the dark wreaths of Erin's ſtandard.
+ Diſtinct is the voice of CairbarDisplay note. Loud as Cromla's falling ſtream. He had ſeen the dark ſhip on the ſea, before the
+
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+ duſky night came down. His people watch on Lena's plain. They lift ten
+ thouſand ſwords.” “And let them lift ten thouſand ſwords,” ſaid Nathos with a ſmile. “The ſons of
+ car-borne Uſnoth will never tremble in danger ! Why doſt thou roll with all thy foam, thou
+ roaring ſea of Erin? Why do ye ruſtle, on your dark wings, ye whiſtling ſtorms of the ſky? Do ye
+ think, ye ſtorms, that ye keep Nathos on the coaſt ? No : his ſoul detains him, children of the
+ night! Althos! bring my father's arms : thou ſeeſt them beaming to the ſtars. Bring the ſpear of SemoDisplay note. It ſtands in the dark-boſomed ſhip !”
+
He brought the arms. Nathos covered his limbs, in all their ſhining ſteel.
+ The ſtride of the chief is lovely. The joy of his eyes was terrible. He looks towards the coming
+ of Cairbar. The wind is ruſtling in his hair. Darthula is ſilent at his ſide. Her look is fixed
+ on the chief. She ſtrives to hide the riſing ſigh. Two tears ſwell in her radiant eyes !
+
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+ “Althos!” ſaid the chief of Etha, “I ſee a cave in that
+ rock. Place Dar-thula there. Let thy arm, my brother, be ſtrong. Ardan! we meet the foe ; call to
+ battle gloomy Cairbar. O that he came in his ſounding ſteel, to meet the ſon of Uſnoth! Dar-thula
+ ! if thou ſhalt eſcape, look not on the fallen Nathos! Lift thy ſails, O Althos, towards the
+ ecchoing groves of my land.”
+
“Tell the chiefDisplay note, that his ſon fell with fame; that my ſword did not ſhun the fight. Tell him I fell in
+ the midſt of thouſands. Let the joy of his grief be great. Daughter of Colla ! call the maids to
+ Etha's ecchoing hall ! Let their ſongs ariſe for Nathos, when ſhadowy autumn returns. O that the
+ voice of Cona, that Oſſian, might be heard in my praiſe! then would my ſpirit rejoice in the
+ midſt of the ruſhing winds.” “And my voice ſhall praiſe thee, Nathos, chief of the woody Etha !
+ The voice of Oſſian ſhall riſe in thy praiſe, ſon of the generous Uſnoth ! Why was I not on Lena,
+ when the battle roſe? Then would the ſword of Oſſian defend thee ; or himſelf fall low !”
+
We ſat, that night, in Selma round the ſtrength of the ſhell. The wind was
+ abroad, in
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+ the oaks. The ſpirit of the mountainDisplay note roared. The blaſt came ruſtling through the hall, and gently touched my harp. The ſound
+ was mournful and low, like the ſong of the tomb. Fingal heard it the firſt. The crouded ſighs of
+ his boſom roſe. “Some of my heroes are low,” ſaid the grey-haired king of Morven. “I hear the
+ ſound of death on the harp. Oſſian, touch the trembling ſtring. Bid the ſorrow riſe ; that their
+ ſpirits may fly with joy, to Morven's woody hills !” I touched the harp before the king, the
+ ſound was mournful and low. “Bend forward from your clouds,” I ſaid, “ghoſts of my fathers! bend.
+ Lay by the red terror of your courſe. Receive the falling chief ; whether he comes from a diſtant
+ land, or riſes from the rolling ſea. Let his robe of miſt be near; his ſpear that is formed of a
+ cloud. Place an half-extinguiſhed meteor by his ſide, in the form of the hero's ſword. And, oh !
+ let his countenance be lovely, that his friends may delight in his preſence. Bend from your
+ clouds,” I ſaid, “ghoſts of my fathers! bend!”
+
Such was my ſong, in Selma, to the lightly-trembling harp. But Nathos was on
+ Erin's
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+ ſhore, ſurrounded by the night. He heard the voice of the foe, amidſt the
+ roar of tumbling waves. Silent he heard their voice, and reſted on his ſpear ! Morning roſe, with
+ its beams. The ſons of Erin appear, like grey rocks, with all their trees, they ſpread along the
+ coaſt. Cairbar ſtood, in the midſt. He grimly ſmiled when he ſaw the foe. Nathos ruſhed forward,
+ in his ſtrength : nor could Dar-thula ſtay behind. She came with the hero, lifting her ſhining
+ ſpear. “And who are theſe, in their armour, in the pride of youth ? Who but the ſons of Uſnoth,
+ Althos and dark-haired Ardan ?”
+
“Come,” ſaid Nathos, “come! chief of high Temora ! Let our battle be on the
+ coaſt, for the white-boſomed maid. His people are not with Nathos; they are behind theſe rolling
+ ſeas. Why doſt thou bring thy thouſands againſt the chief of Etha ? Thou didſt flyDisplay note from him, in battle, when his friends were around his ſpear.” “Youth of the heart of
+ pride, ſhall Erin's king fight with thee? Thy fathers were not among the renowned, nor of the
+ kings of men. Are the arms of foes in their halls? Or the ſhields of other times? Cairbar is
+ renowned in Temora, nor does he fight with feeble men !”
+
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+
+
The tear ſtarted from car-borne Nathos. He turned his eyes to his brothers.
+ Their ſpears flew, at once. Three heroes lay on earth. Then the light of their ſwords gleamed on
+ high. The ranks of Erin yield; as a ridge of dark clouds before a blaſt of wind! Then Cairbar
+ ordered his people, and they drew a thouſand bows. A thouſand arrows flew. The ſons of Uſnoth
+ fell in blood. They fell like three young oaks, which ſtood alone on the hill : The traveller ſaw
+ the lovely trees and wondered how they grew ſo lonely : the blaſt of the deſart came, by night,
+ and laid their green heads low ; next day he returned, but they were withered, and the heath was
+ bare !
+
Dar-thula ſtood in ſilent grief, and beheld their fall! No tear is in her
+ eye. But her look is wildly ſad. Pale was her cheek. Her trembling lips broke ſhort an
+ half-formed word. Her dark hair flew on wind. The gloomy Cairbar came. “Where is thy lover now ?
+ the car-borne chief of Etha ? Haſt thou beheld the halls of Uſnoth ? Or the dark-brown hills of
+ Fingal ? My battle would have roared on Morven, had not the winds met Dar-thula. Fingal himſelf
+ would have been low and ſorrow dwelling in Selma!” Her ſhield fell from Darthula's arm. Her
+ breaſt of ſnow appeared. It
+
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+ appeared ; but it was ſtained with blood. An arrow was fixed in her ſide.
+ She fell on the fallen Nathos, like a wreath of ſnow ! Her hair ſpreads wide on his face. Their
+ blood is mixing round !”
+
“Daughter of Colla! thou art low !” ſaid Cairbar's hundred bards. “Silence
+ is at the blue ſtreams of Seláma. Truthil'sDisplay note race have failed. When wilt thou riſe in thy beauty, firſt of Erin's maids? Thy ſleep is
+ long in the tomb. The morning diſtant far. The ſun ſhall not come to thy bed and ſay, “Awake
+ Dar-thula ! awake, thou firſt of women! the wind of ſpring is abroad ! The flowers ſhake their
+ heads on the green hills. The woods wave their growing leaves. Retire, O ſun, the daughter of
+ Colla is aſleep. She will not come forth in her beauty. She will not move, in the ſteps of her
+ lovelineſs !”
+
Such was the ſong of the bards, when they raiſed the tomb. I ſung over the
+ grave, when the king of Morven came; when he came to green Erin to fight with car-borne Cairbar !
+
Cuthullin, after the arms of Fingal had expelled Swaran from Ireland, continued to manage the
+ affairs of that kingdom as the guardian of Cormac, the young king. In the third year of
+ Cuthullin's adminiſtration, Torlath, the ſon of Cantela, rebelled in Connaught; and advanced to
+ Temora to dethrone Cormac. Cuthullin marched againſt him, came up with him at the lake of Lego,
+ and totally defeated his forces. Torlath fell in battle by Cuthullin's hand ; but as he
+ too-eagerly preſſed on the enemy, he was mortally wounded. The affairs of Cormac, though, for
+ ſometime, ſupported by Nathos, as mentioned in the preceding poem, fell into confuſion at the
+ death of Cuthullin. Cormac himſelf was ſlain by the rebel Cairbar; and the re-eſtabliſhment of
+ the royal family of Ireland by Fingal, furniſhes the ſubject of the epic poem of Temora.
Is the wind on the ſhield of Fingal? Or is the voice of paſt times in my
+ hall? Sing on, ſweet voice, for thou art pleaſant. Thou carrieſt away my night with joy. Sing on,
+ O Bragela, daughter of car-borne Sorglan !
+
“It is the white wave of the rock, and not Cuthullin's ſails. Often do the
+ miſts deceive me, for the ſhip of my love! when they riſe round ſome ghoſt, and ſpread their grey
+ ſkirts on the wind. Why doſt thou delay thy coming, ſon of the generous Semo? Four times has
+ autumn returned with its winds, and raiſed the ſeas of TogormaDisplay note, ſince thou haſt been in the roar of
+
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+ battles, and Bragéla diſtant far! Hills of the iſle of miſt!
+ when will ye anſwer to his hounds ? But ye are dark in your clouds. Sad Bragéla calls in vain!
+ Night comes rolling down. The face of ocean fails. The heath-cock's head is beneath his wing. The
+ hind ſleeps, with the hart of the deſart. They ſhall riſe with morning's light, and feed by the
+ moſſy ſtream. But my tears return with the ſun. My ſighs come on with the night. When wilt thou
+ come in thine arms, O chief of Erin's wars ?”
+
Pleasant is thy voice in Oſſian's ear, daughter of car-borne Sorglan ! But
+ retire to the hall of ſhells; to the beam of the burning oak. Attend to the murmur of the ſea :
+ it rolls at Dunſcai's walls: let ſleep deſcend on thy blue eyes. Let the hero ariſe in thy dreams
+ !
+
Cuthullin ſits at Lego's lake, at the dark rolling of waters. Night is
+ around the hero. His thouſands ſpread on the heath. A hundred oaks burn, in the midſt. The feaſt
+ of ſhells is ſmoaking wide. Carril ſtrikes the harp, beneath a tree. His grey locks glitter in
+ the beam. The ruſtling blaſt of night is near, and lifts his aged hair. His ſong is of the blue
+ Togorma, and of its chief, Cuthullin's friend ! “Why art thou abſent, Connal, in the day of the
+ gloomy ſtorm ? The chiefs of the ſouth have convened, againſt
+
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+ the car-borne Cormac. “The winds detain thy ſails. Thy blue waters roll
+ around thee. But Cormac is not alone. The ſon of Semo fights his wars! Semo's ſon his battles
+ fights ! the terror of the ſtranger ! He that is like the vapour of death, ſlowly borne by ſultry
+ winds. The ſun reddens in its preſence: The people fall around.”
+
Such was the ſong of Carril, when a ſon of the foe appeared. He threw down
+ his pointleſs ſpear. He ſpoke the words of Torlath ! Torlath, chief of heroes, from Lego's ſable
+ ſurge! He that led his thouſands to battle, againſt carborne Cormac. Cormac who was diſtant far,
+ in Temora'sDisplay note ecchoing halls: he learned to bend the bow of his fathers; and to lift the ſpear. Nor
+ long didſt thou lift the ſpear, mildly-ſhining beam of youth! death ſtands dim behind thee, like
+ the darkened half of the moon, behind its growing light ! Cuthullin roſe before the bardDisplay note, that came from generous Torlath. He offered
+
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+ him the ſhell of joy. He honoured the ſon of ſongs. “Sweet
+ voice of Lego!” he ſaid, “what are the words of Torlath ? Comes he to our feaſt or battle, the
+ car-borne ſon of CantélaDisplay note ?”
+
“He comes to thy battle,” replied the bard, “to the ſounding ſtrife of
+ ſpears. When morning is grey on Lego, Torlath will fight on the plain. Wilt thou meet him, in
+ thine arms, king of the iſle of miſt ? Terrible is the ſpear of Torlath ! it is a meteor of
+ night. He lifts it, and the people fall ! death ſits in the lightning of his ſword!” “Do I fear,”
+ replied Cuthullin, “the ſpear of car-borne Torlath ? He is brave as a thouſand heroes: but my
+ ſoul delights in war! The ſword reſts not by the ſide of Cuthullin, bard of the times of old !
+ Morning ſhall meet me on the plain, and gleam on the blue arms of Semo's ſon. But ſit thou, on
+ the heath, O bard ! and let us hear thy voice. Partake of the joyful ſhell; and hear the ſongs of
+ Temora !”
+
“This is no time,” replied the bard, “to hear the ſong of joy : when the
+ mighty are to meet in battle, like the ſtrength of the waves of Lego. Why art thou ſo dark, SlimoraDisplay note with all thy ſilent woods? No ſtar trembles on thy
+
+ [
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+ top. No moon-beam on thy ſide. But the meteors of death are there : the
+ grey watry forms of ghoſts. Why art thou dark, Slimora! with thy ſilent woods?” He retired, in
+ the ſound of his ſong. Carril joined his voice. The muſic was like the memory of joys that are
+ paſt, pleaſant and mournful to the ſoul. The ghoſts of departed bards heard on Slimora's ſide.
+ Soft ſounds ſpread along the wood. The ſilent valleys of night rejoice. So, when he ſits in the
+ ſilence of the day, in the valley of his breeze, the humming of the mountain bee comes to
+ Oſſian's ear : the gale drowns it in its courſe ; but the pleaſant ſound returns again ! Slant
+ looks the ſun on the field; gradual grows the ſhade of the hill !
+
“Raise,” ſaid Cuthullin, to his hundred bards, “the ſong of the noble
+ Fingal: that ſong which he hears at night, when the dreams of his reſt deſcend : when the bards
+ ſtrike the diſtant harp, and the faint light gleams on Selma's walls. Or let the grief of Lara
+ riſe : the ſighs of the mother of CalmarDisplay note, when he was
+
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+ ſought, in vain, on his hills; when ſhe beheld his bow in
+ the hall. Carril, place the ſhield of Caithbat on that branch. Let the ſpear of Cuthullin be near
+ ; that the ſound of my battle may riſe, with the grey beam of the eaſt.” The hero leaned on his
+ father's ſhield : the ſong of Lara roſe ! The hundred bards were diſtant far : Carril alone is
+ near the chief. The words of the ſong were his: the ſound of his harp was mournful.
+
“AlclethaDisplay note with the aged locks! mother of car-borne Calmar ! why doſt thou look toward the deſart,
+ to behold the return of thy ſon? Theſe are not his heroes, dark on the heath : nor is that the
+ voice of Calmar. It is but the diſtant grove, Alcletha ! but the roar of the mountain wind!” “WhoDisplay note bounds over Lara's ſtream, ſiſter of the noble Calmar ? Does not Alcletha behold his
+ ſpear ? But her eyes are dim ! Is it not the ſon of Matha, daughter of my love ?”
+
“It is but an aged oak, Alcletha!” replied the lovely weeping AlonaDisplay note. “It is but an oak,
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ Alclétha, bent over Lara's ſtream. But who comes along the plain? ſorrow is
+ in his ſpeed. He lifts high the ſpear of Calmar. Alcletha, it is covered with blood!” “But it is
+ covered with the blood of foesDisplay note, ſiſter of car-borne Calmar ! His ſpear never returned unſtained with blood: nor his bow
+ from the ſtrife of the mighty. The battle is conſumed in his preſence : he is a flame of death,
+ Alona! YouthDisplay note of the mournful ſpeed! where is the ſon of Alcletha? Does he return with his fame, in the
+ midſt of his ecchoing ſhields? Thou art dark and ſilent! Calmar is then no more. Tell me not,
+ warrior, how he fell. I muſt not hear of his wound !” Why doſt thou look towards the deſart,
+ mother of low-laid Calmar ?
+
“Such was the ſong of Carril, when Cuthullin lay on his ſhield. The bards
+ reſted on their harps. Sleep fell ſoftly around. The ſon of Semo was awake alone. His ſoul was
+ fixed on war. The burning oaks began to decay. Faint red light is ſpread around. A feeble voice
+ is heard! The ghoſt of Calmar came! He ſtalked dimly along the beam. Dark is the wound in
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ his ſide. His hair is diſordered and looſe. Joy ſits pale on
+ his face. He ſeems to invite Cuthullin to his cave.
+
“Son of the cloudy night !” ſaid the riſing chief of Erin. “Why doſt thou
+ bend thy dark eyes on me, ghoſt of the noble Calmar ? Wouldeſt thou frighten me, O Matha's ſon !
+ from the battles of Cormac ? Thy hand was not feeble in war: neither was thy voice for peace. How
+ art thou changed, chief of Lara! if thou now doſt adviſe to fly! But, Calmar, I never fled. I
+ never feared the ghoſts of night. Small is their knowlege, weak their hands; their dwelling is in
+ the wind. But my ſoul grows in danger, and rejoices in the noiſe of ſteel. Retire thou to thy
+ cave. Thou art not Calmar's ghoſt. He delighted in battle. His arm was like the thunder of
+ heaven!” He retired in his blaſt with joy, for he had heard the voice of his praiſe.
+
The faint beam of the morning roſe. The ſound of Caithbat's buckler ſpread.
+ Green Erin's warriors convened, like the roar of many ſtreams. The horn of war is heard over
+ Lego. The mighty Torlath came? “Why doſt thou come with thy thouſands, Cuthullin,” ſaid the chief
+ of Lego. I know the ſtrength of thy arm.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ Thy ſoul is an unextinguiſhed fire. Why fight we not on the plain, and
+ let our hoſts behold our deeds? Let them behold us like roaring waves, that tumble round a rock :
+ the mariners haſten away, and look on their ſtrife with fear.
+
“Thou riſeſt, like the ſun, on my ſoul,” replied the ſon of Semo. “Thine arm
+ is mighty, O Torlath ! and worthy of my wrath. Retire, ye men of Ullin, to Slimora's ſhady ſide.
+ Behold the chief of Erin, in the day of his fame. Carril! tell to mighty Connal, if Cuthullin
+ muſt fall, tell him I accuſed the winds, which roar on Togorma's waves. Never was he abſent in
+ battle, when the ſtrife of my fame aroſe. Let his ſword be before Cormac, like the beam of
+ heaven. Let his counſel ſound in Temora, in the day of danger !
+
He ruſhed, in the ſound of his arms, like the terrible ſpirit of LodaDisplay note, when he comes, in the roar of a thouſand ſtorms, and ſcatters battles from his eyes. He
+ ſits on a cloud over Lochlin's ſeas. His mighty hand is on his ſword. Winds
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ lift his flaming locks! The waining moon half-lights his
+ dreadful face. His features blended in darkneſs ariſe to view. So terrible was Cuthullin in the
+ day of his fame. Torlath fell by his hand. Lego's heroes mourned. They gather around the chief,
+ like the clouds of the deſart. A thouſand ſwords roſe at once; a thouſand arrows flew; but he
+ ſtood like a rock in the midſt of a roaring ſea. They fell around. He ſtrode in blood. Dark
+ Slimora ecchoed wide. The ſons of Ullin came. The battle ſpread over Lego. The chief of Erin
+ overcame. He returned over the field with his fame. But pale he returned ! The joy of his face
+ was dark. He rolled his eyes in ſilence. The ſword hung, unſheathed, in his hand. His ſpear bent
+ at every ſtep!
+
“Carril,” ſaid the chief in ſecret, “the ſtrength of Cuthullin fails. My
+ days are with the years that are paſt. No morning of mine ſhall ariſe. They ſhall ſeek me at
+ Temora, but I ſhall not be found. Cormac will weep in his hall, and ſay, “Where is Erin's chief?”
+ But my name is renowned ! my fame in the ſong of bards. The youth will ſay in ſecret, O let me
+ die as Cuthullin died. Renown cloathed him like a robe. The light of his fame is great.
+
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+ Draw the arrow from my ſide. Lay Cuthullin beneath that oak. Place the
+ ſhield of Caithbat near, that they may behold me amidſt the arms of my fathers !”
+
“And is the ſon of Semo fallen?” ſaid Carril with a ſigh. “Mournful are
+ Tura's walls. Sorrow dwells at Dunſcäi. Thy ſpouſe is left alone in her youth. The ſonDisplay note of thy love is alone! He ſhall come to Bragela, and aſk her why ſhe weeps. He ſhall lift
+ his eyes to the wall, and ſee his father's ſword. “Whoſe ſword is that ?” he will ſay. The ſoul
+ of his mother is ſad. Who is that, like the hart of the deſart, in the murmur of his courſe? His
+ eyes look wildly round in ſearch of his friend. Connal, ſon of Colgar, where haſt thou been, when
+ the mighty fell? Did the ſeas of Cogorma roll around thee ? Was the wind of the ſouth in thy
+ ſails? The mighty have fallen in battle, and thou waſt not there. Let none tell it in Selma, nor
+ in Morven's woody land. Fingal will be ſad, and the ſons of the deſart mourn !”
+
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+
+
By the dark rolling waves of Lego they raiſed the hero's tomb. LuäthDisplay note, at a diſtance, lies. The ſong of bards roſe over the dead.
+
“BlestDisplay note be thy ſoul, ſon of Semo. Thou wert mighty in battle. Thy ſtrength was like the ſtrength
+ of a ſtream : thy ſpeed like the eagle's wing. Thy path in battle was terrible : the ſteps of
+ death were behind thy ſword. Bleſt be thy ſoul, ſon of Semo, car-borne chief of Dunfcäi. Thou
+ haſt not fallen by the ſword of the mighty, neither was thy blood on the ſpear of the brave. The
+ arrow came, like the ſting of death in a blaſt: nor did the feeble hand, which drew the bow,
+ perceive it. Peace to thy ſoul, in thy cave, chief of the iſle of miſt !”
+
“The mighty are diſperſed at Temora : there is none in Cormac's hall. The
+ king mourns in his youth. He does not behold thy return. The ſound of thy ſhield is ceaſed : his
+ foes are gathering round. Soft be thy reſt in thy cave,
+
+ [
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+ chief of Erin's wars! Bragéla will not hope for thy return, or ſee thy
+ ſails in ocean's foam. Her ſteps are not on the ſhore : nor her ear open to the voice of thy
+ rowers. She ſits in the hall of ſhells. She ſees the arms of him that is no more. Thine eyes are
+ full of tears, daughter of car-borne Sorglan ! Bleſt be thy ſoul in death, O chief of ſhady Tura
+ !”
+
+ [
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Fingal, on his return from Ireland, after he had expelled Swaran from that kingdom, made a
+ feaſt to all his heroes : he forgot to invite Ma-ronnan and Aldo, two chiefs, who had not been
+ along with him in his expedition. They reſented his neglect; and went over to Erragon king of
+ Sora, a country of Scandinavia, the declared enemy of Fingal. The valour of Aldo ſoon gained him
+ a great reputation in Sora: and Lorma the beautiful wife of Erragon fell in love with him. He
+ found means to eſcape with her, and to come to Fingal, who reſided then in Selma on the weſtern
+ coaſt. Erragon invaded Scotland, and was ſlain in battle by Gaul the ſon of Morni, after he had
+ rejected terms of peace offered him by Fingal. In this war Aldo fell, in a ſingle combat, by the
+ hands of his rival Erragon; and the unfortunate Lorma afterwards died of grief.
Son of the diſtant land, who dwelleſt in the ſecret cell! do I hear the
+ ſound of thy grove? Or is it thy voice of ſongs ? The torrent was loud in my ear; but I heard a
+ tuneful voice. Doſt thou praiſe the chiefs of thy land: or the ſpiritsDisplay note of the wind? But, lonely dweller of rocks ! look thou on that heathy plain. Thou ſeeſt
+ green tombs, with their rank, whiſtling graſs : With their ſtones of moſſy heads. Thou ſeeſt
+ them, ſon of the rock, but Oſſian's eyes have failed.
+
A mountain-stream comes roaring down and ſends its waters round a green
+ hill. Four moſſy ſtones, in the midſt of withered graſs, rear their heads on the top. Two trees,
+ which the ſtorms have bent, ſpread their whiſtling branches
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ around. This is thy dwelling, ErragonDisplay note ; this thy narrow houſe: the ſound of thy ſhells have been long forgot in Sora. Thy
+ ſhield is become dark in thy hall. Erragon, king of ſhips ! chief of diſtant Sora! how haſt thou
+ fallen on our mountains? How is the mighty low? Son of the ſecret cell ! doſt thou delight in
+ ſongs ? Hear the battle of Lora. The ſound of its ſteel is long ſince paſt. So thunder on the
+ darkened hill roars and is no more. The ſun returns with his ſilent beams. The glittering rocks,
+ and green heads of the mountains ſmile !
+
The bay of Cona received our ſhipsDisplay note from Erin's rolling waves. Our white ſheets hung looſe to the maſts. The boiſterous winds
+ roared behind the groves of Morven. The horn of the king is ſounded ; the deer ſtart from their
+ rocks. Our arrows flew in the woods. The feaſt of the hill is ſpread. Our joy was great on our
+ rocks, for the fall of the terrible Swaran. Two heroes were forgot at our feaſt, The rage of
+ their boſoms burned. They rolled their red eyes in ſecret. The ſigh burſts from their breaſts.
+ They were ſeen to talk together, and to throw their ſpears on earth. They were two dark clouds,
+ in the midſt of our joy ; like pillars of
+
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+ miſt on the ſettled ſea. They glitter to the ſun, but the mariners fear a
+ ſtorm.
+
“Raise my white ſails,” ſaid Ma-ronnan, “raiſe them to the winds of the
+ weſt. Let us ruſh, O Aldo, through the foam of the northern wave. We are forgot at the feaſt: but
+ our arms have been red in blood. Let us leave the hills of Fingal, and ſerve the king of Sora.
+ His countenance is fierce. War darkens around his ſpear. Let us be renowned, O Aldo, in the
+ battles of other lands!”
+
They took their ſwords, their ſhields of thongs. They ruſhed to Lumar's
+ reſounding bay. They came to Sora's haughty king, the chief of bounding ſteeds. Erragon had
+ returned from the chace. His ſpear was red in blood. He bent his dark face to the ground: and
+ whiſtled as he went. He took the ſtrangers to his feaſts: they fought and conquered in his
+ wars.
+
Aldo returned with his fame towards Sora's lofty walls. From her tower
+ looked the ſpouſe of Erragon, the humid, rolling eyes of Lorma. Her yellow hair flies on the wind
+ of ocean. Her white breaſt heaves, like ſnow on heath; when the gentle winds ariſe, and ſlowly
+ move it in the light. She ſaw young Aldo, like the beam of Sora's ſetting ſun. Her ſoft heart
+
+
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+ ſighed. Tears filled her eyes. Her white arm ſupported her head.
+ Three days ſhe ſat within the hall, and covered her grief with joy. On the fourth ſhe fled with
+ the hero, along the troubled ſea. They came to Cona's moſſy towers, to Fingal king of ſpears.
+
“Aldo of the heart of pride!” ſaid Fingal riſing in wrath : “ſhall I defend
+ thee from the rage of Sora's injured king? who will now receive my people into their halls? who
+ will give the feaſt of ſtrangers, ſince Aldo, of the little ſoul, has diſhonoured my name in Sora
+ ? Go to thy hills, thou feeble hand. Go: hide thee in thy caves. Mournful is the battle we muſt
+ fight, with Sora's gloomy king. Spirit of the noble Trenmor ! When will Fingal ceaſe to fight? I
+ was born in the midſt of battlesDisplay note, and my ſteps muſt move in blood to the tomb. But my hand did not injure the weak, my
+ ſteel did not touch the feeble in arms. I behold thy tempeſts, O Morven, which will overturn my
+ halls; when my children are dead in battle, and none remains to dwell in Selma. Then will the
+ feeble come, but they will not know my tomb, My
+
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+ renown is only in ſong. My deeds ſhall be as a dream to future times
+ !”
+
His people gathered around Erragon, as the ſtorms round the ghoſt of night;
+ when he calls them, from the top of Morven, and prepares to pour them on the land of the
+ ſtranger. He came to the ſhore of Cona. He ſent his bard to the king; to demand the combat of
+ thouſands ; or the land of many hills! Fingal ſat in his hall with the friends of his youth
+ around him. The young heroes were at the chace, far diſtant in the deſart. The grey-haired chiefs
+ talked of other times; of the actions of their youth; when the aged NartmorDisplay note came, the chief of ſtreamy Lora.
+
“This is no time,” ſaid Nartmor,” to hear the ſongs of other years : Erragon
+ frowns on the coaſt, and lifts ten thouſand ſwords. Gloomy is the king among his chiefs! he is
+ like the darkened moon, amidſt the meteors of night; when they ſail along her ſkirts, and give
+ the light that has ſailed o'er her orb.” “Come,” ſaid Fingal, “from thy hall, come daughter of my
+ love: come from thy hall, BoſminaDisplay note, maid of ſtreamy Morven ! Nartmor, take the ſteeds of the ſtrangers. Attend the
+
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+ daughter of Fingal! Let her bid the king of Sora to our feaſt,
+ to Selma's ſhaded wall. Offer him, O Boſmina, the peace of heroes, and the wealth of generous
+ Aldo. Our youths are far diſtant. Age is on our trembling hands !”
+
She came to the hoſt of Erragon, like a beam of light to a cloud. In her
+ right hand was ſeen a ſparkling ſhell. In her left an arrow of gold. The firſt, the joyful mark
+ of peace! The latter, the ſign of war. Erragon brightened in her preſence as a rock, before the
+ ſudden beams of the ſun; when they iſſue from a broken cloud, divided by the roaring wind !
+
“Son of the diſtant Sora,” began the mildly bluſhing maid. “Come to the
+ feaſt of Morven's king, to Selma's ſhaded walls. Take the peace of heroes, O warrior ! Let the
+ dark ſword reſt by thy ſide. Chuſeſt thou the wealth of Kings ? Then hear the words of generous
+ Aldo. He gives to Erragon an hundred ſteeds, the children of the rein: an hundred maids from
+ diſtant lands; an hundred hawks with fluttering wing, that fly acroſs the ſky. An hundred girdlesDisplay note
+
+
+ [
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+ ſhall alſo be thine, to bind high-boſomed maids. The friends of the births
+ of heroes. The cure of the ſons of toil. Ten ſhells ſtudded with gems ſhall ſhine in Sora's
+ towers: the bright water trembles on their ſtars, and ſeems to be ſparkling wine. They gladdened
+ once the kings of the worldDisplay note, in the midſt of their ecchoing halls. Theſe, O hero, ſhall be thine; or thy
+ white-boſomed ſpouſe. Lorma ſhall roll her bright eyes in thy halls; though Fingal loves the
+ generous Aldo : Fingal ! who never injured a hero, though his arm is ſtrong !”
+
“Soft voice of Cona !” replied the king, “tell him, he ſpreads his feaſt in
+ vain. Let Fingal pour his ſpoils around me. Let him bend beneath my power. Let him give me the
+ ſwords of his fathers : the ſhields of other times ; that my children may behold them in my
+ halls, and ſay, “Theſe are the arms of Fingal.” “Never ſhall they behold them in thy halls !”
+ ſaid the riſing pride of the maid. “They are in the hands of heroes, who never yielded in war.
+ King of ecchoing Sora ! the ſtorm is gathering on our hills. Doſt thou not foreſee the fall of
+ thy people, ſon of the diſtant land?”
+
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+
+
She came to Selma's ſilent halls. The king beheld her down-caſt eyes. He
+ roſe from his place, in his ſtrength. He ſhook his aged locks. He took the ſounding mail of
+ Trenmor. The dark-brown ſhield of his fathers. Darkneſs filled Selma's hall, when he ſtretched
+ his hand to his ſpear : the ghoſts of thouſands were near, and foreſaw the death of the people.
+ Terrible joy roſe in the face of the aged heroes. They ruſhed to meet the foe. Their thoughts are
+ on the deeds of other years: and on the fame that riſes from death!
+
Now at Trathal's ancient tomb the dogs of the chace appeared. Fingal knew
+ that his young heroes followed. He ſtopt in the midſt of his courſe. Oſcar appeared the firſt;
+ then Morni's ſon, and Némi's race. FercuthDisplay note ſhewed his gloomy form. Dermid ſpread his dark hair on wind. Oſſian came the laſt. I
+ hummed the ſong of other times. My ſpear ſupported my ſteps over the little ſtreams. My thoughts
+ were of mighty men. Fingal ſtruck his boſſy ſhield ; and gave the diſmal ſign of war. A thouſand
+ ſwords at once unſheathed, gleam on the waving heath. Three grey-haired ſons of ſong, raiſe the
+ tuneful, mournful yoice. Deep and dark with
+
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+ ſounding ſteps, we ruſh, a gloomy ridge, along: like the ſhower of a
+ ſtorm, when it pours on a narrow vale.
+
The king of Morven ſat on his hill. The ſun-beam of battle flew on the wind.
+ The friends of his youth are near, with all their waving locks of age. Joy roſe in the hero's
+ eyes when he beheld his ſons in war: when he ſaw us amidſt the lightning of ſwords, mindful of
+ the deeds of our fathers. Erragon came on, in his ſtrength, like the roar of a winter ſtream. The
+ battle falls around his ſteps: death dimly ſtalks along by his ſide!
+
“Who comes,” ſaid Fingal, “like the bounding roe, like the hart of ecchoing
+ Cona? His ſhield glitters on his ſide. The clang of his armour is mournful. He meets with Erragon
+ in the ſtrife ! Behold the battle of the chiefs! It is like the contending of ghoſts in a gloomy
+ ſtorm. But falleſt thou, ſon of the hill, and is thy white boſom ſtained with blood? Weep,
+ unhappy Lorma, Aldo is no more !” The king took the ſpear of his ſtrength. He was ſad for the
+ fall of Aldo. He bent his deathful eyes on the foe : but Gaul met the King of Sora. Who can
+ relate the fight of the chiefs? The mighty ſtranger fell !
+
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+ “Sons of Cona!” Fingal cried aloud, “ſtop the
+ hand of death. Mighty was he that is low. Much is he mourned in Sora! The ſtranger will come
+ towards his hall, and wonder why it is ſo ſilent. The king is fallen, O ſtranger. The joy of his
+ houſe is ceaſed. Liſten to the ſound of his woods. Perhaps his ghoſt is murmuring there ! But he
+ is far diſtant, on Morven, beneath the ſword of a foreign foe.” Such were the words of Fingal,
+ when the bard raiſed the ſong of peace. We ſtopped our uplifted ſwords. We ſpared the feeble foe.
+ We laid Erragon in a tomb. I raiſed the voice of grief. The clouds of night came rolling down.
+ The ghoſt of Erragon appeared to ſome. His face was cloudy and dark ; an half-formed ſigh is in
+ his breaſt. “Bleſt be thy ſoul, O king of Sora ! thine arm was terrible in war!”
+
Lorma ſat, in Aldo's hall. She ſat at the light of a flaming oak. The night
+ came down, but he did not return. The ſoul of Lorma is ſad! “What detains thee, hunter of Cona ?
+ Thou didſt promiſe to return. Has the deer been diſtant far? do the dark winds ſigh, round thee,
+ on the heath? I am in the land of ſtrangers, where is my friend, but Aldo? Come from thy ſounding
+ hills, O my beſt beloved !”
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+
+
Her eyes are turned toward the gate. She liſtens to the ruſtling blaſt. She
+ thinks it is Aldo's tread. Joy riſes in her face! But ſorrow returns again, like a thin cloud on
+ the moon. “Wilt thou not return, my love? Let me behold the face of the hill. The moon is in the
+ eaſt. Calm and bright is the breaſt of the lake ! When ſhall I behold his dogs, returning from
+ the chace ? When ſhall I hear his voice, loud and diſtant on the wind ? Come from thy ſounding
+ hills, hunter of woody Cona !” His thin ghoſt appeared, on a rock, like a watry beam of feeble
+ light : When the moon ruſhes ſudden from between two clouds, and the midnight ſhower is on the
+ field ! She followed the empty form over the heath. She knew that her hero fell. I heard her
+ approaching cries on the wind, like the mournful voice of the breeze, when it ſighs on the graſs
+ of the cave !
+
She came. She found her hero ! Her voice was heard no more. Silent ſhe
+ rolled her eyes. She was pale, and wildly ſad! Few were her days on Cona. She ſunk into the tomb.
+ Fingal commanded his bards; they ſung over the death of Lorma. The daughters of Morven mourned
+ her, for one day in the year, when the dark winds of autumn returned !
+
+
+
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+ Son of the diſtant landDisplay note ! Thou dwelleſt in the field of fame ! O let thy ſong ariſe, at times, in praiſe of thoſe
+ who fell. Let their thin ghoſts rejoice around thee ; and the ſoul of Lorma come on a feeble beamDisplay note : when thou lieſt down to reſt, and the moon looks into thy cave. Then ſhalt thou ſee her
+ lovely; but the tear is ſtill on her cheek !
+ END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
+
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+
+
+
+
Fingal, when very young, making a voyage to the Orkney Iſlands, was
+ driven, by ſtreſs of weather, into a bay of Scandinavia, near the reſidence of Starno, king of
+ Lochlins. Starno invites Fingal to a feaſt, Fingal, doubting the faith of the king, and
+ mindful of a former breach of hoſpitality, refuſes to go.—Starno gathers together his tribes:
+ Fingal reſolves to defend himſelf. — Night coming on, Duth-maruno propoſes to Fingal, to
+ obſerve the motions of the enemy.— The king himſelf undertakes the watch. Advancing towards
+ the enemy, he, accidentally, comes to the cave of Turthor, where Starno had confined
+ Conban-carglas, the captive daughter of a neighbouring chief. — Her ſtory is imperfect, a part
+ of the original being loſt.— Fingal comes to a place of worſhip, where Starno and his ſon,
+ Swaran, conſulted the ſpirit of Loda, concerning the iſſue of the war.— The rencounter of
+ Fingal and Swaran.— Duän firſt concludes with a deſcription of the airy
+ hall of Cruth-loda ſuppoſed to be the Odin of Scandinavia.
Why, thou wanderer unſeen! Thou bender of the thiſtle of Lora ; why, thou
+ breeze of the valley, haſt thou left mine ear ? I hear
+
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+ no diſtant roar of ſtreams! No ſound of the harp, from the rock ! Come,
+ thou huntreſs of Lutha, Malvina, call back his ſoul to the bard. I look forward to Lochlin of
+ lakes, to the dark, billowy bay of U-thorno, where Fingal deſcends from Ocean, from the roar of
+ winds. Few are the heroes of Morven, in a land unknown !
+
Starno ſent a dweller of Loda, to bid Fingal to the feaſt; but the King
+ remembered the paſt, and all his rage aroſe, “Nor Gormal's moſſy towers, nor Starno ſhall
+ Fingal behold. Deaths wander, like ſhadows, over his fiery ſoul! Do I forget that beam of
+ light, the whitehanded daughterDisplay note of kings? Go, ſon of Loda; his words are wind to Fingal : wind, that, to and fro,
+ drives the thiſtle, in autumn's duſky
+
+ [
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+ vale. Duth-marunoDisplay note, arm of death ! Crommaglas, of iron ſhields! Struthmor, dweller of battle's wing !
+ Cormar, whoſe ſhips bound on ſeas, careleſs as the courſe of a meteor, on dark-rolling clouds!
+ Ariſe, around me, children of heroes, in a land unknown! Let each look on his ſhield, like
+ Trenmor, the ruler of wars. “Come down, thus Trenmor ſaid, thou dweller between the harps. Thou
+ ſhalt roll this ſtream away, or waſte with me in earth.”
+
Around the king they riſe in wrath. No words come forth : they ſeize their
+ ſpears. Each ſoul is rolled into itſelf. At length the ſudden clang is waked, on all their
+ echoing ſhields. Each takes his hill, by night; at intervals, they darkly ſtand. Unequal burſts
+ the hum of ſongs, between the roaring wind !
In his arms, came tall Duth-maruno; he from Croma of rocks, ſtern hunter
+ of the boar ! In his dark boat he roſe on waves, when CrumthormoDisplay note awaked its woods. In the chace he ſhone, among foes: No fear was thine, Duthmaruno
+ !
+
“Son of daring Comhal, ſhall my ſteps be forward through night? From this
+ ſhield ſhall I view them, over their gleaming tribes? Starno king of lakes, is before me, and
+ Swaran, the foe of ſtrangers. Their words are not in vain, by Loda's ſtone of power. — Should
+ Duthmaruno not return, his ſpouſe is lonely, at home, where meet two roaring ſtreams, on
+ Crathmo-craulo's plain. Around are hills, with echoing woods, the ocean is rolling near. My ſon
+ looks on ſcreaming ſea-fowl, a young wanderer on the field. Give the head of a boar to Can-donaDisplay note, tell him of his father's joy, when the
+
+ [
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+ briſtly ſtrength of I-thorno rolled on his lifted ſpear. Tell him of my
+ deeds in war ! Tell where his father fell!''
+
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+
+
“Nor forgetful of my fathers,” ſaid Fingal, “I have bounded over the ſeas. Theirs were the
+ times of danger, in the days of old. Nor ſettles darkneſs on me, before foes, tho' youthful in
+ my locks. Chief of Crathmo-craulo, the field of night is mine.”
+
Fingal ruſhed, in all his arms, wide-bounding over Turthor's ſtream, that ſent its ſullen
+ roar, by night, through Gormal's miſty vale. A moon-beam glittered on a rock; in the midſt,
+ ſtood a ſtately form; a form with floating locks, like Lochlin's white-boſomed maids. Unequal
+ are her ſteps, and ſhort. She throws a broken ſong on wind. At times ſhe toſſes her white arms
+ : for grief is dwelling in her ſoul.
+
“Torcul-TornoDisplay note, of aged locks !” ſhe ſaid, “where now are thy ſteps, by Lulan? Thou
+
+
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+ ]
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+ haſt failed, at thine own dark ſtreams, father of Conban-cârgla ! But I
+ behold thee, chief of Lulan, ſporting by Loda's hall, when the dark-ſkirted night is rolled
+ along the ſky.—Thou, ſometimes, hideſt the moon, with thy ſhield. I have ſeen her dim, in
+ heaven. Thou kindleſt thy hair into meteors, and ſaileſt along the night. Why am I forgot, in
+ my cave, king of ſhaggy boars? Look, from the hall of Loda, on thy lonely daughter.”
+
“Who art thou,” ſaid Fingal, “voice of night ?”
+
She, trembling, turned away.
+
“Who art thou, in thy darkneſs ?”
+
She ſhrunk into the cave.
+
The king looſed the thong from her hands. He aſked about her fathers.
+
“Torcul-Torno,” ſhe ſaid, “once dwelt at Lulan's foamy ſtream : he
+ dwelt—but, now, in Loda's hall, he ſhakes the ſounding ſhell. He met Starno of Lochlin, in war
+ ; long fought the dark-eyed kings. My father fell, in his blood, blue-ſhielded Torcul-torno! By
+ a rock, at Lulan's ſtream, I had pierced the bounding roe. My white hand gathered my hair, from
+ off the ruſhing winds. I heard a noiſe. Mine eyes were up. My ſoft breaſt roſe on high. My ſtep
+ was forward, at Lulan, to meet thee, Torcul-torno ! It was Starno, dreadful king ! His red eyes
+ rolled on me in love. Dark waved his ſhaggy brow, above his gathered ſmile. Where is my father;
+ I ſaid, he that was mighty in war? Thou art left alone among foes, O daughter of Torcul-torno!
+ He took my hand. He raiſed the ſail. In this cave he placed me dark. At times, he comes, a
+ gathered miſt. He lifts, before me, my father's ſhield. But often paſſes a beamDisplay note of youth, far-diſtant from my cave. The ſon of Starno moves, in my ſight. He dwells
+ lonely in my ſoul.”
+
“Maid of Lulan,” ſaid Fingal, “white
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ handed daughter of grief! a cloud, marked with ſtreaks of fire, is
+ rolled along thy ſoul. Look not to that dark-robed moon ; look not to thoſe meteors of heaven.
+ My gleaming ſteel is around thee, the terror of thy foes! It is not the ſteel of the feeble,
+ nor of the dark in ſoul! The maids are not ſhut in ourDisplay note caves of ſtreams. They toſs not their white arms alone. They bend, fair within their
+ locks, above the harps of Selma. Their voice is not in the deſart wild. We melt along the
+ pleaſing ſound !”
+
* * * * * *
+
Fingal, again, advanced his ſteps, wide thro' the boſom of night, to where
+ the trees of Loda ſhook amid ſqually winds. Three ſtones, with heads of moſs, are there; a
+ ſtream, with foaming courſe: and dreadful, rolled around them, is the dark-red cloud of Loda.
+ High from its top looked forward a ghoſt, half-formed of the ſhadowy ſmoak. He poured his
+ voice, at times, amidſt the roaring ſtream. Near,
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ bending beneath a blaſted tree, two heroes received his words : Swaran
+ of lakes, and Starno foe of ſtrangers. On their dun ſhields, they darkly leaned : their ſpears
+ are forward through night. Shrill ſounds the blaſt of darkneſs, in Starno's floating beard.
+
They heard the tread of Fingal. The warriors roſe in arms. “Swaran, lay
+ that wanderer low,” ſaid Starno, in his pride. “Take the ſhield of thy father. It is a rock in
+ war.”— Swaran threw his gleaming ſpear. It ſtood fixed in Loda's tree. Then came the foes
+ forward, with ſwords. They mixed their rattling ſteel. Through the thongs of Swaran's ſhield
+ ruſhed the bladeDisplay note of Luno. The ſhield fell rolling on earth. Cleft the helmetDisplay note fell down. Fingal ſtopt the lifted ſteel. Wrathful ſtood Swaran, unarmed. He rolled his
+ ſilent eyes; he threw his ſword on earth. Then, ſlowly ſtalking over the ſtream, he whiſtled as
+ he went.
+
Nor unſeen of his father is Swaran. Starno turns away in wrath. His ſhaggy
+ brows wave dark, above his gathered rage. He ſtrikes Loda's
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ tree, with his ſpear. He raiſes the hum of ſongs. They come to the hoſt
+ of Lochlin, each in his own dark path; like two foam-covered ſtreams, from two rainy vales
+ !
+
To Turthor's plain Fingal returned. Fair roſe the beam of the eaſt. It ſhone on the ſpoils of
+ Lochlin in the hand of the king. From her cave came forth, in her beauty, the daughter of
+ Torcul-torno. She gathered her hair from wind. She wildly raiſed her ſong. The ſong of Lulan of
+ ſhells, where once her father dwelt. She ſaw Starno's bloody ſhield. Gladneſs roſe, a light, on
+ her face. She ſaw the cleft helmet of SwaranDisplay note. She ſhrunk, darkened, from Fingal.—“Art thou fallen, by thy hundred ſtreams, O love of
+ the mournful maid.”
+
U-Thorno, that riſeſt in waters! on whoſe ſide are the meteors of night! I
+ behold the dark moon deſcending, behind thy reſounding woods. On thy top dwells the miſty Loda:
+ the houſe of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the ſpirits of men! In the end of his cloudy hall, bends forward
+ Cruth-loda of ſwords. His form is dimly ſeen, amid his wavy miſt. His right-hand is on his
+ ſhield. In his left is the half-viewleſs ſhell. The roof of his dreadful hall is marked, with
+ nightly fires!
+
The race of Cruth-loda advance, a ridge of formleſs ſhades. He reaches the
+ ſounding ſhell, to thoſe who ſhone in war. But, between him and the feeble, his ſhield riſes, a
+ darkened orb. He is a ſetting meteor to the weak in arms. Bright, as a rainbow on ſtreams, came
+ Lulan's white-boſomed maid.
FINGAL returning, with day, devolves the command on Duthmaruno, who engages the enemy, and
+ drives them over the ſtream of Turthor. Having recalled his people, he congratulates
+ Duth-maruno on his ſucceſs, but diſcovers, that that hero had been mortally wounded in the
+ action. —Duthmaruno dies. Ulin, the bard, in honour of the dead, introduces the epiſode of
+ Colgorm and Strina-dona, which concludes this duan.
“Where art thou, ſon of the king,” ſaid dark-haired Duth-maruno ? “Where
+ haſt thou ſailed, young beam of Selma? He returns not, from the boſom of night ! Morning is
+ ſpread on U-thorno. In his miſt is the ſun, on his hill. Warriors, lift the ſhields, in my
+ preſence. He muſt not fall, like a fire from heaven, whoſe place is not marked on the ground.
+ He comes, like an eagle, from the ſkirt of his ſqually wind ! In his hand are the ſpoils of
+ foes. King of Selma, our ſouls were ſad !”
+
“Near us are the foes, Duth-maruno. They come forward, like waves in miſt,
+ when their foamy tops are ſeen, at times, above the low-ſailing vapour. The traveller ſhrinks
+ on his journey ; he knows not whither to fly. No trembling travellers are we ! Sons of heroes
+ call forth the ſteel. Shall the ſword of Fingal ariſe, or ſhall a warrior lead ?”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Display noteThe deeds of old, ſaid Duth-maruno, are like paths to our eyes, O
+ Fingal. Broad-ſhielded Trenmor, is ſtill ſeen, amidſt his own dim years. Nor feeble was the
+ ſoul of the king. There, no dark deed wandered in ſecret. From their hundred ſtreams came the
+ tribes, to graſſy Colglancrona. Their chiefs were before them. Each ſtrove to lead the war.
+ Their ſwords were often half-unſheathed. Red rolled their eyes of rage.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Separate they ſtood, and hummed their ſurly ſongs. “Why ſhould they
+ yield to each other ? their fathers were equal in war.” Trenmor was there, with his people,
+ ſtately in youthful locks. He ſaw the advancing foe. The grief of his ſoul aroſe. He bade the
+ chiefs to lead, by turns : they led, but they were rolled away. From his own moſſy hill,
+ blue-ſhielded Trenmor came down. He led wide-ſkirted battle, and the ſtrangers failed. Around
+ him the dark-browed warriors came : they ſtruck the ſhield of joy. Like a pleaſant gale, the
+ words of power ruſhed forth from Selma of kings. But the chiefs led, by turns, in war, till
+ mighty danger roſe : then was the hour of the king to conquer in the field.
+
“Not unknown, ſaid Cromma-glaſsDisplay note of
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhields, are the deeds of our fathers. But who ſhall now lead the war,
+ before the race of kings? Miſt ſettles on theſe four dark hills : within it let each warrior
+ ſtrike his ſhield. Spirits may deſcend in darkneſs, and mark us for the war.”
+
They went, each to his hill of miſt. Bards marked the ſounds of the
+ ſhields. Loudeſt rung thy boſs, Duth-maruno. Thou muſt lead in war!
+
Like the murmur of waters, the race of Uthorno came down. Starno led the
+ battle, and Swaran of ſtormy iſles. They looked forward from iron ſhields, like Cruth-loda
+ fiery-eyed, when he looks from behind the darkened moon, and ſtrews his ſigns on night. The
+ foes met by Turthor's ſtream. They heaved like ridgy waves. Their echoing ſtrokes are mixed.
+ Shadowy death flies over the hoſts. They were clouds of hail, with ſqually winds in their
+ ſkirts. Their
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhowers are roaring together. Below them ſwells the dark-rolling
+ deep.
+
Strife of gloomy U-thorno, why ſhould I mark thy wounds ! Thou art with
+ the years that are gone ! thou fadeſt on my ſoul !
+
Starno brought forward his ſkirt of war, and Swaran his own dark wing. Nor
+ a harmleſs fire is Duth-maruno's ſword. Lochlin is rolled over her ſtreams. The wrathful kings
+ are loſt in thought. They roll their ſilent eyes, over the flight of their land. The horn of
+ Fingal was heard; the ſons of woody Albion returned. But many lay, by Turthor's ſtream, ſilent
+ in their blood.
+
Chief of Crathmo, ſaid the king, Duthmaruno, hunter of boars ! not
+ harmleſs returns my eagle, from the field of foes! For this white-boſomed Lanul ſhall brighten,
+ at her ſtreams; Candona ſhall rejoice, as he wanders in Crathmo's fields.
+
ColgormDisplay note, replied the chief, was the firſt
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of my race in Albion; Colgorm, the rider of ocean, thro' its watry
+ vales. He ſlew his brother in I-thornoDisplay note: he left the land of his fathers. He choſe his place, in ſilence, by rocky
+ Crathmo-craulo. His race came forth, in their years; they came forth to war, but they always
+ fell. The wound of my fathers is mine, king of echoing iſles !
+
He drew an arrow from his ſide! He fell pale, in a land unknown. His ſoul
+ came forth to his fathers, to their ſtormy iſle. There they purſued boars of miſt, along the
+ ſkirts of winds. The chiefs ſtood ſilent around, as the ſtones of Loda, on their hill. The
+ traveller ſees them, through the twilight, from his lonely path. He thinks them the ghoſts of
+ the aged, forming future wars,
+
Night came down, on U-thorno. Still ſtood the chiefs in their grief. The
+ blaſt whiſtled by turns, thro' every warrior's hair. Fingal, at length, broke forth from the
+ thoughts of his ſoul. He called Ullin of harps, and bade the ſong to riſe. “No falling fire,
+ that is only ſeen, and then retires in night ; no
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ departing meteor was he that is laid ſo low. He was like the
+ ſtrong-beaming ſun, long rejoicing on his hill. Call the names of his fathers, from their
+ dwellings old !”
+
I-thornoDisplay note, ſaid the bard, that riſeſt midſt ridgy ſeas! Why is thy head ſo gloomy, in the ocean's
+ miſt ? From thy vales came forth a race, fearleſs as thy ſtrong-winged eagles; the race of
+ Colgorm of iron ſhields, dwellers of Loda's hall.
+
In Tormoth's reſounding iſle, aroſe Lurthan, ſtreamy hill. It bent its
+ woody head over a ſilent vale. There, at foamy Cruruth's ſource, dwelt Rurmar, hunter of boars!
+ His daughter was fair as a ſun-beam, white-boſomed Strinadona !
+
Many a king of heroes, and hero of iron ſhields; many a youth of heavy
+ locks came to Rurmar's echoing hall. They came to woo the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ maid, the ſtately huntreſs of Tormoth wild. But thou lookeſt careleſs
+ from thy ſteps, high-boſomed Strina-dona !
+
If on the heath ſhe moved, her breaſt was whiter than the down of CanaDisplay note ; if on the ſea-beat ſhore, than the foam of the rolling ocean. Her eyes were two ſtars
+ of light. Her face was heaven's bow in ſhowers. Her dark hair flowed round it, like the
+ ſtreaming clouds. Thou wert the dweller of ſouls, white-handed Strina-dona !
+
Colgorm came, in his ſhip, and Corcul-Suran, king of ſhells. The brothers
+ came, from I-thorno, to woo the ſun-beam of Tormoth wild. She ſaw them in their echoing ſteel.
+ Her ſoul was fixed on blue-eyed Colgorm. Ul-lochlin'sDisplay note nightly eye looked in, and ſaw the toſſing arms of Strina-dona.
+
Wrathful the brothers frowned. Their flaming eyes, in ſilence, met. They
+ turned away. They ſtruck their ſhields. Their hands were trembling on their ſwords. They ruſhed
+ into the ſtrife of heroes, for long-haired Strina-dona.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Corcul-suran fell in blood. On his iſle, raged the ſtrength of his father.
+ He turned Colgorm, from I-thorno, to wander on all the winds. In Crathmo-craulo's rocky field,
+ he dwelt by a foreign ſtream. Nor darkened the king alone, that beam of light was near, the
+ daughter of echoing Tormoth, white-armed Strina-donaDisplay note.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
Oſſian, after ſome general reflections, deſcribes the ſituation of
+ Fingal, and the poſition of the army of Lochlin.—The converſation of Starno and Swaran.—The
+ epiſode of Corman-trunar and Foinar-bragal.—Starno, from his own example, recommends to
+ Swaran, to ſurprize Fingal, who had retired alone to a neighbouring hill. Upon Swaran's
+ refuſal, Starno undertakes the enterprize himſelf, is overcome, and taken priſoner, by
+ Fingal.—He is diſmiſſed, after a ſevere reprimand for his cruelty.
Whence is the ſtream of years? Whither do they roll along? Where have
+ they hid, in miſt, their many-coloured ſides ?
+
I look into the times of old, but they ſeem dim to Oſſian's eyes, like reflected moon-beams,
+ on a diſtant lake. Here riſe the red beams of war! There, ſilent, dwells a feeble race ! They
+ mark no years with their deeds, as ſlow they paſs along. Dweller between the ſhields ! thou
+ that awakeſt the failing ſoul! deſcend from thy wall, harp of Cona, with thy voices three !
+ Come with that which kindles the paſt : rear the forms of old, on their own dark-brown years
+ !
Display noteUthorno, hill of ſtorms, I behold my race on thy ſide. Fingal is
+ bending, in night, over
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Duth-maruno's tomb. Near him are the ſteps of his heroes, hunters of the
+ boar. By Turthor's ſtream the hoſt of Lochlin is deep in ſhades. The wrathful kings ſtood on
+ two hills ; they looked forward from their boſſy ſhields. They looked forward to the ſtars of
+ night, red-wandering in the weſt. Cruth-loda bends from high, like a formleſs meteor in clouds,
+ He ſends
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ abroad the winds, and marks them, with his ſigns. Starno foreſaw, that
+ Morven's king was not to yield in war.
+
He twice ſtruck the tree in wrath. He ruſhed before his ſon. He hummed a
+ ſurly ſong ; and heard his hair in wind. TurnedDisplay note from one another, they ſtood, like two oaks, which different winds had bent; each hangs
+ over its own loud rill, and ſhakes its boughs in the courſe of blaſts.
+
“Annir,” ſaid Starno of lakes, “was a fire that conſumed of old. He poured
+ death from his eyes, along the ſtriving fields. His joy was in the fall of men. Blood, to him,
+ was a ſummer ſtream, that brings joy to withered vales, from its own moſſy rock. He came forth
+ to the lake Luth-cormo, to meet the tall Colman-trunar, he from Urlor of ſtreams, dweller of
+ battle's wing.”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“The chief of Urlor had come to Gormal, with his dark-boſomed ſhips. He
+ ſaw the daughter of Annir, white-armed Foina-brâgal. He ſaw her ! Nor careleſs rolled her eyes,
+ on the rider of ſtormy waves. She fled to his ſhip in darkneſs, like a moon-beam thro' a
+ nightly vale. Annir purſued along the deep; he called the winds of heaven. Nor alone was the
+ king ! Starno was by his ſide. Like U-thorno's young eagle, I turned my eyes on my father.
+
We ruſhed into roaring Urlor. With his people came tall Corman-trunar. We fought ; but the
+ foe prevailed. In his wrath my father ſtood. He lopped the young trees, with his ſword. His
+ eyes rolled red in his rage. I marked the ſoul of the king, and I retired in night. From the
+ field I took a broken helmet : a ſhield that was pierced with ſteel : pointleſs was the ſpear
+ in my hand. I went to find the foe.
+
On a rock ſat tall Corman-trunar, beſide his burning oak ; and near him,
+ beneath a tree, ſat deep-boſomed Foina-brâgal. I threw my broken ſhield before her. I ſpoke the
+ words of peace. “Beſide his rolling ſea, lies Annir of many lakes. The king was pierced in
+ battle ; and Starno is to raiſe his tomb. Me, a ſon of Loda, he ſends
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to white-handed Foina, to bid her ſend a lock from her hair, to reſt
+ with her father, in earth. And thou king of roaring Urlor, let the battle ceaſe, till Annir
+ receive the ſhell, from fiery-eyed Cruth-loda.Display noteBursting into tears, ſhe roſe, and tore a lock from her hair; a
+ lock, which wandered, in the blaſt, along her heaving breaſt. Corman-trunar gave the ſhell; and
+ bade me to rejoice before him, I reſted in the ſhade of night; and hid my face in my helmet
+ deep. Sleep deſcended on the foe. I roſe, like a ſtalking ghoſt. I pierced the ſide of
+ Cormantrunar. Nor did Foina-bragal eſcape. She rolled her white boſom in blood,
+
Why then, daughter of heroes, didſt thou wake my rage ?
+
Morning roſe. The foe were fled, like the departure of miſt. Annir ſtruck
+ his boſſy ſhield. He called his dark-haired ſon. I came, ſtreaked with wandering blood; thrice
+ roſe the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhout of the king, like the burſting forth of a ſquall of wind, from a
+ cloud, by night. We rejoiced, three days, above the dead, and called the hawks of heaven. They
+ came, from all their winds, to feaſt on Annir's foes. Swaran! Fingal is aloneDisplay note, on his hill of night. Let thy ſpear pierce the king in ſecret; like Annir, my ſoul
+ ſhall rejoice.
+
“Son of Annir,” ſaid Swaran, “I ſhall not ſlay in ſhades. I move forth in
+ light : the hawks ruſh from all their winds. They are wont to trace my courſe : it is not
+ harmleſs thro' war.”
+
Burning roſe the rage of the king. He thrice raiſed his gleaming ſpear.
+ But, ſtarting, he ſpared his ſon; and ruſhed into the night. By Turthor's ſtream a cave is
+ dark, the dwelling of Conban-carglas. There he laid the helmet of kings, and called the maid of
+ Lulan, but ſhe was diſtant far, in Loda's reſounding hall.
+
Swelling in his rage, he ſtrode, to where Fingal lay alone. The King was
+ laid on his ſhield, on his own ſecret hill.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Stern hunter of ſhaggy boars! no feeble maid is laid before thee. No boy,
+ on his ferny bed, by Turthor's murmuring ſtream. Here is ſpread the couch of the mighty, from
+ which they riſe to deeds of death ! Hunter of ſhaggy boars awaken not the terrible !
+
Starno came murmuring on. Fingal aroſe in arms. “Who art thou, ſon of
+ night?” Silent he threw the ſpear. They mixed their gloomy ſtrife. The ſhield of Starno fell,
+ cleft in twain. He is bound to an oak. The early beam aroſe, It was then Fingal beheld the
+ king. He rolled a while his ſilent eyes. He thought of other days, when white-boſomed Agandecca
+ moved like the muſic of ſongs. He looſed the thong from his hands. Son of Annir, he ſaid,
+ retire. Retire to Gormal of ſhells; a beam that was ſet returns. I remember thy white-boſomed
+ daughter; dreadful king away ! Go to thy troubled dwelling, cloudy foe of the lovely ! Let the
+ ſtranger ſhun thee, thou gloomy in the hall!
This poem is valuable on account of the light it throws on the antiquity of Oſſian's
+ compoſitions, The Caracul mentioned here is the ſame with Caracalla the ſon of Severus, who in
+ the year 211 commanded an expedition againſt the Caledonians, The variety of the meaſure ſhews
+ that the poem was originally ſet to muſic, and perhaps preſented before the chiefs upon ſolemn
+ occaſions. Tradition has handed down the ſtory more complete than it is in the poem. “Comala,
+ the daughter of Sarno king of Iniſtore or Orkney iſlands, fell in love with Fingal the ſon of
+ Comhal at a feaſt, to which her father had invited him, [Fingal, B. III.] upon his return from
+ Lochlin, after the death of Apandecca. Her paſſion was ſo violent, that ſhe followed him,
+ diſguiſed like a youth, who wanted to be employed in his wars. She was ſoon diſcovered by
+ Hidallan the ſon of Lamor, one of Fingal's heroes, whoſe love ſhe had ſlighted ſome time before.
+ Her romantic paſſion and beauty recommended her ſo much to the king, that he had reſolved to
+ make her his wife ; when news was brought him of Caracul's expedition. He marched to ſtop the
+ progreſs of the enemy, and Comala attended him. He left her on a hill, within ſight of Caracul's
+ army, when he himſelf went to battle, having previouſly promiſed, if he ſurvived, to return that
+ night,” The ſequel of the ſtory may be gathered from the poem itſelf.
The chace is over. No noiſe on Ardven but the torrent's roar! Daughter of
+ Morni, come from Crona's banks. Lay down the bow and take the harp. Let the night come on with
+ ſongs, Let our joy be great on Ardven.
Night comes apace, thou blue-eyed maid ; grey night grows dim along the
+ plain. I ſaw a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ deer at Crona's ſtream, a moſſy bank he ſeemed through the gloom, but ſoon
+ he bounded away. A meteor played round his branching horns ! the awful facesDisplay note of other times looked from the clouds of Crona !
These are the ſigns of Fingal's death. The king of ſhields is fallen! and
+ Caracul prevails. Riſe, ComalaDisplay note, from thy rock; daughter of Sarno, riſe in tears. The youth of thy love is low ; his
+ ghoſt is on our hills.
+
+
+ Melilcoma.
+
There Comala ſits forlorn! two grey dogs near ſhake their rough ears, and
+ catch the flying breeze. Her red cheek reſts upon her arm, the mountain wind is in her hair. She
+ turns her blue eyes toward the fields of his promiſe. Where art thou, O Fingal, the night is
+ gathering around ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Comala.
+
O CarunDisplay note of the ſtreams! why do I behold thy waters rolling in blood? Has the noiſe of the battle
+ been heard; and ſleeps the king of Morven? Riſe, moon, thou daughter of the ſky ! look from
+ between thy clouds, riſe that I may behold the gleam of his ſteel, on the field of his promiſe.
+ Or rather let the meteor, that lights our fathers through the night, come, with its red beam, to
+ ſhew me the way to my fallen hero. Who will defend me from ſorrow ? Who from the love of
+ Hidallan? Long ſhall Comala look before ſhe can behold Fingal in the midſt of his hoſt ; bright
+ as the coming forth of the morning, in the cloud of an early ſhower.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
Dwell, thou miſt of gloomy Crona, dwell on the path of the king. Hide his
+ ſteps from mine eyes, let me remember my friend no more, The bands of battle are ſcattered, no
+ crowding tread is round the noiſe of his ſteel. O Carun, roll thy ſtreams of blood, the chief of
+ the people is low.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Who fell on Carun's ſounding banks, ſon of the cloudy night? Was he white
+ as the ſnow of Ardven? Blooming as the bow of the ſhower? Was his hair like the miſt of the
+ hill, ſoft and curling in the day of the ſun? Was he like the thunder of heaven in battle? Fleet
+ as the roe of the deſart?
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
O That I might behold his love, fair-leaning from her rock ! Her red eye
+ dim in tears, her bluſhing cheek half hid in her locks! Blow, O gentle breeze, lift thou the
+ heavy locks of the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ maid, that I may behold her white arm, her lovely cheek in her
+ grief.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
And is the ſon of Comhal fallen, chief of the mournful tale? The thunder
+ rolls on the hill! The lightning flies on wings of fire! They frighten not Comala; for Fingal is
+ low. Say, chief of the mournful tale, fell the breaker of the ſhields ?
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
The nations are ſcattered on their hills! they ſhall hear the voice of the
+ king no more.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Confusion purſue thee over thy plains ! Ruin overtake thee, thou king of
+ the world ! Few be thy ſteps to thy grave; and let one virgin mourn thee. Let her be like
+ Comala, tearful in the days of her youth. Why haſt thou told me, Hidallan, that my hero fell? I
+ might have hoped a little while his return, I might have thought I ſaw him on the diſtant rock;
+ a tree might have deceived me with his appearance ; the wind of the hill might have been the
+ ſound of his horn in mine ear. O that I were on the banks of Carun! that my tears might be warm
+ on his cheek !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
He lies not on the banks of Carun : on Ardven heroes raiſe his tomb, Look
+ on them, O moon, from thy clouds ; be thy beam bright on his breaſt, that Comala may behold him
+ in the light of his armour.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Stop, ye ſons of the grave, till I behold my love ! He left me at the
+ chace alone. I knew not that he went to war. He ſaid he would return with the night; the king of
+ Morven is returned ! Why didſt thou not tell me that he would fall, O trembling dweller of the rockDisplay note! Thou ſaweſt him in the blood of his youth; but thou didſt not tell Comala !
+
+
+ Melilcoma.
+
What ſound is that on Ardven? Who is that bright in the vale? Who comes
+ like the ſtrength of rivers, when their crouded waters glitter to the moon ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Who is it but the foe of Comala, the ſon of the king of the world! Ghoſt
+ of Fingal! do thou, from thy cloud, direct Comala's bow. Let him fall like the hart of the
+ deſart. It is Fingal in the crowd of his ghoſts. Why doſt thou come, my love, to frighten and
+ pleaſe my ſoul ?
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Raise, ye bards the ſong, raiſe the wars of the ſtreamy Carun ! Caracul
+ has fled from our arms along the fields of his pride. He ſets far diſtant like a meteor, that
+ incloſes a ſpirit of night, when the winds drive it over the heath, and the dark woods are
+ gleaming around. I heard a voice, or was it the breeze of my hills? Is it the huntreſs of
+ Ardven, the whitehanded daughter of Sarno? Look from thy rocks, my love ; let me hear the voice
+ of Comala !
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Take me to the cave of thy reſt, O lovely ſon of death !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Come to the cave of my reſt. The ſtorm is paſt, the ſun is on our fields.
+ Come to the cave of my reſt, huntreſs of ecchoing Ardven!
+
+
+ Comala.
+
He is returned with his fame! I feel the right hand of his wars! But I
+ muſt reſt beſide the rock till my ſoul returns from my fear ! O let the harp be near! raiſe the
+ ſong, ye daughters of Morni !
+
+
+ Dersagrena.
+
Comala has ſlain three deer on Ardven, the fire aſcends on the rock; go to
+ the feaſt of Comala, king of the woody Morven.
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Raise, ye ſons of ſong, the wars of the ſtreamy Carun; that my
+ white-handed maid may rejoice: while I behold the feaſt of my love.
+
+
+ Bards.
+
Roll, ſtreamy Carun, roll in joy, the ſons of battle fled! The ſteed is
+ not ſeen on our
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ fields ; the wingsDisplay note of their pride ſpread in other lands. The ſun will now riſe in peace, and the ſhadows
+ deſcend in joy. The voice of the chace will be heard; the ſhields hang in the hall. Our delight
+ will be in the war of the ocean, our hands ſhall grow red in the blood of Lochlin. Roll, ſtreamy
+ Carun, roll in joy, the ſons of battle fled !
+
+
+ Melilcoma.
+
Descend, ye light miſts from high! Ye moon-beams, lift her ſoul. Pale lies
+ the maid at the rock ! Comala is no more ?
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Is the daughter of Sarno dead; the white-boſomed maid of my love? Meet me,
+ Comala, on my heaths, when I ſit alone at the ſtreams of my hills !
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
Ceased the voice of the huntreſs of Ardven ? Why did I trouble the ſoul of
+ the maid ? When ſhall I fee thee, with joy, in the chace of the dark-brown hinds ?
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Youth of the gloomy brow! no more ſhalt thou feaſt in my halls. Thou ſhalt
+ not purſue my chace, my foes ſhall not fall by thy ſwordDisplay note, Lead me to the place of her reſt that I may behold her beauty. Pale ſhe lies at the
+ rock, the cold winds lift her hair. Her bow-ſtring ſounds in the blaſt, her arrow was broken in
+ her fall. Raiſe the praiſe of the daughter of Sarno! give her name to the winds of heaven !
+
+
+ Bards.
+
See ! meteors gleam around the maid ! See! moon-beams lift her ſoul!
+ Around her, from their clouds, bend the awful faces of her fathers; SarnoDisplay note of the gloomy brow ! the red-rolling eyes of Fidallan ! When ſhall thy white hand ariſe?
+ When ſhall thy voice be heard on our rocks? The maids ſhall ſeek thee on the heath, but they
+ ſhall not find thee. Thou ſhalt come, at times, to their dreams, to ſettle peace
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in their ſoul. Thy voice ſhall remain in their ears, they ſhall
+ think with joy on the dreams of their reſt. Meteors gleam around the maid, and moon-beams lift
+ her ſoul!
Fingal, returning from an expedition which he had made into the Roman province, reſolved to
+ viſit Cathulla king of Iniſtore, and brother to Comala, whoſe ſtory is related, at large, in the
+ preceding dramatic poem. Upon his coming in ſight of Carric-thura, the palace of Cathulla, he
+ obſerved a flame on its top, which, in thoſe days, was a ſignal of diſtreſs. The wind drove him
+ into a bay, at ſome diſtance from Carric-thura, and he was obliged to paſs the night on the
+ ſhore. Next day he attacked the army of Frothal king of Sora, who had beſieged Cathulla in his
+ palace of Carric-thura, and took Frothal himſelf priſoner, after he had engaged him in a ſingle
+ combat. The deliverance of Carric-thura is the ſubject of the poem, but ſeveral other epiſodes
+ are interwoven with it. It appears from tradition, that this poem was addreſſed to a Culdee, or
+ one of the firſt Chriſtian miſſionaries, and that the ſtory of the Spirit of Loda,
+ ſuppoſed to be the ancient Odin of Scandinavia, was introduced by Oſſian in oppoſition to the
+ Culdee's doctrine. Be this as it will, it lets us into Oſſian's notions of a ſuperior being; and
+ ſhews that he was not addicted to the ſuperſtition which prevailed all the world over, before
+ the introduction of Chriſtianity.
HastDisplay note thou left thy blue courſe in heaven, golden-haired ſon of the ſky ! The weſt has opened
+ its gates ; the bed of thy repoſe is there. The waves come to behold thy beauty. They lift their
+ trembling heads. They ſee thee lovely in thy ſleep; they ſhrink away with fear. Reſt, in thy
+ ſhadowy cave, O ſun! let thy return be in joy.
+
But let a thouſand lights ariſe to the ſound of the harps of Selma : let the beam ſpread in the
+ hall, the king of ſhells is returned ! The ſtrife of Carun is paſtDisplay note, like ſounds that are no more. Raiſe the ſong, O bards, the king is returned, with his
+ fame!
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Such were the words of Ullin, when Fingal returned
+ from war: when he returned in the fair bluſhing of youth, with all his heavy locks. His blue arms
+ were on the hero; like a light cloud on the ſun, when he moves in his robes of miſt, and ſhews
+ but half his beams. His heroes follow the king : the feaſt of ſhells is ſpread. Fingal turns to
+ his bards, and bids the ſong to riſe.
+
Voices of ecchoing Cona ! he ſaid, O bards of other times! Ye, on whoſe
+ ſouls the blue hoſts of our fathers riſe! ſtrike the harp in my hall; and let me hear the ſong.
+ Pleaſant is the joy of grief! it is like the ſhower of ſpring, when it ſoftens the branch of the
+ oak, and the young leaf rears its green head. Sing on, O bards, to-morrow we lift the ſail. My
+ blue courſe is through the ocean, to Carric-thura's walls; the moſſy walls of Sarno, where Comála
+ dwelt, There the noble Cathulla, ſpreads the feaſt of ſhells. The boars of his woods are many ;
+ the ſound of the chace ſhall ariſe !
+
CronnanDisplay note, ſon of the ſong! ſaid Ullin, Minona, graceful at the harp! raiſe the tale of
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Shilric, to pleaſe the king of Morven. Let Vinvela come in her beauty,
+ like the ſhowery bow, when it ſhews its lovely head on the lake, and the ſetting ſun is bright.
+ She comes, O Fingal ! her voice is ſoft but ſad.
+
+ Vinvela.
+
My love is a ſon of the hill. He purſues the flying deer. His grey dogs
+ are panting around him ; his bow-ſtring ſounds in the wind. Doſt thou reſt by the fount of the
+ rock, or by the noiſe of the mountain-ſtream? the ruſhes are nodding to the wind, the miſt flies
+ over the hill. I will approach my love unſeen ; I will behold him from the rock. Lovely I ſaw
+ thee firſt by the aged oak of BrannoDisplay note ; thou wert returning tall from the chace ; the faireſt among thy friends.
+
+
+ Shilric.
+
What voice is that I hear ? that voice like the ſummer-wind ! I ſit not by
+ the nodding
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ruſhes ; I hear not the fount of the rock. Afar, VinvelaDisplay note, afar, I go to the wars of Fingal. My dogs attend me no more. No more I tread the hill.
+ No more from on high I ſee thee, fair-moving by the ſtream of the plain; bright as the bow of
+ heaven; as the moon on the weſtern wave.
+
+
+ Vinvela.
+
Then thou art gone, O Shilric ! I am alone on the hill ! The deer are ſeen
+ on the brow ; void of fear they graze along. No more they dread the wind; no more the ruſtling
+ tree. The hunter is far removed; he is in the field of graves. Strangers! ſons of the waves!
+ ſpare my lovely Shilric !
+
+
+ Shilric.
+
If fall I muſt in the field, raiſe high my grave, Vinvela. Grey ſtones and
+ heaped-up earth, ſhall mark me to future times. When the hunter ſhall ſit by the mound, and
+ produce his food at noon, “Some warrior reſts here,” he will ſay ; and my fame ſhall live in his
+ praiſe. Remember me, Vinvela, when low on earth I lie!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Vinvela.
+
Yes! I will remember thee; alas ! my Shilric will fall! What ſhall I do,
+ my love ! when thou art for ever gone? Through theſe hills I will go at noon : I will go through
+ the ſilent heath, There I will ſee the place of thy reſt, returning from the chace. Alas! my
+ Shilric will fall ; but I will remember Shilric.
+
And I remember the chief, ſaid the king of woody Morven; he conſumed the
+ battle in his rage. But now my eyes behold him not. I met him, one day, on the hill; his cheek
+ was pale; his brow was dark. The ſigh was frequent in his breaſt: his ſteps were towards the
+ deſart. But now he is not in the crowd of my chiefs, when the ſounds of my ſhields ariſe. Dwells
+ he in the narrow houſeDisplay note, the chief of high CarmoraDisplay note ?
+
Cronnan ! ſaid Ullin of other times, raiſe the ſong of Shilric; when he
+ returned to his hills, and Vinvela was no more. He leaned on her grey moſſy ſtone ; he thought
+ Vinvela lived. He ſaw her fair movingDisplay noteon the plain: but the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ bright form laſted not : the ſun-beam fled from the field, and ſhe was
+ ſeen no more. Hear the ſong of Shilric, it is ſoft but ſad!
+
I sit by the moſſy fountain; on the top of the hill of winds. One tree is
+ ruſtling above me. Dark waves roll over the heath. The lake is troubled below. The deer deſcend
+ fron the hill. No hunter at a diſtance is ſeen. It is mid-day : but all is ſilent. Sad are my
+ thoughts alone. Didſt thou but appear, O my love, a wanderer on the heath ! thy hair floating on
+ the wind behind thee; thy boſom heaving on the ſight; thine eyes full of tears for thy friends,
+ whom the miſt of the hill had concealed ! Thee I would comfort, my love, and bring thee to thy
+ father's houſe !
+
But is it ſhe that there appears, like a beam of light on the heath? bright
+ as the moon in autumn, as the ſun in a ſummer-ſtorm, comeſt thou, O maid, over rocks, over
+ mountains to me? She ſpeaks : but how weak her voice ! like the breeze in the reeds of the
+ lake.
+
“Returnest thou ſafe from the war? Where are thy friends, my love? I heard
+ of thy death on the hill; I heard and mourned thee, Shilric! Yes, my fair, I return; but I alone
+ of my race. Thou ſhalt ſee them no more : their graves I raiſed on the plain, But
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ why art thou on the deſert hill? Why on the heath alone ?”
+
“Alone I am, O Shilric! alone in the winter-houſe, With grief for thee I
+ fell. Shilric, I am pale in the tomb.”
+
She fleets, ſhe ſails away ; as miſt before the wind ! and, wilt thou not
+ ſtay, Vinvela ? Stay and behold my tears ! fair thou appeareſt, Vinvela ! fair thou waſt, when
+ alive !
+
By the moſſy fountain I will ſit; on the top of the hill of winds. When
+ mid-day is ſilent around, O talk with me, Vinvela! come on the light-winged gale ! on the breeze
+ of the deſart, come! Let me hear thy voice, as thou paſſeſt, when mid-day is ſilent around !
+
Such was the ſong of Cronnan, on the night of Selma's joy. But morning roſe
+ in the eaſt ; the blue waters rolled in light. Fingal bade his ſails to riſe; the winds came
+ ruſtling from their hills. Iniſtore roſe to fight, and Carric-thura's moſſy towers! But the ſign
+ of diſtreſs was on their top : the warning flame edged with ſmoke. The king of Morven ſtruck his
+ breaſt: he aſſumed, at once, his ſpear. His darkened brow bends forward to the coaſt: he looks
+ back to the lagging winds. His hair is diſordered on his back. The ſilence of the king is
+ terrible !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Night came down on the ſea; Rotha's bay received
+ the ſhip. A rock bends along the coaſt with all its ecchoing wood. On the top is the circleDisplay note of Loda, the moſſy ſtone of power! A narrow plain ſpreads beneath, covered with graſs
+ and aged trees, which the midnight winds, in their wrath, had torn from the ſhaggy rock. The
+ blue courſe of a ſtream is there ! the lonely blaſt of ocean purſues the thiſtle's beard. The
+ flame of three oaks aroſe: the feaſt is ſpread around: but the ſoul of the king is ſad, for
+ Carric-thura's Chief diſtreſt.
+
The wan, cold moon roſe, in the eaſt. Sleep deſcended on the youths! Their
+ blue helmets glitter to the beam ; the fading fire decays. But ſleep did not reſt on the king :
+ he roſe in the midſt of his arms, and ſlowly aſcended the hill to behold the flame of Sarno's
+ tower.
+
The flame was dim and diſtant; the moon hid her red face in the eaſt. A
+ blaſt came from the mountain, on its wings was the ſpirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrorsDisplay note, and ſhook
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ his duſky ſpear. His eyes appear like flames in his dark face; his voice
+ is like diſtant thunder. Fingal advanced his ſpear in night, and raiſed his voice on high.
+
Son of night, retire : call thy winds and fly ! Why doſt thou come to my
+ preſence, with thy ſhadowy arms? Do I fear thy gloomy form, ſpirit of diſmal Loda? Weak is thy
+ ſhield of clouds : feeble is that meteor, thy ſword. The blaſt rolls them together; and thou
+ thyſelf art loſt. Fly from my preſence ſon of night! call thy winds and fly !
+
Dost thou force me from my place, replied the hollow voice? The people bend
+ before me. I turn the battle in the field of the brave. I look on the nations and they vaniſh:
+ my noſtrils pour the blaſt of death. I come abroad on the winds: the tempeſts are before my
+ face. But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my reſt are pleaſant.
+
Dwell in thy pleaſant fields, ſaid the king : Let Comhal's ſon be forgot.
+ Do my ſteps aſcend, from my hills, into thy peaceful plains ? Do I meet thee, with a ſpear, on
+ thy cloud, ſpirit of diſmal Loda? Why then doſt thou frown on me? why ſhake thine airy ſpear ?
+ Thou frowneſt in vain: I never fled from the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ mighty in war. And ſhall the ſons of the wind frighten the king of
+ Morven? No: he knows the weakneſs of their arms !
+
Fly to thy land, replied the form : receive the wind and fly ! The blaſts
+ are in the hollow of my hand : the courſe of the ſtorm is mine. The king of Sora is my ſon, he
+ bends at the ſtone of my power. His battle is around Carricthura ; and he will prevail ! Fly to
+ thy land, ſon of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath !
+
He lifted high his ſhadowy ſpear ! He bent forward his dreadful height.
+ Fingal, advancing, drew his ſword; the blade of dark-brown LunoDisplay note. The gleaming path of the ſteel winds thro' the gloomy ghoſt. The form fell ſhapeleſs
+ into air, like a column of ſmoke, which the ſtaff of the boy diſturbs, as it riſes from the
+ half-extinguiſhed furnace.
+
The ſpirit of Loda ſhrieked, as, rolled into himſelf, he roſe on the wind.
+ Iniſtore ſhook at the ſound. The waves heard it on the deep. They ſtopped, in their courſe, with
+ fear : the friends of Fingal ſtarted, at once; and took their heavy ſpears. They miſſed the king
+ : they roſe in rage; all their arms reſound !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
The moon came forth in the eaſt. Fingal returned in the gleam of his
+ arms. The joy of his youth was great, their ſouls ſettled, as a ſea from a ſtorm. Ullin raiſed
+ the ſong of gladneſs. The hills of Iniſtore rejoiced. The flame of the oak aroſe; and the tales
+ of heroes are told.
+
But Frothal, Sora's wrathful king, ſits in ſadneſs beneath a tree. The hoſt
+ ſpreads around Carric-thura. He looks towards the walls with rage. He longs for the blood of
+ Cathulla, who, once, overcame him in war. When Annir reignedDisplay note in Sora, the father of ſea-borne Frothal, a ſtorm aroſe on the ſea, and carried Frothal
+ to Iniſtore. Three days he feaſted in Sarno's halls, and ſaw the ſlow rolling eyes of Comála. He
+ loved her, in the flame of youth, and ruſhed to ſeize the white-armed maid. Cathulla met the
+ chief. The gloomy battle roſe. Frothal was bound in the hall; three days he pined alone. On the
+ fourth, Sarno ſent him to his ſhip, and he returned to his land. But wrath darkened in his ſoul
+ againſt the noble
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Cathulla. When Annir's ſtoneDisplay note of fame aroſe, Frothal came in his ſtrength. The battle burned round Carric-thura, and
+ Sarno's moſſy walls.
+
Morning roſe on Iniſtore. Frothal ſtruck his dark-brown ſhield. His chiefs
+ ſtarted at the ſound; they ſtood, but their eyes were turned to the ſea. They ſaw Fingal coming
+ in his ſtrength; and firſt the noble Thubar ſpoke. “Who comes like the ſtag of the deſart, with
+ all his herd behind him? Frothal, it is a foe! I fee his forward ſpear. Perhaps it is the king
+ of Morven, Fingal the firſt of men. His deeds are well known in Lochlin; the blood of his foes
+ is in Starno's halls. Shall I aſk the peaceDisplay note of kings? His ſword is the bolt of heaven!”
+
Son of the feeble hand, ſaid Frothal, ſhall my days begin in a cloud? Shall
+ I yield before I have conquered, chief of ſtreamy Tora? The people would ſay in Sora, Frothal
+ flew forth like a meteor; but a darkneſs has met him; and his fame is no more. No: Thubar, I
+ will never yield ; my fame ſhall ſurround me like light, No : I will never yield, chief of
+ ſtreamy Tora !
+
+
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+ He went forth with the ſtream of his people, but they
+ met a rock: Fingal ſtood unmoved, broken they rolled back from his ſide. Nor did they ſafely
+ fly; the ſpear of the king purſued their ſteps. The field is covered with heroes. A riſing hill
+ preſerved the foe.
+
Frothal ſaw their flight. The rage of his boſom roſe. He bent his eyes to
+ the ground, and called the noble Thubar. Thubar ! my people are fled. My fame has ceaſed to
+ ariſe. I will fight the king; I feel my burning ſoul! Send a bard to demand the combat. Speak
+ not against Frothal's words! But, Thubar! I love a maid; she dwells by Thano's ſtream, the
+ white-boſomed daughter of Herman, Utha with ſoft-rolling eyes. She feared the low-laid Comála ;
+ her ſecret ſighs roſe, when I ſpread the ſail. Tell to Utha of harps, that my ſoul delighted in
+ her!
+
Such were his words, reſolved to fight, The ſoft ſigh of Utha was near !
+ She had followed her hero, in the armour of a man. She rolled her eye on the youth, in ſecret,
+ from beneath her ſteel. She ſaw the bard as he went; the ſpear fell thrice from her hand ! Her
+ looſe hair flew on the wind. Her white breaſt roſe, with ſighs. She raiſed her eyes to the king.
+ She would ſpeak, but thrice ſhe failed,
+
+
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+ Fingal heard the words of the bard; he came in the
+ ſtrength of his ſteel. They mixed their deathful ſpears: They raiſed the gleam of their arms.
+ But the ſword of Fingal deſcended and cut Frothal's ſhield in twain. His fair ſide is expoſed ;
+ half bent he foreſees his death. Darkneſs gathered on Utha's ſoul. The tear rolled down her
+ cheek. She ruſhed to cover the chief with her ſhield; but a fallen oak met her ſteps. She fell
+ on her arm of ſnow; her ſhield, her helmet flew wide. Her white boſom heaved to the ſight; her
+ dark-brown hair is ſpread on earth.
+
Fingal pitied the white-armed maid ! he ſtayed the uplifted ſword. The tear
+ was in the eye of the king, as, bending forward, he ſpoke. “King of ſtreamy Sora ! fear not the
+ ſword of Fingal. It was never ſtained with the blood of the vanquiſhed ; it never pierced a
+ fallen foe. Let thy people rejoice by thy native ſtreams. Let the maids of thy love be glad. Why
+ ſhouldeſt thou fall in thy youth, King of ſtreamy Sora ?” Frothal heard the words of Fingal, and
+ ſaw the riſing maid: theyDisplay note ſtood in ſilence, in their beauty : like two young trees of the plain, when the ſhower
+ of ſpring is on their leaves, and the loud winds are laid.
+
+
+ [
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+ Daughter of Herman, ſaid Frothal, didſt thou come
+ from Tora's ſtreams ; didſt thou come, in thy beauty, to behold thy warrior low ? But he was low
+ before the mighty, maid of the ſlow-rolling eye ! The feeble did not overcome the ſon of
+ car-borne Annir ! Terrible art thou, O king of Morven! in battles of the ſpear. But, in peace,
+ thou art like the ſun, when he looks thro' a ſilent ſhower: the flowers lift their fair heads
+ before him ; the gales ſhake their ruſtling wings. O that thou wert in Sora ! that my feaſt were
+ ſpread The future kings of Sora would ſee thy arms and rejoice. They would rejoice at the fame
+ of their fathers, who beheld the mighty Fingal !
+
Son of Annir, replied the king, the fame of Sora's race ſhall be heard !
+ When chiefs are ſtrong in war, then does the ſong ariſe ! But if their ſwords are ſtretched over
+ the feeble : if the blood of the weak has ſtained their arms; the bard ſhall forget them in the
+ ſong, and their tombs ſhall not be known. The ſtranger ſhall come and build there, and remove
+ the heaped-up earth. An half-worn ſword ſhall riſe before him; bending above it, he will ſay,
+ “Theſe are the arms of the chiefs of old, but their names are not in ſong.” Come thou, O
+ Frothal, to
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ the feaſt of Iniſtore ; let the maid of thy love be there ; let our
+ faces brighten with joy !
+
Fingal took his ſpear, moving in the ſteps of his might. The gates of
+ Carric-thura are opened wide. The feaſt of ſhells is ſpread. The ſoft ſound of muſic aroſe.
+ Gladneſs brightened in the hall. The voice of Ullin was heard; the harp of Selma was ſtrung.
+ Utha rejoiced in his preſence, and demanded the ſong of grief; the big tear hung in her eye,
+ when the ſoftDisplay note Crimora ſpoke. Crimora the daughter of Rinval, who dwelt at Lotha'sDisplay note roaring ſtream ! The tale was long, but lovely ; and pleaſed the bluſhing Utha.
Who cometh from the hill, like a cloud tinged with the beam of the weſt?
+ Whoſe voice is that, loud as the wind, but pleaſant as the harp of CarrilDisplay note? It is my love in the light of
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſteel; but ſad is his darkened brow ! Live the mighty race of Fingal? or
+ what darkens in Connal's ſoulDisplay note ?
+
+
+ Connal.
+
They live. They return from the chace, like a ſtream of light. The ſun is
+ on their ſhields. Like a ridge of fire they deſcend the hill. Loud is the voice of the youth !
+ the war, my love, is near ! To-morrow the dreadful Dargo comes to try the force of our race. The
+ race of Fingal he defies; the race of battle and wounds !
+
+
+ Crimora.
+
Connal, I ſaw his ſails like grey miſt on the dark-brown wave. They ſlowly
+ came to land, Connal, many are the warriors of Dargo!
+
+
+ Connal.
+
Bring me thy father's ſhield ; the boſſy, iron ſhield of Rinval ; that
+ ſhield like the full-orbed moon, when ſhe moves darkened through heaven.
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+
+ Crimora.
+
That ſhield I bring, O Connal; but it did not defend my father. By the
+ ſpear of Gormar he fell. Thou may'ft fall, O Connal !
+
+
+ Connal.
+
Fall I may! But raiſe my tomb, Crimora ! Grey ſtones, a mound of earth,
+ ſhall ſend my name to other times. Bend thy red eye over my grave, beat thy mournful heaving
+ breaſt. Though fair thou art, my love, as the light; more pleaſant than the gale of the hill;
+ yet I will not here remain. Raiſe my tomb, Crimora !
+
+
+ Crimora.
+
Then give me thoſe arms that gleam; that ſword, and that ſpear of ſteel. I
+ ſhall meet Dargo with Connal, and aid him in the fight. Farewel, ye rocks of Ardven! ye deer !
+ and ye ſtreams of the hill! We ſhall return no more. Our tombs are diſtant far !
+
+
“And did they return no more?” ſaid Utha's burſting figh. “Fell the mighty
+ in battle, and did Crimora live? Her ſteps were lonely ; her ſoul was ſad for Connal. Was he not
+ young and lovely; like the beam of the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ ſetting ſun ?” Ullin ſaw the virgin's tear, he took the ſoftly-trembling
+ harp : the ſong was lovely, but ſad, and ſilence was in Carric-thura,
+
Autumn is dark on the mountains ; grey miſt reſts on the hills. The
+ whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. A tree ſtands
+ alone on the hill, and marks the ſlumbering Connal. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and
+ ſtrew the grave of the dead. At times are ſeen here the ghoſts of the departed, when the muſing
+ hunter alone ſtalks ſlowly over the heath.
+
Who can reach the ſource of thy race, O Connal ? who recount thy fathers?
+ Thy family grew like an oak on the mountain, which meeteth the wind with its lofty head, But now
+ it is torn from the earth. Who ſhall ſupply the place of Connal? Here was the din of arms; here
+ the groans of the dying. Bloody are the wars of Fingal! O Connal! it was here thou didſt fall.
+ Thine arm was like a ſtorm; thy ſword a beam of the ſky; thy height, a rock on the plain; thine
+ eyes, a furnace of fire. Louder than a ſtorm was thy voice, in the battles of thy ſteel. Warriors
+ fell by thy ſword, as the thiſtle by the ſtaff of a boy. Dargo the mighty came on, darkening in
+ his rage. His brows were gathered into wrath. His eyes like two caves
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ in a rock, Bright roſe their ſwords on each ſide; loud was the clang of
+ their ſteel.
+
The daughter of Rinval was near ; Crimora bright in the armour of man; her
+ yellow hair is looſe behind, her bow is in her hand. She followed the youth to the war, Connal
+ her much-beloved. She drew the ſtring on Dargo; but erring ſhe pierced her Connal. He falls like
+ an oak on the plain; like a rock from the ſhaggy hill. What ſhall ſhe do, hapleſs maid ! He
+ bleeds ; her Connal dies! All the night long ſhe cries, and all the day, “O Connal, my love, and
+ my friend!” With grief the ſad mourner dies! Earth here incloſes the lovelieſt pair on the hill.
+ The graſs grows between the ſtones of the tomb; I often ſit in the mournful ſhade. The wind ſighs
+ through the graſs ; their memory ruſhes on my mind. Undiſturbed you now ſleep together; in the
+ tomb of the mountain you reſt alone !
+
And ſoft be their reſt, ſaid Utha, hapleſs children of ſtreamy Lotha! I will remember them with
+ tears, and my ſecret ſong ſhall riſe; when the wind is in the groves of Tora, when the ſtream is
+ roaring near. Then ſhall they come on my ſoul, with all their lovely grief !
+
Three days feaſted the kings : on the fourth their white ſails aroſe. The
+ winds of the north
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ drove Fingal to Morven's woody land. But the ſpirit of Loda ſat, in his
+ cloud, behind the ſhips of Frothal. He hung forward with all his blaſts, and ſpread the
+ white-boſomed ſails. The wounds of his form were not forgot ; he ſtill fearedDisplay note the hand of the king !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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This poem is compleat, and the ſubject of it, as of moſt of Oſſian's compoſitions, tragical.
+ In the time of Comhal the ſon of Trathal, and father of the celebrated Fingal, Cleſsámmor the
+ ſon of Thaddu and brother of Morna, Fingal's mother, was driven by a ſtorm into the river Clyde,
+ on the banks of which ſtood Balclutha, a town belonging to the Britons between the walls. He was
+ hoſpitably received by Reuthámir, the principal man in the place, who gave him Moina his only
+ daughter in marriage. Reuda, the ſon of Cormo, a Briton who was in love with Moina, came to
+ Reuthamir's houſe, and behaved haughtily towards Cleſsámmor. A quarrel inſued, in which Reada
+ was killed ; the Britons, who attended him preſſed ſo hard on Cleſsámmor, that he was obliged to
+ throw himſelf into the Clyde, and ſwim to his ſhip. He hoiſted ſail, and the wind being
+ favourable, bore him out to ſea. He often endeavoured to return, and carry off his beloved Moina
+ by night; but the wind continuing contrary, he was forced to deſiſt.
+
Moina, who had been left with child by her huſband, brought forth a ſon, and died ſoon after.
+ — Reuthámir named the child Carthon, i. e. the murmur of waves, from the ſtorm which
+ carried off Cleſsámmor his father, who was ſuppoſed to have been caſt away. When Carthon was
+ three years old, Comhal the father of Fingal, in one of his expeditions againſt the Britons,
+ took and burnt Balclutha, Reuthámir was killed in the attack: and Carthon was carried ſafe away
+ by his nurſe, who fled farther into the country of the Britons. Carthon, coming to man's eſtate
+ was reſolved to revenge the fall of Balclutha on Comhal's poſterity. He ſet ſail, from the
+ Clyde, and, falling on the coaſt of Morven, defeated two of Fingal's heroes, who came to oppoſe
+ his progreſs. He was, at laſt, unwittingly killed by his father Cleſsámmor, in a ſingle combat.
+ This ſtory is the foundation of the preſent poem, which opens on the night preceding the death
+ of Carthon, ſo that what paſſed before is introduced by way of epiſode. The poem is addreſſed to
+ Malvina the daughter of Toſcar.
A tale of the times of old ! The deeds of days of other years !
+
The murmur of thy ſtreams, O Lora, brings back the memory of the paſt. The
+ ſound of thy woods, Garmallar, is lovely in mine ear. Doſt thou not behold, Malvina, a rock with
+ its head of heath ? Three aged pines bend from its face; green is the narrow plain at its feet ;
+ there the flower of the mountain grows, and ſhakes its white head in the breeze. The thiſtle is
+ there alone, ſhedding its aged beard. Two ſtones, half ſunk in the ground, ſhew their heads of
+ moſs. The deer of the mountain avoids the place, for he beholds a dim ghoſt ſtanding thereDisplay note. The mighty lie, O Malvina, in the narrow plain of the rock.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ A tale of the times of old ! the deeds of days of other
+ years !
+
Who comes from the land of ſtrangers, with his thouſands around him ? the
+ ſun-beam pours its bright ſtream before him ; his hair meets the wind of his hills. His face is
+ ſettled from war. He is calm as the evening beam that looks, from the cloud of the weſt, on
+ Cona's ſilent vale. Who is it but Comhal's ſonDisplay note, the king of mighty deeds! He beholds his hills with joy, he bids a thouſand voices rife.
+ “Ye have fled over your fields, ye ſons of the diſtant land! The king of the world ſits in his
+ hall, and hears of his people's flight. He lifts his red eye of pride ; he takes his father's
+ ſword. Ye have fled over your fields, ſons of the diſtant land !”
+
Such were the words of the bards, when they came to Selma's halls. A
+ thouſand lightsDisplay note from the ſtranger's land roſe, in the midſt of the people. The feaſt is ſpread around;
+ the night paſſed away in joy. Where is the noble CleſsámmorDisplay note, ſaid the fair-haired Fingal ? Where is the brother of Morna, in the hour of my joy ?
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ Sullen and dark he paſſes his days in the vale of ecchoing Lora : but,
+ behold, he comes from the hill, like a ſteed in his ſtrength, who finds his companions in the
+ breeze ; and toſſes his bright mane in the wind. Bleſt be the ſoul of Cleſsámmor, why ſo long
+ from Selma ?
+
Returns the chief, ſaid Cleſsámmor, in the midſt of his fame? Such was the
+ renown of Comhal in the battles of his youth. Often did we paſs over Carun to the land of the
+ ſtrangers : our ſwords returned, not unſtained with blood : nor did the kings of the world
+ rejoice. Why do I remember the times of our war? My hair is mixed with grey. My hand forgets to
+ bend the bow : I lift a lighter ſpear. O that my joy would return, as when I firſt beheld the
+ maid ; the white boſomed daughter of ſtrangers, MoinaDisplay note, with the dark-blue eyes !
+
Tell, ſaid the mighty Fingal, the tale of thy youthful days. Sorrow, like a
+ cloud on the ſun, ſhades the ſoul of Cleſámmor. Mournful are thy thoughts, alone, on the banks of
+ the roaring Lora. Let us hear the ſorrow of thy youth, and the darkneſs of thy days!
+
+
+
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+ “It was in the days of peace,” replied the great
+ Cleſsámmor, “I came, in my bounding ſhip, to Balclutha'sDisplay note walls of towers. The winds had roared behind my ſails, and Clutha'sDisplay note ſtreams received my dark-boſomed ſhip. Three days I remained in Reuthámir's halls, and
+ ſaw his daughter, that beam of light. The joy of the ſhell went round, and the aged hero gave the
+ fair. Her breaſts were like foam on the wave, and her eyes like ſtars of light: her hair was dark
+ as the raven's wing: her ſoul was generous and mild. My love for Moina was great: my heart poured
+ forth in joy.”
+
“The ſon of a ſtranger came ; a chief who loved the white-boſomed Moina. His
+ words were mighty in the hall ; he often half-unſheathed his ſword. Where, ſaid he, is the mighty
+ Comhal, the reſtleſs wandererDisplay note of the heath ? Comes he, with his hoſt, to Balclutha, ſince Cleſsámmor is ſo bold? My
+ ſoul, I replied, O warrior! burns in a
+
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+ light of its own. I ſtand without fear in the midſt of thouſands,
+ though the valiant are diſtant far. Stranger ! thy words are mighty, for Cleſsámmor is alone. But
+ my ſword trembles by my ſide, and longs to glitter in my hand. Speak no more of Comhal, ſon of
+ the winding Clutha !”
+
“The ſtrength of his pride aroſe. We fought; he fell beneath my ſword. The
+ banks of Clutha heard his fall ; a thouſand ſpears glittered around. I fought : the ſtrangers
+ prevailed : I plunged into the ſtream of Clutha. My white ſails roſe over the waves, and I
+ bounded on the dark-blue ſea. Moina came to the ſhore, and rolled the red eye of her tears: her
+ looſe hair flew on the wind; and I heard her mournful, diſtant cries. Often did I turn my ſhip !
+ but the winds of the Eaſt prevailed. Nor Clutha ever ſince have I ſeen, nor Moina of the dark
+ brown hair. She fell in Balclutha, for I have ſeen her ghoſt. I knew her as ſhe came through the
+ duſky night, along the murmur of Lora : ſhe was like the new moon, ſeen through the gathered miſt
+ : when the ſky pours down its flaky ſnow, and the world is ſilent and dark.”
+
RaiseDisplay note , ye bards, ſaid the mighty Fingal,
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ the praiſe of unhappy Moina. Call her ghoſt, with your ſongs, to our hills;
+ that ſhe may reſt with the fair of Morven, the ſun-beams of other days, the delight of heroes of
+ old. I have ſeen the walls of Balclutha, but they were deſolate. The fire had reſounded in the
+ halls: and the voice of the people is heard no more. The ſtream of Clutha was removed from its
+ place, by the fall of the walls. The thiſtle ſhook, there, its lonely head: the moſs whiſtled to
+ the wind. The fox looked out, from the windows, the rank graſs of the wall waved round its head.
+ Deſolate is the dwelling of Moina, ſilence is in the houſe of her fathers. Raiſe the ſong of
+ mourning, O bards, over the land of ſtrangers. They have but fallen before us: for, one day, we
+ muſt fall. Why doſt thou build the hall, ſon of the winged days? Thou lookeſt from thy towers
+ to-day ; yet a few years, and the blaſt of the deſart comes; it howls in thy empty court, and
+ whiſtles round thy half-worn ſhield. And let the blaſt of the deſart come! we ſhall be renowned
+ in our day ! The mark of my arm ſhall be in battle; my name in the ſong of bards. Raiſe
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ the ſong ; ſend round the ſhell : let joy be heard in my hall. When thou,
+ ſun of heaven, ſhalt fail ! if thou ſhalt fail, thou mighty light! if thy brightneſs is for a
+ ſeaſon, like Fingal ; our fame ſhall ſurvive thy beams !
+
Such was the ſong of Fingal, in the day of his joy. His thouſand bards
+ leaned forward from their ſeats, to hear the voice of the king. It was like the muſic of harps on
+ the gale of the ſpring: Lovely were thy thoughts, O Fingal ! why had not Oſſian the ſtrength of
+ thy ſoul ? But thou ſtandeſt alone, my father ! who can equal the king of Selma ?
+
The night paſſed away in ſong; morning returned in joy. The mountains ſhewed
+ their grey heads; the blue face of ocean ſmiled. The white wave is ſeen tumbling round the
+ diſtant rock; a miſt roſe, ſlowly, from the lake. It came, in the figure of an aged man, along
+ the ſilent plain. Its large limbs did not move in ſteps; for a ghoſt ſupported it in mid air. It
+ came towards Selma's hall, and diſſolved in a ſhower of blood.
+
The king alone beheld the ſight ; he foreſaw the death of the people. He
+ came, in ſilence, to his hall; and took his father's ſpear. The mail rattled on his breaſt. The
+ heroes roſe around. They looked, in ſilence, on each
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ other, marking the eyes of Fingal. They ſaw battle in his face : the death
+ of armies on his ſpear. A thouſand ſhields, at once, are placed on their arms; they drew a
+ thouſand ſwords. The hall of Selma brightened around. The clang of arms aſcends. The grey dogs
+ howl in their place. No word is among the mighty chiefs. Each marked the eyes of the king; and
+ half aſſumed his ſpear.
+
Sons of Morven, begun the king, this is no time to fill the ſhell. The
+ battle darkens near us; death hovers over the land. Some ghoſt, the friend of Fingal, has
+ forewarned us of the foe. The ſons of the ſtranger come from the darkly-rolling ſea. For, from
+ the water, came the ſign of Morven's gloomy danger. Let each aſſume his heavy ſpear, each gird on
+ his father's ſword. Let the dark helmet riſe on every head; the mail pour its lightening from
+ every ſide. The battle gathers like a ſtorm; ſoon ſhall ye hear the roar of death.
+
The hero moved on before his hoſt, like a cloud before a ridge of green
+ fire; when it pours on the ſky of night, and mariners foreſee a ſtorm. On Cona's riſing heath
+ they ſtood : the white-boſomed maids beheld them above like a grove ; they foreſaw the death of
+ the youth, and looked towards the ſea with fear. The white
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ wave deceived them for diſtant ſails; the tear is on their cheek ! The
+ ſun roſe on the ſea, and we beheld a diſtant fleet. Like the miſt of ocean they came: and poured
+ their youth upon the coaſt. The chief was among them, like the ſtag in the midſt of the herd. His
+ ſhield is ſtudded with gold; ſtately ſtrode the king of ſpears. He moved towards Selma ; his
+ thouſands moved behind.
+
Go, with a ſong of peace, ſaid Fingal; go, Ullin, to the king of ſwords.
+ Tell him that we are mighty in war ; that the ghoſts of our foes are many. But renowned are they
+ who have feaſted in my halls! they ſhew the armsDisplay note of my fathers in a foreign land: the ſons of the ſtrangers wonder, and bleſs the friends
+ of Morven's race ; for our names have been heard afar : the kings of the world ſhook in the midſt
+ of their hoſt.
+
Ullin went with his ſong. Fingal reſted on his ſpear : he ſaw the mighty foe
+ in his armour : he bleſt the ſtranger's ſon. “How ſtately art thou, ſon of the ſea! ſaid the king
+ of woody Morven. Thy ſword is a beam of fire by thy
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ ſide : thy ſpear is a pine that defies the ſtorm. The varied face of the
+ moon is not broader than thy ſhield. Ruddy is thy face of youth! ſoft the ringlets of thy hair !
+ But this tree may fall ; and his memory be forgot ! The daughter of the ſtranger will be ſad,
+ looking to the rolling ſea : the children will ſay, “We ſee a ſhip ; perhaps it is the king of
+ Balclutha.” The tear ſtarts from their mother's eye. Her thoughts are of him who ſleeps in Morven
+ !”
+
Such were the words of the king, when Ullin came to the mighty Carthon : he
+ threw down the ſpear before him ; he raiſed the ſong of peace. “Come to the feaſt of Fingal,
+ Carthon, from the rolling ſea ! partake of the feaſt of the king, or lift the ſpear of war ! The
+ ghoſts of our foes are many : but renowned are the friends of Morven ! Behold that field, O
+ Carthon ; many a green hill riſes there, with moſſy ſtones and ruſtling graſs : theſe are the
+ tombs of Fingal's foes, the ſons of the rolling ſea !”
+
“Dost thou ſpeak to the weak in arms!” ſaid Carthon, “bard of the woody
+ Morven ? Is my face pale for fear, ſon of the peaceful ſong ? Why, then, doſt thou think to
+ darken my ſoul with the tales of thoſe who fell? My arm has fought in battle; my renown is known
+ afar. Go to the feeble in arms, bid them yield to
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ Fingal. Have not I ſeen the fallen Balclutha? And ſhall I feaſt with
+ Comhal's ſon? Comhal! who threw his fire, in the midſt of my father's hall ! I was young, and
+ knew not the cauſe, why the virgins wept. The columns of ſmoke pleaſed mine eye, when they roſe
+ above my walls ! I often looked back, with gladneſs, when my friends fled along the hill. But
+ when the years of my youth came on, I beheld the moſs of my fallen walls : my ſigh aroſe with the
+ morning, and my tears deſcended with night. Shall I not fight, I ſaid to my ſoul, againſt the
+ children of my foes? And I will fight, O bard! I feel the ſtrength of my ſoul.”
+
His people gathered around the hero, and drew, at once, their ſhining
+ ſwords. He ſtands, in the midſt, like a pillar of fire; the tear half-ſtarting from his eye ; for
+ he thought of the fallen Balclutha ; the crowded pride of his ſoul aroſe. Sidelong he looked up
+ to the hill, where our heroes ſhone in arms; the ſpear trembled in his hand: bending forward, he
+ ſeemed to threaten the king.
+
Shall I, ſaid Fingal to his ſoul, meet, at once, the youth ? Shall I ſtop
+ him, in the midſt of his courſe, before his fame ſhall ariſe ? But the bard, hereafter, may ſay,
+ when he ſees the tomb
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Carthon ; Fingal took his thouſands to battle, before the noble Carthon
+ fell. No : bard of the times to come ! thou thalt not leſſen Fingal's fame. My heroes will fight
+ the youth, and Fingal behold the war. If he overcomes, I ruſh, in my ſtrength, like the roaring
+ ſtream of Cona. Who, of my chiefs, will meet the ſon of the rolling ſea? Many are his warriors on
+ the coaſt : and ſtrong is his aſhen ſpear !
+
CathulDisplay note roſe, in his ſtrength, the ſon of the mighty Lormar : three hundred youths attend the
+ chief, the raceDisplay note of his native ſtreams. Feeble was his arm againſt Carthon, he fell; and his heroes fled. ConnalDisplay note reſumed the battle, but he broke his heavy ſpear : he lay bound on the field : Carthon
+ purſued his people.
+
Clessammor ! ſaid the king Display note of Morven, where is the ſpear of thy ſtrength? Wilt thou behold Connal bound ; thy
+ friend, at the ſtream of Lora? Riſe, in the light of thy ſteel,
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image companion of valiant Comhal. Let the youth of
+ Balclutha feel the ſtrength of Morven's race. He roſe in the ſtrength of his ſteel, ſhaking his
+ grizly locks. He fitted the ſhield to his ſide ; he ruſhed, in the pride of valour.
+
Carthon ſtood, on a rock; he ſaw the hero ruſhing on. He loved the dreadful
+ joy of his face : his ſtrength, in the locks of age ! “Shall I lift that ſpear, he ſaid, that
+ never ſtrikes, but once, a foe? Or ſhall I, with the words of peace, preſerve the warrior's life
+ ? Stately are his ſteps, of age! lovely the remnant of his years! Perhaps it is the huſband of
+ Moina ; the father of car-borne Carthon. Often have I heard, that he dwelt at the ecchoing ſtream
+ of Lora.”
+
Such were his words, when Cleſámmor came, and lifted high his ſpear. The
+ youth received it on his ſhield, and ſpoke the words of peace. “Warrior of the aged locks! Is
+ there no youth to lift the ſpear ? Haſt thou no ſon, to raiſe the ſhield before his father, to
+ meet the arm of youth? Is the ſpouſe of thy love no more? or weeps ſhe over the tombs of thy
+ ſons? Art thou of the kings of men? What will be the fame of my ſword ſhould'ſt thou fall ?
+
It will be great, thou ſon of pride ! begun the tall Cleſsámmor. I have been
+ renowned in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ battle; but I never told my nameDisplay note to a foe. Yield to me, ſon of the wave, then ſhalt thou know, that the mark of my ſword
+ is in many a field. “I never yielded, king of ſpears ! replied the noble pride of Carthon : I
+ have alſo fought in war; I behold my future fame. Deſpiſe me not, thou chief of men; my arm, my
+ ſpear is ſtrong. Retire among thy friends, let younger heroes fight.” Why doſt thou wound my
+ ſoul, replied Cleſsámmor with a tear? Age does not tremble on my hand; I ſtill can lift the
+ ſword. Shall I fly in Fingal's ſight; in the ſight of him I love? Son of the ſea! I never fled :
+ exalt thy pointed ſpear.
+
They fought, like two contending winds, that ſtrive to roll the wave.
+ Carthon bade his ſpear to err; he ſtill thought that the foe was the ſpouſe of Moina. He broke
+ Cleſsámmor's beamy ſpear in twain: he ſeized his ſhining ſword. But as Carthon was binding the
+ chief ; the chief drew the dagger of his fathers. He
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſaw the foe's uncovered ſide; and opened, there, a wound.
+
Fingal ſaw Cleſsámmor low : he moved in the ſound of his ſteel. The hoſt
+ ſtood ſilent, in his preſence ; they turned their eyes to the king. He came, like the ſullen
+ noiſe of a ſtorm, before the winds ariſe : the hunter hears it in the vale, and retires to the
+ cave of the rock. Carthon ſtood in his place : the blood is ruſhing down his ſide : he ſaw the
+ coming down of the king ; his hopes of fame aroſeDisplay note ; but pale was his cheek : his hair flew looſe, his helmet ſhook on high : the force of
+ Carthon failed ; but his ſoul was ſtrong.
+
Fingal beheld the heroe's blood ; he ſtopt the uplifted ſpear. “Yield, king
+ of ſwords ! ſaid Comhal's ſon ; I behold thy blood. Thou haſt been mighty in battle; and thy fame
+ ſhall never fade.” Art thou the king ſo far renowned, replied the car-borne Carthon? Art thou
+ that light of death, that frightens the kings of the world ? But why ſhould Carthon aſk? for he
+ is like the ſtream of his hills; ſtrong as a river, in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ his courſe: ſwift as the eagle of heaven. O that I had fought with the
+ king; that my fame might be great in ſong! that the hunter, beholding my tomb, might ſay, he
+ fought with the mighty Fingal. But Carthon dies unknown; he has poured out his force on the
+ weak.”
+
But thou ſhalt not die unknown, replied the king of woody Morven: my bards
+ are many, O Carthon, their ſongs deſcend to future times. The children of years to come ſhall
+ hear the fame of Carthon; when they ſit round the burning oakDisplay note, and the night is ſpent in ſongs of old. The hunter, ſitting in the heath, ſhall hear the
+ ruſtling blaſt; and, raiſing his eyes, behold the rock where Carthon fell. He ſhall turn to his
+ ſon, and ſhew the place where the mighty fought; “There the king of Balclutha fought, like the
+ ſtrength of a thouſand ſtreams.”
+
Joy roſe in Carthon's face: he lifted his heavy eyes. He gave his ſword to
+ Fingal, to lie within his hall, that the memory of Balclutha's king might remain in Morven. The
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ battle ceaſed along the field, the bard had ſung the ſong of peace. The
+ chiefs gathered round the falling Carthon ; they heard his words, with ſighs. Silent they leaned
+ on their ſpears, while Balclutha's hero ſpoke. His hair ſighed in the wind, and his voice was ſad
+ and low.
+
“King of Morven, Carthon ſaid, I fall in the midſt of my courſe. A foreign
+ tomb receives, in youth, the laſt of Reuthámir's race. Darkneſs dwells in Balclutha : the ſhadows
+ of grief in Crathmo. But raiſe my remembrance on the banks of Lora: where my fathers dwelt.
+ Perhaps the huſband of Moina will mourn over his fallen Carthon.” His words reached the heart of
+ Cleſsámmor : he fell, in ſilence, on his ſon. The hoſt ſtood darkened around: no voice is on the
+ plain. Night came, the moon, from the eaſt, looked on the mournful field : but ſtill they ſtood,
+ like a ſilent grove that lifts its head on Gormal, when the loud winds are laid, and dark autumn
+ is on the plain.
+
Three days they mourned above Carthon ; on the fourth his father died. In
+ the narrow plain of the rock they lie; a dim ghoſt defends their tomb. There lovely Moina is
+ often ſeen; when the ſun-beam darts on the rock, and all around is dark. There ſhe is ſeen,
+ Malvina,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the ſtranger's
+ land ; and ſhe is ſtill alone !
+
Fingal was ſad for Carthon ; he commanded his bards to mark the day, when
+ ſhadowy autumn returned : And often did they mark the day and ſing the hero's praiſe. “Who comes
+ ſo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's ſhadowy cloud? Death is trembling in his hand ! his eyes
+ are flames of fire! Who roars along dark Lora's heath? Who but Carthon, king of ſwords? The
+ people fall! ſee ! how he ſtrides, like the ſullen ghoſt of Morven! But there he lies a goodly
+ oak, which ſudden blaſts overturned ! When ſhalt thou riſe, Balclutha's joy ! When, Carthon,
+ ſhalt thou ariſe? Who comes ſo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's ſhadowy cloud?” Such were
+ the words of the bards, in the day of their mourning : Oſſian often joined their voice; and added
+ to their ſong. My ſoul has been mournful for Carthon ; he fell in the days of his youth: and
+ thou, O Cleſsámmor ! where is thy dwelling in the wind? Has the youth forgot his wound? Flies he,
+ on clouds, with thee? I feel the ſun, O Malvina, leave me to my reſt. Perhaps they may come to my
+ dreams; I think I hear
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ a feeble voice! The beam of heaven delights to ſhine on the grave of
+ Carthon: I feel it warm around !
+
O THOU that rolleſt above, round as the ſhield of my fathers! Whence are thy
+ beams, O ſun! thy everlaſting light? Thou comeſt forth, in thy awful beauty ; the ſtars hide
+ themſelves in the ſky; the moon, cold and pale, ſinks in the weſtern wave. But thou thyſelf
+ moveſt alone: who can be a companion of thy courſe! The oaks of the mountains fall : the
+ mountains themſelves decay with years; the ocean ſhrinks and grows again : the moon herſelf is
+ loſt in heaven; but thou art for ever the ſame ; rejoicing in the brightneſs of thy courſe. When
+ the world is dark with tempeſts ; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies ; thou lookeſt in thy
+ beauty, from the clouds, and laugheſt at the ſtorm. But to Oſſian, thou lookeſt in vain ; for he
+ beholds thy beams no more ; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eaſtern clouds, or thou
+ trembleſt at the gates of the weſt. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a ſeaſon, thy years will
+ have an end. Thou ſhalt ſleep in thy clouds, careleſs of the voice of the morning. Exult then, O
+ ſun, in the ſtrength of thy youth ! Age is dark and unlovely ; it is like the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ glimmering light of the moon, when it ſhines through broken clouds, and the
+ miſt is on the hills; the blaſt of north is on the plain, the traveller ſhrinks in the midſt of
+ his journey.
After an addreſs to Malvina, the daughter of Toſcar, Oſſian proceeds to relate his own
+ expedition to Fuärfed, an iſland of Scandinavia. Mal-orchol, king of Fuärfed, being hard preſſed
+ in war, by Ton-thormod, chief of Sar-dronlo, (who had demanded, in vain, the daughter of
+ Mal-orchol in marriage) Fingal ſent Oſſian to his aid. Oſſian, on the day after his arrival,
+ came to battle with Ton-thormod, and took him priſoner. Mal-orchol offers his daughter
+ Oina-morul to Oſſian ; but he, diſcovering her paſſion for Tonthormod, generouſly ſurrenders her
+ to her lover, and brings about a reconciliation between the two kings.
As flies the unconſtant ſun, over Larmon's graſſy hill; ſo paſs the tales
+ of old, along my ſoul, by night! When bards are removed to their place; when harps are hung in
+ Selma's hall; then comes a voice to Oſſian, and awakes his ſoul! It is the voice of years that
+ are gone ! they roll before me, with all their deeds ! I ſeize the tales, as they paſs, and pour
+ them forth in ſong. Nor a troubled ſtream is the ſong of the king, it is like the riſing of muſic
+ from Lutha of the ſtrings. Lutha of many ſtrings, not ſilent are thy ſtreamy rocks, when the
+ white hands of Malvina move upon the harp! Light of the ſhadowy thoughts, that fly acroſs my
+ ſoul, daughter of Toſcar of helmets, wilt thou not hear the ſong! We call back, maid of Lutha,
+ the years that have rolled away !
+
It was in the days of the king, while yet my locks were young, that I marked
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Con-cathlinDisplay note, on high, from ocean's nightly wave. My courſe was towards the iſle of Fuärfed, woody
+ dweller of ſeas! Fingal had ſent me to the aid of Mal-orchol, king of Fuärfed wild : for war was
+ around him, and our fathers had met, at the feaſt.
+
In Col-coiled, I bound my ſails; I ſent my ſword to Mal-orchol of ſhells. He
+ knew the ſignal of Albion, and his joy aroſe. He came from his own high hall, and ſeized my hand
+ in grief. “Why comes the race of heroes to a falling king ? Ton-thormod of many ſpears is the
+ chief of wavy Sar-dronlo. He ſaw and loved my daughter, white-boſomed Oina-morul. He ſought ; I
+ denied the maid ; for our fathers had been foes, He came, with battle, to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Fuärfed; my people are rolled away, Why comes the race of heroes to a
+ falling king?”
+
I come not, I ſaid, to look, like a boy, on the ſtrife. Fingal remembers
+ Mal-orchol, and his hall for ſtrangers. From his waves, the warrior deſcended, on thy woody iſle.
+ Thou wert no cloud before him. Thy feaſt was ſpread with ſongs. For this my ſword ſhall rife; and
+ thy foes perhaps may fail. Our friends are not forgot in their danger, tho' diſtant is our
+ land.
+
“Deſcendant of the daring Trenmor, thy words are like the voice of Cruth-loda, when he ſpeaks,
+ from his parting cloud, ſtrong dweller of the ſky! Many have rejoiced at my feaſt but they all
+ have forgot Mal-orchol, I have looked towards all the winds ; but no white ſails were ſeen. But ſteelDisplay note reſounds in my hall; and
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ not the joyful ſhells. Come to my dwelling, race of heroes;
+ dark-ſkirted night is near. Hear the voice of ſongs, from the maid of Fuärfed wild.
+
WE went. On the harp aroſe the white hands of Oina-morul. She waked her own
+ ſad tale, from every trembling ſtring. I ſtood in ſilence; for bright in her locks was the
+ daughter of many iſles! Her eyes were two ſtars, looking forward thro' a ruſhing ſhower. The
+ mariner marks them on high, and bleſſes the lovely beams. With morning we ruſhed to battle, to
+ Tormul's reſounding ſtream: the foe moved to the ſound of Ton-thormod's boſſy ſhield, From wing
+ to wing the ſtrife was mixed. I met Ton-thormod in fight. Wide flew his broken ſteel. I ſeized
+ the king in war. I gave his hand, bound faſt with thongs, to Mal-orchol, the giver of ſhells. Joy
+ roſe at the feaſt of Fuärfed, for the foe had failed. Ton-thormod turned his face away, from
+ Oina-morul of iſles !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ Son of Fingal, begun Mal-orchol, not forgot ſhalt
+ thou paſs from me. A light ſhall dwell in thy ſhip, Oina-morul of ſlow-rolling eyes. She ſhall
+ kindle gladneſs, along thy mighty ſoul. Nor unheeded ſhall the maid move in Selma, thro' the
+ dwelling of kings!
+
In the hall I lay in night. Mine eyes were half-cloſed in ſleep. Soft muſic
+ came to mine ear: it was like the riſing breeze, that whirls, at firſt, the thiſtle's beard; then
+ flies, dark-ſhadowy, over the graſs. It was the maid of Fuärfed wild ! ſhe raiſed the nightly
+ ſong; ſhe knew that my ſoul was a ſtream, that flowed at pleaſant ſounds. “Who looks,” ſhe ſaid,
+ “from his rock, on ocean's cloſing miſt ? His long locks, like the raven's wing, are wandering on
+ the blaſt. Stately are his ſteps in grief ! The tears are in his eyes! His manly breaſt is
+ heaving over his burſting ſoul! Retire, I am diſtant far; a wanderer in lands unknown. Tho' the
+ race of kings are around me, yet my ſoul is dark. Why have our fathers been foes, Ton-thormod
+ love of maids !”
+
“Soft voice of the ſtreamy iſle,” I ſaid, why doſt thou mourn by night ? The
+ race of daring Trenmor are not the dark in ſoul. Thou ſhalt not wander, by ſtreams unknown,
+ blue-eyed Oina-morul ! Within this boſom is a voice;
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ it comes not to other ears: it bids Oſſian hear the hapleſs, in their
+ hour of woe. Retire, ſoft ſinger by night; Ton-thormod ſhall not mourn on his rock !”
+
With morning I looſed the king. I gave the long-haired maid. Mal-orchol
+ heard my words, in the midſt of his echoing halls. “King of Fuärfed wild, why ſhould Ton-thormod
+ mourn? He is of the race of heroes, and a flame in war. Your fathers have been foes, but now
+ their dim ghoſts rejoice in death. They ſtretch their hands of miſt to the ſame ſhell in Loda.
+ Forget their rage, ye warriors, it was the cloud of other years.”
+
Such were the deeds of Oſſian, while yet his locks were young : tho'
+ lovelineſs, with a robe of beams, clothed the daughter of many iſles. We call back, maid of
+ Lutha, the years that have rolled away !
Fingal diſpatches Oſſian and Toſcar, the ſon of Conloch and father of
+ Malvina, to raiſe a ſtone, on the banks of the ſtream of Crona, to perpetuate the memory of a
+ victory, which he had obtained in that place, When they were employed in that work, Car-ul, a
+ neighbouring chief, invited them to a feaſt, They went : and Toſcar fell deſperately in love
+ with Colna-dona, the daughter of Car-ul. Colna-dona became no leſs enamoured of Toſcar. An
+ incident, at a hunting party, brings their loves to a happy iſſue.
Display noteColamon of troubled ſtreams, dark wanderer of diſtant vales, I behold thy courſe,
+ between trees, near Car-ul's echoing halls! There dwelt bright Colna-dona, the daughter of the
+ king. Her eyes were rolling ſtars; her arms were white as the foam of ſtreams. Her breaſt roſe
+ ſlowly to ſight, like ocean's heaving wave. Her ſoul was a ſtream of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ light. Who, among the maids, was like the love of heroes ?
+
Beneath the voice of the king, we moved to CronaDisplay note of the ſtreams, Toſcar of graſſy Lutha, and
+ Oſſian, young in fields. Three bards attended with ſongs. Three boſſy ſhields were born before us
+ : for we were to rear the ſtone, in memory of the paſt. By Crona's moſſy courſe, Fingal had
+ ſcattered his foes : he had rolled away the ſtrangers, like a troubled ſea. We came to the place
+ of renown: from the mountains deſcended night. I tore an oak from its hill, and raiſed a flame on
+ high. I bade my fathers to look down, from the clouds of their hall; for, at the fame of their
+ race, they brighten in the wind.
+
I took a ſtone from the ſtream, amidſt the ſong of bards. The blood of
+ Fingal's foes hung curdled in its ooze. Beneath, I placed, at
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ intervals, three boſſes from the ſhields of foes, as roſe or fell the
+ ſound of Ullin's nightly ſong. Toſcar laid a dagger in earth, a mail of ſounding ſteel. We raiſed
+ the mould around the ſtone, and bade it ſpeak to other years.
+
Oozy daughter of ſtreams, that now art reared on high, ſpeak to the feeble,
+ O ſtone, after Selma's race have ſailed ! Prone, from the ſtormy night, the traveller ſhall lay
+ him, by thy ſide : thy whiſtling moſs ſhall ſound in his dreams ; the years that were paſt ſhall
+ return. Battles riſe before him, blue-ſhielded kings deſcend to war : the darkened moon looks
+ from heaven, on the troubled field, He ſhall burſt, with morning, from dreams, and ſee the tombs
+ of warriors round. He ſhall aſk about the ſtone, and the aged ſhall reply, “This grey ſtone was
+ raiſed by Oſſian, a chief of other years !”Display noteFrom Col-amon came a bard, from Car-ul, the friend of ſtrangers, He bade us to the feaſt
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ of kings, to the dwelling of bright Colna-dona. We went to the hall of
+ harps. There Car-ul brightened between his aged locks, when he beheld the ſons of his friends,
+ like two young branches before him.
+
“Sons of the mighty,” he ſaid; “ye bring back the days of old, when firſt I
+ deſcended from waves, on Selma's ſtreamy vale ! I purſued Duthmocarglos, dweller of ocean's wind.
+ Our fathers had been foes, we met by Clutha's winding waters. He fled, along the ſea, and my
+ ſails were ſpread behind him. Night deceived me, on the deep. I came to the dwelling of kings, to
+ Selma of high-boſomed maids. Fingal came forth with his bards, and Conloch, arm of death. I
+ feaſted three days in the hall, and ſaw the blue-eyes of Erin, Ros-crana, daughter of heroes,
+ light of Cormac's race, Nor forgot did my ſteps depart : the kings gave their ſhields to Car-ul :
+ they hang, on high, in Col-amon, in memory of the paſt. Sons of the daring kings, ye bring back
+ the days of old !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ Car-ul kindled the oak of feaſts. He took two boſſes
+ from our ſhields. He laid them in earth, beneath a ſtone, to ſpeak to the hero's race. “When
+ battle,” ſaid the King, “ſhall roar, and our ſons are to meet in wrath. My race ſhall look,
+ perhaps, on this ſtone, when they prepare the ſpear. Have not our fathers met in peace, they will
+ ſay, and lay aſide the ſhield ?”
+
Night came down. In her long locks moved the daughter of Car-ul. Mixed with
+ the harp aroſe the voice of white-armed Colna-dona. Toſcar darkened in his place, before the love
+ of heroes. She came on his troubled ſoul, like a beam to the dark-heaving ocean : when it burſts
+ from a cloud, and brightens the foamy ſide of a waveDisplay note
+
* * *
+
With morning we awaked the woods ; and hung forward on the path of the roes.
+ They fell by their wonted ſtreams. We returned thro' Crona's vale. From the wood a youth came
+ forward, with a ſhield and pointleſs ſpear. “Whence, ſaid Toſcar of Lutha, is the flying beam ?
+ Dwells there peace at Col-amon, round bright Colna-dona of harps ?
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ “By Col-amon of ſtreams,” ſaid the youth, “bright
+ Colna-dona dwelt. She dwelt ; but her courſe is now in deſarts, with the ſon of the king ; he
+ that ſeized with love her ſoul as it wandered thro' the hall.” “Stranger of tales,” ſaid Toſcar,
+ “haſt thou marked the warrior's courſe? He muſt fall, give thou that boſſy ſhield !” In wrath he
+ took the ſhield. Fair behind it roſe the breaſts of a maid, white as the boſom of a ſwan, riſing
+ graceful on ſwift-rolling waves. It was Colna-dona of harps, the daughter of the king ! Her blue
+ eyes had rolled on Toſcar, and her love aroſe !
Gaul, the ſon of Morni, attended Lathmon into his own country, after his being defeated in
+ Morven, as related in the preceding poem. He was kindly entertained by Nuäth, the father of
+ Lathmon, and fell in love with his daughter Oithona. The lady was no leſs enamoured of Gaul, and
+ a day was fixed for their marriage. In the mean time Fingal, preparing for an expedition into
+ the country of the Britons, ſent for Gaul. He obeyed, and went; but not without promiſing to
+ Oithona to return, if he ſurvived the war, by a certain day. Lathmon too was obliged to attend
+ his father Nuäth in his wars, and Oithona was left alone at Dunlathmon, the ſeat of the family.
+ Dunrommath, lord of Uthal, ſuppoſed to be one of the Orkneys, taking advantage of the abſence of
+ her friends, came and carried off, by force, Oithona, who had formerly rejected his love, into
+ Tromithon, a deſart iſland, where he concealed her in a cave.
+
Gaul returned on the day appointed; heard of the rape, and ſailed to Tromathon, to revenge
+ himſelf on Dunrommath. When he landed, he found Oithona diſconſolate, and reſolved not to
+ ſurvive the loſs of her honour. She told him the ſtory of her misfortunes, and ſhe ſcarce ended,
+ when Dunrommath, with his followers, appeared at the further end of the iſland. Gaul prepared to
+ attack him, recommending to Oithona to retire, till the battle was over. She ſeemingly obeyed ;
+ but ſhe ſecretly armed herſelf, ruſhed into the thickeſt of the battle, and was mortally
+ wounded. Gaul purſuing the flying enemy, found her juſt expiring on the field; he mourned over
+ her, raiſed her tomb, and returned to Morven. Thus is the ſtory handed down by tradition ; nor
+ is it given with any material difference in the Poem, which opens with Gaul's return to
+ Dunlathmon, after the rape of Oithona.
Darkness dwells around Dunlathmon, though the moon ſhews half her face on
+ the hill. The daughter of night turns her eyes away ; ſhe beholds the approaching grief. The ſon
+ of Morni is on the plain : there is no ſound in the hall. No long-ſtreaming beam of light comes
+ trembling through the gloom. The voice of OithonaDisplay note is not heard amidſt the noiſe of the ſtreams of Duvranna. “Whither art thou gone in thy
+ beauty, dark-haired daughter of Nuäth ? Lathmon is in the field of the valiant, but thou didſt
+ promiſe to remain in the hall; thou didſt promiſe to remain in the hall till the ſon of Morni
+ returned. Till he returned from Strumon, to the maid of his love ! The tear was on thy cheek at
+ his departure ; the ſigh roſe in ſecret in thy breaſt. But thou doſt not come forth
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ with ſongs, with the lightly-trembling ſound of the harp!”
+
Such were the words of Gaul, when he came to Dunlathmon's towers. The gates
+ were open and dark. The winds were bluſtering in the hall. The trees ſtrowed the threſhold with
+ leaves ; the murmur of night was abroad. Sad and ſilent, at a rock, the ſon of Morni ſat : his
+ ſoul trembled for the maid , but he knew not whither to turn his courſe! The ſonDisplay note of Leth ſtood at a diſtance, and heard the winds in his buſhy hair. But he did not raiſe
+ his voice, for he ſaw the ſorrow of Gaul !
+
Sleep deſcended on the chiefs. The viſions of night aroſe. Oithona ſtood,
+ in a dream, before the eyes of Morni's ſon. Her hair was looſe and diſordered : her lovely eye
+ rolled deep in tears. Blood ſtained her ſnowy arm. The robe half hid the wound of her breaſt.
+ She ſtood over the chief, and her voice was feebly heard. “Sleeps the ſon of Morni, he that was
+ lovely in the eyes of Oithona? Sleeps Gaul at the diſtant rock, and the daughter of Nuäth low :
+ The ſea rolls round the dark iſle of Tromáthon. I ſit in my tears in the cave! Nor do I ſit
+ alone, O
+
+ [
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+ Gaul, the dark chief of Cuthal is there. He is there in the rage of his
+ love. What can Oithona do!”
+
A rougher blaſt ruſhed through the oak. The dream of night departed. Gaul
+ took his aſpen ſpear. He ſtood in the rage of his ſoul. Often did his eyes turn to the eaſt. He
+ accuſed the lagging light. At length the morning came forth. The hero lifted up the ſail. The
+ winds came ruſtling from the hill ; he bounded on the waves of the deep. On the third day aroſe TromáthonDisplay note, like a blue ſhield in the midſt of the ſea. The white wave roared againſt its rocks ;
+ ſad Oithona ſat on the coaſt ! She looked on the rolling waters, and her tears came down. But
+ when ſhe ſaw Gaul in his arms, ſhe ſtarted and turned her eyes away. Her lovely cheek is bent
+ and red ; her white arm trembles by her ſide. Thrice ſhe ſtrove to fly from his preſence ;
+ thrice her ſteps failed her as ſhe went !
+
“Daughter of Nuäth,” ſaid the hero, “why doſt thou fly from Gaul. Do my
+ eyes ſend forth the flame of death ! Darkens hatred in my ſoul ? Thou art to me the beam of the
+ eaſt, riſing in a land unknown. But thou covereſt thy face with ſadneſs, daughter of car-borne
+ Näith ! Is the foe
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ of Oithona near ? My ſoul burns to meet him in fight. The ſword trembles
+ by the ſide of Gaul, and longs to glitter in his hand. Speak, daughter of Nuäth, doſt thou not
+ behold my tears ?”
+
“Young chief of Strumon,” replied the maid, “why comeſt thou over the
+ dark-blue wave, to Nuäth's mournful daughter? Why did I not paſs away in ſecret, like the flower
+ of the rock, that lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrows its withered leaves on the blaſt? Why
+ didſt thou come, O Gaul, to hear my departing ſigh? I vaniſh in my youth ; my name ſhall not be
+ heard. Or it will be heard with grief ; the tears of Nuäth muſt fall. Thou wilt be ſad, ſon of
+ Morni, for the departed fame of Oithona. But ſhe ſhall ſleep in the narrow tomb, far from the
+ voice of the mourner. Why didſt thou come, chief of Strumon, to the ſea-beat rocks of Tromáthon
+ ?”
+
“I came to meet thy foes, daughter of car-borne Nuäth! the death of
+ Cuthal's chief darkens before me; or Morni's ſon ſhall fall! Oithona ! when Gaul is low, raiſe
+ my tomb on that oozy rock. When the dark-bounding ſhip ſhall paſs, call the ſons of the ſea!
+ call them, and give this ſword, to bear it hence to Morni's hall. The grey-haired chief will
+ then
+
+ [
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+ ceaſe to look towards the deſart, for the return of his ſon.”
+
“Shall the daughter of Nuäth live?” ſhe replied with a burſting figh.
+ “Shall I live in Tromathon, and the ſon of Morni low ? My heart is not of that rock; nor my ſoul
+ careleſs as that ſea; which lifts its blue waves to every wind, and rolls beneath the ſtorm !
+ The blaſt which ſhall lay thee low, ſhall ſpread the branches of Oithona on earth. We ſhall
+ wither together, ſon of car-borne Morni ! The narrow houſe is pleaſant to me, and the grey ſtone
+ of the dead : for never more will I leave thy rocks, O ſea-ſurrounded Tromáthon ! NightDisplay note came on with her clouds, after the departure of Lathmon, when he went to the wars of his
+ fathers, to the moſs-covered rock of Duthormoth. Night came on. I ſat in the hall, at the beam
+ of the oak! The wind was abroad in the trees. I heard the ſound of arms. Joy roſe in my face. I
+ thought of thy return. It was the chief of Cuthal, the red-haired ſtrength of Dunrommath. His
+ eyes rolled in fire : the blood of my people was on his ſword. They who defended Oithona fell by
+ the gloomy chief! What could I do? My arm was weak. I could not lift the ſpear.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ He took me in my grief, amidſt my tears he raiſed the ſail. He feared the
+ returning Lathmon, the brother of unhappy Oithona ! But behold he comes with his people! the
+ dark wave is divided before him ! Whither wilt thou turn thy ſteps, ſon of Morni? Many are the
+ warriors of thy foe !”
+
“My ſteps never turned from battle,” Gaul ſaid and unſheathed his ſword.
+ Shall I then begin to fear, Oithona, when thy foes are near? Go to thy cave, my love, till our
+ battle ceaſe on the field. Son of Leth, bring the bows of our fathers! the ſounding quiver of
+ Morni ! Let our three warriors bend the yew. Ourſelves will lift the ſpear. They are an hoſt on
+ the rock ! our ſouls are ſtrong in war !”
+
Oithona went to the cave. A troubled joy roſe on her mind, like the red
+ path of lightning on a ſtormy cloud ! Her ſoul was reſolved , the tear was dried from her
+ wildly-looking eye. Dunrommath ſlowly approached. He ſaw the ſon of Morni. Contempt contracted
+ his face, a ſmile is on his dark-brown cheek; his red eye rolled, half-conceal'd, beneath his
+ ſhaggy brows !
+
“Whence are the ſons of the ſea,” begun the gloomy chief? “Have the winds
+ driven you on the rocks of Tromáthon? Or come
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ you in ſearch of the white-handed maid ? The ſons of the unhappy, ye
+ feeble men, come to the hand of Dunrommath ! His eye ſpares not the weak ; he delights in the
+ blood of ſtrangers. Oithona is a beam of light, and the chief of Cuthal enjoys it in ſecret;
+ wouldſt thou come on its lovelineſs, like a cloud, ſon of the feeble hand ! Thou mayſt come, but
+ ſhalt thou return to the halls of thy fathers?” “Doſt thou not know me,” ſaid Gaul, “red-haired
+ chief of Cuchal ? Thy feet were ſwift on the heath, in the battle of car-borne Lathmon ; when
+ the ſword of Morni's ſon purſued his hoſt, in Morven's woody land. Dunrommath! thy words are
+ mighty, for thy warriors gather behind thee. But do I fear them, ſon of pride? I am not of the
+ race of the feeble !”
+
Gaul advanced in his arms; Dunrommath ſhrunk behind his people. But the
+ ſpear of Gaul pierced the gloomy chief; his ſword lopped off his head, as it bended in death.
+ The ſon of Morni ſhook it thrice by the lock ; the warriors of Dunrommath fled. The arrows of
+ Morven purſued them : ten fell on the moſſy rocks. The reſt lift the ſounding ſail, and bound on
+ the troubled deep. Gaul advanced towards the cave of Oithona. He beheld a youth leaning on a
+ rock. An arrow had pierced
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ his ſide; his eye rolled faintly beneath his helmet. The ſoul of Morni's
+ ſon was ſad, he came and ſpoke the words of peace.
+
“Can the hand of Gaul heal thee, youth of the mournful brow? I have
+ ſearched for the herbs of the mountains; I have gathered them on the ſecret banks of their
+ ſtreams. My hand has cloſed the wound of the brave, their eyes have bleſſed the ſon of Morni.
+ Where dwelt thy fathers, warrior? Were they of the ſons of the mighty ? Sadneſs ſhall come, like
+ night, on thy native ſtreams. Thou art fallen in thy youth !”
+
“My fathers,” replied the ſtranger, “Were of the race of the mighty ; but
+ they ſhall not be ſad; for my fame is departed like morning miſt. High walls riſe on the banks
+ of Duvranna ; and ſee their moſſy towers in the ſtream; a rock aſcends behind them with its
+ bending pines. Thou mayſt behold it far diſtant. There my brother dwells. He is renowned in
+ battle : give him this glittering helm.”
+
The helmet fell from the hand of Gaul. It was the wounded Oithona ! She had
+ armed herſelf in the cave, and came in ſearch of death. Her heavy eyes are half cloſed ; the
+ blood pours from her heaving ſide. “Son of Morni,” ſhe ſaid, “prepare the narrow tomb. Sleep
+ grows, like
+
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+
+ ]
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+ darkneſs, on my ſoul. The eyes of Oithona are dim ! O had I dwelt at
+ Duvranna, in the bright beam of my fame ! then had my years come on with joy; the virgins would
+ then bleſs my ſteps. But I fall in youth, ſon of Morni ; my father ſhall bluſh in his hall
+ !”
+
She fell pale on the rock of Tromáthon. The mournful warrior raiſed her
+ tomb. He came to Morven ; we ſaw the darkneſs of his ſoul. Oſſian took the harp in the praiſe of
+ Oithona. The brightneſs of the face of Gaul returned. But his ſigh roſe, at times, in the midſt
+ of his friends; like blaſts that ſhake their unfrequent wings, after the ſtormy winds are laid !
Malvina the daughter of Toſcar is overheard by Oſſian lamenting the death of Oſcar her lover.
+ Oſſian, to divert her grief, relates his own actions in an expedition which he undertook, at
+ Fingal's command, to aid Crothar the petty king of Croma, a country in Ireland, againſt Rothmar
+ who invaded his dominions. The ſtory is delivered down thus in tradition. Crothar king of Croma
+ being blind with age, and his ſon too young for the field, Rothmar the chief of Tromlo reſolved
+ to avail himſelf of the opportunity offered of annexing the dominions of Crothar to his own. He
+ accordingly marched into the country ſubject to Crothar, but which he held of Arth or Artho, who
+ was, at the time, ſupreme king of Ireland.
+
Crothar being, on account of his age and blindneſs, unfit for action, ſent for aid to Fingal
+ king of Scotland; who ordered his ſon Oſſian to the relief of Crothar. But before his arrival
+ Fovargormo, the ſon of Crothar, attacking Rothmar, was ſlain himſelf, and his forces totally
+ defeated. Oſſian renewed the war; came to battle, killed Rothmar, and routed his army. Croma
+ being thus delivered of its enemies, Oſſian returned to Scotland.
“It was the voice of my love! ſeldom art thou, in the dreams of Malvina!
+ Open your airy halls, O fathers of Toſcar of ſhields ! Unfold the gates of your clouds : the
+ ſteps of Malvina are near. I have heard a voice in my dream. I feel the fluttering of my ſoul.
+ Why didſt thou come, O blaſt, from the dark-rolling face of the lake? Thy ruſtling wing was in
+ the tree; the dream of Malvina fled. But ſhe beheld her love, when his robe of miſt flew on the
+ wind. A ſun-beam was on his ſkirts, they glittered like the gold of the ſtranger. It was the
+ voice of my love! ſeldom comes he to my dreams!”
+
“But thou dwelleſt in the ſoul of Malvina, ſon of mighty Oſſian! My ſighs
+ ariſe with the beam of the eaſt; my tears deſcend with the drops of night. I was a lovely tree,
+ in thy
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ preſence, Oſcar, with all my branches round me; but thy death came like a
+ blaſt from the deſart, and laid my green head low. The ſpring returned with its ſhowers; no leaf
+ of mine aroſe ! The virgins ſaw me ſilent in the hall; they touched the harp of joy. The tear was
+ on the cheek of Malvina : the virgins beheld me in my grief. Why art thou ſad, they ſaid ; thou
+ firſt of the maids of Lutha? Was he lovely as the beam of the morning, and ſtately in thy
+ ſight?”
+
Pleasant is thy ſong in Oſſian's ear, daughter of ſtreamy Lutha! Thou haſt
+ heard the muſic of departed bards, in the dream of thy reſt, when ſleep fell on thine eyes, at
+ the murmur of MoruthDisplay note. When thou didſt return from the chace, in the day of the ſun, thou haſt heard the muſic
+ of bards, and thy ſong is lovely ! It is lovely, O Malvina, but it melts the ſoul. There is a joy
+ in grief when peace dwells in the breaſt of the ſad. But ſorrow waſtes the mournful, O daughter
+ of Toſcar, and their days are few! They fall away, like the flower on which the ſun hath looked
+ in his ſtrength after the mildew has paſſed over it, when its head is heavy with the drops of
+ night. Attend to the tale of Oſſian, O maid. He remembers the days of his youth !
+
+
+
+ [
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+ The king commanded; I raiſed my ſails, and ruſhed into
+ the bay of Croma; into Croma's ſounding bay in lovely InisfailDisplay note. High on the coaſt aroſe the towers of Crothar king of ſpears; Crothar renowned in the
+ battles of his youth ; but age dwelt then around the chief. Rothmar had raiſed the ſword againſt
+ the hero; and the wrath of Fingal burned. He ſent Oſſian to meet Rothmar in war, for the chief of
+ Croma was the friend of his youth. I ſent the bard before me with ſongs. I came into the hall of
+ Crothar. There ſat the chief amidſt the arms of his fathers, but his eyes had failed. His grey
+ locks waved around a ſtaff, on which the warrior leaned. He hummed the ſong of other times, when
+ the ſound of our arms reached his ears. Crothar roſe, ſtretched his aged hand and bleſſed the ſon
+ of Fingal.
+
“Ossian!” ſaid the hero, “the ſtrength of Crothar's arm has failed. O could
+ I lift the ſword, as on the day that Fingal fought at Strutha ! He was the firſt of men ! but
+ Crothar had alſo his fame. The king of Morven praiſed me ; he placed on my arm the boſſy ſhield
+ of Calthar, whom the king had flain in his wars. Doſt thou not behold it on the wall, for
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ Crothar's eyes have failed ? Is thy ſtrength, like thy fathers, Oſſian
+ ? let the aged feel thine arm !”
+
I gave my arm to the king; he felt it with his aged hands. The ſigh roſe in
+ his breaſt, and his tears came down. “Thou art ſtrong, my ſon, he ſaid, but not like the king of
+ Morven! But who is like the hero among the mighty in war! Let the feaſt of my hall be ſpread; and
+ let my bards exalt the ſong. Great is he that is within my walls, ye ſons of ecchoing Croma !”
+ The feaſt is ſpread. The harp is heard; and joy is in the hall. But it was joy covering a ſigh,
+ that darkly dwelt in every breaſt. It was like the faint beam of the moon ſpread on a cloud in
+ heaven. At length the muſic ceaſed, and the aged king of Croma ſpoke; he ſpoke without a tear,
+ but ſorrow ſwelled in the midſt of his voice.
+
“Son of Fingal! behold'ſt thou not the darkneſs of Crothar's joy? My ſoul
+ was not ſad at the feaſt, when my people lived before me. I rejoiced in the preſence of
+ ſtrangers, when my ſon ſhone in the hall. But, Oſſian, he is a beam that is departed. He left no
+ ſtreak of light behind. He is fallen, ſon of Fingal, in the wars of his father. Rothmar the chief
+ of graſſy Tromlo heard that theſe eyes had failed; he heard that my arms were fixed in the hall,
+
+
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+ and the pride of his ſoul aroſe! He came towards Croma ; my people fell
+ before him. I took my arms in my wrath, but what could ſightleſs Crothar do? My ſteps were
+ unequal; my grief was great. I wiſhed for the days that were paſt. Days! wherein I fought; and
+ won in the field of blood. My ſon returned from the chace ; the fair-haired Fovar-gormoDisplay note. He had not lifted his ſword in battle, for his arm was young. But the ſoul of the youth
+ was great ; the fire of valour burnt in his eyes. He ſaw the diſordered ſteps of his father, and
+ his ſigh aroſe. “King of Croma,” he ſaid, “is it becauſe thou haſt no ſon; is it for the weakneſs
+ of Forar-gormo's arm that thy ſighs ariſe ? I begin, my father, to feel my ſtrength ; I have
+ drawn the ſword of my youth; and I have bent the bow. Let me meet this Rothmar, with the ſons of
+ Croma : let me meet him, O my father; I feel my burning ſoul!” And thou ſhalt meet him, I ſaid,
+ ſon of the ſightleſs Crothar ! But let others advance before thee, that I may hear the tread of
+ thy feet at thy return; for my eyes behold thee not, fair-haired Fovar-gormo ! He went, he met
+ the foe; he fell. Rothmar advances to Croma. He who ſlew my ſon is near, with all his pointed
+ ſpears.”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+
+
This is no time to fill the ſhell, I replied, and took my ſpear! My people
+ ſaw the fire of my eyes ; they all aroſe around. Through night we ſtrode along the heath. Grey
+ morning roſe in the eaſt. A green narrow vale appeared before us; nor wanting was its winding
+ ſtream. The dark hoſt of Rothmar are on its banks, with all their glittering arms. We fought
+ along the vale. They fled. Rothmar ſunk beneath my ſword ! Day had not deſcended in the weſt,
+ when I brought his arms to Crothar. The aged hero felt them with his hands; and joy brightened
+ over all his thoughts.
+
The people gather to the hall. The ſhells of the feaſt are heard. Ten harps
+ are ſtrung ; five bards advance, and ſing, by turnsDisplay note, the praiſe
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ of Oſſian ; they poured forth their burning ſouls, and the ſtring
+ anſwered to their voice. The joy of Croma was great : for peace returned to the
+
+
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+ ]
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+ land. The night came on with ſilence; the morning returned with joy. No
+ foe came in darkneſs, with his glittering ſpear. The joy of Croma was great; for the gloomy
+ Rothmar had fallen!
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ I raised my voice for Fovar-gormo, when they laid the
+ chief in earth. The aged Crothar was there, but his ſigh was not heard. He
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſearched for the wound of his ſon, and found it in his breaſt. Joy roſe
+ in the face of the aged.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ He came and ſpoke to Oſſian, “King of ſpears !” he ſaid, “my ſon has not
+ fallen without his fame. The young warrior did not fly; but met death, as he went forward in his
+ ſtrength. Happy are they who die in youth, when their renown is heard! The feeble will not behold
+ them in the hall; or ſmile at their trembling hands. Their memory ſhall be honoured in ſong ; the
+ young tear of the virgin will fall. But the aged wither away, by degrees, the fame of their
+ youth, while yet they live is all forgot. They fall in ſecret. The ſigh of their ſon is not
+ heard. Joy is around their tomb; the ſtone of their fame is placed without a tear. Happy are they
+ who die in youth, when their renown is around them.
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This piece, as many more of Oſſian's compoſitions, is addreſſed to one of the firſt Chriſtian
+ miſſionaries. The ſtory of the poem is handed down, by tradition, thus. In the country of the
+ Britons between the walls, two chiefs lived in the days of Fingal, Dunthalmo, lord of Teutha,
+ ſuppoſed to be the Tweed ; and Rathmor, who dwelt at Clutha, well known to be the river Clyde.
+ Rathmore was not more renowned for his generoſity and hoſpitality, than Dunthalmo was infamous
+ for his cruelty and ambition. Dunthalmo, through envy, or on account of ſome private feuds,
+ which ſubſiſted between the families, murdered Cathmore at a feaſt ; but being afterwards
+ touched with remorſe, he educated the two ſons of Rathmore, Calthon and Colmar, in his own
+ houſe. They growing up to man's eſtate, dropped ſome hints that they intended to revenge the
+ death of their father, upon which Dunthilmo ſhut them up in two caves on the banks of Teutha,
+ intending to take them off privately. Colmal, the daughter of Dunthalmo, who was ſecretly in
+ love with Calthon, helped him to make his eſcape from priſon, and fled with him to Fingal,
+ diſguiſed in the habit of a young warrior, and implored his aid againſt Dunthalmo. Fingal ſent
+ Oſſian with three hundred men, to Colmar's relief. Dunthalmo having previouſly murdered Colmar,
+ came to a battle with Oſſian; but he was killed by that hero, and his army totally defeated,
+
Calthon married Colmal, his deliverer; and Oſſian returned to Morven.
Pleasant is the voice of thy ſong, thou lonely dweller of the rock. It
+ comes on the ſound of the ſtream, along the narrow vale. My ſoul awakes, O ſtranger! in the midſt
+ of my hall. I ſtretch my hand to the ſpear, as in the days of other years. I ſtretch my hand, but
+ it is feeble ; and the ſigh of my boſom grows. Wilt thou not liſten, ſon of the rock, to the ſong
+ of Oſſian ? My ſoul is full of other times ; the joy of my youth returns. Thus the ſun appears in
+ the weſt, after the ſteps of his brightneſs have moved behind a ſtorm ; the green hills lift
+ their dewy heads. the blue ſtreams rejoice in the vale. The aged hero comes forth on his ſtaff;
+ his grey hair glitters in the beam. Doſt thou not behold, ſon of the rock, a ſhield in Oſſian's
+ hall ? It is marked with the ſtrokes of battle; and the brightneſs of its boſſes has failed,
+
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+ That ſhield the great Dunthalmo bore, the chief of ſtreamy
+ Teutha. Dunthalmo bore it in battle, before he fell by Oſſian's ſpear. Liſten, ſon of the rock,
+ to the tale of other years !
+
Rathmor was a Chief of Clutha. The feeble dwelt in his hall. The gates of
+ Rathmor were never ſhut; his feaſt was always ſpread. The ſons of the ſtranger came. They bleſſed
+ the generous chief of Clutha. Bards raiſed the ſong, and touched the harp: joy brightened on the
+ face of the ſad ! Dunthalmo came, in his pride, and ruſhed into the combat of Rathmor. The chief
+ of Clutha overcame : the rage of Dunthalmo roſe. He came, by night, with his warriors; the mighty
+ Rathmor fell. He fell in his halls, where his feaſt was often ſpread for ſtrangers.
+
Colmar and Calthon were young, the ſons of car-borne Rathmor. They came, in
+ the joy of youth, into their father's hall. They behold him in his blood ; their burſting tears
+ deſcend. The ſoul of Dunthalmo melted, when he ſaw the children of youth. He brought them to Alteutha'sDisplay note walls ; they grew in the houſe of
+
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+ their foe. They bent the bow in his preſence ; and came forth to his
+ wars. They ſaw the fallen walls of their fathers; they ſaw the green thorn in the hall. Their
+ tears ruſhed forth in ſecret. At times, their faces were ſad. Dunthalmo beheld their grief: his
+ darkening ſoul deſigned their death. He cloſed them in two caves, on the ecchoing banks of
+ Teutha. The ſun did not come there with his beams ; nor the moon of heaven by night. The ſons of
+ Rathmor remained in darkneſs, and foreſaw their death.
+
The daughter of Dunthalmo wept in ſilence, the fair-haired, blue-eyed ColmalDisplay note. Her eye had rolled in ſecret on Calthon ; his lovelineſs ſwelled in her ſoul. She
+ trembled for her warrior; but what could Colmal do? Her arm could not lift the ſpear; nor was the
+ ſword formed for her ſide. Her white breaſt never roſe beneath a mail. Neither was her eye the
+ terror of heroes. What canſt thou do, O Colmal ! for the falling chief? Her ſteps are unequal ;
+ her hair is looſe : her eye looks wildly through her tears. She came, by night, to the hallDisplay note. She
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+ armed her lovely form in ſteel ; the ſteel of a young warrior,
+ who fell in the firſt of his battles. She came to the cave of Calthon, and looſed the thong from
+ his hands.
+
“Arise, ſon of Rathmor,” the ſaid, “ariſe, the night is dark! Let us fly to
+ the king of SelmaDisplay note, chief of fallen Clutha ! I an the ſon of Lamgal, who dwelt in thy father's hall. I heard
+ of thy dark dwelling in the cave, and my ſoul aroſe. Ariſe, ſon of Rathmor, ariſe, the night is
+ dark !” “Bleſt voice!” replied the chief, “comeſt thou from the clouds to Calthon? The ghoſts of
+ his fathers have often deſcended in his dreams, ſince the ſun has retired from his eyes, and
+ darkneſs has dwelt around him. Or art thou the ſon of Lamgal, the chief I often ſaw in Clutha ?
+ But ſhall I fly to Fingal, and Colmar my brother low ? Will I fly to Morven, and the hero cloſed
+ in night? No: give me that ſpear, ſon of Lamgal, Calthon will defend his brother !”
+
“A thousand warriors,” replied the maid, ſtretch their ſpears round
+ car-borne Colmar. What can Calthon do againſt a hoſt ſo great ? Let us fly to the King of Morven,
+ he will come
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+ with war. His arm is ſtretched forth to the unhappy ; the lightning of his
+ ſword is round the weak. Ariſe, thou ſon of Rathmor; the ſhadows will fly away. Ariſe, or thy
+ ſteps may be ſeen, and thou muſt fall in youth !”
+
The ſighing hero roſe ; his tears deſcend for car-borne Colmar. He came with
+ the maid to Selma's hall ; but he knew not that it was Colmal. The helmet cover'd her lovely
+ face. Her boſom heaved beneath the ſteel. Fingal returned from the chace, and found the lovely
+ ſtrangers. They were like two beams of light, in the midſt of the hall of ſhells. The king heard
+ the tale of grief; and turned his eyes around. A thouſand heroes half-roſe before him ; claiming
+ the war of Teutha. I came with my ſpear from the hill ; the joy of battle roſe in my breaſt : for
+ the king ſpoke to Oſſian in the midſt of a thouſand chiefs.
+
“Son of my ſtrength,” began the king, “take thou the ſpear of Fingal. Go to
+ Teutha's ruſhing ſtream, and ſave the car-borne Colmar. Let thy fame return before thee like a
+ pleaſant gale ; that my ſoul may rejoice over my ſon, who renews the renown of our fathers.
+ Oſſian ! be thou a ſtorm in war ; but mild when the foe is low ! It was thus my fame aroſe, O my
+ ſon; be thou like Selma's chief. When the haughty
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+ come to my halls, my eyes behold them not. But my arm is
+ ſtretched forth to the unhappy. My ſword defends the weak.”
+
I rejoiced in the words of the king. I took my rattling arms. DiaranDisplay note roſe at my ſide, and DargoDisplay note king of ſpears. Three hundred youths
+
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+ followed our ſteps : the lovely ſtrangers were at my ſide. Dunthalmo
+ heard the ſound of our approach. He gathered the ſtrength of Teutha. He ſtood on a hill with his
+ hoſt. They were like rocks broken with thunder, when their bent trees are ſinged and bare, and
+ the ſtreams of their chinks have failed. The ſtream of Teutha rolled, in its pride, before the
+ gloomy foe. I ſent a bard to Dunthalmo, to offer the combat on the plain ; but he ſmiled in the
+ darkneſs of his pride. His unſettled hoſt moved on the hill ; like the mountain-cloud, when the
+ blaſt has entered its womb, and ſcatters the curling gloom on every ſide.
+
They brought Colmar to Teutha's bank, bound with a thouſand thongs. The chief is ſad, but
+ ſtately. His eye is on his friends ; for we ſtood, in our arms, whilſt Teutha's waters rolled
+ between. Dunthalmo came with his ſpear, and pierced the hero's ſide : he rolled on the bank in
+ his blood. We heard his broken ſighs. Calthon ruſhed into the ſtream : I bounded forward on my
+ ſpear. Teutha's race fell before us.
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+ Night came rolling down. Dunthalmo reſted on a rock, amidſt an
+ aged wood. The rage of his boſom burned againſt the car-borne Calthon. But Calthon ſtood in his
+ grief; he mourned the fallen Colmar ; Colmar ſlain in youth, before his fame aroſe!
+
I bade the ſong of woe to riſe, to ſooth the mournful chief; but he ſtood
+ beneath a tree, and often threw his ſpear on earth. The humid eye of Colmal rolled near in a
+ ſecret tear : ſhe foreſaw the fall of Dunthalmo, or of Clutha's warlike chief. Now half the night
+ had paſſed away. Silence and darkneſs were on the field. Sleep reſted on the eyes of the heroes:
+ Calthon's ſettling ſoul was ſtill. His eyes were half-cloſed ; but the murmur of Teutha had not
+ yet failed in his ear. Pale, and ſhewing his wounds, the ghoſt of Colmar came: he bent his head
+ over the hero, and raiſed his feeble voice !
+
“Sleeps the ſon of Rathmor in his night, and his brother low? Did we not
+ riſe to the chace together? Purſued we not the dark-brown hinds ? Colmar was not forgot till he
+ fell : till death had blaſted his youth. I lie pale beneath the rock of Lona. O let Calthon riſe!
+ the morning comes with its beams; Durthalmo will diſhonour the fallen.” He paſſed away in his
+ blaſt. The riſing Calthon ſaw the ſteps of his departure.
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+ He ruſhed in the ſound of his ſteel. Unhappy Colmal roſe. She followed
+ her hero through night, and dragged her ſpear behind. But when Calthon came to Lona's rock, he
+ found his fallen brother. The rage of his boſom roſe; he ruſhed among the foe. The groans of
+ death aſcend. They cloſe around the chief. He is bound in the midſt, and brought to gloomy
+ Dunthalmo. The ſhout of joy aroſe ; and the hills of night replied.
+
I started at the ſound: and took my father's ſpear. Diaran roſe at my ſide;
+ and the youthful ſtrength of Dargo. We miſſed the chief of Clutha, and our ſouls were ſad. I
+ dreaded the departure of my fame. The pride of my valour roſe! “Sons of Morven,” I ſaid, “it is
+ not thus our fathers fought. They reſted not on the field of ſtrangers, when the foe was not
+ fallen before them. Their ſtrength was like the eagles of heaven; their renown is in the ſong.
+ But our people fall by degrees. Our fame begins to depart. What ſhall the king of Morven ſay, if
+ Oſſian conquers not at Teutha? Riſe in your ſteel, ye warriors; follow the ſound of Oſſian's
+ courſe. He will not return, but renowned, to the ecchoing walls of Selma.”
+
Morning roſe on the blue waters of Teutha. Colmal ſtood before me in tears.
+ She told of
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+ the chief of Clutha : thrice the ſpear fell from her hand. My
+ wrath turned againſt the ſtranger ; for my ſoul trembled for Calthon. “Son of the feeble hand,” I
+ ſaid, “do Teutha's warriors fight with tears? The battle is not won with grief; nor dwells the
+ ſigh in the ſoul of war. Go to the deer of Carmun, to the lowing herds of Teutha. But leave theſe
+ arms, thou ſon of fear. A warrior may lift them in fight.”
+
I tore the mail from her ſhoulders. Her ſnowy breaſt appeared. She bent her
+ bluſhing face to the ground. I looked in ſilence to the chiefs. The ſpear fell from my hand ; the
+ ſigh of my boſom roſe ! But when I heard the name of the maid, my crowding tears ruſhed down. I
+ bleſſed the lovely beam of youth, and bade the battle move !
+
Why, ſon of the rock, ſhould Oſſian tell how Teutha's warriors died ? They
+ are now forgot in their land ; their tombs are not ſound on the heath. Years came on with their
+ ſtorms. The green mounds are mouldered away. Scarce is the grave of Dunthalmo ſeen, or the place
+ where he fell by the ſpear of Oſſian. Some grey warrior, half blind with age, ſitting by night at
+ the flaming oak of the hall, tells now my deeds to his ſons, and the fall of the dark Dunthalmo,
+ The faces of youth bend ſidelong
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+ towards his voice. Surprize and joy burn in their eyes! I found Calthon
+ bound to an oak ; my ſword cut the thongs from his hands. I gave him the white-boſomed Colmal.
+ They dwelt in the halls of Teutha.
Caros is probably the noted uſurper Carauſius, by birth a Menapian, who aſſumed the purple in
+ the year 284: and, ſeizing on Britain, defeated the Emperor Maximian Herculius in ſeveral naval
+ engagements, which gives propriety to his being called in this poem the king of ſhips.
+ He repaired Agricola's wall, in order to obſtruct the incurſions of the Caledonians; and when he
+ was employed in that work, it appears he was attacked by a party under the command of Oſcar the
+ ſon of Oſſian. This battle is the foundation of the preſent poem, which is addreſſed to Malvina
+ the daughter of Toſcar.
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 CronaDisplay note. But it is the miſt of the deſart, 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
+
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+ lightens his face. He often looks back to Caros. It is RynoDisplay note 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 wingsDisplay note of his pride, bard of the times of old?” “He ſpreads them, Oſcar,” replied the bard, “but
+ it is behind his gathered heapDisplay note. He looks over his ſtones with fear. He beholds thee terrible, as the ghoſt of night,
+ that rolls the wave to his ſhips !”
+
“Go, thou firſt of my bards,” ſays Oſcar, “take the ſpear of Fingal. Fix a flame on its point.
+ Shake it to the winds of heaven. Bid him, in ſongs, to advance, and leave the rolling of his
+ wave. Tell to Caros that I long for battle; that my bow is weary of the chace of Cona. Tell him
+ the mighty are not here; and that my arm is young.”
+
He went with the murmur of ſongs. Oſcar reared his voice on high. It reached his heroes on
+ Ardven, like the noiſe of a cave; when the ſea of Togorma rolls before it; and its trees meet the
+ roaring winds. They gather round
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+ my ſon like the ſtreams of the hill ; when, after rain, they roll in the
+ pride of their courſe. Ryno came to the mighty Caros. He ſtruck his flaming ſpear. Come to the
+ battle of Oſcar, O thou that ſitteſt on the rolling of waves. Fingal is diſtant far; he hears the
+ ſongs of bards in Morven : the wind of his hall is in his hair. His terrible ſpear is at his
+ ſide; his ſhield that is like the darkened moon ! Come to the battle of Oſcar ; the hero is alone
+ !
+
He came not over the ſtreamy CarunDisplay note. The bard returned with his ſong. Grey night grows dim on Crona. The feaſt of ſhells is
+ ſpread. A hundred oaks burn to the wind; faint light gleams over the heath. The ghoſts of Ardven
+ paſs through the beam, and ſhew their dim and diſtant forms. ComalaDisplay note is half unſeen on her meteor ; Hidallan is ſullen and dim, like the darkened moon behind
+ the miſt of night.
+
“Why art thou ſad ?” ſaid Ryno; for he alone beheld the chief. “Why art thou ſad, Hidallan?
+ haſt thou not received thy fame ?
+
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+ The ſongs of Oſſian have been heard ; thy ghoſt has brightened in
+ wind, when thou didſt bend from thy cloud, to hear the ſong of Morven's bard! “And do thine
+ eyes,” ſaid Oſcar, “behold the chief, like the dim meteor of night ? Say, Ryno, ſay, how fell
+ Hidallan, the renowned in the days of my fathers? His name remains on the rocks of Cona. I have
+ often ſeen the ſtreams of his hills !”
+
Fingal, replied the bard, drove Hidallan from his wars. The king's ſoul was
+ ſad for Comala, and his eyes could not behold the chief. Lonely, ſad along the heath he, ſlowly,
+ moved, with ſilent ſteps. His arms hang diſordered on his ſide. His hair flies looſe from his
+ brow. The tear is in his down-caſt eyes; a ſigh half-ſilent in his breaſt! Three days he ſtrayed
+ unſeen, alone, before he came to Lamor's halls : the moſſy halls of his fathers, at the ſtream of BalvaDisplay note. There Lamor ſat alone beneath a tree; for he had ſent his people with Hidallan to war.
+ The ſtream ran at his feet, his grey head reſted on his ſtaff. Sightleſs are his aged eyes. He
+ hums the ſong of other times.
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+ The noiſe of Hidallan's feet came to his ear : he knew the tread of his
+ ſon.
+
“Is the ſon of Lamor returned; or is it the ſound of his ghoſt? Haſt thou fallen on the banks
+ of Carun, ſon of the aged Lamor ? Or, if I hear the ſound of Hidallan's feet; where are the
+ mighty in the war? where are my people, Hidallan, that were wont to return with their echoing
+ ſhields? Have they fallen on the banks of Carun ?”
+
“No: replied the ſighing youth, the people of Lamor live. They are renowned in war, my father;
+ but Hidallan is renowned no more. I muſt ſit alone on the banks of Balva, when the roar of the
+ battle grows.”
+
“But thy fathers never ſat alone,” replied the riſing pride of Lamor. “They never ſat alone on
+ the banks of Balva, when the roar of battle roſe. Doſt thou not behold that tomb ? My eyes
+ diſcern it not; there reſts the noble Garmállon, who never fled from war! Come, thou renowned in
+ battle, he ſays, come to thy father's tomb. How am I renowned, Garmállon? my ſon has fled from
+ war!”
+
“King of the ſtreamy Balva !” ſaid Hidallan with a ſigh, “why doſt thou
+ torment my ſoul? Lamor, I never fled. Fingal was ſad for
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+ Comala ; he denied his wars to Hidallan. Go to the grey ſtreams of
+ thy land, he ſaid ; moulder like a leafleſs oak, which the winds have bent over Balva, never more
+ to grow!”
+
“And muſt I hear,” Lamor replied, “the lonely tread of Hidallan's feet?
+ When thouſands are renowned in battle, ſhall he bend over my grey ſtreams? Spirit of the noble
+ Garmállon ! carry Lamor to his place; his eyes are dark; his ſoul is ſad ; his ſon has loft his
+ fame !”
+
“Where,” ſaid the youth, “ſhall I ſearch for fame to gladden the ſoul of
+ Lamor? From whence ſhall I return with renown, that the ſound of my arms may be pleaſant in his
+ ear ? If I go to the chace of hinds, my name will not be heard. Lamor will not feel my dogs, with
+ his hands, glad at my arrival from the hill. He will not enquire of his mountains, or of the
+ dark-brown deer of his deſarts !”
+
“I must fall,” ſaid Lamor, “like a leafleſs oak: it grew on a rock! it was
+ overturned by the winds! My ghoſt will be ſeen on my hills, mournful for my young Hidallan. Will
+ not ye, ye miſts, as ye riſe, hide him from my ſight? My ſon! go to Lamor's hall : there the arms
+ of our fathers hang. Bring the ſword of Garmallon ; he took it from a foe!”
+
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+ He went and brought the ſword with all its ſtudded thongs. He gave it to
+ his father. The grey-haired hero felt the point with his hand.
+
“My ſon! lead me to Garmállon's tomb : it riſes beſide that ruſtling tree.
+ The long graſs is withered; I hear the breezes whiſtling there. A little fountain murmurs near,
+ and ſends its water to Balva. There let me reſt; it is noon ; the ſun is on our fields !”
+
He led him to Garmállon's tomb. Lamor pierced the ſide of his ſon. They
+ ſleep together : their ancient halls moulder away. Ghoſts are ſeen there at noon : the valley is
+ ſilent, and the people ſhun the place of Lamor.
+
“Mournful is thy tale,” ſaid Oſcar, “ſon of the times of old ! My ſoul ſighs
+ for Hidallan; he fell in the days of his youth. He flies on the blaſt of the deſart, his
+ wandering is in a foreign land. Sons of the ecchoing Morven! draw near to the foes of Fingal.
+ Send the night away in ſongs; watch the ſtrength of Caros. Oſcar goes to the people of other
+ times ; to the ſhades of ſilent Ardven; where his fathers ſit dim in their clouds, and behold the
+ future war. And art thou there, Hidallan, like a half-extinguiſhed meteor ? Come to my ſight, in
+ thy ſorrow, chief of the winding Balva!”
+
+
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+ The heroes move with their ſongs. Oſcar ſlowly
+ aſcends the hill. The meteors of night ſet on the heath before him. A diſtant torrent faintly
+ roars. Unfrequent blaſts ruſh through aged oaks. The half-enlightened moon ſinks dim and red
+ behind her hill. Feeble voices are heard on the heath. Oſcar drew his ſword !
+
“Come,” ſaid the hero, “O ye ghoſts of my fathers! ye that fought againſt
+ the kings of the world! Tell me the deeds of future times ; and your converſe in your caves; when
+ you talk together and behold your ſons in the fields of the brave.”
+
Trenmor came, from his hill, at the voice of his mighty ſon. A cloud, like
+ the ſteed of the ſtranger, ſupported his airy limbs. His robe is of the miſt of Lano, that brings
+ death to the people. His ſword is a green meteor half-extinguiſhed. His face is without form, and
+ dark. He ſighed thrice over the hero : thrice the winds of night roared around ! Many were his
+ words to Oſcar ; but they only came by halves to our ears: they were dark as the tales of other
+ times, before the light of the ſong aroſe. He ſlowly vaniſhed, like a miſt that melts on the
+ ſunny hill. It was then, O daughter of Toſcar, my ſon began firſt to be ſad. He foreſaw the fall
+ of his race. At times,
+
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+ he was thoughtful and dark; like the ſun when he carries a cloud on his
+ face, but again he looks forth from his darkneſs on the green hills of Cona.
+
Oscar paſſed the night among his fathers, grey morning met him on Carun's
+ banks. A green vale ſurrounded a tomb which aroſe in the times of old. Little hills lift their
+ head at a diſtance; and ſtretch their old trees to the wind. The warriors of Caros ſat there, for
+ they had paſſed the ſtream by night. They appeared, like the trunks of aged pines, to the pale
+ light of the morning. Oſcar ſtood at the tomb, and raiſed thrice his terrible voice. The rocking
+ hills ecchoed around ; the ſtarting roes bounded away: And the trembling ghoſts of the dead fled,
+ ſhrieking on their clouds. So terrible was the voice of my ſon, when he called his friends!
+
A thousand ſpears aroſe around ; the people of Caros roſe. Why, daughter of
+ Toſcar, why that tear? My ſon, though alone, is brave, Oſcar is like a beam of the ſky; he turns
+ around and the people fall. His hand is the arm of a ghoſt, when he ſtretches it from a cloud ;
+ the reſt of his thin form is unſeen; but the people die in the vale! My ſon beheld the approach
+ of the foe; he ſtood in the ſilent darkneſs of his ſtrength. “Am I alone, ſaid Oſcar, in the
+
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+ [
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+ midſt of a thouſand foes? Many a ſpear is there ! many a
+ darkly-rolling eye ! Shall I fly to Ardven? But did my fathers ever fly? The mark of their arm is
+ in a thouſand battles. Oſcar too ſhall be renowned ! Come, ye dim ghoſts of my fathers, and
+ behold my deeds in war! I may fall; but I will be renowned like the race of the ecchoing Morven.”
+ He ſtood, growing in his place, like a flood in a narrow vale ! The battle came, but they fell :
+ bloody was the ſword of Oſcar !
+
The noiſe reached his people at Crona ; they came like a hundred ſtreams.
+ The warriors of Caros fled ; Oſcar remained like a rock left by the ebbing ſea. Now dark and
+ deep, with all his ſteeds, Caros rolled his might along: the little ſtreams are loſt in his
+ courſe; the earth is rocking round. Battle ſpreads from wing to wing : ten thouſand ſwords gleam
+ at once in the ſky. But why ſhould Oſſian ſing of battles? For never more ſhall my ſteel ſhine in
+ war. I remember the days of my youth with grief; when I feel the weakneſs of my arm. Happy are
+ they who fell in their youth, in the midſt of their renown! They have not beheld the tombs of
+ their friend : or failed to bend the bow of their ſtrength. Happy art thou, O Oſcar, in the midſt
+ of thy ruſhing blaſt. Thou often
+
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+ goeſt to the fields of thy fame, where Caros fled from thy lifted
+ ſword.
+
Darkness comes on my ſoul, O fair daughter of Toſcar, I behold not the form
+ of my ſon at Carun; nor the figure of Oſcar on Crona. The ruſtling winds have carried him far
+ away ; and the heart of his father is ſad. But lead me, O Malvina, to the ſound of my woods; to
+ the roar of my mountain ſtreams. Let the chace be heard on Cona ; let me think on the days of
+ other years. And bring me the harp, O maid, that I may touch it, when the light of my ſoul ſhall
+ ariſe, Be thou near, to learn the ſong ; future times ſhall hear of me! The ſons of the feeble
+ hereafter will lift the voice on Cona ; and, looking up to the rocks, ſay, “Here Oſſian dwelt.”
+ They ſhall admire the chiefs of old, the race that are no more! while we ride on our clouds,
+ Malvina, on the wings of the roaring winds. Our voices ſhall be heard, at times, in the deſart;
+ we ſhall ſing on the breeze of the rock.
An addreſs to Malvina, the daughter of Toſcar. The poet relates the arrival of Cathlin in
+ Selma, to ſolicit aid againſt Duth-carmor of Cluba, who had killed Cathmol, for the ſake of his
+ daughter Lanŭl. Fingal declining to make a choice among his heroes, who were all claiming the
+ command of the expedition ; they retired each to his hill of ghoſts ; to be determined
+ by dreams. The ſpirit of Trenmor appears to Oſſian and Oſcar : they ſail, from the bay of
+ Carmona, and, on the fourth day, appear off the valley of Rath-col, in Inis-huna, where
+ Duth-carmor had fixed his reſidence. Oſſian diſpatches a bard to Duth-carmor to demand battle.
+ Night comes on. The diſtreſs of Cathlin of Clutha. Oſſian devolves the command on Oſcar, who,
+ according to the cuſtom of the kings of Morven, before battle, retired to a neighbouring hill.
+ Upon the coming on of day, the battle joins. Oſcar and Duth-carmor meet. The latter falls. Oſcar
+ carries the mail and helmet of Duth-carmor to Cathlin, who had retired from the field. Cathlin
+ is diſcovered to be the daughter of Cathmol, in diſguiſe, who had been carried off, by force,
+ by, and had made her eſcape from, Duth-carmor.
Display noteCome, thou beam that art lonely, from watching in the night! The
+ ſqually winds are around thee, from all their echoing hills. Red, over my hundred ſtreams, are
+ the
+
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+ [
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+ ]
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+ light-covered paths of the dead. They rejoice, on the eddying
+ winds, in the ſeaſon of night. Dwells there no joy in ſong, white hand of the harps of Lutha ?
+ Awake the voice of the ſtring ; roll my ſoul to me. It is a ſtream that has failed. Malvina pour
+ the ſong.
+
I hear thee, from thy darkneſs, in Selma, thou that watcheſt, lonely, by
+ night! Why didſt thou with-hold the ſong, from Oſſian's failing ſoul ? As the falling brook to
+ the ear of the hunter, deſcending from his ſtorm-covered hill ; in a ſun-beam rolls the echoing
+ ſtream ; he hears, and ſhakes his dewy locks: ſuch is the voice of Lutha, to the friend of the
+ ſpirits of heroes. My ſwelling boſom beats high. I look back on the days that are paſt. Come,
+ thou beam that art lonely, from watching in the night !
+
In the echoing bay of CarmonaDisplay note we ſaw, one day, the bounding ſhip. On high, hung
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ a broken ſhield ; it was marked with wandering blood. Forward came a
+ youth, in arms, and ſtretched his pointleſs ſpear. Long, over his tearful eyes, hung looſe his
+ diſordered locks. Fingal gave the ſhell of kings. The words of the ſtranger aroſe. “In his hall
+ lies Cathmol of Clutha, by the winding of his own dark ſtreams. Duth-carmor ſaw white-boſomed LanulDisplay note, and pierced her father's ſide. In the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ruſhy deſart were my ſteps. He fled in the ſeaſon of night. Give
+ thine aid to Cathlin to revenge his father. I ſought thee not as a beam, in a land of clouds.
+ Thou, like the ſun, art known, king of echoing Selma !
+
Selma's king looked around. In his preſence, we roſe in arms. But who
+ ſhould lift the ſhield ? for all had claimed the war. The night came down; we ſtrode, in
+ ſilence; each to his hill of ghoſts : that ſpirits might deſcend, in our dreams, to mark us for
+ the field. We ſtruck the ſhield of the dead : we raiſed the hum of ſongs. We thrice called the
+ ghoſts of our fathers. We laid us down in dreams. Trenmor came, before mine eyes, the tall form
+ of other years ! His blue hoſts were behind him in half-diſtinguiſhed rows. Scarce ſeen is their
+ ſtrife in miſt, or their ſtretching forward to deaths. I liſtened ; but no ſound was there. The
+ forms were empty wind!
+
I started from the dream of ghoſts. On a ſudden blaſt flew my whiſtling
+ hair. Low-ſounding, in the oak, is the departure of the dead. I took my ſhield from its bough.
+ Onward came the rattling of ſteel. It was OſcarDisplay note of
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ Lego. He had ſeen his fathers. “As ruſhes forth the blaſt, on the boſom
+ of whitening waves; ſo careleſs ſhall my courſe be, through ocean, to the dwelling of foes. I
+ have ſeen the dead, my father ! My beating ſoul is high ! My fame is bright before me, like the
+ ſtreak of light on a cloud, when the broad ſun comes forth, red traveller of the ſky !”
+
“Grandson of Branno,” I ſaid; “not Oſcar alone ſhall meet the foe. I ruſh
+ forward, thro' ocean, to the woody dwelling of heroes. Let us contend, my ſon, like eagles, from
+ one rock, when they lift their broad wings, againſt the ſtream of winds.” We raiſed our ſails in
+ Carmona. From three ſhips, they marked my ſhield on the wave, as I looked on nightly Ton-thenaDisplay note, red traveller between the clouds. Four days came the breeze abroad. Lumon came
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ forward in miſt. In winds were its hundred groves. Sun-beams
+ marked, at times, its brown ſide. White, leapt the foamy ſtreams, from all its echoing
+ rocks.
+
A green field, in the boſom of hills, winds ſilent with its own blue
+ ſtream. Here, midſt the waving of oaks, were the dwellings of kings of old. But ſilence, for
+ many dark-brown years, had ſettled in graſſy Rath-colDisplay note ; for the race of heroes had failed, along the pleaſant vale. Duthcarmor was here, with
+ his people, dark rider of the wave. Ton-thena had hid her head in the ſky. He bound his
+ white-boſomed ſails. His courſe is on the hills of Rath-col, to the ſeats of roes. We came. I
+ ſent the bard, with ſongs, to call the foe to fight. Duth-carmor heard him, with joy. The king's
+ ſoul was like a beam of fire; a beam of fire, marked with ſmoak, ruſhing, varied, thro' the
+ boſom of night. The deeds of Duth-carmor were dark, tho' his arm was ſtrong.
+
Night came, with the gathering of clouds. By the beam of the oak we ſat
+ down. At a
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ diftance ſtood Cathlin of Clutha. I ſaw the changefulDisplay note ſoul of the ſtranger. As ſhadows fly over the field of graſs, ſo various is Cathlin's
+ cheek. It was fair, within locks, that roſe on Rath-col's wind. I did not ruſh, amidſt his ſoul,
+ with my words. I bade the ſong to riſe.
+
“Oscar of Lego,” I ſaid, “be thine the ſecret hillDisplay note , to-night. Strike the ſhield, like Morven's kings. With day, thou ſhalt lead in
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ war. From my rock, I ſhall ſee thee, Oſcar, a dreadful form
+ aſcending in fight, like the appearance of ghoſts, amidſt the ſtorms they raiſe: Why ſhould mine
+ eyes return to the dim times of old, ere yet the ſong had burſted forth, like the ſudden riſing
+ of winds? But the years, that are paſt, are marked with mighty deeds. As the nightly rider of
+ waves looks up to Ton-thena of beams : ſo let us turn our eyes to Trenmor, the father of
+ kings.”
+
“Wide, in Caracha's echoing field, Carmal had poured his tribes. They were
+ a dark ridge of waves. The grey-haired bards were like moving foam on their face. They kindled
+ the ſtrife around, with their red-rolling eyes. Nor alone were the dwellers of rocks; a ſon of
+ Loda was there; a voice, in his own dark land, to call the ghoſts from high. On his hill, he had
+ dwelt; in Lochlin, in the midſt of a leafleſs grove. Five ſtones lifted, near, their heads. Loud
+ roared his ruſhing ſtream. He often raiſed his voice to the winds, when meteors marked their
+ nightly wings; when the dark-robed moon was rolled behind her hill. Nor unheard of ghoſts was he
+ ! They came with the ſound of eagle wings. They turned battle, in fields, before the kings of
+ men.
+
“But, Trenmor, they turned not from battle. He drew forward that troubled
+ war ; in its dark
+
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+ ]
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+ ſkirt was Trathal, like a riſing light. It was dark; and Loda's ſon
+ poured forth his ſigns, on night. The feeble were not before thee, ſon of other lands!Display note Then roſe the ſtrife of kings, about the hill of night; but it was ſoft as two ſummer
+ gales, ſhaking their light wings, on a lake. Trenmor yielded to his ſon ; for the fame of the
+ king had been heard. Trathal came forth before his father, and the foes failed, in echoing
+ Caracha. The years that are paſt, my ſon, are marked with mighty deedsDisplay note.”
+
In clouds roſe the eaſtern light. The foe came forth in arms. The ſtrife is
+ mixed on Rath-col, like the roar of ſtreams. Behold the contending of kings ! They meet beſide
+ the oak. In gleams of ſteel the dark forms are loſt ; ſuch is the meeting of meteors, in a vale
+ by night : red light is ſcattered round, and men foreſee the ſtorm ! Duth-carmor is low in
+ blood! The ſon of Oſſian overcame ! Not harmleſs in battle was he, Malvina hand of harps !
+
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+ ]
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+
+
Nor, in the field, were the ſteps of Cathlin. The ſtranger ſtood by a
+ ſecret ſtream, where the foam of Rath-col ſkirted the moſſy ſtones. Above, bends the branchy
+ birch, and ſtrews its leaves, on wind. The inverted ſpear of Cathlin touched, at times, the
+ ſtream. Oſcar brought Duth-carmor's mail : his helmet with its eagle-wing. He placed them before
+ the ſtranger, and his words were heard. “The foes of thy father have failed. They are laid in
+ the field of ghoſts. Renown returns to Morven, like a riſing wind. Why art thou dark, chief of
+ Clutha ? Is there cauſe for grief?
+
“Son of Oſſian of harps, my ſoul is darkly ſad. I behold the arms of
+ Cathmol, which he raiſed in war. Take the mail of Cathlin, place it high in Selma's hall; that
+ thou mayſt remember the hapleſs in thy diſtant land.” From white breaſts deſcended the mail. It
+ was the race of kings; the ſoft-handed daughter of Cathmol, at the ſtreams of Clutha!
+ Duth-carmor ſaw her bright in the hall, he had come, by night, to Clutha. Cathmol met him, in
+ battle, but the hero fell. Three days dwelt the foe, with the maid. On the fourth ſhe fled in
+ arms. She remembered the race of kings, and felt her burſting ſoul!
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+
+
Why, maid of Toſcar of Lutha, ſhould I tell how Cathlin failed? Her tomb is
+ at ruſhy Lumon, in a diſtant land. Near it were the ſteps of Sul-malla, in the days of grief.
+ She raiſed the ſong, for the daughter of ſtrangers, and touched the mournful harp.
+
Come, from the watching of night, Malvina, lonely beam !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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This poem, which, properly ſpeaking, is a continuation of the laſt, opens
+ with an addreſs to Sul-malla, the daughter of the king of Inis-huna, whom Oſſian met, at the
+ chace, as he returned from the battle ef Rath-col. Sul-malla invites Oſſian and Oſcar to a
+ feaſt, at the reſidence of her father, who was then abſent in the wars. Upon hearing their name
+ and family, ſhe relates an expedition of Fingal into Inis huna. She caſually mentioning Cathmor,
+ chief of Atha, (who then aſſiſted her father againſt his enemies) Oſſian introduces the epiſode
+ of Culgorm and Surandronlo, two Scandinavian kings, in whoſe wars Oſſian himſelf and Cathmor
+ were engaged on oppoſite ſides. The ſtory is imperfect, a part of the original being loſt.
+ Oſſian, warned, in a dream, by the ghoſt of Trenmor, ſets ſail from Inishuna.
Display noteWho moves ſo ſtately, on Lumon, at the roar of the foamy waters? Her
+ hair falls upon her heaving breaſt. White is her arm behind, as ſlow the bends the bow. Why
+
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ doſt thou wander in deſarts, like a light thro' a cloudy field
+ ? The young roes are panting, by their ſecret rocks. Return, thou daughter of kings! the cloudy
+ night is near! It was the young branch of green Inis-huna, Sul-malla of blue eyes. She ſent the
+ bard from her rock, to bid us to her feaſt. Amidſt the ſong we ſat down, in Cluba's ecchoing
+ hall. White moved the hands of Sul-malla, on the trembling ſtrings. Half-heard amidſt the ſound,
+ was the name of Atha's king : he that was abſent in battle for her own green land. Nor abſent
+ from her ſoul was he; he came midſt her thoughts by night. Ton-thena looked in, from the ſky, and
+ ſaw her toſſing arms.
+
The ſound of ſhells had ceaſed. Amidſt long locks, Sul-malla roſe. She ſpoke
+ with bended eyes, and aſked of our courſe thro' ſeas ; “for of the kings of men are ye, tall
+ riders of the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ waveDisplay note.” “Not unknown,” I ſaid, “at his ſtreams is he, the father of our race. Fingal has been
+ heard of at Cluba, blue-eyed daughter of kings. Nor only, at Cona's ſtream, is Oſſian and Oſcar
+ known. Foes trembled at our voice, and ſhrunk in other lands.”
+
“Not unmarked,” ſaid the maid, “by Sul-malla, is the ſhield of Morven's
+ king. It hangs high, in my father's hall, in memory of the paſt; when Fingal came to Cluba, in
+ the days of other years. Loud roared the boar of Culdarnu, in the midſt of his rocks and woods.
+ Inis-huna ſent her youths, but they failed ; and
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ virgins wept over tombs. Careleſs went Fingal to Culdarnu. On
+ his ſpear rolled the ſtrength of the woods. He was bright, they ſaid, in his locks, the firſt of
+ mortal men. Nor at the feaſt were heard his words. His deeds paſſed from his ſoul of fire, like
+ the rolling of vapours from the face of the wandering ſun. Not careleſs looked the blue eyes of
+ Cluba on his ſtately ſteps. In white boſoms roſe the king of Selma, in the midſt of their
+ thoughts by night. But the winds bore the ſtranger to the ecchoing vales of his roes. Nor loſt to
+ other lands was he, like a meteor that ſinks in a cloud. He came forth, at times, in his
+ brightneſs, to the diſtant dwelling of foes. His fame came, like the ſound of winds, to Cluba's
+ woody valeDisplay note.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Darkness dwells in Cluba of harps : the race of kings
+ is diſtant far ; in battle is my father Conmor: and LormarDisplay note my brother, king of ſtreams. Nor darkening alone are they; a beam, from other lands, is
+ nigh; the friend of ſtrangersDisplay note in Atha, the troubler of the field. High, from their miſty hills, look forth the blue
+ eyes of Erin; for he is far away, young dweller of their ſouls! Nor, harmleſs, white hands of
+ Erin ! is Cathmor in the ſkirts of war; he rolls ten thouſand before him, in his diſtant
+ field.”
+
“Not unſeen by Oſſian,” I ſaid, “ruſhed Cathmor from his ſtreams, when he
+ poured his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtrength on I-thornoDisplay note, iſle of many waves! In ſtrife met two kings in I-thorno, Culgorm and Suran-dronlo : each
+ from his ecchoing iſle, ſtern hunters of the boar !”
+
“They met a boar, at a foamy ſtream : each pierced him with his ſpear. They
+ ſtrove for the fame of the deed; and gloomy battle roſe. From iſle to iſle they ſent a ſpear,
+ broken and ſtained with blood, to call the friends of their fathers, in their ſounding arms.
+ Cathmor came, from Erin, to Culgorm, red-eyed king : I aided Suran-dronlo, in his land of
+ boars.”
+
“We ruſhed on either ſide of a ſtream, which roared thro' a blaſted heath.
+ High broken rocks were round, with all their bending trees. Near were two circles of Loda, with
+ the ſtone of power ; where ſpirits deſcended, by night, in dark-red ſtreams of fire. There, mixed
+ with the murmur of waters, roſe the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ voice of aged men, they called the forms of night, to aid them in their war.”Display noteHeedless I ſtood, with my people, where fell the foamy ſtream from
+ rocks. The moon moved red from the mountain. My ſong, at times, aroſe. Dark, on the other ſide,
+ young Cathmor heard my voice; for he lay, beneath the oak, in all his gleaming arms. Morning
+ came; we ruſhed to fight: from wing to wing is the rolling of ſtrife. They fell, like the
+ thiſtle's head, beneath autumnal winds.
+
In armour came a ſtately form : I mixed my ſtrokes with the chief. By turns
+ our ſhields are pierced : loud rung our ſteely mails. His helmet fell to the ground. In
+ brightneſs ſhone the foe. His eyes, two pleaſant flames, rolled between his wandering locks. I
+ knew Cathmor of Atha, and threw my ſpear on earth. Dark, we turned, and ſilent paſſed to mix with
+ other foes.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Not ſo paſſed the ſtriving kingsDisplay note. They, mixed in ecchoing fray ; like the meeting of ghoſts, in the dark wing of winds.
+ Thro' either breaſt ruſhed the ſpears ; nor yet lay the foes on earth ! A rock received their
+ fall ; half-reclined they lay in death. Each held the lock of his foe; each grimly ſeemed to roll
+ his eyes. The ſtream of the rock leapt on their ſhields, and mixed below with blood.
+
The battle ceaſed in I-thorno. The ſtrangers met in peace: Cathmor from Atha
+ of ſtreams, and Oſſian, king of harps. We placed the dead in earth. Our ſteps were by Runar's
+ bay. With the bounding boat, afar, advanced a ridgy wave. Dark was the rider of ſeas, but a beam
+ of light was there, like the ray of the ſun, in Stromlo's rolling ſmoak. It was the daughterDisplay note of Suran-dronlo, wild in brightened looks.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Her eyes were wandering flames, amidſt diſordered locks. Forward is her
+ white arm, with the ſpear ; her high-heaving breaſt is ſeen, white as foamy waves that rife, by
+ turns, amidſt rocks. They are beautiful, but terrible, and mariners call the winds !”
+
“Come, ye dwellers of Loda!” ſhe ſaid, “come, Carchar, pale in the midſt of
+ clouds !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Sluthmor, that ſtrideſt in airy halls ! Corchtur, terrible in
+ winds ! Receive, from his daughter's ſpear, the foes of Suran-dronlo. No ſhadow, at his roaring
+ ſtreams; no mildly-looking form was he ! When he took up his ſpear, the hawks ſhook their
+ ſounding wings: for blood was poured around the ſteps of dark-eyed Suran-dronlo. He lighted me,
+ no harmleſs beam, to glitter on his ſtreams. Like meteors, I was bright, but I blaſted the foes
+ of Suran-dronlo.”
+
* * * *
+
Nor unconcerned heard Sul-malla, the praiſe of Cathmor of ſhields. He was
+ within her ſoul, like a fire in ſecret heath, which awakes at the voice of the blaſt, and ſends
+ its beam abroad. Amidſt the ſong removed the daughter of kings, like the voice of a
+ ſummer-breeze; when it lifts the heads of flowers, and curls the lakes and ſtreams. The ruſtling
+ ſound gently ſpreads o'er the vale, foſtly-pleaſing as it ſaddens the ſoul.
+
By night came a dream to Oſſian; formleſs ſtood the ſhadow of Trenmor. He ſeemed to ſtrike the
+ dim ſhield, on Selma's ſtreamy rock. I roſe, in my rattling ſteel ; I knew that war was near,
+ before the winds our ſails were ſpread ; when Lumon ſhewed its ſtreams to the morn.
+
Come from the watching of night, Malvina, lonely beam !
Reflections on the poet's youth. An apoſtrophe to Selma. Oſcar obtains leave to go to
+ Inis-thona, an iſland of Scandinavia. The mournful ſtory of Argon and Kuro, the two ſons of the
+ king of Inis-thona. Oſcar revenges their death, and returns in triumph to Selma. A ſoliloquy by
+ the poet himſelf.
Our youth is like the dream of the hunter on the hill of heath. He ſleeps
+ in the mild beams of the ſun ; he awakes amidſt a ſtorm; the red lightning flies around : trees
+ ſhake their heads to the wind ! He looks back with joy, on the day of the ſun; and the pleaſant
+ dreams of his reſt! When ſhall Oſſian's youth return ? When his ear delight in the ſound of arms
+ ? When ſhall I, like Oſcar, travel in the light of my ſteel? Come, with your ſtreams, ye hills of
+ Cona ! liſten to the voice of Oſſian. The ſong riſes, like the ſun, in my ſoul. I feel the joys
+ of other times !
+
I behold thy towers, O Selma ! the oaks of thy ſhaded wall: thy ſtreams
+ ſound in my ear thy heroes gather around. Fingal ſits in the
+
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+ midſt. He leans on the ſhield of Trenmor: his ſpear ſtands
+ againſt the wall ; he liſtens to the ſong of his bards. The deeds of his arm are heard; the
+ actions of the king in his youth ! Oſcar had returned from the chace, and heard the hero's
+ praiſe. He took the ſhield of BrannoDisplay note from the wall; his eyes were filled with tears. Red was the cheek of youth. His voice was
+ trembling, low. My ſpear ſhook its bright head in his hand : he ſpoke to Morven's king.
+
“Fingal! thou king of heroes! Oſſian, next to him in war! ye have fought in
+ your youth; your names are renowned in ſong. Oſcar is like the miſt of Cona ; I appear and I
+ vaniſh away. The bard will not know my name. The hunter will not ſearch in the heath for my tomb.
+ Let me fight, O heroes, in the battles of Inis-Thona. Diſtant is the land of my war! ye ſhall not
+ hear of Oſcar's fall ! Some bard may find me there ; ſome bard may give my name to ſong. The
+ daughter of the ſtranger ſhall ſee my tomb, and weep over the youth, that came from afar. The
+ bard ſhall ſay, at the feaſt, “hear the ſong of Oſcar from the diſtant land !”
+
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+
+
“Oscar,” replied the king of Morven ; “thou ſhalt fight, ſon of my fame !
+ Prepare my dark-boſomed ſhip to carry my hero to Inisthona. Son of my ſon, regard our fame ; thou
+ art of the race of renown ! Let not the children of ſtrangers ſay, feeble are the ſons of Morven
+ ! Be thou, in battle, a roaring ſtorm : mild as the evening ſun in peace ! Tell, Oſcar, to
+ Inisthona's king, that Fingal remembers his youth; when we ſtrove in the combat together, in the
+ days of Agandecca.”
+
They lifted up the ſounding ſail; the wind whiſtled through the thongsDisplay note of their maſts. Waves laſh the oozy rocks: the ſtrength of ocean roars. My ſon beheld,
+ from the wave, the land of groves, He ruſhed into Runa's ſounding bay, and ſent his ſword to
+ Annir of ſpears. The grey-haired hero roſe, when he ſaw the ſword of Fingal. His eyes were full
+ of tears; he remembered his battles in youth. Twice had they lifted the ſpear, before the lovely
+ Agandecca : heroes ſtood far diſtant, as if two ſpirits were ſtriving in winds.
+
“But now,” began the king, “I am old; the ſword lies uſeleſs in my hall.
+ Thou, who
+
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+ art of Morven's race! Annir has ſeen the battle of ſpears ;
+ but now he is pale and withered, like the oak of Lano. I have no ſon to meet thee with joy, to
+ bring thee to the halls of his fathers. Argon is pale in the tomb, and Ruro is no more. My
+ daughter is in the hall of ſtrangers : ſhe longs to behold my tomb. Her ſpouſe ſhakes ten
+ thouſand ſpears; he comesDisplay note a cloud of death from Lano. Come, to ſhare the feaſt of Annir, ſon of ecchoing Morven
+ !”
+
Three days they feaſted together; on the fourth, Annir heard the name of
+ Oſcar. They rejoiced in the ſhellDisplay note. They purſued the boars of Runa. Beſide the fount of moſſy ſtones, the weary heroes reſt.
+ The tear ſteals in ſecret from Annir: he broke the riſing ſigh. “Here darkly reſt,” the hero
+ ſaid, “the children of my youth. This ſtone is the tomb of Ruro; that tree ſounds
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ over the grave of Argon. Do ye hear my voice, O my ſons, within your
+ narrow houſe ? Or do ye ſpeak in theſe ruſtling leaves, when the winds of the deſart riſe ?”
+
“King of Inis-thona,” ſaid Oſcar, “how fell the children of youth? The wild
+ boar ruſhes over their tombs, but he does not diſturb their repoſe. They purſue deerDisplay note formed of clouds, and bend their airy bow. They ſtill love the ſport of their youth ; and
+ mount the wind with joy.”
+
“Cormalo,” replicd the king, “is a chief of ten thouſand ſpears. He dwells
+ at the waters of LanoDisplay note, which ſends forth the vapour of death. He came to Runa's ecchoing halls, and ſought the
+ honour of the ſpearDisplay note. The youth was lovely as the firſt beam of the ſun ; few were they who could meet him in
+ fight ! My heroes yielded to Cormalo : my daughter was ſeized in his love.
+
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+ ]
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+ Argon and Ruro returned from the chace; the tears of their
+ pride deſcend : they roll their ſilent eyes on Runa's heroes, who had yielded to a ſtranger.
+ Three days they feaſted with Cormalo : on the fourth young Argon fought. But who could fight with
+ Argon ! Cormalo is overcome. His heart ſwelled with the grief of pride; he reſolved, in ſecret,
+ to behold the death of my ſons? They went to the hills of Runa : they purſued the dark-brown
+ hinds. The arrow of Cormalo flew in ſecret ; my children fell in blood. He came to the maid of
+ his love ; to Inis-thona's long-haired maid. They fled over the deſart. Annir remained alone.
+ Night came on and day appeared; nor Argon's voice, nor Ruro's came. At length their much-loved
+ dog was ſeen ; the fleet and bounding Runar. He came into the hall and howled ; and ſeemed to
+ look towards the place of their fall. We followed him : we ſound them here : we laid them by this
+ moſſy ſtream. This is the haunt of Annir, when the chace of the hinds is paſt. I bend like the
+ trunk of an aged oak; my tears for ever flow !
+
“O Ronnan !” ſaid the riſing Oſcar, “Ogar king of ſpears! call my heroes to
+ my ſide, the ſons of ſtreamy Morven. To-day we go to Lano's water, that ſends forth the vapour of
+
+
+ [
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+ death. Cormalo will not long rejoice: death is often at the point of our
+ ſwords !”
+
They came over the deſart like ſtormy clouds, when the winds roll them along
+ the heath : their edges are tinged with lightning ; the ecchoing groves foreſee the form! The
+ horn of Oſcar's battle is heard ; Lano ſhook over all its waves. The children of the lake
+ convened around the ſounding ſhield of Cormalo. Oſcar fought, as he was wont in war. Cormalo fell
+ beneath his ſword : the ſons of diſmal Lano fled to their ſecret vales! Oſcar brought the
+ daughter of Inis-thona to Annir's ecchoing halls. The face of age is bright with joy ; he bleſt
+ the king of ſwords !
+
How great was the joy of Oſſian, when he beheld the diſtant fail of his ſon! it was like a
+ cloud of light that riſes in the eaſt, when the traveller is ſad in a land unknown; and diſmal
+ night, with her ghoſts, is fitting around in ſhades! We brought him, with ſongs, to Selma's
+ halls. Fingal ſpread the feaſt of ſhells. A thouſand bards raiſed the name of Oſcar : Morven
+ anſwered to the ſound. The daughter of Toſcar was there; her voice was like the harp; when the
+ diſtant ſound comes, in the evening, on the foſt-ruſtling breeze of the vale!
+
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+ ]
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+
+
O Lay me, ye that ſee the light, near ſome rock of my hills ! let the thick
+ hazels be around, let the ruſtling oak be near. Green be the place of my reſt; let the ſound of
+ the diſtant torrent be heard. Daughter of Toſcar, take the harp, and raiſe the lovely ſong of
+ Selma ; that ſleep may overtake my ſoul in the midſt of joy ; that the dreams of my youth may
+ return, and the days of the mighty Fingal. Selma! I behold thy towers, thy trees, thy ſhaded wall
+ ! I ſee the heroes of Morven ; I hear the ſong of bards ! Oſcar lifts the ſword of Cormalo; a
+ thouſand youths admire its ſtudded thongs. They look with wonder on my ſon: They admire the
+ ſtrength of his arm. They mark the joy of his father's eyes; they long for an equal fame. And ye
+ ſhall have your fame, O ſons of ſtreamy Morven! My ſoul is often brightened with ſong; I remember
+ the friends of my youth. But ſleep deſcends, in the ſound of the harp! pleaſant dreams begin to
+ riſe! Ye ſons of the chace ſtand far diſtant, nor diſturb my reſt. The bard of other times holds
+ diſcourſe with his fathers, the chief of the days of old ! Sons of the chace, ſtand far diſtant !
+ diſturb not the dreams of Oſſian !
Addreſs to the evening ſtar. An apoſtrophe to Fingal and his times. Minona ſings before the
+ king the ſong of the unfortunate Colma; and the bards exhibit other ſpecimens of their poetical
+ talents; according to an annual cuſtom eſtabliſhed by the monarchs of the ancient Caledonians
Star of deſcending night! fair is thy light in the weſt ! thou lifteſt thy
+ unſhorn head from thy cloud : thy ſteps are ſtately on thy hill. What doſt thou behold in the
+ plain ? The ſtormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb
+ the diſtant rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings; the hum of their courſe is on
+ the field. What doſt thou behold, fair light ? But thou doſt ſmile and depart. The waves come
+ with joy around thee : they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewel, thou ſilent beam ! Let the light of
+ Oſſian's ſoul ariſe !
+
And it does ariſe in its ſtrength! I behold my departed friends. Their
+ gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other years. Fingal comes like a watry column of miſt;
+ his heroes are around : And ſee the bards of ſong,
+
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+ grey-haired Ullin! ſtately Ryno! AlpinDisplay note, with the tuneful voice! the ſoft complaint of Minona! How are ye changed, my friends,
+ ſince the days of Selma's feaſt ? when we contended, like gales of ſpring, as they fly along the
+ hill, and bend by turns the feebly-whiſtling graſs.
+
MinonaDisplay note came forth in her beauty ; with down-caſt look and tearful eye. Her hair flew ſlowly on
+ the blaſt, that ruſhed unfrequent from the hill. The ſouls of the heroes were ſad when ſhe raiſed
+ the tuneful voice. Often had they ſeen the grave of Salgar Display note, the dark dwelling of white-boſomed ColmaDisplay note. Colma left alone on the hill, with all her voice of ſong! Salgar promiſed to come: but
+ the night deſcended around. Hear the voice of Colma, when ſhe ſat alone on the hill !
It is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of ſtorms. The wind is heard
+ in the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on
+ the hill of winds !
+
Rise, moon ! from behind thy clouds. Stars of the night ariſe! Lead me,
+ ſome light, to the place, where my love reſts from the chace alone! his bow near him, unſtrung:
+ his dogs panting around him. But here I muſt ſit alone, by the rock of the moſſy ſtream. The
+ ſtream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of my love! Why delays my Salgar, why the
+ chief of the hill, his promiſe ? Here is the rock, and here the tree! here is the roaring ſtream
+ ! Thou didſt promiſe with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgar gone ? With thee I would
+ fly, from my father ; with thee, from my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes ; we are
+ not foes, O Salgar!
+
Cease a little while, O wind! ſtream, be thou ſilent a while! let my voice
+ be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me ! Salgar ! it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree, and
+ the rock. Salgar, my love! I am here. Why delayeſt thou thy coming? Lo! the calm moon
+
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+ comes forth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are
+ grey on the ſteep. I ſee him not on the brow. His dogs come not before him, with tidings of his
+ near approach. Here I muſt ſit alone !
+
Who lie on the heath beſide me? Are they my love and my brother ? Speak to
+ me, O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speak to me: I am alone! My ſoul is tormented
+ with fears! Ah! they are dead ! Their ſwords are red from the fight. O my brother ! my brother !
+ why haſt thou ſlain my Salgar? why, O Salgar! haſt thou ſlain my brother ? Dear were ye both to
+ me ! what ſhall I ſay in your praiſe ? Thou wert fair on the hill among thouſands ! he was
+ terrible in fight. Speak to me; hear my voice; hear me, ſons of my love! They are ſilent; ſilent
+ for ever! Cold, cold are their breaſts of clay! Oh! from the rock on the hill; from the top of
+ the windy ſteep, ſpeak, ye ghoſts of the dead ! ſpeak, I will not be afraid ! Whither are ye
+ gone to reſt? In what cave of the hill ſhall I find the departed ? No feeble voice is on the
+ gale : no anſwer half-drowned in the ſtorm !
+
I sit in my grief! I wait for morning in my tears! Rear the tomb, ye
+ friends of the dead. Cloſe it not till Colma come, My life flies
+
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+ away like a dream : why ſhould I ſtay behind ? Here ſhall I
+ reſt with my friends, by the ſtream of the ſounding rock. When night comes on the hill; when the
+ loud winds ariſe; my ghoſt ſhall ſtand in the blaſt, and mourn the death of my friends. The
+ hunter ſhall hear from his booth. He ſhall fear but love my voice! For ſweet ſhall my voice be
+ for my friends: pleaſant were her friends to Colma !
+
Such was thy ſong, Minona, ſoftly-bluſhing daughter of Torman. Our tears
+ deſcended for Colma, and our ſouls were ſad! Ullin came with his harp ; he gave the ſong of
+ Alpin. The voice of Alpin was pleaſant ; the ſoul of Ryno was a beam of fire! But they had
+ reſted in the narrow houſe : their voice had ceaſed in Selma. Ullin had returned, one day, from
+ the chace, before the heroes fell. He heard their ſtrife on the hill; their ſong was ſoft but
+ ſad! They mourned the fall of Morar, firſt of mortal men ! His ſoul was like the ſoul of Fingal
+ ; his ſword like the ſword of Oſcar. But he fell, and his father mourned : his ſiſter's eyes
+ were full of tears. Minona's eyes were full of tears, the ſiſter of car-borne Morar. She retired
+ from the ſong of Ullin, like the moon in the weſt, when ſhe foreſees the ſhower, and hides her
+ fair head
+
+ [
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+ in a cloud. I touched the harp, with Ullin; the ſong of
+ mourning roſe !
+
+
+ Ryno.
+
The wind and the rain are paſt: calm is the noon of day. The clouds are
+ divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies the inconſtant ſun. Red through the ſtony vale
+ comes down the ſtream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O ſtream ! but more ſweet is the voice
+ I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the ſon of ſong, mourning for the dead ! Bent is his head of
+ age; red his tearful eye. Alpin, thou ſon of ſong, why alone on the ſilent hill? why complaineſt
+ thou, as a blaſt in the wood; as a wave on the lonely ſhore ?
+
+
+ Alpin.
+
My tears, O Ryno! are for the dead; my voice for thoſe that have paſſed
+ away. Tall thou art on the hill, fair among the ſons of the vale. But thou ſhalt fall like MorarDisplay note; the mourner ſhall ſit on thy tomb. The hills ſhall know thee no more; thy bow ſhall lie
+ in the hail, unſtrung !
+
Thou wert ſwift, O Morar! as a roe on the deſart; terrible as a meteor of
+ fire. Thy wrath
+
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+ was as the ſtorm. Thy ſword in battle, as lightning in the
+ field. Thy voice was a ſtream after rain; like thunder on diſtant hills. Many fell by thy arm;
+ they were conſumed in the flames of thy wrath. But when thou didſt return from war, how peaceful
+ was thy brow ! Thy face was like the ſun after rain ; like the moon in the ſilence of night;
+ calm as the breaſt of the lake when the loud wind is laid.
+
Narrow is thy dwelling now! dark the place of thine abode ! With three
+ ſteps I compaſs thy grave, O thou who waſt ſo great before ! Four ſtones, with their heads of
+ moſs, are the only memorial of thee. A tree with ſcarce a leaf, long graſs, which whiſtles in
+ the wind, mark to the hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed.
+ Thou haſt no mother to mourn thee; no maid with her tears of love. Dead is ſhe that brought thee
+ forth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan.
+
Who on his ſtaff is this? who is this, whoſe head is white with age ? whoſe
+ eyes are red with tears? who quakes at every ſtep? It is thy fatherDisplay note, O Morar! the father of no ſon but thee. He heard of thy fame in war; he heard
+
+
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+ of foes diſperſed. He heard of Morar's renown ; why did he not
+ hear of his wound ? Weep, thou father of Morar ! weep ; but thy ſon heareth thee not. Deep is
+ the ſleep of the dead ; low their pillow of duſt. No more ſhall he hear thy voice; no more awake
+ at thy call. When ſhall it be morn in the grave, to bid the ſlumberer awake? Farewel, thou
+ braveſt of men ! thou conqueror in the field ! but the field ſhall ſee thee no more ; nor the
+ dark wood be lightened with the ſplendor of thy ſteel. Thou haſt left no ſon, The ſong ſhall
+ preſerve thy name. Future times ſhall hear of thee; they ſhall hear of the fallen Morar !
+
The grief of all aroſe, but moſt the burſting ſigh of ArminDisplay note. He remembers the death of his ſon, who fell in the days of his youth. CarmorDisplay note was near the hero, the chief of the ecchoing Galmal. Why burſts the ſigh of Armin, he
+ ſaid? Is there a cauſe to mourn ? The ſong comes, with its muſic, to melt and pleaſe the ſoul.
+ It is like ſoft miſt, that, riſing from a lake, pours on the ſilent vale; the green flowers are
+ filled with dew, but the ſun returns in his ſtrength, and the miſt is gone, Why
+
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+ art thou ſad, O Armin, chief of ſea-ſurrounded Gorma ?
+
Sad ! I am ! nor ſmall is my cauſe of woe ! Carmor, thou haſt loſt. Colgar
+ the valiant lives; and Annira faireſt maid. The boughs of thy houſe aſcend, O Carmor! but Armin
+ is the laſt of his race. Dark is thy bed, O Daura ! deep thy ſleep in the tomb ! When ſhalt thou
+ awake with thy ſongs? with all thy voice of muſic ?
+
Arise, winds of autumn, ariſe ; blow along the heath ! ſtreams of the
+ mountains roar ! roar, tempeſts, in the groves of my oaks! walk through broken clouds, O moon!
+ ſhow thy pale face, at intervals! bring to my mind the night, when all my children fell ; when
+ Arindal the mighty fell ; when Daura the lovely failed ! Daura, my daughter! thou wert fair;
+ fair as the moon on FuraDisplay note; white as the driven ſnow ; ſweet as the breathing gale. Arindal, thy bow was ſtrong.
+ Thy ſpear was ſwift in the field. Thy look was like miſt on the wave : thy ſhield, a red cloud
+ in a ſtorm. Armar, renowned in war, came, and ſought Daura's love. He was not long refuſed :
+ fair was the hope of their friends !
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+
+
Erath, ſon of Odgal, repined : his brother had been ſlain by Armor. He came
+ diſguiſed like a ſon of the ſea: fair was his ſkiff on the wave ; white his locks of age; calm
+ his ſerious brow. Faireſt of women, he ſaid, lovely daughter of Armin! a rock not diſtant in the
+ ſea, bears a tree on its ſide ; red ſhines the fruit afar! There Armor waits for Daura. I come
+ to carry his love ! She went; ſhe called on Armar. Nought anſwered, but the ſonDisplay note of the rock, Armor, my love! my love! why tormenteſt thou me with fear ? hear, ſon of
+ Arnart, hear : it is Daura who calleth thee! Erath the traitor fled laughing to the land. She
+ lifted up her voice ; ſhe called for her brother and her father. Arindal ! Armin ! none to
+ relieve your Daura !
+
Her voice came over the ſea. Arindal my ſon deſcended from the hill ; rough
+ in the ſpoils of the chace. His arrows rattled by his ſide; his bow was in his hand : five dark
+ grey dogs attend his ſteps. He ſaw fierce Erath on the ſhore: he ſeized and bound him to an oak.
+
+
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+ Thick wind the thongsDisplay note of the hide around his limbs; he loads the wind with his groans. Arindal aſcends the
+ deep in his boat, to bring Daura to land. Armar came in his wrath, and let fly the
+ grey-feathered ſhaft. It ſung ; it ſunk in thy heart, O Arindal my ſon ! for Erath the traitor
+ thou diedſt. The oar is ſtopped at once; he panted on the rock and expired. What is thy grief, O
+ Daura, when round thy feet is poured thy brother's blood ! The boat is broken in twain. Armar
+ plunges into the ſea, to reſcue his Daura or die. Sudden a blaſt from the hill came over the
+ waves. He ſunk, and he roſe no more.
+
Alone, on the ſea-beat rock, my daughter was heard to complain. Frequent
+ and loud were her cries. What could her father do? All night I ſtood on the ſhore, I ſaw her by
+ the faint beam of the moon. All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind ; the rain beat hard
+ on the hill. Before morning appeared, her voice was weak. It died away, like the evening-breeze
+ among the graſs of the rocks. Spent with grief ſhe expired. And left thee Armin alone: gone is
+ my ſtrength in war! fallen my pride among women! When the ſtorms aloft
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ariſe : when the north lifts the wave on high; I ſit by the
+ ſounding ſhore, and look on the fatal rock. Often by the ſetting moon, I ſee the ghoſts of my
+ children. Half-viewleſs, they walk in mournful conference together. Will none of you ſpeak in
+ pity ? They do not regard their father. I am ſad, O Carmor, nor ſmall is my cauſe of woe !
+
+
Such were the words of the bards in the days of ſong; when the King heard
+ the muſic of harps, the tales of other times ! The chiefs gathered from all their hills, and
+ heard the lovely ſound. They praiſed the voiceDisplay note of Cona ! the firſt among a thouſand bards! But age is now on my tongue; my ſoul has
+ failed! I hear, at times, the ghoſts of bards, and learn their pleaſant ſong.
+ But memory fails on my mind. I hear the call of years!
+ They ſay, as they paſs along, why does Oſſian ſing ? Soon ſhall he be in the narrow houſe, and no
+ bard ſhall raiſe his fame ! Roll on, ye dark-brown years; ye bring no joy on your courſe! Let the
+ tomb open to Oſſian, for his ſtrength has failed. The ſons of ſong are gone to reſt. My voice
+ remains, like a blaſt, that roars, lonely, on a ſea-ſurrounded rock, after the winds are laid.
+ The dark moſs whiſtles there; the diſtant mariner ſees the waving trees !
Lathmon, a Britiſh prince, taking advantage of Fingal's abſence on an expedition in Ireland,
+ made a deſcent on Morven, and advanced within ſight of Selma, the royal reſidence. Fingal
+ arrived in the mean time, and Lathmon retreated to a hill, where his army was ſurprized by
+ night, and himſelf taken priſoner by Oſſian and Gaul the ſon of Morni. The poem opens, with the
+ firſt appearance of Fingal on the coaſt of Morven, and ends, it may be ſuppoſed, about noon the
+ next day.
Selma, thy halls are ſilent. There is no ſound in the woods of Morven. The
+ wave tumbles alone on the coaſt. The ſilent beam of the ſun is on the field. The daughters of
+ Morven come forth, like the bow of the ſhower; they look towards green Erin for the white ſails
+ of the king. He had promiſed to return, but the winds of the north aroſe !
+
Who pours from the eaſtern hill, like a ſtream of darkneſs? It is the hoſt
+ of Lathmon. He has heard of the abſence of Fingal. He truſts in the wind of the north. His ſoul
+ brightens with joy. Why doſt thou come, O Lathmon ? The mighty are not in Selma. Why comeſt thou
+ with thy forward ſpear ? Will the daughters of Morven fight? But ſtop, O mighty ſtream, in thy
+ courſe! Does not Lathmon behold theſe ſails? Why doſt thou vaniſh, Lathmon, like the miſt of the
+ lake? But the ſqually ſtorm is behind thee; Fingal purſues thy ſteps !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The king of Morven had ſtarted from ſleep, as we rolled
+ on the dark-blue wave. He ſtretched his hand to his ſpear, his heroes roſe around. We knew that
+ he had ſeen his fathers, for they often deſcended to his dreams, when the ſword of the foe roſe
+ over the land; and the battle darkened before us. “Whither haſt thou fled, O wind?” ſaid the king
+ of Morven. “Doſt thou ruſtle in the chambers of the ſouth, purſueſt thou the ſhower in other
+ lands ? Why doſt thou not come to my ſails? to the blue face of my ſeas? The foe is in the land
+ of Morven, and the king is abſent far. But let each bind on his mail, and each aſſume his ſhield.
+ Stretch every ſpear over the wave; let every ſword be unſheathed. LathmonDisplay note is before us with his hoſt ; he that fledDisplay note from Fingal on the plains of Lona. But he returns, like a collected ſtream, and his roar
+ is between our hills.”
+
Such were the words of Fingal. We ruſhed into Carmona's bay. Oſſian aſcended
+ the hill : He thrice ſtruck his boſſy ſhield. The rock of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Morven replied ; the bounding roes came forth. The foe was troubled in my
+ preſence ; he collected his darkened hoſt. I ſtood, like a cloud on the hill, rejoicing in the
+ arms of my youth.
+
MorniDisplay note ſat beneath a tree, at the roaring waters of StrumonDisplay note : his locks of age are grey : he leans forward on his ſtaff; young Gaul is near the hero,
+ hearing the battles of his father. Often did he riſe, in the fire of his ſoul, at the mighty
+ deeds of Morni. The aged heard the ſound of Oſſian's ſhield : he knew the ſign of war. He ſtarted
+ at once from his place. His grey hair parted on his back. He remembered the deeds of other
+ years.
+
“My ſon,” he ſaid to fair-haired Gaul, “I hear the ſound of war. The king of
+ Morven is returned, his ſignals are ſpread on the wind. Go to the halls of Strumon ; bring his
+ arms to Morni. Bring the ſhield of my father's latter years, for my arm begins to fail. Take thou
+ thy armour, O Gaul; and ruſh to the firſt of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ thy battles. Let thine arm reach to the renown of thy fathers. Be thy
+ courſe in the field, like the eagle's wing. Why ſhouldſt thou fear death, my ſon ? the valiant
+ fall with fame; their ſhields turn the dark ſtream of danger away ; renown dwells on their aged
+ hairs. Doſt thou not ſee, O Gaul, how the ſteps of my age are honoured ? Morni moves forth, and
+ the young meet him, with awe, and turn their eyes, with ſilent joy, on his courſe. But I never
+ fled from danger, my ſon! my ſword lightened through the darkneſs of war. The ſtranger melted
+ before me; the mighty were blaſted in my preſence.”
+
Gaul brought the arms to Morni: the aged warrior is covered with ſteel. He
+ took the ſpear in his hand, which was ſtained with the blood of the valiant. He came towards
+ Fingal, his ſon attended his ſteps. The ſon of Comhal aroſe before him with joy, when he came in
+ his locks of age.
+
Chief of roaring Strumon! ſaid the riſing ſoul of Fingal ; do I behold thee
+ in arms, after thy ſtrength has failed ? Often has Morni ſhone in fight, like the beam of the
+ aſcending ſun ; when he diſperſes the ſtorms of the hill, and brings peace to the glittering
+ fields. But why didſt thou not reſt in thine age? Thy renown
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ is in the ſong. The people behold thee, and bleſs the departure of mighty
+ Morni. Why didſt thou not reſt in thine age? The foe will vaniſh before Fingal !
+
Son of Comhal, replied the chief, the ſtrength of Morni's arm has failed. I
+ attempt to draw the ſword of my youth, but it remains in its place. I throw the ſpear, but it
+ falls ſhort of the mark. I feel the weight of my ſhield. We decay like the graſs of the hill :
+ our ſtrength returns no more. I have a ſon, O Fingal, his ſoul has delighted in Morni's deeds;
+ but his ſword has not been lifted againſt a foe, neither has his fame begun. I come with him to
+ war; to direct his arm in fight. His renown will be a light to my ſoul, in the dark hour of my
+ departure. O that the name of Morni were forgot among the people! that the heroes would only ſay,
+ “Behold the father of Gaul !”
+
King of Strumon, Fingal replied, Gaul ſhall lift the ſword in fight. But he
+ ſhall lift it before Fingal; my arm ſhall defend his youth. But reſt thou in the halls of Selma ;
+ and hear of our renown. Bid the harp to be ſtrung ; and the voice of the bard to ariſe, that
+ thoſe who fall may rejoice in their fame; and the ſoul of Morni brighten with joy. Oſſian ! thou
+ haſt fought in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ battles: the blood of ſtrangers is on thy ſpear : thy courſe be with
+ Gaul, in the ſtrife; but depart not from the ſide of Fingal! leſt the foe ſhould find you alone,
+ and your fame fail in my preſence.
+
I sawDisplay note Gaul in his arms; my ſoul was mixed with his. The fire of the battle was in his eyes! he
+ looked to the foe with joy. We ſpoke the words of friendſhip in ſecret; the lightning of our
+ ſwords poured together ; for we drew them behind the wood, and tried the ſtrength of our arms on
+ the empty air.
+
Night came down on Morven. Fingal ſat at the beam of the oak. Morni ſat by
+ his ſide with all his grey waving locks. Their words were of other times, of the mighty deeds of
+ their fathers. Three bards, at times, touched the harp: Ullin was near with his ſong. He ſung of
+ the mighty Comhal ; but darkneſs gatheredDisplay note
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ on Morni's brow. He rolled his red eye on Ullin : at once ceaſed the ſong of
+ the bard. Fingal obſerved the aged hero, and he mildly ſpoke. “Chief of Strumon, why that
+ darkneſs ? Let the days of other years be forgot. Our fathers contended in war ; but we meet
+ together, at the feaſt. Our ſwords are turned on the foe of our land : he melts before us in the
+ field. Let the days of our fathers be forgot, hero of moſſy Strumon !”
+
“King of Morven, replied the chief, “I remember thy father with joy. He was
+ terrible in battle; the rage of the chief was deadly. My eyes were full of tears, when the king
+ of heroes fell. The valiant fall, O Fingal! the feeble remain on the hills! How many heroes have
+ paſſed away, in the days of Morni! Yet I did not ſhun the battle; neither did I fly from the
+ ſtrife of the valiant. Now let the friends of Fingal reſt ; for the night is around ; that they
+ may riſe, with ſtrength, to battle againſt car-borne Lathmon. I hear the ſound of his hoſt, like
+ thunder moving on the hills. Oſſian ! and fair-haired Gaul! ye are young and ſwift in the race.
+ Obſerve the foes of Fingal from that woody hill. But approach them not, your fathers are not near
+ to ſhield you. Let not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ your fame fall at once. The valour of youth may fail !”
+
We heard the words of the chief with joy. We moved in the clang of our arms.
+ Our ſteps are on the woody hill. Heaven burns with all its ſtars. The meteors of death fly over
+ the field. The diſtant noiſe of the foe reached our ears. It was then Gaul ſpoke, in his valour :
+ his hand half-unſheathed the ſword.
+
“Son of Fingal,” he ſaid, “why burns the ſoul of Gaul? My heart beats high. My ſteps are
+ diſordered ; my hand trembles on my ſword. When I look towards the foe, my ſoul lightens before
+ me. I ſee their ſleeping hoſt. Tremble thus the ſouls of the valiant in battles of the ſpear? How
+ would the ſoul of Morni riſe if we ſhould ruſh on the foe! Our renown would grow in ſong : Our
+ ſteps would be ſtately in the eyes of the brave.”
+
“Son of Morni,” I replied, “my ſoul delights in war. I delight to ſhine in
+ battle alone, to give my name to the bards. But what if the foe ſhould prevail; can I behold the
+ eyes of the king ? They are terrible in his diſpleaſure, and like the flames of death. But I will
+ not behold them in his wrath ! Oſſian ſhall prevail or fall. But ſhall the fame of the vanquiſhed
+ riſe ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ They paſs like a ſhade away. But the fame of Oſſian ſhall riſe! His deeds
+ ſhall be like his fathers. Let us ruſh in our arms; ſon of Morni, let us ruſh to fight. Gaul! if
+ thou ſhouldſt return, go to Selma's lofty Hall. Tell to Evirallin that I fell with fame; carry
+ this ſword to Pranno's daughter. Let her give it to Oſcar, when the years of his youth ſhall
+ ariſe,”
+
“Son of Fingal,” Gaul replied with a ſigh “ſhall I return after Oſſian is
+ low ? What would my father ſay, what Fingal the king of men ? The feeble would turn their eyes
+ and ſay, “Behold Gaul who left his friend in his blood !” Ye ſhall not behold me, ye feeble, but
+ in the midſt of my renown. Oſſian! I have heard from my father the mighty deeds of heroes ; their
+ mighty deeds when alone; for the ſoul increaſes in danger.”
+
“Son of Morni,” I replied and ſtrode before him on the heath, “our fathers ſhall praiſe our
+ valour, when they mourn our fall. A beam of gladneſs ſhall riſe on their ſouls, when their eyes
+ are full of tears. They will ſay, “Our ſons have not fallen unknown : they ſpread death around
+ them.” But why ſhould we think of the narrow houſe ? The ſword defends the brave.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ But death purſues the flight of the feeble ; their renown is never
+ heard.”
+
We ruſhed forward through night ; we came to the roar of a ſtream, which
+ bent its blue courſe round the foe, through trees that ecchoed to its ſound. We came to the bank
+ of the ſtream, and ſaw the ſleeping hoſt. Their fires were decayed on the plain; the lonely ſteps
+ of their ſcouts were diſtant far. I ſtretched my ſpear before me to ſupport my ſteps over the
+ ſtream. But Gaul took my hand, and ſpoke the words of the brave. “Shall the ſon of Fingal ruſh on
+ the ſleeping foe ? Shall he come like a blaſt by night, when it overturns the young trees in
+ ſecret ? Fingal did not thus receive his fame, nor dwells renown on the grey hairs of Morni, for
+ actions like theſe. Strike, Oſſian, ſtrike the ſhield, and let their thouſands riſe. Let them
+ meet Gaul in his firſt battle, that he may try the ſtrength of his arm.”
+
My ſoul rejoiced over the warrior: my burſting tears came down. “And the foe
+ ſhall meet thee, Gaul!” I ſaid : “the fame of Morni's ſon ſhall ariſe. But ruſh not too far, my
+ hero : let the gleam of thy ſteel be near to Oſſian. Let our hands join in ſlaughter. Gaul ! doſt
+ thou not behold that rock? Its grey ſide dimly
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ gleams to the ſtars. Should the foe prevail, let our back be towards the
+ rock. Then ſhall they fear to approach our ſpears; for death is in our hands !”
+
I struck thrice my ecchoing ſhield. The ſtarting foe aroſe. We ruſhed on in
+ the ſound of our arms. Their crouded ſteps fly over the heath. They thought that the mighty
+ Fingal was come. The ſtrength of their arms withered away. The ſound of their flight was like
+ that of flame, when it ruſhes thro' the blaſted groves. It was then the ſpear of Gaul flew in its
+ ſtrength; it was then his ſword aroſe. Cremor fell; and mighty Leth. Dunthormo ſtruggled in his
+ blood. The ſteel ruſhed through Crotho's ſide, as bent, he roſe on his ſpear ; the black ſtream
+ poured from the wound, and hiſſed on the half-extinguiſhed oak. Cathmin ſaw the ſteps of the hero
+ behind him, he aſcended a blaſted tree but the ſpear pierced him from behind. Shrieking, panting,
+ he fell. Moſs and withered branches purſue his fall, and ſtrew the blue arms of Gaul.
+
Such were thy deeds, ſon of Morni, in the firſt of thy battles. Nor ſlept
+ the ſword by thy ſide, thou laſt of Fingal's race ! Oſſian ruſhed forward in his ſtrength ; the
+ people fell before
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ him ; as the graſs by the ſtaff of the boy, when he whiſtles along the
+ field, and the grey beard of the thiſtle falls. But careleſs the youth moves on; his ſteps are
+ towards the deſart. Gray morning roſe around us, the winding ſtreams are bright along the heath.
+ The foe gathered on a hill; and the rage of Lathmon roſe. He bent the red eye of his wrath : he
+ is ſilent in his riſing grief. He often ſtruck his boſſy ſhield ; and his ſteps are unequal on
+ the heath. I ſaw the diſtant darkneſs of the hero, and I ſpoke to Morni's ſon.
+
Car-borne chief of Strumon, doſt thou behold the foe ? They gather on the
+ hill in their wrath. Let our ſteps be towards the kingDisplay note. He ſhall riſe in his ſtrength, and the hoſt of Lathmon vaniſh. Our fame is around us,
+ warrior, the eyes of the agedDisplay note will rejoice. But let us fly, ſon of Morni, Lathmon deſcends the hill. “Then let our
+ ſteps be ſlow,” replied the fair-haired Gaul ; “leſt the foe ſay, with a ſmile, “Behold the
+ warriors of night. They are, like ghoſts, terrible in darkneſs; they melt away before the beam of
+ the eaſt.” Oſſian, take the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhield of Gormar who fell beneath thy ſpear. The aged heroes will rejoice
+ beholding the deeds of their ſons.”
+
Such were our words on the plain, when SulmathDisplay note came to car-borne Lathmon : Sulmath chief of Dutha at the dark-rolling ſtream of DuvrannaDisplay note. “Why doſt thou not ruſh, ſon of Nuäth, with a thouſand of thy heroes? Why doſt thou not
+ deſcend with thy hoſt, before the warriors fly ? Their blue arms are beaming to the riſing light,
+ and their ſteps are before us on the heath !”
+
“Son of the feeble hand,” ſaid Lathmon, “ſhall my hoſt deſcend ! They are
+ but two, ſon of Dutha; ſhall a thouſand lift their ſteel ! Nuäth would mourn, in his hall, for
+ the departure of his fame. His eyes would turn from Lathmon, when the tread of his feet
+ approached. Go thou to the heroes, chief of Dutha. I behold the ſtately ſteps of Oſſian. His fame
+ is worthy of my ſteel! let us contend in fight.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The noble Sulmath came. I rejoiced in the words of
+ the king. I raiſed the ſhield on my arm ; Gaul placed in my hand the ſword of Morni. We returned
+ to the murmuring ſtream ; Lathmon came down in his ſtrength. His dark hoſt rolled, like clouds,
+ behind him : but the ſon of Nuäth was bright in his ſteel !
+
“Son of Fingal,” ſaid the hero, “thy fame has grown on our fall. How many
+ lie there of my people by thy hand, thou king of men ! Lift now thy ſpear againſt Lathmon ; lay
+ the ſon of Nuäth low! Lay him low among his warriors, or thou thyſelf muſt fall ! It ſhall never
+ be told in my halls that my people fell in my preſence ; that they fell in the preſence of
+ Lathmon when his ſword reſted by his ſide : the blue eyes of Cutha would roll in tears ; her
+ ſteps be lonely in the vales of Dunlathmon !
+
“Neither ſhall it be told,” I replied, “that the ſon of Fingal fled. Were
+ his ſteps covered with darkneſs, yet would not Oſſian fly! his ſoul would meet him and ſay, “Does
+ the bard of Selma fear the foe?” “No: he does not fear the foe. His joy is in the midſt of battle
+ !”
+
Lathmon came on with his ſpear. He pierced the ſhield of Oſſian. I felt the
+ cold ſteel
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ by my ſide. I drew the ſword of Morni. I cut the ſpear in twain. The bright
+ point fell glittering on earth. The ſon of Nuäth burnt in his wrath. He lifted high his ſounding
+ ſhield. His dark eyes rolled above it, as bending forward, it ſhone like a gate of braſs! But
+ Oſſian's ſpear pierced the brightneſs of its boſſes, and ſunk in a tree that roſe behind. The
+ ſhield hung on the quivering lance ! but Lathmon ſtill advanced ! Gaul foreſaw the fall of the
+ chief. He ſtretched his buckler before my ſword ; when it deſcended, in a ſtream of light, over
+ the king of Dunlathmon !
+
Lathmon beheld the ſon of Morni. The tear ſtarted from his eye. He threw the
+ ſword of his fathers on earth, and ſpoke the words of the brave. “Why ſhould Lathmon fight
+ againſt the firſt of men ? Your ſouls are beams from heaven; your ſwords the flames of death! Who
+ can equal the renown of the heroes, whoſe deeds are ſo great in youth ? O that ye were in the
+ halls of Nuäth, in the green dwelling of Lathmon ! then would my father ſay, that his ſon did not
+ yield to the weak! But who comes, a mighty ſtream, along the ecchoing heath? the little hills are
+ troubled before him ; a thouſand ghoſts are on the beams of his ſteel; the ghoſts
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of thoſe who are to fallDisplay note, by the arm of the king of reſounding Morven. Happy art thou, O Fingal, thy ſons ſhall
+ fight thy wars. They go forth before thee ; they return with the ſteps of their renown !”
+
Fingal came, in his mildneſs, rejoicing in ſecret over the deeds of his ſon.
+ Morni's face brightened with gladneſs; his aged eyes look faintly through tears of joy. We came
+ to the halls of Selma. We ſat around the feaſt of ſhells. The maids of ſong came into our
+ preſence, and the mildly bluſhing Evirallin ! Her hair ſpreads on her neck of ſnow, her eye rolls
+ in ſecret on Oſſian. She touched the harp of muſic; we bleſſed the daughter of Branno ?
+
Fingal roſe in his place, and ſpoke to Lathmon king of ſpears. The ſword of
+ Trenmor ſhook by his ſide, as high he raiſed his mighty arm. “Son of Nuäth,” he ſaid, “why doſt
+ thou ſearch for fame in Morven? We are not of the race of the feeble; our ſwords gleam not over
+ the weak. When did we rouſe thee, O Lathmon, with the ſound of war? Fingal does not delight in
+ battle, though his arm is ſtrong ! My
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ renown grows on the fall of the haughty. The light of my ſteel pours on
+ the proud in arms. The battle comes; and the tombs of the valiant riſe; the tombs of my people
+ riſe, O my fathers ! I at laſt muſt remain alone ! But I will remain renowned ; the departure of
+ my ſoul ſhall be a ſtream of light. Lathmon ! retire to thy place! Turn thy battles to other
+ lands! The race of Morven are renowned ; their foes are the ſons of the unhappy !”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
It may not be improper here, to give the ſtory which is the foundation of this poem, as it is
+ handed down by tradition. Uſnoth lord of Etha, which is probably that part of Argyleſhire which
+ is near Loch Eta, an arm of the ſea in Lorn, had three ſons, Nathos, Althos, and Ardan by
+ Sliſſáma, the daughter of Semo and ſiſter to the celebrated Cuthullin. The three brothers, when
+ very young, were ſent over to Ireland, by their father, to learn the uſe of arms, under their
+ uncle, Cuthullin, who made a great figure in that kingdom. They were juſt landed in Ulſter when
+ the news of Cuthullin's death arrived. Nathos, though very young, took the command of
+ Cuthullin's army, made head againſt Cairbar the uſurper, and defeated him in ſeveral battles.
+ Cairbar at laſt having found means to murder Cormac the lawful king, the army of Nathos ſhifted
+ ſides, and he himſelf was obliged to return into Ulſter, in order to paſs over into
+ Scotland.
+
Dar-thula, the daughter of Colia, with whom Cairbar was in love, reſided, at that time, in
+ Selama, a caſtle in Ulſter : ſhe ſaw, fell in love, and fled with Nathos; but a ſtorm riſing at
+ ſea, they were unfortunately driven back on that part of the coaſt of Ulſter, where Cairbar was
+ encamped with his army. The three brothers, after having defended themſelves, for ſome time,
+ with great bravery, were overpowered and ſlain, and the unfortunate Dar-thula killed herſelf
+ upon the body of her beloved Nathos.
+
The poem opens, on the night preceding the death of the ſons of Uſnoth, and brings in, by way
+ of epiſode, what paſſed before. It relates the death of Dar-thula differently from the common
+ tradition ; this account is the moſt probable, as ſuicide ſeems to have been unknown in thoſe
+ early times: for no traces of it are found in the old poetry.
Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! the ſilence of thy face is pleaſant!
+ Thou comeſt forth in lovelineſs. The ſtars attend thy blue courſe in the eaſt. The clouds rejoice
+ in thy preſence, O moon: They brighten their dark-brown ſides. Who is like thee in heaven, light
+ of the ſilent night? The ſtars are aſhamed in thy preſence. They turn away, their ſparkling eyes.
+ Whither doſt thou retire from thy courſe, when the darkneſs of thy countenance grows? Haſt thou
+ thy hall, like Oſſian ? Dwelleſt thou in the ſhadow of grief? Have thy ſiſters fallen from
+ heaven? Are they who rejoiced with thee, at night, no more? Yes! they have fallen, fair light!
+ and thou doſt often retire to mourn. But thou thyſelf ſhalt fail, one night; and leave thy blue
+ path in heaven. The ſtars will then lift their heads: they, who were aſhamed in thy preſence,
+ will rejoice. Thou art now clothed
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ with thy brightneſs. Look from thy gates in the ſky. Burſt the cloud, O
+ wind, that the daughter of night may look forth! that the ſhaggy mountains may brighten, and the
+ ocean roll its white waves, in light.
+
NathosDisplay note is on the deep, and Althos, that beam of youth. Ardan is near his brothers. They move in
+ the gloom of their courſe. The ſons of Uſnoth move in darkneſs, from the wrath of CairbarDisplay note of Erin. Who is that dim, by their ſide ? the night has covered her beauty ! Her hair
+ ſighs on ocean's wind. Her robe ſtreams in duſky wreaths. She is, like the fair ſpirit of heaven,
+ in the midſt of his ſhadowy miſt. Who is it but Dar-thulaDisplay note, the firſt of Erin's maids ? She has fled from the love of Cairbar, with blue-ſhielded
+ Nathos. But the winds deceive thee, O Dar-thula. They deny the woody Etha, to thy ſails. Theſe
+ are not the mountains of
+
+ [
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+ Nathos; nor is that the roar of his climbing waves. The halls of Cairbar
+ are near: the towers of the foe lift their heads ! Erin ſtretches its green head into the ſea.
+ Tura's bay receives the ſhip. Where have ye been, ye ſouthern winds! when the ſons of my love
+ were deceived? But ye have been ſporting on plains, purſuing the thiſtle's beard. O that ye had
+ been ruſtling, in the ſails of Nathos, till the hills of Etha aroſe! till they aroſe in their
+ clouds, and ſaw their returning chief! Long haſt thou been abſent, Nathos! The day of thy return
+ is paſt !
+
But the land of ſtrangers ſaw thee, lovely : thou waſt lovely in the eyes of
+ Dar-thula. Thy face was like the light of the morning. Thy hair like the raven's wing. Thy ſoul
+ was generous and mild, like the hour of the ſetting ſun. Thy words were the gale of the reeds ;
+ the gliding ſtream of Lora! But when the rage of battle roſe, thou waſt a ſea in a ſtorm. The
+ clang of thy arms was terrible : the hoſt vaniſhed at the ſound of thy courſe. It was then
+ Dar-thula beheld thee, from the top of her moſſy tower: from the tower of SelámaDisplay note, where her fathers dwelt.
+
+
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+ “Lovely art thou, O ſtranger!” ſhe ſaid, “for her
+ trembling ſoul aroſe. Fair art thou in thy battles, friend of the fallen CormacDisplay note ! Why doſt thou ruſh on, in thy valour, youth of the ruddy look ? Few are thy hands, in
+ fight, againſt the dark-browed Cair-bar ! O that I might be freed from his loveDisplay note! that I might rejoice in the preſence of Nathos ! Bleſt are the rocks of Etha ! they will
+ behold his ſteps at the chace ! they will ſee his white boſom, when the winds lift his flowing
+ hair !” Such were thy words, Dar-thula, in Seláma's moſſy towers. But, now, the night is around
+ thee. The winds have deceived thy ſails. The winds have deceived thy ſails, Dar-thula! Their
+ bluſtering ſound is high. Ceaſe a little while, O north wind. Let me hear the voice of the
+ lovely. Thy voice is lovely, Dar-thula, between the ruſtling blaſts !
+
“Are theſe the rocks of Nathos?” ſhe ſaid, “This the roar of his
+ mountain-ſtreams ? Comes that beam of light from Uſnoth's nightly hall ?
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ The miſt ſpreads around; the beam is feeble and diſtant far. But the
+ light of Dar-thula's ſoul dwells in the chief of Etha! Son of the generous Uſnoth, why that
+ broken ſigh? Are we in the land of ſtrangers, chief of ecchoing Etha !”
+
“These are not the rocks of Nathos,” he replied, “nor this the roar of his
+ ſtreams. No light comes from Etha's halls, for they are diſtant far. We are in the land of
+ ſtrangers, in the land of cruel Cairbar. The winds have deceived us, Dar-thula. Erin lifts here
+ her hills. Go towards the north, Althos : be thy ſteps, Ardan, along the coaſt ; that the foe may
+ not come in darkneſs, and our hopes of Etha fail,” “I will go towards that moſſy tower, to ſee
+ who dwells about the beam. Reſt, Dar-thula, on the ſhore ! reſt in peace, thou lovely light! the
+ ſword of Nathos is around thee, like the lightning of heaven!”
+
He went. She ſat alone; ſhe heard the rolling of the wave. The big tear is
+ in her eye. She looks for returning Nathos. Her ſoul trembles at the blaſt. She turns her ear
+ towards the tread of his feet. The tread of his feet is not heard. “Where art thou, ſon of my
+ love ! The roar of the blaſt is around me. Dark is the cloudy
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ night. But Nathos does not return. What detains thee, chief of Etha? Have
+ the foes met the hero in the ſtrife of the night ?”
+
He returned, but his face was dark. He had ſeen his departed friend ! It was
+ the wall of Tura. The ghoſt of Cuthullin ſtalked there alone : The ſighing of his breaſt was
+ frequent. The decayed flame of his eyes was terrible ! His ſpear was a column of miſt. The ſtars
+ looked dim through his form. His voice was like hollow wind in a cave : his eye a light ſeen
+ afar. He told the tale of grief. The ſoul of Nathos was ſad, like the ſun in the day of miſt,
+ when his face is watry and dim.
+
“Why art thou ſad, O Nathos ?” ſaid the lovely daughter of Colla. “Thou art
+ a pillar of light to Dar-thula. The joy of her eyes is in Etha's chief. Where is my friend, but
+ Nathos ? My father, my brother is fallen ! Silence dwells on Seláma. Sadneſs ſpreads on the blue
+ ſtreams of my land. My friends have fallen, with Cormac. The mighty were ſlain in the battles of
+ Erin. Hear, ſon of Uſnoth ! hear, O Nathos, my tale of grief.”
+
“Evening darkened on the plain. The blue ſtreams ſailed before mine eyes.
+ The unfrequent blaſt came ruſtling, in the tops of
+
+ [
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+ Seláma's groves. My ſeat was beneath a tree, on the walls of my fathers.
+ Truthil paſt before my ſoul : the brother of my love : He that was abſent in battle, againſt the
+ haughty Cairbar! Bending on his ſpear, the grey-haired Colla came. His downcaſt face is dark, and
+ ſorrow dwells in his ſoul. His ſword is on the ſide of the hero : the helmet of his fathers on
+ his head. The battle grows in his breaſt. He ſtrives to hide the tear.”
+
“Dar-thula, my daughter,” he ſaid, “thou art the laſt of Colla's race!
+ Truthil is fallen in battle. The chief of Seláma is no more ! Cairbar comes, with his thouſands,
+ towards Selama's walls. Colla will meet his pride, and revenge his ſon. But where ſhall I find
+ thy ſafety, Dar-thula with the dark-brown hair ! thou art lovely as the ſun-beam of heaven, and
+ thy friends are low ! “Is the ſon of battle fallen,” I ſaid, with a burſting ſigh? Ceaſed the
+ generous ſoul of Truthil to lighten through the field? My ſafety, Colla, is in that bow. I have
+ learned to pierce the deer. Is not Cairbar, like the hart of the deſart, father of fallen
+ Truthil?”
+
“The face of age brightened with joy. The crouded tears of his eyes poured
+ down. The lips
+
+ [
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+ of Colla trembled. His grey beard whiſtled in the blaſt. “Thou art the
+ ſiſter of Truthil,” he ſaid; “thou burneſt in the fire of his ſoul. Take, Dar-thula, take that
+ ſpear, that brazen ſhield, that burniſhed helm: they are the ſpoils of a warrior, a ſon of early
+ youth! When the light riſes on Seláma, we go to meet the car-borne Cairbar. But keep thou near
+ the arm of Colla, beneath the ſhadow of my ſhield. Thy father, Darthula, could once defend thee;
+ but age is trembling on his hand. The ſtrength of his arm has failed. His ſoul is darkened with
+ grief.”
+
We paſſed the night in ſorrow. The light of morning roſe. I ſhone in the
+ arms of battle. The grey-haired hero moved before. The ſons of Seláma convened, around the
+ ſounding ſhield of Colla. But few were they in the plain, and their locks were grey. The youths
+ had fallen with Truthil, in the battle of car-borne Cormac. “Friends of my youth !” ſaid Colla,
+ “it was not thus you have ſeen me in arms. It was not thus I ſtrode to battle, when the great
+ Confadan fell. But ye are laden with grief. The darkneſs of age comes like the miſt of the
+ deſart. My ſhield is worn with years! my
+
+ [
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+ ſword is fixedDisplay note in its place! I ſaid to my ſoul, thy evening ſhall be calm : Thy departure like a fading
+ light. But the ſtorm has returned. I bend like an aged oak. My boughs are fallen on Seláma. I
+ tremble in my place. Where art thou, with thy fallen heroes, O my beloved Truthil ! Thou
+ anſwereſt not from thy ruſhing blaſt. The ſoul of thy father is ſad. But I will be ſad no more,
+ Cairbar or Colla muſt fall! I feel the returning ſtrength of my arm. My heart leaps at the ſound
+ of war,
+
The hero drew his ſword. The gleaming blades of his people roſe. They moved
+ along the plain. Their grey hair ſtreamed in the wind. Cairbar ſat at the feaſt, in the ſilent
+ plain of LonaDisplay note. He ſaw the coming of the heroes. He called his chiefs to war.
+ WhyDisplay note ſhould I
+
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+ tell to Nathos, how the ſtrife of battle grew ? I have ſeen thee, in the
+ midſt of thouſands, like the beam of heaven's fire: it is beautiful, but terrible; the people
+ fall in its dreadful courſe. The ſpear of Colla flew. He remembered the battles of his youth. An
+ arrow came with its ſound. It pierced the hero's ſide. He fell on his ecchoing ſhield. My ſoul
+ ſtarted with fear. I ſtretched my buckler over him; but my heaving breaſt was ſeen! Cairbar came,
+ with his ſpear. He beheld Seláma's maid. Joy roſe on his dark-brown face. He ſtayed the lifted
+ ſteel. He raiſed the tomb of Colla. He brought me weeping to Seláma. He ſpoke the words of love,
+ but my ſoul was ſad. I ſaw the ſhields of my fathers ; the ſword of car-borne Truthil. I ſaw the
+ arms of the dead ; the tear was on my cheek ! Then thou didſt come, O Nathos : and gloomy Cairbar
+ fled. He fled like the ghoſt of the deſart before the morning's beam. His hoſt was not near ; and
+ feeble was his arm againſt thy ſteel! Why art thou ſad, O Nathos! ſaid the lovely daughter of
+ Colla ?
+
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+ [
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+ “I have met,” replied the hero, “the battle in my
+ youth. My arm could not lift the ſpear, when danger firſt aroſe. My ſoul brightened in the
+ preſence of war, as the green narrow vale, when the ſun pours his ſtreamy beams, before he hides
+ his head in a ſtorm. The lonely traveller feels a mournful joy. He ſees the darkneſs, that lowly
+ comes. My ſoul brightened in danger before I ſaw Seláma's fair; before I ſaw thee, like a ſtar,
+ that ſhines on the hill, at night: the cloud advances, and threatens the lovely light! We are in
+ the land of foes. The winds have deceived us, Dar-thula ! The ſtrength of our friends is not
+ near, nor the mountains of Etha. Where ſhall I find thy peace, daughter of mighty Colla! The
+ brothers of Nathos are brave! and his own ſword has ſhone in fight. But what are the ſons of
+ Uſnoth to the hoſt of dark-browed Cairbar ! O that the winds had brought thy ſails, OſcarDisplay note king of men! Thou didſt promiſe to come to the battles of fallen Cormac! Then would my
+ hand be ſtrong, as the flaming arm of death. Cairbar
+
+ [
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+ would tremble in his halls, and peace dwell round the lovely Dar-thula.
+ But why doſt thou fall, my ſoul? The ſons of Uſnoth may prevail!”
+
“And they will prevail, O Nathos!” ſaid the riſing ſoul of the maid. “Never
+ ſhall Darthula behold the halls of gloomy Cairbar. Give me thoſe arms of braſs, that glitter to
+ the paſſing meteor. I ſee them dimly in the dark-boſomed ſhip. Dar-thula will enter the battle of
+ ſteel. Ghoſt of the noble Colla ! do I behold thee on that cloud? Who is that dim beſide thee? Is
+ it the car-borne Truthil ? Shall I behold the halls of him that ſlew Seláma's chief ? No: I will
+ not behold them, ſpirits of my love !”
+
Joy roſe in the face of Nathos, when he heard the white-boſomed maid. “Daughter of Seláma !
+ thou ſhineſt along my ſoul. Come, with thy thouſands, Cairbar ! the ſtrength of Nathos is
+ returned ! Thou, O aged Uſnoth, ſhalt not hear that thy ſon has fled. I remember thy words on
+ Etha; when my ſails began to riſe : when I ſpread them towards Erin, towards the moſſy walls of
+ Tura! “Thou goeſt,” he ſaid, “O Nathos, to the king of ſhields! Thou goeſt to Cuthullin, chief of
+ men, who never fled from
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+ danger. Let not thine arm be feeble : neither be thy thoughts of flight ;
+ leſt the ſon of Semo ſhould ſay, that Etha's race are weak. His words may come to Uſnoth, and
+ ſadden his ſoul in the hall. The tear was on my father's cheek. He gave this ſhining ſword !”
+
“I came to Tura's bay : but the halls of Tura were ſilent. I looked around, and there was none
+ to tell of the ſon of generous Semo. I went to the hall of ſhells, where the arms of his fathers
+ hung. But the arms were gone, and aged LamhorDisplay note ſat in tears. Whence are the arms of ſteel, ſaid the riſing Lamhor ? The light of the
+ ſpear has long been abſent from Tura's duſky walls. Come ye from the rolling ſea ? Or from Temora'sDisplay note mournful halls ?
+
“We come from the ſea,” I ſaid, “from Uſnoth's riſing towers. We are the
+ ſons of Slis-sámaDisplay note, the daughter of car-borne Semo. Where is Tura's chief, ſon of the ſilent hall ? But why
+ ſhould Nathos aſk ? for I behold thy tears. How did the mighty fall, ſon of the
+
+ [
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+ lonely Tura?” “He fell not,” Lamhor replied, “like the ſilent ſtar of
+ night, when it flies through darkneſs and is no more. But he was like a meteor that ſhoots into a
+ diſtant land. Death attends its dreary courſe. Itſelf is the ſign of wars. Mournful are the banks
+ of Lego; and the roar of ſtreamy Lara ! There the hero fell, ſon of the noble Uſnoth.” “The hero
+ fell in the midſt of ſlaughter,” I ſaid with a burſting ſigh. “His hand was ſtrong in war. Death
+ dimly ſat behind his ſword.”
+
We came to Lego's ſounding banks. We found his riſing tomb. His friends in
+ battle are there : his bards of many ſongs. Three days we mourned over the hero: on the fourth, I
+ ſtruck the ſhield of Caithbat. The heroes gathered around with joy, and ſhook their beamy ſpears.
+ Corlath was near with his hoſt, the friend of car-borne Cairbar. We came like a ſtream by night.
+ His heroes fell before us. When the people of the valley roſe, they ſaw their blood with
+ morning's light. But we rolled away, like wreaths of miſt, to Cormac's ecchoing hall. Our ſwords
+ roſe to defend the king. But Temora's halls were empty. Cormac had fallen in his youth. The king
+ of Erin was no more !
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ Sadness ſeized the ſons of Erin. They ſlowly, gloomily
+ retired : like clouds that, long having threatened rain, vaniſh behind the hills. The ſons of
+ Uſnoth moved, in their grief, towards Tura's ſounding bay. We paſſed by Seláma. Cairbar retired
+ like Lano's miſt, when driven before the winds. It was then I beheld thee, O Dar-thula, like the
+ light of Etha's ſun. “Lovely is that beam!” I ſaid. The crowded ſigh of my boſom roſe. “Thou
+ cameſt in thy beauty, Dar-thula, to Etha's mournful chief. But the winds have deceived us,
+ daughter of Colla, and the foe is near !”
+
“Yes! the foe is near,” ſaid the ruſhing ſtrength of AlthosDisplay note. I heard their clanging arms on the coaſt. I ſaw the dark wreaths of Erin's ſtandard.
+ Diſtinct is the voice of CairbarDisplay note. Loud as Cromla's falling ſtream. He had ſeen the dark ſhip on the ſea, before the
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ duſky night came down. His people watch on Lena's plain. They lift ten
+ thouſand ſwords.” “And let them lift ten thouſand ſwords,” ſaid Nathos with a ſmile. “The ſons of
+ car-borne Uſnoth will never tremble in danger ! Why doſt thou roll with all thy foam, thou
+ roaring ſea of Erin? Why do ye ruſtle, on your dark wings, ye whiſtling ſtorms of the ſky? Do ye
+ think, ye ſtorms, that ye keep Nathos on the coaſt ? No : his ſoul detains him, children of the
+ night! Althos! bring my father's arms : thou ſeeſt them beaming to the ſtars. Bring the ſpear of SemoDisplay note. It ſtands in the dark-boſomed ſhip !”
+
He brought the arms. Nathos covered his limbs, in all their ſhining ſteel.
+ The ſtride of the chief is lovely. The joy of his eyes was terrible. He looks towards the coming
+ of Cairbar. The wind is ruſtling in his hair. Darthula is ſilent at his ſide. Her look is fixed
+ on the chief. She ſtrives to hide the riſing ſigh. Two tears ſwell in her radiant eyes !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ “Althos!” ſaid the chief of Etha, “I ſee a cave in that
+ rock. Place Dar-thula there. Let thy arm, my brother, be ſtrong. Ardan! we meet the foe ; call to
+ battle gloomy Cairbar. O that he came in his ſounding ſteel, to meet the ſon of Uſnoth! Dar-thula
+ ! if thou ſhalt eſcape, look not on the fallen Nathos! Lift thy ſails, O Althos, towards the
+ ecchoing groves of my land.”
+
“Tell the chiefDisplay note, that his ſon fell with fame; that my ſword did not ſhun the fight. Tell him I fell in
+ the midſt of thouſands. Let the joy of his grief be great. Daughter of Colla ! call the maids to
+ Etha's ecchoing hall ! Let their ſongs ariſe for Nathos, when ſhadowy autumn returns. O that the
+ voice of Cona, that Oſſian, might be heard in my praiſe! then would my ſpirit rejoice in the
+ midſt of the ruſhing winds.” “And my voice ſhall praiſe thee, Nathos, chief of the woody Etha !
+ The voice of Oſſian ſhall riſe in thy praiſe, ſon of the generous Uſnoth ! Why was I not on Lena,
+ when the battle roſe? Then would the ſword of Oſſian defend thee ; or himſelf fall low !”
+
We ſat, that night, in Selma round the ſtrength of the ſhell. The wind was
+ abroad, in
+
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+
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+ the oaks. The ſpirit of the mountainDisplay note roared. The blaſt came ruſtling through the hall, and gently touched my harp. The ſound
+ was mournful and low, like the ſong of the tomb. Fingal heard it the firſt. The crouded ſighs of
+ his boſom roſe. “Some of my heroes are low,” ſaid the grey-haired king of Morven. “I hear the
+ ſound of death on the harp. Oſſian, touch the trembling ſtring. Bid the ſorrow riſe ; that their
+ ſpirits may fly with joy, to Morven's woody hills !” I touched the harp before the king, the
+ ſound was mournful and low. “Bend forward from your clouds,” I ſaid, “ghoſts of my fathers! bend.
+ Lay by the red terror of your courſe. Receive the falling chief ; whether he comes from a diſtant
+ land, or riſes from the rolling ſea. Let his robe of miſt be near; his ſpear that is formed of a
+ cloud. Place an half-extinguiſhed meteor by his ſide, in the form of the hero's ſword. And, oh !
+ let his countenance be lovely, that his friends may delight in his preſence. Bend from your
+ clouds,” I ſaid, “ghoſts of my fathers! bend!”
+
Such was my ſong, in Selma, to the lightly-trembling harp. But Nathos was on
+ Erin's
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ ſhore, ſurrounded by the night. He heard the voice of the foe, amidſt the
+ roar of tumbling waves. Silent he heard their voice, and reſted on his ſpear ! Morning roſe, with
+ its beams. The ſons of Erin appear, like grey rocks, with all their trees, they ſpread along the
+ coaſt. Cairbar ſtood, in the midſt. He grimly ſmiled when he ſaw the foe. Nathos ruſhed forward,
+ in his ſtrength : nor could Dar-thula ſtay behind. She came with the hero, lifting her ſhining
+ ſpear. “And who are theſe, in their armour, in the pride of youth ? Who but the ſons of Uſnoth,
+ Althos and dark-haired Ardan ?”
+
“Come,” ſaid Nathos, “come! chief of high Temora ! Let our battle be on the
+ coaſt, for the white-boſomed maid. His people are not with Nathos; they are behind theſe rolling
+ ſeas. Why doſt thou bring thy thouſands againſt the chief of Etha ? Thou didſt flyDisplay note from him, in battle, when his friends were around his ſpear.” “Youth of the heart of
+ pride, ſhall Erin's king fight with thee? Thy fathers were not among the renowned, nor of the
+ kings of men. Are the arms of foes in their halls? Or the ſhields of other times? Cairbar is
+ renowned in Temora, nor does he fight with feeble men !”
+
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+
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The tear ſtarted from car-borne Nathos. He turned his eyes to his brothers.
+ Their ſpears flew, at once. Three heroes lay on earth. Then the light of their ſwords gleamed on
+ high. The ranks of Erin yield; as a ridge of dark clouds before a blaſt of wind! Then Cairbar
+ ordered his people, and they drew a thouſand bows. A thouſand arrows flew. The ſons of Uſnoth
+ fell in blood. They fell like three young oaks, which ſtood alone on the hill : The traveller ſaw
+ the lovely trees and wondered how they grew ſo lonely : the blaſt of the deſart came, by night,
+ and laid their green heads low ; next day he returned, but they were withered, and the heath was
+ bare !
+
Dar-thula ſtood in ſilent grief, and beheld their fall! No tear is in her
+ eye. But her look is wildly ſad. Pale was her cheek. Her trembling lips broke ſhort an
+ half-formed word. Her dark hair flew on wind. The gloomy Cairbar came. “Where is thy lover now ?
+ the car-borne chief of Etha ? Haſt thou beheld the halls of Uſnoth ? Or the dark-brown hills of
+ Fingal ? My battle would have roared on Morven, had not the winds met Dar-thula. Fingal himſelf
+ would have been low and ſorrow dwelling in Selma!” Her ſhield fell from Darthula's arm. Her
+ breaſt of ſnow appeared. It
+
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+ appeared ; but it was ſtained with blood. An arrow was fixed in her ſide.
+ She fell on the fallen Nathos, like a wreath of ſnow ! Her hair ſpreads wide on his face. Their
+ blood is mixing round !”
+
“Daughter of Colla! thou art low !” ſaid Cairbar's hundred bards. “Silence
+ is at the blue ſtreams of Seláma. Truthil'sDisplay note race have failed. When wilt thou riſe in thy beauty, firſt of Erin's maids? Thy ſleep is
+ long in the tomb. The morning diſtant far. The ſun ſhall not come to thy bed and ſay, “Awake
+ Dar-thula ! awake, thou firſt of women! the wind of ſpring is abroad ! The flowers ſhake their
+ heads on the green hills. The woods wave their growing leaves. Retire, O ſun, the daughter of
+ Colla is aſleep. She will not come forth in her beauty. She will not move, in the ſteps of her
+ lovelineſs !”
+
Such was the ſong of the bards, when they raiſed the tomb. I ſung over the
+ grave, when the king of Morven came; when he came to green Erin to fight with car-borne Cairbar !
+
Cuthullin, after the arms of Fingal had expelled Swaran from Ireland, continued to manage the
+ affairs of that kingdom as the guardian of Cormac, the young king. In the third year of
+ Cuthullin's adminiſtration, Torlath, the ſon of Cantela, rebelled in Connaught; and advanced to
+ Temora to dethrone Cormac. Cuthullin marched againſt him, came up with him at the lake of Lego,
+ and totally defeated his forces. Torlath fell in battle by Cuthullin's hand ; but as he
+ too-eagerly preſſed on the enemy, he was mortally wounded. The affairs of Cormac, though, for
+ ſometime, ſupported by Nathos, as mentioned in the preceding poem, fell into confuſion at the
+ death of Cuthullin. Cormac himſelf was ſlain by the rebel Cairbar; and the re-eſtabliſhment of
+ the royal family of Ireland by Fingal, furniſhes the ſubject of the epic poem of Temora.
Is the wind on the ſhield of Fingal? Or is the voice of paſt times in my
+ hall? Sing on, ſweet voice, for thou art pleaſant. Thou carrieſt away my night with joy. Sing on,
+ O Bragela, daughter of car-borne Sorglan !
+
“It is the white wave of the rock, and not Cuthullin's ſails. Often do the
+ miſts deceive me, for the ſhip of my love! when they riſe round ſome ghoſt, and ſpread their grey
+ ſkirts on the wind. Why doſt thou delay thy coming, ſon of the generous Semo? Four times has
+ autumn returned with its winds, and raiſed the ſeas of TogormaDisplay note, ſince thou haſt been in the roar of
+
+ [
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+ battles, and Bragéla diſtant far! Hills of the iſle of miſt!
+ when will ye anſwer to his hounds ? But ye are dark in your clouds. Sad Bragéla calls in vain!
+ Night comes rolling down. The face of ocean fails. The heath-cock's head is beneath his wing. The
+ hind ſleeps, with the hart of the deſart. They ſhall riſe with morning's light, and feed by the
+ moſſy ſtream. But my tears return with the ſun. My ſighs come on with the night. When wilt thou
+ come in thine arms, O chief of Erin's wars ?”
+
Pleasant is thy voice in Oſſian's ear, daughter of car-borne Sorglan ! But
+ retire to the hall of ſhells; to the beam of the burning oak. Attend to the murmur of the ſea :
+ it rolls at Dunſcai's walls: let ſleep deſcend on thy blue eyes. Let the hero ariſe in thy dreams
+ !
+
Cuthullin ſits at Lego's lake, at the dark rolling of waters. Night is
+ around the hero. His thouſands ſpread on the heath. A hundred oaks burn, in the midſt. The feaſt
+ of ſhells is ſmoaking wide. Carril ſtrikes the harp, beneath a tree. His grey locks glitter in
+ the beam. The ruſtling blaſt of night is near, and lifts his aged hair. His ſong is of the blue
+ Togorma, and of its chief, Cuthullin's friend ! “Why art thou abſent, Connal, in the day of the
+ gloomy ſtorm ? The chiefs of the ſouth have convened, againſt
+
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+ the car-borne Cormac. “The winds detain thy ſails. Thy blue waters roll
+ around thee. But Cormac is not alone. The ſon of Semo fights his wars! Semo's ſon his battles
+ fights ! the terror of the ſtranger ! He that is like the vapour of death, ſlowly borne by ſultry
+ winds. The ſun reddens in its preſence: The people fall around.”
+
Such was the ſong of Carril, when a ſon of the foe appeared. He threw down
+ his pointleſs ſpear. He ſpoke the words of Torlath ! Torlath, chief of heroes, from Lego's ſable
+ ſurge! He that led his thouſands to battle, againſt carborne Cormac. Cormac who was diſtant far,
+ in Temora'sDisplay note ecchoing halls: he learned to bend the bow of his fathers; and to lift the ſpear. Nor
+ long didſt thou lift the ſpear, mildly-ſhining beam of youth! death ſtands dim behind thee, like
+ the darkened half of the moon, behind its growing light ! Cuthullin roſe before the bardDisplay note, that came from generous Torlath. He offered
+
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+ him the ſhell of joy. He honoured the ſon of ſongs. “Sweet
+ voice of Lego!” he ſaid, “what are the words of Torlath ? Comes he to our feaſt or battle, the
+ car-borne ſon of CantélaDisplay note ?”
+
“He comes to thy battle,” replied the bard, “to the ſounding ſtrife of
+ ſpears. When morning is grey on Lego, Torlath will fight on the plain. Wilt thou meet him, in
+ thine arms, king of the iſle of miſt ? Terrible is the ſpear of Torlath ! it is a meteor of
+ night. He lifts it, and the people fall ! death ſits in the lightning of his ſword!” “Do I fear,”
+ replied Cuthullin, “the ſpear of car-borne Torlath ? He is brave as a thouſand heroes: but my
+ ſoul delights in war! The ſword reſts not by the ſide of Cuthullin, bard of the times of old !
+ Morning ſhall meet me on the plain, and gleam on the blue arms of Semo's ſon. But ſit thou, on
+ the heath, O bard ! and let us hear thy voice. Partake of the joyful ſhell; and hear the ſongs of
+ Temora !”
+
“This is no time,” replied the bard, “to hear the ſong of joy : when the
+ mighty are to meet in battle, like the ſtrength of the waves of Lego. Why art thou ſo dark, SlimoraDisplay note with all thy ſilent woods? No ſtar trembles on thy
+
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+ top. No moon-beam on thy ſide. But the meteors of death are there : the
+ grey watry forms of ghoſts. Why art thou dark, Slimora! with thy ſilent woods?” He retired, in
+ the ſound of his ſong. Carril joined his voice. The muſic was like the memory of joys that are
+ paſt, pleaſant and mournful to the ſoul. The ghoſts of departed bards heard on Slimora's ſide.
+ Soft ſounds ſpread along the wood. The ſilent valleys of night rejoice. So, when he ſits in the
+ ſilence of the day, in the valley of his breeze, the humming of the mountain bee comes to
+ Oſſian's ear : the gale drowns it in its courſe ; but the pleaſant ſound returns again ! Slant
+ looks the ſun on the field; gradual grows the ſhade of the hill !
+
“Raise,” ſaid Cuthullin, to his hundred bards, “the ſong of the noble
+ Fingal: that ſong which he hears at night, when the dreams of his reſt deſcend : when the bards
+ ſtrike the diſtant harp, and the faint light gleams on Selma's walls. Or let the grief of Lara
+ riſe : the ſighs of the mother of CalmarDisplay note, when he was
+
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+ ſought, in vain, on his hills; when ſhe beheld his bow in
+ the hall. Carril, place the ſhield of Caithbat on that branch. Let the ſpear of Cuthullin be near
+ ; that the ſound of my battle may riſe, with the grey beam of the eaſt.” The hero leaned on his
+ father's ſhield : the ſong of Lara roſe ! The hundred bards were diſtant far : Carril alone is
+ near the chief. The words of the ſong were his: the ſound of his harp was mournful.
+
“AlclethaDisplay note with the aged locks! mother of car-borne Calmar ! why doſt thou look toward the deſart,
+ to behold the return of thy ſon? Theſe are not his heroes, dark on the heath : nor is that the
+ voice of Calmar. It is but the diſtant grove, Alcletha ! but the roar of the mountain wind!” “WhoDisplay note bounds over Lara's ſtream, ſiſter of the noble Calmar ? Does not Alcletha behold his
+ ſpear ? But her eyes are dim ! Is it not the ſon of Matha, daughter of my love ?”
+
“It is but an aged oak, Alcletha!” replied the lovely weeping AlonaDisplay note. “It is but an oak,
+
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+ Alclétha, bent over Lara's ſtream. But who comes along the plain? ſorrow is
+ in his ſpeed. He lifts high the ſpear of Calmar. Alcletha, it is covered with blood!” “But it is
+ covered with the blood of foesDisplay note, ſiſter of car-borne Calmar ! His ſpear never returned unſtained with blood: nor his bow
+ from the ſtrife of the mighty. The battle is conſumed in his preſence : he is a flame of death,
+ Alona! YouthDisplay note of the mournful ſpeed! where is the ſon of Alcletha? Does he return with his fame, in the
+ midſt of his ecchoing ſhields? Thou art dark and ſilent! Calmar is then no more. Tell me not,
+ warrior, how he fell. I muſt not hear of his wound !” Why doſt thou look towards the deſart,
+ mother of low-laid Calmar ?
+
“Such was the ſong of Carril, when Cuthullin lay on his ſhield. The bards
+ reſted on their harps. Sleep fell ſoftly around. The ſon of Semo was awake alone. His ſoul was
+ fixed on war. The burning oaks began to decay. Faint red light is ſpread around. A feeble voice
+ is heard! The ghoſt of Calmar came! He ſtalked dimly along the beam. Dark is the wound in
+
+
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+ his ſide. His hair is diſordered and looſe. Joy ſits pale on
+ his face. He ſeems to invite Cuthullin to his cave.
+
“Son of the cloudy night !” ſaid the riſing chief of Erin. “Why doſt thou
+ bend thy dark eyes on me, ghoſt of the noble Calmar ? Wouldeſt thou frighten me, O Matha's ſon !
+ from the battles of Cormac ? Thy hand was not feeble in war: neither was thy voice for peace. How
+ art thou changed, chief of Lara! if thou now doſt adviſe to fly! But, Calmar, I never fled. I
+ never feared the ghoſts of night. Small is their knowlege, weak their hands; their dwelling is in
+ the wind. But my ſoul grows in danger, and rejoices in the noiſe of ſteel. Retire thou to thy
+ cave. Thou art not Calmar's ghoſt. He delighted in battle. His arm was like the thunder of
+ heaven!” He retired in his blaſt with joy, for he had heard the voice of his praiſe.
+
The faint beam of the morning roſe. The ſound of Caithbat's buckler ſpread.
+ Green Erin's warriors convened, like the roar of many ſtreams. The horn of war is heard over
+ Lego. The mighty Torlath came? “Why doſt thou come with thy thouſands, Cuthullin,” ſaid the chief
+ of Lego. I know the ſtrength of thy arm.
+
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+ Thy ſoul is an unextinguiſhed fire. Why fight we not on the plain, and
+ let our hoſts behold our deeds? Let them behold us like roaring waves, that tumble round a rock :
+ the mariners haſten away, and look on their ſtrife with fear.
+
“Thou riſeſt, like the ſun, on my ſoul,” replied the ſon of Semo. “Thine arm
+ is mighty, O Torlath ! and worthy of my wrath. Retire, ye men of Ullin, to Slimora's ſhady ſide.
+ Behold the chief of Erin, in the day of his fame. Carril! tell to mighty Connal, if Cuthullin
+ muſt fall, tell him I accuſed the winds, which roar on Togorma's waves. Never was he abſent in
+ battle, when the ſtrife of my fame aroſe. Let his ſword be before Cormac, like the beam of
+ heaven. Let his counſel ſound in Temora, in the day of danger !
+
He ruſhed, in the ſound of his arms, like the terrible ſpirit of LodaDisplay note, when he comes, in the roar of a thouſand ſtorms, and ſcatters battles from his eyes. He
+ ſits on a cloud over Lochlin's ſeas. His mighty hand is on his ſword. Winds
+
+
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+ lift his flaming locks! The waining moon half-lights his
+ dreadful face. His features blended in darkneſs ariſe to view. So terrible was Cuthullin in the
+ day of his fame. Torlath fell by his hand. Lego's heroes mourned. They gather around the chief,
+ like the clouds of the deſart. A thouſand ſwords roſe at once; a thouſand arrows flew; but he
+ ſtood like a rock in the midſt of a roaring ſea. They fell around. He ſtrode in blood. Dark
+ Slimora ecchoed wide. The ſons of Ullin came. The battle ſpread over Lego. The chief of Erin
+ overcame. He returned over the field with his fame. But pale he returned ! The joy of his face
+ was dark. He rolled his eyes in ſilence. The ſword hung, unſheathed, in his hand. His ſpear bent
+ at every ſtep!
+
“Carril,” ſaid the chief in ſecret, “the ſtrength of Cuthullin fails. My
+ days are with the years that are paſt. No morning of mine ſhall ariſe. They ſhall ſeek me at
+ Temora, but I ſhall not be found. Cormac will weep in his hall, and ſay, “Where is Erin's chief?”
+ But my name is renowned ! my fame in the ſong of bards. The youth will ſay in ſecret, O let me
+ die as Cuthullin died. Renown cloathed him like a robe. The light of his fame is great.
+
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+ Draw the arrow from my ſide. Lay Cuthullin beneath that oak. Place the
+ ſhield of Caithbat near, that they may behold me amidſt the arms of my fathers !”
+
“And is the ſon of Semo fallen?” ſaid Carril with a ſigh. “Mournful are
+ Tura's walls. Sorrow dwells at Dunſcäi. Thy ſpouſe is left alone in her youth. The ſonDisplay note of thy love is alone! He ſhall come to Bragela, and aſk her why ſhe weeps. He ſhall lift
+ his eyes to the wall, and ſee his father's ſword. “Whoſe ſword is that ?” he will ſay. The ſoul
+ of his mother is ſad. Who is that, like the hart of the deſart, in the murmur of his courſe? His
+ eyes look wildly round in ſearch of his friend. Connal, ſon of Colgar, where haſt thou been, when
+ the mighty fell? Did the ſeas of Cogorma roll around thee ? Was the wind of the ſouth in thy
+ ſails? The mighty have fallen in battle, and thou waſt not there. Let none tell it in Selma, nor
+ in Morven's woody land. Fingal will be ſad, and the ſons of the deſart mourn !”
+
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+
+
By the dark rolling waves of Lego they raiſed the hero's tomb. LuäthDisplay note, at a diſtance, lies. The ſong of bards roſe over the dead.
+
“BlestDisplay note be thy ſoul, ſon of Semo. Thou wert mighty in battle. Thy ſtrength was like the ſtrength
+ of a ſtream : thy ſpeed like the eagle's wing. Thy path in battle was terrible : the ſteps of
+ death were behind thy ſword. Bleſt be thy ſoul, ſon of Semo, car-borne chief of Dunfcäi. Thou
+ haſt not fallen by the ſword of the mighty, neither was thy blood on the ſpear of the brave. The
+ arrow came, like the ſting of death in a blaſt: nor did the feeble hand, which drew the bow,
+ perceive it. Peace to thy ſoul, in thy cave, chief of the iſle of miſt !”
+
“The mighty are diſperſed at Temora : there is none in Cormac's hall. The
+ king mourns in his youth. He does not behold thy return. The ſound of thy ſhield is ceaſed : his
+ foes are gathering round. Soft be thy reſt in thy cave,
+
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+ chief of Erin's wars! Bragéla will not hope for thy return, or ſee thy
+ ſails in ocean's foam. Her ſteps are not on the ſhore : nor her ear open to the voice of thy
+ rowers. She ſits in the hall of ſhells. She ſees the arms of him that is no more. Thine eyes are
+ full of tears, daughter of car-borne Sorglan ! Bleſt be thy ſoul in death, O chief of ſhady Tura
+ !”
+
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+ ]
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Fingal, on his return from Ireland, after he had expelled Swaran from that kingdom, made a
+ feaſt to all his heroes : he forgot to invite Ma-ronnan and Aldo, two chiefs, who had not been
+ along with him in his expedition. They reſented his neglect; and went over to Erragon king of
+ Sora, a country of Scandinavia, the declared enemy of Fingal. The valour of Aldo ſoon gained him
+ a great reputation in Sora: and Lorma the beautiful wife of Erragon fell in love with him. He
+ found means to eſcape with her, and to come to Fingal, who reſided then in Selma on the weſtern
+ coaſt. Erragon invaded Scotland, and was ſlain in battle by Gaul the ſon of Morni, after he had
+ rejected terms of peace offered him by Fingal. In this war Aldo fell, in a ſingle combat, by the
+ hands of his rival Erragon; and the unfortunate Lorma afterwards died of grief.
Son of the diſtant land, who dwelleſt in the ſecret cell! do I hear the
+ ſound of thy grove? Or is it thy voice of ſongs ? The torrent was loud in my ear; but I heard a
+ tuneful voice. Doſt thou praiſe the chiefs of thy land: or the ſpiritsDisplay note of the wind? But, lonely dweller of rocks ! look thou on that heathy plain. Thou ſeeſt
+ green tombs, with their rank, whiſtling graſs : With their ſtones of moſſy heads. Thou ſeeſt
+ them, ſon of the rock, but Oſſian's eyes have failed.
+
A mountain-stream comes roaring down and ſends its waters round a green
+ hill. Four moſſy ſtones, in the midſt of withered graſs, rear their heads on the top. Two trees,
+ which the ſtorms have bent, ſpread their whiſtling branches
+
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+ around. This is thy dwelling, ErragonDisplay note ; this thy narrow houſe: the ſound of thy ſhells have been long forgot in Sora. Thy
+ ſhield is become dark in thy hall. Erragon, king of ſhips ! chief of diſtant Sora! how haſt thou
+ fallen on our mountains? How is the mighty low? Son of the ſecret cell ! doſt thou delight in
+ ſongs ? Hear the battle of Lora. The ſound of its ſteel is long ſince paſt. So thunder on the
+ darkened hill roars and is no more. The ſun returns with his ſilent beams. The glittering rocks,
+ and green heads of the mountains ſmile !
+
The bay of Cona received our ſhipsDisplay note from Erin's rolling waves. Our white ſheets hung looſe to the maſts. The boiſterous winds
+ roared behind the groves of Morven. The horn of the king is ſounded ; the deer ſtart from their
+ rocks. Our arrows flew in the woods. The feaſt of the hill is ſpread. Our joy was great on our
+ rocks, for the fall of the terrible Swaran. Two heroes were forgot at our feaſt, The rage of
+ their boſoms burned. They rolled their red eyes in ſecret. The ſigh burſts from their breaſts.
+ They were ſeen to talk together, and to throw their ſpears on earth. They were two dark clouds,
+ in the midſt of our joy ; like pillars of
+
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+ miſt on the ſettled ſea. They glitter to the ſun, but the mariners fear a
+ ſtorm.
+
“Raise my white ſails,” ſaid Ma-ronnan, “raiſe them to the winds of the
+ weſt. Let us ruſh, O Aldo, through the foam of the northern wave. We are forgot at the feaſt: but
+ our arms have been red in blood. Let us leave the hills of Fingal, and ſerve the king of Sora.
+ His countenance is fierce. War darkens around his ſpear. Let us be renowned, O Aldo, in the
+ battles of other lands!”
+
They took their ſwords, their ſhields of thongs. They ruſhed to Lumar's
+ reſounding bay. They came to Sora's haughty king, the chief of bounding ſteeds. Erragon had
+ returned from the chace. His ſpear was red in blood. He bent his dark face to the ground: and
+ whiſtled as he went. He took the ſtrangers to his feaſts: they fought and conquered in his
+ wars.
+
Aldo returned with his fame towards Sora's lofty walls. From her tower
+ looked the ſpouſe of Erragon, the humid, rolling eyes of Lorma. Her yellow hair flies on the wind
+ of ocean. Her white breaſt heaves, like ſnow on heath; when the gentle winds ariſe, and ſlowly
+ move it in the light. She ſaw young Aldo, like the beam of Sora's ſetting ſun. Her ſoft heart
+
+
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+ ſighed. Tears filled her eyes. Her white arm ſupported her head.
+ Three days ſhe ſat within the hall, and covered her grief with joy. On the fourth ſhe fled with
+ the hero, along the troubled ſea. They came to Cona's moſſy towers, to Fingal king of ſpears.
+
“Aldo of the heart of pride!” ſaid Fingal riſing in wrath : “ſhall I defend
+ thee from the rage of Sora's injured king? who will now receive my people into their halls? who
+ will give the feaſt of ſtrangers, ſince Aldo, of the little ſoul, has diſhonoured my name in Sora
+ ? Go to thy hills, thou feeble hand. Go: hide thee in thy caves. Mournful is the battle we muſt
+ fight, with Sora's gloomy king. Spirit of the noble Trenmor ! When will Fingal ceaſe to fight? I
+ was born in the midſt of battlesDisplay note, and my ſteps muſt move in blood to the tomb. But my hand did not injure the weak, my
+ ſteel did not touch the feeble in arms. I behold thy tempeſts, O Morven, which will overturn my
+ halls; when my children are dead in battle, and none remains to dwell in Selma. Then will the
+ feeble come, but they will not know my tomb, My
+
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+ ]
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+ renown is only in ſong. My deeds ſhall be as a dream to future times
+ !”
+
His people gathered around Erragon, as the ſtorms round the ghoſt of night;
+ when he calls them, from the top of Morven, and prepares to pour them on the land of the
+ ſtranger. He came to the ſhore of Cona. He ſent his bard to the king; to demand the combat of
+ thouſands ; or the land of many hills! Fingal ſat in his hall with the friends of his youth
+ around him. The young heroes were at the chace, far diſtant in the deſart. The grey-haired chiefs
+ talked of other times; of the actions of their youth; when the aged NartmorDisplay note came, the chief of ſtreamy Lora.
+
“This is no time,” ſaid Nartmor,” to hear the ſongs of other years : Erragon
+ frowns on the coaſt, and lifts ten thouſand ſwords. Gloomy is the king among his chiefs! he is
+ like the darkened moon, amidſt the meteors of night; when they ſail along her ſkirts, and give
+ the light that has ſailed o'er her orb.” “Come,” ſaid Fingal, “from thy hall, come daughter of my
+ love: come from thy hall, BoſminaDisplay note, maid of ſtreamy Morven ! Nartmor, take the ſteeds of the ſtrangers. Attend the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ daughter of Fingal! Let her bid the king of Sora to our feaſt,
+ to Selma's ſhaded wall. Offer him, O Boſmina, the peace of heroes, and the wealth of generous
+ Aldo. Our youths are far diſtant. Age is on our trembling hands !”
+
She came to the hoſt of Erragon, like a beam of light to a cloud. In her
+ right hand was ſeen a ſparkling ſhell. In her left an arrow of gold. The firſt, the joyful mark
+ of peace! The latter, the ſign of war. Erragon brightened in her preſence as a rock, before the
+ ſudden beams of the ſun; when they iſſue from a broken cloud, divided by the roaring wind !
+
“Son of the diſtant Sora,” began the mildly bluſhing maid. “Come to the
+ feaſt of Morven's king, to Selma's ſhaded walls. Take the peace of heroes, O warrior ! Let the
+ dark ſword reſt by thy ſide. Chuſeſt thou the wealth of Kings ? Then hear the words of generous
+ Aldo. He gives to Erragon an hundred ſteeds, the children of the rein: an hundred maids from
+ diſtant lands; an hundred hawks with fluttering wing, that fly acroſs the ſky. An hundred girdlesDisplay note
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ ſhall alſo be thine, to bind high-boſomed maids. The friends of the births
+ of heroes. The cure of the ſons of toil. Ten ſhells ſtudded with gems ſhall ſhine in Sora's
+ towers: the bright water trembles on their ſtars, and ſeems to be ſparkling wine. They gladdened
+ once the kings of the worldDisplay note, in the midſt of their ecchoing halls. Theſe, O hero, ſhall be thine; or thy
+ white-boſomed ſpouſe. Lorma ſhall roll her bright eyes in thy halls; though Fingal loves the
+ generous Aldo : Fingal ! who never injured a hero, though his arm is ſtrong !”
+
“Soft voice of Cona !” replied the king, “tell him, he ſpreads his feaſt in
+ vain. Let Fingal pour his ſpoils around me. Let him bend beneath my power. Let him give me the
+ ſwords of his fathers : the ſhields of other times ; that my children may behold them in my
+ halls, and ſay, “Theſe are the arms of Fingal.” “Never ſhall they behold them in thy halls !”
+ ſaid the riſing pride of the maid. “They are in the hands of heroes, who never yielded in war.
+ King of ecchoing Sora ! the ſtorm is gathering on our hills. Doſt thou not foreſee the fall of
+ thy people, ſon of the diſtant land?”
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+
+
She came to Selma's ſilent halls. The king beheld her down-caſt eyes. He
+ roſe from his place, in his ſtrength. He ſhook his aged locks. He took the ſounding mail of
+ Trenmor. The dark-brown ſhield of his fathers. Darkneſs filled Selma's hall, when he ſtretched
+ his hand to his ſpear : the ghoſts of thouſands were near, and foreſaw the death of the people.
+ Terrible joy roſe in the face of the aged heroes. They ruſhed to meet the foe. Their thoughts are
+ on the deeds of other years: and on the fame that riſes from death!
+
Now at Trathal's ancient tomb the dogs of the chace appeared. Fingal knew
+ that his young heroes followed. He ſtopt in the midſt of his courſe. Oſcar appeared the firſt;
+ then Morni's ſon, and Némi's race. FercuthDisplay note ſhewed his gloomy form. Dermid ſpread his dark hair on wind. Oſſian came the laſt. I
+ hummed the ſong of other times. My ſpear ſupported my ſteps over the little ſtreams. My thoughts
+ were of mighty men. Fingal ſtruck his boſſy ſhield ; and gave the diſmal ſign of war. A thouſand
+ ſwords at once unſheathed, gleam on the waving heath. Three grey-haired ſons of ſong, raiſe the
+ tuneful, mournful yoice. Deep and dark with
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ ſounding ſteps, we ruſh, a gloomy ridge, along: like the ſhower of a
+ ſtorm, when it pours on a narrow vale.
+
The king of Morven ſat on his hill. The ſun-beam of battle flew on the wind.
+ The friends of his youth are near, with all their waving locks of age. Joy roſe in the hero's
+ eyes when he beheld his ſons in war: when he ſaw us amidſt the lightning of ſwords, mindful of
+ the deeds of our fathers. Erragon came on, in his ſtrength, like the roar of a winter ſtream. The
+ battle falls around his ſteps: death dimly ſtalks along by his ſide!
+
“Who comes,” ſaid Fingal, “like the bounding roe, like the hart of ecchoing
+ Cona? His ſhield glitters on his ſide. The clang of his armour is mournful. He meets with Erragon
+ in the ſtrife ! Behold the battle of the chiefs! It is like the contending of ghoſts in a gloomy
+ ſtorm. But falleſt thou, ſon of the hill, and is thy white boſom ſtained with blood? Weep,
+ unhappy Lorma, Aldo is no more !” The king took the ſpear of his ſtrength. He was ſad for the
+ fall of Aldo. He bent his deathful eyes on the foe : but Gaul met the King of Sora. Who can
+ relate the fight of the chiefs? The mighty ſtranger fell !
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ “Sons of Cona!” Fingal cried aloud, “ſtop the
+ hand of death. Mighty was he that is low. Much is he mourned in Sora! The ſtranger will come
+ towards his hall, and wonder why it is ſo ſilent. The king is fallen, O ſtranger. The joy of his
+ houſe is ceaſed. Liſten to the ſound of his woods. Perhaps his ghoſt is murmuring there ! But he
+ is far diſtant, on Morven, beneath the ſword of a foreign foe.” Such were the words of Fingal,
+ when the bard raiſed the ſong of peace. We ſtopped our uplifted ſwords. We ſpared the feeble foe.
+ We laid Erragon in a tomb. I raiſed the voice of grief. The clouds of night came rolling down.
+ The ghoſt of Erragon appeared to ſome. His face was cloudy and dark ; an half-formed ſigh is in
+ his breaſt. “Bleſt be thy ſoul, O king of Sora ! thine arm was terrible in war!”
+
Lorma ſat, in Aldo's hall. She ſat at the light of a flaming oak. The night
+ came down, but he did not return. The ſoul of Lorma is ſad! “What detains thee, hunter of Cona ?
+ Thou didſt promiſe to return. Has the deer been diſtant far? do the dark winds ſigh, round thee,
+ on the heath? I am in the land of ſtrangers, where is my friend, but Aldo? Come from thy ſounding
+ hills, O my beſt beloved !”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Her eyes are turned toward the gate. She liſtens to the ruſtling blaſt. She
+ thinks it is Aldo's tread. Joy riſes in her face! But ſorrow returns again, like a thin cloud on
+ the moon. “Wilt thou not return, my love? Let me behold the face of the hill. The moon is in the
+ eaſt. Calm and bright is the breaſt of the lake ! When ſhall I behold his dogs, returning from
+ the chace ? When ſhall I hear his voice, loud and diſtant on the wind ? Come from thy ſounding
+ hills, hunter of woody Cona !” His thin ghoſt appeared, on a rock, like a watry beam of feeble
+ light : When the moon ruſhes ſudden from between two clouds, and the midnight ſhower is on the
+ field ! She followed the empty form over the heath. She knew that her hero fell. I heard her
+ approaching cries on the wind, like the mournful voice of the breeze, when it ſighs on the graſs
+ of the cave !
+
She came. She found her hero ! Her voice was heard no more. Silent ſhe
+ rolled her eyes. She was pale, and wildly ſad! Few were her days on Cona. She ſunk into the tomb.
+ Fingal commanded his bards; they ſung over the death of Lorma. The daughters of Morven mourned
+ her, for one day in the year, when the dark winds of autumn returned !
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ Son of the diſtant landDisplay note ! Thou dwelleſt in the field of fame ! O let thy ſong ariſe, at times, in praiſe of thoſe
+ who fell. Let their thin ghoſts rejoice around thee ; and the ſoul of Lorma come on a feeble beamDisplay note : when thou lieſt down to reſt, and the moon looks into thy cave. Then ſhalt thou ſee her
+ lovely; but the tear is ſtill on her cheek !
+ END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
+
+
+
The Gaelic name of Scandinavia, or Scandinia,
+
The mountains of Sevo,
+
The bards diſtinguiſhed thoſe compoſitions, in which the narration is often interrupted, by
+ epiſodes and apoſtrophes, by the name of Duän. Since the extinction of the order of
+ the bards, it has been a general name for all ancient compoſitions in verſe. The abrupt manner
+ in which the ſtory of this poem begins, may render it obſcure to ſome readers ; it may not
+ therefore be improper, to give here the traditional preface, which is generally prefixed to
+ it. Two years after he took to wife Ros-crana, the daughter of Cormac, king of Ireland, Fingal
+ undertook an expedition into Orkney, to viſit his friend Cathulla, king of Iniſtore. After
+ ſtaying a few days at Caric-thura, the reſidence of Cathulla, the king ſet ſail, to return to
+ Scotland ; but, a violent ſtorm ariſing, his ſhips were driven into a bay of Scandinavia, near
+ Gormal, the ſeat of Starno, king of Lochlin, his avowed enemy. Starno, upon the appearance of
+ ſtrangers on his coaſt, ſummoned together the neighbouring tribes, and advanced, in a hoſtile
+ manner, towards the bay of U-thorno, where Fingal had taken ſhelter. Upon diſcovering who the
+ ſtrangers were, and fearing the valour of Fingal, which he had, more than once, experienced
+ before, he reſolved to accompliſh by treachery what he was afraid he ſhould fail in by open
+ force. He invited, therefore, Fingal to a feaſt, at which he intended to aſſaſſinate him, The
+ king prudently declined to go, and Starno betook himſelf to arms. The ſequel of the ſtory may
+ be learned from the poem itſelf.
+
Agandecca, the daughter of Starno, whom her father killed, on account of her diſcovering to
+ Fingal, a plot laid againſt his life, Her ſtory is related at large, in the third book of
+ Fingal.
+
+
Duth-maruno is a name very famous in tradition. Many of his great actions are handed down,
+ but the poems, which contained the detail of them, are long ſince loſt. He lived, it is
+ ſuppoſed, in that part of the north of Scotland, which is over againſt Orkney. Duth-maruno,
+ Cromma-glas, Struthmor, and Cormar, are mentioned, as attending Comhal, in his laſt battle
+ againſt the tribe of Morni, in a poem, which is ſtill preſerved. It is not the work of Oſſian
+ ; the phraſeology betrays it to be a modern compoſition. It is ſomething like thoſe trivial
+ compoſitions, which the Iriſh bards forged, under the name of Oſſian, in the fifteenth and
+ ſixteenth centuries. Duth-maruno ſignifies, black and ſteady; Cromma-glas,
+ bending and ſwarthy; Struthmor, roaring ſtream ; Cormar, expert at
+ ſea.
+
+
Crumthormoth, one of the Orkney or Shetland iſlands, The name is not of Galic original. It
+ was ſubject to its own petty king, who is mentioned in one of Oſſian's poems.
+
+
Cean-daona, head of the people, the ſon of Duth-maruno. He became afterwards
+ famous, in the expeditions of Oſſian, after the death of Fingal. The traditional tales
+ concerning him are very numerous, and, from the epithet, in them, beſtowed on him (Candona
+ of boars) it would appear, that he applied himſelf to that kind of hunting, which his
+ father, in this paragraph, is ſo anxious to recommend to him. As I have mentioned the
+ traditional tales of the Highlands, it may not be improper here, to give ſome account of them.
+ After the expulſion of the bards, from the houſes of the chiefs, they, being an indolent race
+ of men, owed all their ſubſiſtence to the generoſity of the vulgar, whom they diverted with
+ repeating the compoſitions of their predeceſſors, and running up the genealogies of their
+ entertainers to the family of their chiefs. As this ſubject was, however, ſoon exhauſted, they
+ were obliged to have recourſe to invention, and form ſtories having no foundation in fact
+ which were ſwallowed, with great credulity, by an ignorant multitude. By frequent repeating,
+ the fable grew upon their hands, and, as each threw in whatever circumſtance he thought
+ conducive to raiſe the admiration of his hearers, the ſtory became, at laſt, ſo devoid of all
+ probability, that even the vulgar themſelves did nor believe it. They, however, liked the
+ tales ſo well, that the bards found their advantage in turning profeſſed tale makers. They
+ then launched out into the wildeſt regions of fiction and romance. I firmly believe, there are
+ more ſtories of giants, enchanted caſtles, dwarfs, and palfreys, in the Highlands, than in any
+ country in Europe. Theſe tales, it is certain, like other romantic compoſitions, have many
+ things in them unnatural, and, conſequently, diſguſtful to true taſte, but, I know not how it
+ happens, they command attention more than any other fictions I ever met with. The extreme
+ length of theſe pieces is very ſurpriſing, ſome of them requiring many days to repeat them,
+ but ſuch hold they take of the memory, that few circumſtances are ever omitted by thoſe who
+ have received them only from oral tradition : What is ſtill more amazing, the very language of
+ the bards is ſtill preſerved. It is curious to ſee, that the deſcriptions of magnificence,
+ introduced in theſe tales, is even ſuperior to all the pompous oriental fictions of the kind.
+
+
+
Torcul-torno, according to tradition, was king of Crathlun, a diſtrict in Sweden. The river
+ Lulan ran near the reſidence of Torcul-torno. There is a river in Sweden, ſtill called Lula,
+ which is probably the ſame with Lulan. The war between Starno and Torcul-torno, which
+ terminated in the death of the latter, had its riſe at a hunting party. Starno being invited,
+ in a friendly manner, by Torcul-rorno, both Kings, with their followers, went to the mountains
+ of Stivamore, to hunt. A boar ruſhed from the wood before the kings, and Torcul-torno killed
+ it. Starno thought this behaviour a breach upon the privilege of gueſts, who were always,
+ honoured, as tradition expreſſes it, with the danger of the chace. A quarrel
+ aroſe, the kings came to battle, with all their attendants, and the party of Torcul-torno were
+ totally defeated, and he himſelf ſlain. Starno purſued his victory, laid waſte the diſtrict of
+ Crathlun, and, coming to the reſidence of Torcul torno, carried off, by force, Conban-carglas,
+ the beautiful daughter of his enemy. Her he confined in a cave, near the palace of Gormal,
+ where, on account of her cruel treatment, ſhe became diſtracted.
+
The paragraph, juſt now before us, is the ſong of Conbancarglas, at the time ſhe was
+ diſcovered by Fingal. It is in Lyric meaſure, and ſet to muſic, which is wild and ſimple, and
+ ſo inimitably ſuited to the ſituation of the unhappy lady, that few can hear it without tears.
+
+
+
By the beam of youth, it afterwards appears, that Conbancarglas means Swaran, the
+ ſon of Starno, with whom, during her confinement, ſhe had fallen in love.
+
+
From this contraſt, which Fingal draws, between his own nation, and the inhabitants of
+ Scandinavia, we may learn, that the former were much leſs barbarous than the latter. This
+ distinction is ſo much obſerved throughout the poems of Oſſian, that there can be no doubt,
+ that he followed the real manners of both nations in his own time. At the cloſe of the ſpeech
+ of Fingal, there is a great part of the original loſt.
+
+
The ſword of Fingal, ſo called from its maker, Luno of Lochlin.
+
+
The helmet of Swaran. The behaviour of Fingal is always conſiſtent with that generoſity of
+ ſpirit which belongs to a hero. He takes no advantage of a foe diſarmed.
+
+
Conban-carglas, from ſeeing the helmet of Swaran bloody in the hands of Fingal conjectured,
+ that that hero was killed. A part of the original is loſt, It appears, however, from the
+ ſequel of the poem, that the daughter of Torcultorno did not long ſurvive her ſurprize,
+ occaſioned by the ſuppoſed death of her lover. The deſcription of the airy hall of Loda (which
+ is ſuppoſed to be the ſame with that of Odin, the deity of Scandinavia) is more pictureſque
+ and deſcriptive, than any in the Edda, or other works of the northern Scalders.
+
+
In this ſhort epiſode we have a very probable account given us, of the origin of monarchy
+ in Caledonia. The Caël or Gauls, who poſeſſed the countries to the north of the Firth
+ of Edinburgh, were, originally, a number of diſtinct tribes, or clans, each ſubject to its own
+ chief, who was free and independent of any other power. When the Romans invaded them, the
+ common danger might, perhaps, have induced thoſe reguli to join
+ together, but, as they were unwilling to yield to the command of one of their own number,
+ their battles were ill-conducted, and, conſequently, unſucceſsful. Trenmor was the firſt who
+ repreſented to the chiefs, the bad conſequences of carrying on their wars in this irregular
+ manner, and adviſed, that they themſelves ſhould alternately lead in battle. They did ſo, but
+ they were unſucceſsful. When it came to Trenmor's turn, he totally defeated the enemy, by his
+ ſuperior valour and conduct, which gained him ſuch an intereſt among the tribes, that he, and
+ his family after him, were regarded as kings; or to uſe the poet's expreſſion, the words
+ of power ruſhed forth from Selma of kings. The regal authority, however, except in time
+ of war, was but inconſiderable; for every chief, within his own diſtrict, was abſolute and
+ independent. From the ſcene of the battle in this epiſode, (which was in the valley of Crona,
+ a little to the north of Agricola's wall) I ſhould ſuppoſe, that the enemies of the
+ Caledonians were the Romans, or provincial Britons.
+
+
In tradition, this Cromma glas makes a great figure in that battle which Comhal loſt,
+ together with his life, to the tribe of Morni. I have juſt now, in my hands, an Iriſh
+ compoſition, of a very modern date, as appears from the language, in which all the traditions,
+ concerning that deciſive engagement, are jumbled together. In juſtice to the merit of the
+ poem, I ſhould have here preſented to the reader a tranſlation of it, did not the bard mention
+ ſome circumſtances very ridiculous, and others altogether indecent. Morna, the wife of Comhal,
+ had a principal hand in all the tranſactions previous to the defeat and death of her huſband ;
+ ſhe, to uſe the words of the bard, who was the guiding ſtar of the women of Erin. The
+ bard, it is to be hoped, miſrepreſented the ladies of his country, for Morna's behaviour was,
+ according to him, ſo void of all decency and virtue, that it cannot be ſuppoſed, they had
+ choſen her for their guiding ſtar, The poem conſiſts of many ſtanzas. The language is
+ figurative, and the numbers harmonious ; but the piece is ſo full of anachroniſms, and ſo
+ unequal in its compoſition, that the author, moſt undoubtedly, was either mad, or drunk, when
+ he wrote it. It is worthy of being remarked, that Comhal is, in this poem, very often called,
+ Comhal na h'Albin, or Comhal of Albion, which ſufficiently
+ demonſtrates, that the allegations of Keating and O'Flaherty, concerning Fion
+ Mac-Comnal, are but of late invention.
+
+
The family of Duth-maruno, it appears, came originally from Scandinavia, or, at leaſt, from
+ ſome of the northern Iles, ſubject, in chief, to the kings of Lochlin. The Highland ſenachies,
+ who never miſſed to make their comments on, and additions to, the works of Oſſian, have given
+ us a long liſt of the anceſtors of Duth maruno, and a particular account of their actions,
+ many of which are of the marvellous kind. One of the tale-makers of the north has choſen for
+ his hero, Starnmor, the father of Duth-maruno, and, conſidering the adventures thro' which he
+ has led him, the piece is neither diſagreeable, nor abounding with that kind of fiction, which
+ ſhocks credibility.
+
+
An iſland of Scandinavia,
+
+
This epiſode is, in the original, extremely beautiful. It is ſet to that wild kind of
+ muſic, which ſome of the Highlanders diſtinguiſh, by the title of Fón Oimarra, or,
+ the Song of mermaids. Some part of the air is abſolutely infernal, but there are many
+ returns in the meaſure, which are inexpreſſibly wild and beautiful. From the genius of the
+ muſic, I ſhould think it came originally from Scandinavia, for the fictions delivered down
+ concerning the Oi-marra, (who are reputed the authors of the muſic) exactly
+ correſpond with the notions of the northern nations, concerning their diræ, or
+ goddeſſes of death, —Of all the names in this epiſode, there is none of a Galic
+ original, except Strina-dona, which signifies, the ſtrife of heroes.
+
+
The Cana is a certain kind of graſs, which grows plentiful in the heathy moraſſes
+ of the north. Its ſtalk is of the reedy kind, and it carries a tuft of down, very much
+ reſembling cotton. It is exceſſively white, and, conſequently often introduced by the bards,
+ in their ſimiles concerning the beauty of women.
+
+
Ul-locklin, the guide to Lochlin ; the name of a ſtar.
+
+
The continuation of this epiſode is juſt now in my hands ; but the language is ſo different
+ from, and the ideas ſo unworthy of, Oſſian, that I have rejected it, as an interpolation by a
+ modern bard.
+
+
The bards, who were always ready to ſupply what they thought deficient in the poems of
+ Oſſian, have inſerted a great many incidents between the ſecond and third duän of
+ Cathloda. Their interpolations are ſo eaſily diſtinguiſhed from the genuine remains of Oſſian,
+ that it took me very little time to mark them out, and totally to reject them. If the modern
+ Scotch and Iriſh bards have ſhewn any judgment, it is in aſcribing their own compoſitions to
+ names of antiquity, for, by that means, they themſelves have eſcaped that contempt, which the
+ authors of ſuch futile performances muſt, neceſſarily, have met with, from people of true
+ taſte. I was led into this obſervation, by an Iriſh poem, juſt now before me. It concerns a
+ deſcent made by Swaran, king of Lochlin, on Ireland, and is the work, ſays the traditional
+ preface prefixed to it, of Oſſian Mac-Fion. It however appears, from ſeveral pious
+ ejaculations, that it was rather the compoſition of ſome good prieſt, in the fifteenth or
+ ſixteenth century, for he ſpeaks; with great devotion, of pilgrimage, and more particularly,
+ of the blue-eyed daughters of the convent. Religious, however, as this poet was, he
+ was not altogether decent, in the ſcenes he introduces between Swaran and the wife of
+ Congcullion, both of whom he repreſents as giants. It happening unfortunately, that
+ Congcullion was only of a moderate ſtature, his wife without heſitation, preferred
+ Swaran, as a more adequate match for her own gigantic ſize. From this fatal preference
+ proceeded ſo much miſchief, that the good poet altogether loſt ſight of his principal action,
+ and he ends the piece, with an advice to men, in the choice of their wives, which, however
+ good it may be, I ſhall leave concealed in the obſcurity of the original.
+
+
The ſurly attitude of Starno and Swaran is well adapted to their fierce and uncomplying
+ diſpoſitions. Their characters, at firſt ſight, ſeem little different ; but, upon examination,
+ we find that the poet has dexterouſly diſtinguiſhed between them. They were both dark,
+ ſtubborn, haughty and reſerved ; but Starno was cunning, revengeful, and cruel, to the higheſt
+ degree; the diſpoſition of Swaran, though ſavage, was leſs bloody, and ſomewhat tinctured with
+ generoſity. It is doing injuſtice to Oſſian, to ſay, that he has not a great variety of
+ characters.
+
+
Oſſian is very partial to the fair ſex. Even the daughter of the cruel Annir, the ſiſter of
+ the revengeful and bloody Starno, partakes not of thoſe diſagreeable characters ſo peculiar to
+ her family. She is altogether tender and delicate. Homer, of all ancient poets, uſes the ſex
+ with leaſt ceremony. His cold contempt is even worſe, than the downright abuſe of the moderns
+ ; for to draw abuſe implies the poſſeſſion of ſome merit.
+
+
Fingal, according to the cuſtom of the Caledonian kings, had retired to a hill alone, as he
+ himſelf was to reſume the command of the army the next day. Starno might have ſome
+ intelligence of the king's retiring, which occaſions his requeſt to Sweran, to ſtab him ; as
+ he foreſaw, by his art of divination, that he could not overcome him in open battle.
+ — dreadful ſounds I hear,
+ And the dire form of hoſtile gods appear.
+ Dryden.
+
+
Derſagrena, the brightneſs of a ſun-beam.
+
Comala, the maid of the pleaſant brow.
+
+
Carun or Cara'on, a winding river. — This river retains ſtill the name of Carron,
+ and falls into the Forth ſome miles to the North of Falkirk.
+
+
+ —Genteſque alias cum pelleret armis
+ Sedibus, aut victas vilem ſervaret in uſum
+ Servitii, hic contenta ſuos defendere fines
+ Roma ſecurigeris prætendit mænia Scotis :
+ Hic ſpe progreſſus poſita, Caronis ad undam
+ Terminus Auſonii ſignat divortia regni.
+
+ Buchanan.
+
+
Hidallan was ſent by Fingal to give notice to Comala of his return ; he, to revenge himſelf
+ on her for ſlighting his love ſome time before, told her that the king was killed in battle. He
+ even pretended that he carried his body from the field to be buried in her preſence ; and this
+ circumſtance makes it probable that the poem was preſented of old.
+
By the dweller of the rock ſhe means a druid. It is probable that ſome of the order
+ of the druids remained as late as the beginning of the reign of Fingal ; and that Comala had
+ conſulted one of them concerning the event of the war with Caracul.
+
+
Perhaps the poet alludes to the Roman eagle,
+
+
The ſequel of the ſtory of Hidallan is introduced in another poem.
+
+
Sarno the father of Comala died ſoon after the flight of his daughter. Fidallan was the
+ firſt king that reigned in Iniſtore.
+
+
The ſong of Ullin, with which the poem opens, is in a lyric meaſure. It was uſual with
+ Fingal, when he returned from his expeditions, to ſend his bards ſinging before him. This
+ ſpecies of triumph is called, by Oſſian, the ſong of victory.
+
+
Oſſian has celebrated the ſtrife of Crona, in a particular poem. This poem is
+ connected with it, but it was impoſſible for the tranſlator to procure that part which relates
+ to Crona, with any degree of purity.
+
+
One ſhould think that the parts of Shilric and Vinvela were repreſented by Cronnan and
+ Minona, whoſe very names denote that they were ſingers, who performed in public. Cronnan
+ ſignifies a mournful ſound, Minona, or Min-'onn, ſoft air., All the dramatic
+ poems of Oſſian appear to have been preſented before Fingal, upon ſolemn occaſions.
+
+
Bran, or Branno, ſignifies a mountain-ſtream : it is here ſome river known by that
+ name, in the days of Oſſian. There are ſeveral ſmall rivers in the north of Scotland ſtill
+ retaining the name of Bran ; in particular one which falls into the Tay at Dunkeld.
+
+
Bhin bheul, a woman with a melodious voice. Bh in the Galic language has
+ the ſame ſound with the v in Engliſh.
+
+
The grave.
+
+
Carn-mór, high rocky hill.
+
+
The diſtinction which the ancient Scots made between good and bad ſpirits, was, that the
+ former appeared ſometimes in the day-time in lonely unfrequented places, but the latter never
+ but by night, and in a diſmal gloomy ſcene.
+
+
The circle of Loda is ſuppoſed to be a place of worſhip among the Scandinavians, as
+ the ſpirit of Loda is thought to be the ſame with their god Odin.
+
+
He is deſcribed, in a ſimile, in the poem concerning the death of Cuchullin.
+
+
The famous ſword of Fingal, made by Lun, or Lano, a ſmith of Lochlin.
+
+
Annir was alſo the father of Erragon, who was king after the death of his brother Frothal.
+ The death of Erragon is the ſubject of the Battle of Lora, a poem in this collection.
+
+
+
That is, after the death of Annir. To erect the ſtone of one's fame, was, in other words, to
+ ſay that the perſon was dead.
+
+
Honourable terms of peace.
+
+
Frothal and Utha,
+
+
There is a propriety in introducing this epiſode, as the ſituations of Crimora and Utha were
+ ſo ſimilar.
+
+
Lotha was the ancient name of one of the great rivers in the north of Scotland. The only one
+ of them that ſtill retains a name of a like ſound is Locky, in Inverneſsſhire; but whether it
+ is the river mentioned here, the tranſlator will not pretend to ſay.
+
+
Cri-móra, a woman of a great ſoul.
+
Perhaps the Carril mentioned here is the ſame with Carril the ſon of Kinſena, Cuchullin's
+ bard. The name itſelf is proper to any bard, as it ſignifies a ſprightly and harmonious
+ ſound.
+
+
Connal, the ſon of Diaran, was one of the moſt famous heroes of Fingal; he was ſlain in a
+ battle againſt Dargo a Briton ; but whether by the hand of the enemy, or that of his miſtreſs,
+ tradition does not determine.
+
+
The ſtory of Fingal and the ſpirit of Loda, ſuppoſed to be the famous Odin, is the moſt
+ extravagant fiction in all Oſſian's poems. It is not, however, without precedents in the beſt
+ poets; and it muſt be ſaid for Oſſian, that he ſays nothing but what perfectly agreed with the
+ notions of the times, concerning ghoſts. They thought the ſouls of the dead were material, and
+ conſequently ſuſceptible of pain. Whether a proof could be drawn from this paſſage, that Oſſian
+ had no notion of a divinity, I ſhall leave to others to determine: it appears, however, that he
+ was of opinion, that ſuperior beings ought to take no notice of what paſſed among men.
+
+
It was the opinion of the times, that deer ſaw the ghoſts of the dead. To this day, when
+ beaſts ſuddenly ſtart without any apparent cauſe, the vulgar think that they ſee the ſpirits of
+ the deceaſed.
+
+
Fingal returns here, from an expedition againſt the Romans, which was celebrated by Oſſian in
+ a poem called the ſtrife of Crona.
+
+
Probably wax-lights ; which are often mentioned as carried, among other booty, from the Roman
+ province.
+
+
Cleſſamh mór, mighty deeds.
+
+
Moina, ſoft in temper and perſon. We find the Britiſh names in this poem derived from
+ the Galic, which is a proof that the ancient language of the whole iſland was one and the ſame.
+
+
+
Balclutha, i. e. the town of Clyde, probably the Alcluth of Bede.
+
+
Clutha, or Cluäth, the Galic name of the river Clyde, the ſignification of the word is
+ bending, in alluſion to the winding courſe of that river. From Clutha is derived its
+ Latin name, Glotta,
+
+
The word in the original here rendered by reſtleſs wanderer, is Scuta,
+ which is the true origin of the Scoti of the Romans; an opprobrious name impoſed by the
+ Britons, on the Caledonian's on account of the continual incurſions into their country.
+
+
The title of this poem, in the original, is Duan na nlaol, i.e. The Poem of the
+ Hymns : probably on account of its many digreſſions from the ſubject, all which are in a
+ lyric meaſure, as this ſong of Fingal. Fingal is celebrated by the Iriſh hiſtorians for his
+ wiſdom in making laws, his poetical genius, and his foreknowledge of events. O'Flaherty goes ſo
+ far as to ſay, that Fingal's laws were extant in his own time.
+
+
It was a cuſtom among the ancient Scots, to exchange arms with their gueſts, and thoſe arms
+ were preſerved long in the different families, as monuments of the friendſhip which ſubſiſted
+ between their anceſtors.
+
+
Cath-'huil, the eye of battle.
+
+
It appears, from this paſſage, that clanſhip was eſtabliſhed, in the days of Fingal, though
+ not on the ſame footing with the preſent tribes in the north of Scotland.
+
+
This Connal is very much celebrated in ancient poetry, for his wiſdom and valour : there is a
+ ſmall tribe ſtill ſubſiſting, in the North, who pretend they are deſcended from him.
+
+
Fingal did not then know that Carthon was the ſon of Cleſsámmor.
+
+
To tell one's name to an enemy was reckoned, in thoſe days of heroiſm, a manifeſt evaſion of
+ fighting him ; for, if it was once known, that friendſhip ſubſiſted, of old, between the
+ anceſtors of the combatants, the battle immediately ceaſed ; and the ancient amity of their
+ forefathers was renewed. A man who tells his name to his enemy, was of old an
+ ignominious term for a coward,
+
+
This expreſſion admits of a double meaning, either that Carthon hoped to acquire glory by
+ killing Fingal; or to be rendered famous by falling by his hand. The laſt is the moſt probable,
+ as Carthon is already wounded.
+
+
In the north of Scotland, till very lately, they burnt a large trunk of an oak at their
+ feſtivals; it was called the trunk of the feaſt. Time had, ſo much, conſecrated the
+ cuſtom, that the vulgar thoght it a kind of ſacrilege to diſuſe it.
+
+
Con-cathlin, mild beam of the wave. What ſtar was ſo called of old is not eaſily
+ aſcertained, Some now diſtinguiſh the Pole-ſtar by that name, A ſong, which is ſtill in repute,
+ among the ſea-faring part of the Highlanders, alludes to this paſſage of Oſſian. The author
+ commends the knowlege of Oſſian in ſea affairs, a merit, which, perhaps, few of us moderns will
+ allow him, or any in the age in which be lived. One thing is certain, that the Caledonians often
+ made their way thro' the dangerous and tempeſtuous ſeas of Scandinavia; which is more, perhaps,
+ than the more poliſhed nations, ſubſiſting in thoſe times, dared to venture. In eſtimating the
+ degree of knowledge of arts among the antients, we ought not to bring it into compariſon with
+ the improvements of modern times. Our advantages over them proceed more from accident, than any
+ merit of ours.
+
+
There is a ſevere ſatire couched in this expreſſion, againſt the gueſts of Mal-orchol. Had
+ his feaſt been ſtill ſpread, had joy continued in his hall, his former paraſites would not have
+ failed to reſort to him. But as the time of feſtivity was paſt, their attendance alſo ceaſed.
+ The ſentiments of a certain old bard are agreeable to this obſervation, He, poetically, compares
+ a great man to a fire kindled in a deſart place. “Thoſe that pay court to him, ſays he, are
+ rolling large around him, like the ſmoke about the fire. This ſmoke gives the fire a great
+ appearance at a diſtance, but it is but an empty vapour itſelf, and varying its form at every
+ breeze. When the trunk, which fed the fire, is conſumed, the ſmoke departs on all the winds. So
+ the flatterers forſake their chief, when his power declines.” I have choſen to give a
+ paraphraſe, rather than a tranſlation, of this paſſage, as the original is verboſe and frothy,
+ notwithſtanding of the ſentimental merit of the author, He was one of the leſs antient bards,
+ and their compoſitions are not nervous enough to bear a literal tranſlation.
+
+
Colna-dona ſignifies the love of heroes. Col-amon, narrow river. Car-ul,
+ dark-eyed Col-amon, the reſidence of Car-ul, was in the neighbourhood of Agricola's
+ wall, towards the ſouth, Car-ul ſeems to have been of the race of thoſe Britons, who are
+ diſtinguiſhed by the name of Maiatæ, by the writers of Rome. Maiatæ is derived from two Galic
+ words, Moi, a plain, and Aitich,
+ inhabitants ; ſo that the ſignification of Maiatæ is, the inhabitants of the plain
+ country ; a name given to the Britons, who were ſettled in the Lowlands, in
+ contradiſtinction to the Caledonians, (i. e. Cael-don, the Gauls of the
+ hills ) who were poſſeſſed of the more mountainous diviſion of North-Britain.
+
Crona, murmuring, was the name of a ſmall ſtream, which diſcharged itſelf in the
+ river Carron. It is often mentioned by Oſſian, and the ſcenes of many of his poems are on its
+ banks. The enemies, whom Fingal defeated here, are not mentioned. They were, probably, the
+ provincial Britons. That tract of country between the Firths of Forth and Clyde has been, thro'
+ all antiquity, famous for battles and rencounters, between the different nations, who were
+ poſſeſſed of North and South Britain. Stirling, a town ſituated there, derives its name from that
+ very circumſtance. It is a corruption of the Galic name, Strila, i. e. the
+ hill, or rock, of contention.
+
The manners of the Britons and Caledonians were ſo fimilar, in the days of Oſſian, that there
+ can be no doubt, that they were originally the ſame people, and deſcended from thoſe Gauls who
+ firſt poſſeſſed themſelves of South-Britain, and gradually migrated to the north. This hypotheſis
+ is more rational than the idle fables of ill-informed ſenachies, who bring the Caledonians from
+ diſtant countries. The bare opinion of Tacitus, (which, by-the-bye, was only ſounded on a
+ ſimilarity of the perſonal figure of the Caledonians to the Germans of his own time) tho' it has
+ ſtaggered ſome learned men, is not ſufficient to make us believe, that the antient inhabitants of
+ North-Britain were a German colony. A diſcuſſion of a point like this might be curious, but could
+ never be ſatisfactory. Periods ſo diſtant are ſo involved in obſcurity, that nothing certain can
+ be now advanced concerning them. The light which the Roman writers hold forth is too feeble to
+ guide us to the truth, thro' the darkneſs which has ſurrounded it.
+
Here an epiſode is intirely loſt; or, at leaſt, is handed down ſo imperfectly, that it does
+ not deſerve a place in the poem.
+
Oi-thóna, the virgin of the wave.
+
+
Morlo, the ſon of Leth, is one of Fingal's moſt famous heroes. He and three other men
+ attended Gaul on his expedition to Tromathon.
+
+
Tróm-thón, heavy or deep ſounding wave..
+
+
Oithona relates how ſhe was carried away by Dunrommath.
+
+
Mor'-ruth, great ſtream.
+
+
Inisfail, one of the ancient names of Ireland.
+
+
Faobhar-gorm, the blue point of ſteel.
+
+
Thoſe extempore compoſitions were in great repute among ſucceeding bards. The pieces extant
+ of that kind ſhew more of the good ear, than of the poetical genius of their authors. The
+ tranſlator has only met with one poem of this ſort, which he thinks worthy of being preſerved.
+ It is a thouſand years later than Oſſian, but the authors ſeem to have obſerved his manner, and
+ adopted ſome of his expreſſions. The ſtory of it is this. Five bards, paſſing the night in the
+ houſe of a chief, who was a poet himſelf, went ſeverally to make their obſervations on, and
+ returned with an extempore deſcription of, night. The night happened to be one in October, as
+ appears from the poem, and in the north of Scotland, it has all that variety which the bards
+ aſcribe to it, in their deſcriptions.
+
+ First Bard.
+
Night is dull and dark. The clouds reſt on the hills. No ſtar with green
+ trembling beam; no moon looks from the ſky. I hear the blaſt in the wood ; but I hear it
+ diſtant far. The ſtream of the valley murmurs; but its murmur is ſullen and ſad. From the tree
+ at the grave of the dead the long-howling owl is heard. I ſee a dim form on the plain! It is a
+ ghoſt ! it fades, it flies. Some funeral ſhall paſs this way : the meteor marks the path.
+
The diſtant dog is howling from the hut of the hill, The ſtag lies on the mountain moſs :the
+ hind is at his hide, She hears the wind in his branchy horns. She ſtarts, but lies again,
+
The roe is in the cleft of the rock ; the heath-cock's head is beneath his wing. No beaſt, no
+ bird is abroad, but the owl and the howling fox. She on a leafleſs tree: he in a cloud on the
+ hill,
+
Dark, panting, trembling, ſad the traveller has loſt his way, Through ſhrubs, through thorns,
+ he goes, along the gurgling rill. He fears the rock and the fen. He fears the ghoſt of night.
+ The old tree groans to the blaſt; the falling branch reſounds. The wind drives the withered
+ burs, clung together, along the graſs. It is the light tread of a ghoſt! He trembles amidſt the
+ night.
+
Dark, duſky, howling is night, cloudy, windy, and full of ghoſts! The dead are abroad! my
+ friends, receive me from the night.
+
+
+ Second Bard,
+
The wind is up. The ſhower deſcends. The ſpirit of the mountain ſhrieks. Woods fall from
+ high. Windows flap. The growing river roars. The traveller attempts the ford.
+
Hark that ſhriek! he dies; The ſtorm drives the horſe from the hill, the goat, the lowing
+ cow. They tremble as drives the ſhower, beſide the mouldering bank,
+
The hunter ſtarts from ſleep, in his lonely hut; he wakes the fire decayed. His wet dogs
+ ſmoke around him. He fills the chinks with heath. Loud roar two mountain ſtreams which meet
+ beſide his booth.
+
Sad on the ſide of a hill the wandering ſhepherd ſits. The tree reſounds above him. The
+ ſtream roars down the rock. He waits for the riſing moon to guide him to his home.
+
Ghoſts ride on the ſtorm to-night. Sweet is their voice between the ſqualls of wind. Their
+ ſongs are of other worlds.
+
The rain is paſt. The dry wind blows. Streams roar, and windows flap. Cold drops fall from
+ the roof. I ſee the ſtarry ſky. But the ſhower gathers again. The weſt is gloomy and dark.
+ Night is ſtormy and diſmal; receive me, my friends, from night.
+
+
+ Third Bard.
+
The wind ſtill ſounds between the hills: and whiſtles through the graſs of the rock. The
+ firs fall from their place. The turfy hut is torn. The clouds, divided, fly over the ſky, and
+ ſhew the burning ſtars. The meteor, token of death! flies ſparkling through the gloom. It reſts
+ on the hill. I ſee the withered fern, the dark-browed rock, the fallen oak. Who is that in his
+ ſhrowd beneath the tree, by the ſtream ?
+
The waves dark-tumble on the lake, and laſh its rocky ſides. The boat is brimfull in the
+ cove; the oars on the rocking tide. A maid ſits ſad beſide the rock, and eyes the rolling
+ ſtream. Her lover promiſed to come. She ſaw his boat, when yet it was light, on the lake. Is
+ this his broken boat on the ſhore ? Are theſe his groans on the wind?
+
Hark! the hail rattles around. The flaky ſnow deſcends, The tops of the hills are white. The
+ ſtormy winds abate. Various is the night and cold; receive me, my friends, from night.
+
+
+ Fourth Bard.
+
Night is calm and fair; blue, ſtarry, ſettled is night. The winds, with the clouds, are
+ gone. They ſink behind the hill. The moon is up on the mountain. Trees gliſter : ſtreams ſhine
+ on the rock. Bright rolls the ſettled lake ; bright the ſtream of the vale.
+
I ſee the trees overturned ; the ſhocks of corn on the plain. The wakeful hind rebuilds the
+ ſhocks, and whiſtles on the diſtant field.
+
Calm, ſettled, fair is night! Who comes from the place of the dead ? That form with the robe
+ of ſnow ; white arms and dark-brown hair! It is the daughter of the chief of the people : ſhe
+ that lately fell! Come, let us view thee, O maid! thou that haſt been the delight of heroes!
+ The blaſt drives the phantom away; white, without form, it aſcends the hill.
+
The breezes drive the blue miſt, ſlowly over the narrow vale. It riſes on the hill, and joins
+ its head to heaven. Night is ſettled, calm, blue, ſtarry, bright with the moon. Receive me not,
+ my friends, for lovely is the night.
+
+
+ Fifth Bard.
+
Night is calm, but dreary. The moon is in a cloud in the weſt. Slow moves that pale beam
+ along the ſhaded hill. The giant wave is heard. The torrent murmurs on the rock. The cock is
+ heard from the booth. More than half the night is paſt. The houſe-wife, groping in the gloom,
+ rekindles the ſettled fire. The hunter thinks that day approaches, and calls his bounding dogs.
+ He aſcends the hill and whiſtles on his way. A blaſt removes the cloud. He ſees the ſtarry
+ plough of the north. Much of the night is to paſs. He nods by the moſſy rock.
+
Hark! the whirlwind is in the wood ! A low murmur in the vale! it is the mighty army of the
+ dead returning from the air.
+
The moon reſts behind the hill. The beam is ſtill on that lofty rock. Long are the ſhadows of
+ the trees. Now it is dark over all. Night is dreary, ſilent, and dark; receive me, my friends,
+ from night.
+
+
+ The Chief.
+
Let clouds reſt on the hills: ſpirits fly and travellers fear. Let the winds of the woods
+ ariſe, the ſounding ſtorms deſcend. Roar ſtreams and windows flap, and green winged meteors fly
+ ; riſe the pale moon from behind her hills, or incloſe her head in clouds; night is alike to
+ me, blue, ſtormy, or gloomy the ſky. Night flies before the beam, when it is poured on the
+ hill. The young day returns from his clouds, but we return no more.
+
Where are our chiefs of old? Where our kings of mighty name? The ſhields of their battles are
+ ſilent. Scarce their moſſy tombs remain. We ſhall alſo be forgot. This lofty houſe ſhall fall.
+ Our ſons ſhall not behold the ruins in graſs. They ſhall aſk of the aged, “Where ſtood the
+ walls of our fathers ?”
+
Raiſe the ſong, and ſtrike the harp ; ſend round the ſhells of joy. Suſpend a hundred tapers
+ on high. Youths and maids begin the dance. Let ſome gray bard be near me to tell the deeds of
+ other times ; of kings renowned in our land, of chiefs we behold no more. Thus let the night
+ paſs until morning ſhall appear in our halls. Then let the bow be at hand, the dogs, the youths
+ of the chace. We ſhall aſcend the hill with day ; and awake the deer.
+
+
+
Al-teutha, or rather Balteutha, the town of Tweed, the name of Dunthalmo's ſeat. It
+ is obſervable that all the names in this poem, are derived from the Galic language ; which is a
+ proof that it was once the univerſal language of the whole iſland
+
+
Caol-mhal, a woman with ſmall eye-brows; ſmall eyebrows were a diſtinguiſhing part
+ of beauty in Oſſian's time : and he ſeldom fails to give them to the fine women of his poems.
+
+
+
That is, the hall where the arms taken from enemies were hung up as trophies. Oſſian is very
+ careful to make his ſtories probable; for he makes Colmal put on the arms of a youth killed in
+ his firſt battle, as more proper for a young woman, who cannot be ſuppoſed ſtrong enough to
+ carry the armour of a full-grown warrior.
+
+
Fingal.
+
+
Diaran, father of that Connal who was unfortunately killed by Crimora, his miſtreſs.
+
+
Dargo, the ſon of Collath, is celebrated in other poems by Oſſian. He is ſaid to have been
+ killed by a boar at a hunting party. The lamentation of his miſtreſs, or wife, Mingala, over his
+ body, is extant ; but whether it is of Oſſian's compoſition, I cannot determine. It is generally
+ aſcribed to him, and has much of his manner ; but ſome traditions mention it as an imitation by
+ ſome later bard. As it has ſome poetical merit, I have ſubjoined it.
+
+
The ſpouſe of Dargo comes in tears: for Dargo was no more! The heroes ſigh
+ over Lartho's chief: and what ſhall ſad Mingala do? The dark ſoul vaniſhed like morning miſt,
+ before the king of ſpears: but the generous glowed in his preſence like the morning ſtar.
+
Who was the faireſt and moſt lovely ? Who but Collath's ſtately ſon? Who ſat in the midſt of
+ the wiſe, but Dargo of the mighty deeds ?
+
Thy hand touched the trembling harp: Thy voice was ſoft as ſummer-winds. Ah me! what ſhall
+ the Heroes ſay ? for Dargo fell before a boar. Pale is the lovely cheek; the look of which was
+ firm in danger ! Why haſt thou failed on our hills, thou fairer than the beams of the ſun ?
+
The daughter of Adonſion was lovely in the eyes of the valiant ; ſhe was lovely in their
+ eyes, but ſhe choſe to be the ſpouſe of Dargo.
+
But thou art alone, Mingala! the night is coming with its clouds; where is the bed of thy
+ repoſe ? Where but in the tomb of Dargo ?
+
Why doſt thou lift the ſtone, O bard! why doſt thou ſhut the narrow houſe? Mingala's eyes
+ are heavy, bard ! She muſt ſleep with Dargo.
+
Laſt night I heard the ſong of joy in Lartho's lofty hall. But ſilence dwells around my bed.
+ Mingala reſts with Dargo.
+
+
+
Crona is the name of a ſmall ſtream which runs into the Carron.
+
+
Ryno is often mentioned in the ancient poetry, He ſeems to have been a Bard, of the firſt
+ rank, in the days of Fingal.
+
+
The Roman eagle.
+
+
Agricola's wall which Carauſius repaired.
+
+
The river Carron.
+
+
This is the ſcene of Comala's death, which is the ſubject of the dramatic poem. The poet
+ mentions her in this place, in order to introduce the ſequel of Hidallan's ſtory, who, on
+ account of her death, had been expelled from the wars of Fingal.
+
+
This is perhaps that ſmall ſtream, ſtill retaining the name of Balva, which runs through the
+ romantic valley of Glentivar in Stirlingſhire. Balva ſignifies a ſilent ſtream; and
+ Glentivar, the ſequeſtered vale.
+
+
The traditions, which accompany this poem, inform us, that it went, of old, under the name
+ of Laoi-Oi-lutha; i. e, the hymn of the maid of Lutha. They pretend alſo to
+ fix the time of its compoſition, to the third year after the death of Fingal ; that is, during
+ the expedition of Fergus the ſon of Fingal, to the banks of Uiſca-duthon. In ſupport
+ of this opinion, the Highland ſenachies have prefixed to his poem, an addreſs of Oſſian, to
+ Congal the young ſon of Fergus, which I have rejected, as having no manner of connection with
+ the reſt of the piece. It has poetical merit ; and, probably, it was the opening of one of
+ Oſſian's other poems, tho' the bards injudiciouſly transferred it to the piece now before
+ us.
+
+ “Congal, ſon of Fergus of Durath, thou light between thy locks, aſcend to the rock of
+ Selma, to the oak of the breaker of ſhields. Look over the boſom of night, it is ſtreaked with
+ the red paths of the dead: look on the night of ghoſts, and kindle, O Congal, thy ſoul. Be
+ not, like the moon on a ſtream, lonely in the midſt of clouds : darkneſs cloſes around it ;
+ and the beam departs, Depart not, ſon of Fergus, ere thou markeſt the field with thy ſword.
+ Aſcend to the rock of Selma ; to the oak of the breaker of ſhields.”
+
+
+
Car-mona, bay of the dark brown hills, an arm of the ſea, in the neighbourhood of
+ Selma. In this paragraph are mentioned the ſignals preſented to Fingal, by thoſe who came to
+ demand his aid. The ſuppliants held, in one hand, a ſhield covered with blood, and, in the
+ other, a broken ſpear ; the firſt a ſymbol of the death of their friends, the laſt an emblem of
+ their own helpleſs ſituation, If the king choſe to grant ſuccours, which generally was the
+ caſe, he reached to them the ſhell of feaſts, as a token of his hoſpitality and
+ friendly intentions towards them.
+
It may not be diſagreeable to the reader to lay here before him the ceremony of the
+ Cran-tara, which was of a ſimilar nature, and, till very lately, uſed in the Highlands. When
+ the news of an enemy came to the reſidence of the chief, he immediately killed a goat with his
+ own ſword, dipped the end of an half-burnt piece of wood in the blood, and gave it to one of
+ his ſervants, to be carried to the next hamlet. From hamlet to hamlet this teſſera was
+ carried with the utmoſt expedition, and, in the ſpace of a few hours, the whole clan were in
+ arms, and convened in an appointed place; the name of which was the only word that accompanied
+ the delivery of the Cran tara. This ſymbol was the manifeſto of the chief, by which he
+ threatened fire and ſword to thoſe of his clan, that did not immediately appear at his
+ ſtandard,
+
+
Lanul, full eyed, a ſurname which, according to tradition, was beſtowed on the
+ daughter of Cathmol, on account of her beauty ; this tradition, however, may have been founded
+ on that partiality, which the bards have ſhewn to Cathlin of Clutha ; for, according
+ to them, no falſhood could dwell in the ſoul of the lovely.
+
+
Oſcar is here called Oſcar of Lego, from his mother being the daughter of Branno, a
+ powerful chief, on the banks of that lake. It is remarkable that Oſfian addreſſes no poem to
+ Malvina, in which her lover Oſcar was not one of the principal actors. His attention to her,
+ after the death of his ſon, ſhews that delicacy of ſentiment is not confined, as ſome fondly
+ imagine, to our own poliſhed times.
+
+
Ton-thena,fire of the wave, was the remarkable ſtar mentioned in the ſeventh book
+ of Temora, which directed the courſe of Larthon to Ireland. It ſeems to have been well known to
+ thoſe, who ſailed on that ſea, which divides Ireland from South-Britain. As the courſe of
+ Oſſian was along the coaſt of Inis-huna, he mentions with propriety, that ſtar which directed
+ the voyage of the colony from that country to Ireland,
+
+
Rath-col, woody-field, does not appear to have been the reſidence of Duth-carmor :
+ he ſeems rather to have been forced thither by a ſtorm ; at leaſt I ſhould think that to be the
+ meaning of the poet, from his expreſſion, that Toz-thena had hid her head, and that
+ he bound his white-boſomed ſails; which is as much as to ſay, that the weather was
+ ſtormy, and that Duthcarmor put in to the bay of Rathcol for ſhelter.
+
+
From this circumſtance, ſucceeding bards feigned that Cathlin, who is here in the diſguiſe
+ of a young warrior, had fallen in love with Duth-carmor at a feaſt, to which he had been
+ invited by her father. Her love was converted into deteſtation for him, after he had murdered
+ her father. But as thoſe rain-bows of heaven are changeful, ſay my authors, ſpeaking
+ of women, ſhe felt the return of her former paſſion, upon the approach of Duth-carmor's danger.
+ I myſelf, who think more favourably of the ſex, muſt attribute the agitation of Cathlin's mind
+ to her extream ſenſibility to the injuries done her by Duth-carmor; and this opinion is
+ favoured by the ſequel of the ſtory.
+
+
This paſſage alludes to the well known cuſtom among the ancient kings of Scotland, to retire
+ from their army on the night preceding a battle. The ſtory which Oſſian introduces in the next
+ paragraph, concerns the fall of the Druids. It is ſaid in many old poems, that the Druids, in
+ the extremity of their affairs, had ſolicited and obtained aid from Scandinavia. Among the
+ auxiliaries there came many pretended magicians, which circumſtance Oſſian alludes to, in his
+ deſcription of the ſon of Loda, Magic and incantation could not, however, prevail ;
+ for Trenmor, aſſiſted by the valour of his ſon Trathal, entirely broke the power of the Druids.
+
+
+
Trenmor and Trathal, Oſſian introduced this epiſode, as an example to his ſon, from ancient
+ times.
+
+
Thoſe who deliver down this poem in tradition, lament that there is a great part of it loſt.
+ In particular they regret the loſs of an epiſode, which was here introduced, with the ſequel of
+ the ſtory of Carmal and his Druids. Their attachment to it was founded on the deſcriptions of
+ magical inchantments which it contained.
+
+
The expedition of Oſſian to Inis-huna happened a ſhort time before Fingal paſſed over into
+ Ireland, to dethrone Cairbar the ſon of Borbar-duthul. Cathmor, the brother of Cairbar, was
+ aiding Conmor, king of Inis-huna, in his wars, at the time that Oſſian defeated Duth-carmor, in
+ the valley of Rath-col, The poem is more intereſting, that it contains ſo many particulars
+ concerning thoſe perſonages, who make ſo great a figure in Temora.
+
The exact correſpondence in the manners and cuſtoms of Inis-huna, as here deſcribed, to thoſe
+ of Caledonia, leaves no room to doubt, that the inhabitants of both were originally the ſame
+ people. Some may allege, that Oſſian might transfer, in his poetical deſcriptions, the manners
+ of his own nation to foreigners. This objection is eaſily anſwered. Why has he not done this
+ with regard to the inhabitants of Scandinavia? We find the latter very different in their
+ cuſtoms and ſuperſtitions from the nations of Britain and Ireland. The Scandinavian manners are
+ remarkably barbarous and fierce, and ſeem to mark out a nation much leſs advanced in a ſtate of
+ civilization, than the inhabitants of Britain were in the times of Oſſian.
+
+
Sul-malla here diſcovers the quality of Oſſian and Oſcar, from their ſtature and ſtately
+ gait. Among nations, not far advanced in civilization, a ſuperior beauty and ſtatelineſs of
+ perſon were inſeparable from nobility of blood. It was from theſe qualities, that thoſe of
+ family were known by ſtrangers, not from tawdry trappings of ſtate injudiciouſly thrown round
+ them. The cauſe of this diſtinguiſhing property, muſt, in ſome meaſure, be aſcribed to their
+ unmixed blood. They had no inducement to intermarry with the vulgar: and no low notions of
+ intereſt made them deviate from their choice, in their own ſphere. In ſtates, where luxury has
+ been long eſtabliſhed, beauty of perſon is, by no means, the characteriſtic of antiquity of
+ family. This muſt be attributed to thoſe enervating vices, which are inſeparable from luxury and
+ wealth. A great family, (to alter a little the words of the hiſtorian) it is true, like a river,
+ becomes conſiderable from the length of its courſe, but, as it rolls on, hereditary diſtempers,
+ as well as property, flow ſucceſively into it.
+
+
Too partial to our own times, we are ready to mark out remote antiquity, as the region of
+ ignorance and barbariſm. This, perhaps, is extending our prejudices too far, It has been long
+ remarked, that knowlege, in a great meaſure, is founded on a free intercourſe between mankind ;
+ and that the mind is enlarged in proportion to the obſervations it has made upon the manners of
+ different men and nations. If we look, with attention, into the hiſtory of Fingal, as delivered
+ by Oſſian, we ſhall find that he was not altogether a poor ignorant hunter, confined to the
+ narrow corner of an iſland. His expeditions to all parts of Scandinavia, to the north of
+ Germany, and the different ſtates of Great Britain and Ireland, were very numerous, and
+ performed under ſuch a character, and at ſuch times, as gave him an opportunity to mark the
+ undiſguiſed manners of mankind. War and an active life, as they call forth, by turns, all the
+ powers of the ſoul, preſent to us the different characters of men: in times of peace and quiet,
+ for want of objects to exert them, the powers of the mind lie concealed, in a great meaſure, and
+ we ſee only artificial paſſions and manners. It is from this conſideration I conclude, that a
+ traveller of penetration could gather more genuine knowlege from a tour of ancient Gaul, than
+ from the minuteſt obſervation of all the artificial manners, and elegant refinements of modern
+ France.
+
+
Lormar was the ſon of Conmor, and the brother of Sulmalla. After the death of Conmor, Lormar
+ ſucceeded him in the throne.
+
+
Cathmor, the ſon of Barbar-duthul. It would appear, from the partiality with which Sul-malla
+ ſpeaks of that hero, that ſhe had ſeen him, previous to his joining her father's army ; tho'
+ tradition poſitively aſſerts, that it was, after his return, that ſhe fell in love with him.
+
+
+
I-thorno, ſays tradition, was an iſland of Scandinavia. In it, at a hunting party, met
+ Culgorm and Suran-dronlo, the kings of two neighbouring iſles. They differed about the honour of
+ killing a boar; and a war was kindled between them. From this epiſode we may learn, that the
+ manners of the Scandinavians were much more ſavage and cruel, than thoſe of Britain. It is
+ remarkable, that the names, introduced in this ſtory, are not of Galic original, which
+ circumſtance affords room to ſuppoſe, that it had its foundation in true hiſtory.
+
+
From the circumſtance of Oſſian not being preſent at the rites, deſcribed in the preceding
+ paragraph, we may ſuppoſe that he held them in contempt. This difference of ſentiment, with
+ regard to religion, is a ſort of argument, that the Caledonians were not originally a colony of
+ Scandinavians, as ſome have imagined. Concerning ſo remote a period, mere conjecture muſt ſupply
+ the place of argument and poſitive proofs.
+
+
Culporm and Suran dronlo. The combat of the kings and their attitude in death are hiphly
+ pictureſque, and expreſſive of that ferocity of manners, which diſtinguiſhed the northern
+ nations.
+
+
Tradition has handed down the name of this princeſs. The bards call her Runo-forlo, which has
+ no other ſort of title for being genuine, but its not being of Galic original ; a diſtinction,
+ which the bards had not the art to preſerve, when they feigned names for foreigners. The
+ highland ſenachies, who very often endeavoured to ſupply the deficiency, they thought they found
+ in the tales of Oſſian, have given us the continuation of the ſtory of the daughter of
+ Suran-dronlo. The cataſtrophe is ſo unnatural, and the circumſtances of it ſo ridiculouſly
+ pompous, that, for the ſake of the inventors, I ſhall conceal them.
+
The wildly beautiful appearance of Runo-forlo, made a deep impreſſion on a chief, ſome ages
+ ago, who was himſelf no contemptible poet. The ſtory is romantic, but not incredible, if we make
+ allowances for the lively imagination of a man of genius. Our chief ſailing, in a ſtorm, along
+ one of the iſlands of Orkney, ſaw a woman, in a boat, near the ſhore, whom he thought, as he
+ expreſſes it himſelf, as beautiful as a ſudden ray of the ſun, on the dark-heaving
+ deep. The verſes of Oſſian, on the attitude of Runo-forlo, which was ſo ſimilar to that of
+ the woman in the boat, wrought ſo much on his fancy, that he fell deſperately in love. The
+ winds, however, drove him from the coaſt, and, after a few days, he arrived at his reſidence in
+ Scotland. There his paſſion increaſed to ſuch a degree, that two of his friends, fearing the
+ conſequence, ſailed to the Orkneys, to carry to him the object of his deſire. Upon enquiry they
+ ſoon found the nymph, and carried her to the enamoured chief; but mark his ſurprize, when,
+ inſtead of a ray of the fun, he ſaw a ſkinny fiſherwoman, more than middle aged,
+ appearing before him. Tradition here ends the ſtory : but it may be eaſily ſuppoſed that the
+ paſſion of the chief ſoon ſubſided.
+
+
This is Branno, the father of Everallin, and grandfather to Oſcar; he was of Iriſh
+ extraction, and lord of the country round the lake of Lego. His great actions are handed down by
+ tradition, and his hoſpitality has paſſed into a proverb.
+
+
Leather thongs were uſed among the Celtic nations, inſtead of ropes.
+
+
Cormalo had reſolved on a war againſt his father in law Annir king of Inis-thona, in order to
+ deprive him of his kingdom : the injuſtice of his deſigns was ſo much reſented by Fingal, that
+ he ſent his grandſon, Oſcar, to the aſſiſtance of Annir. Both armies came ſoon to a battle, in
+ which the conduct and valour of Oſcar obtained a compleat victory. An end was put to the war by
+ the death of Cormalo, who fell in a ſingle combat, by Oſcar's hand. Thus is the ſtory delivered
+ down by tradition ; though the poet, to raiſe the character of his ſon, makes Oſcar himſelf
+ propoſe the expedition.
+
+
To rejoice in the ſhell is a phraſe for feaſting ſumptuouſly and drinking freely.
+
+
+
The notion of Oſſian concerning the ſtate of the deceaſed, was the ſame with that of the
+ ancient Greeks and Romans. They imagined that the ſouls purſued, in their ſeparate ſtate, the
+ employments and pleaſures of their former life.
+
+
Lano was a lake of Scandinavia, remarkable, in the days of Oſſian, for emitting a
+ peſtilential vapour in autumn. And thou, O valiant Duchomar, like the miſt of marſhy
+ Lano ; when it ſails ever the plains of autumn, and brings death to the hoſt.Fingal, B. I.
+
+
By the honour of the ſpear is meant the tournament practiſed among the ancient
+ northern nations.
+
+
Alpin is from the ſame root with Albion, or rather Albin, the ancient name of Britain; Alp,
+ high Iſland, or country. The preſent name of our iſland has its origin in the
+ Celtic tongue; ſo that thoſe who derived it from any other, betrayed their ignorance of the
+ ancient language of our country. Brait or Braid, extenſive; and in,
+ land.
+
+
Oſſian introduces Minona, not in the ideal ſcene in his own mind, which he had deſcribed ;
+ but at the annual feaſt of Selma, where the bards repeated their works before Fingal.
+
+
Sealg-'er, a hunter.
+
+
Cul math, a woman with fine hair.
+
+
Mór-ér, great man.
+
+
Torman, the ſon of Carthul, lord of I-mora, one of the weſtern iſles.
+
+
Armin, a hero. He was chief or petty king of Gorma, i. e. the blue iſland, ſuppoſed
+ to be one of the Hebrides.
+
+
Cear-mór, a tall dark-complexioncd man.
+
+
Fuar-a, cold iſland.
+
+
By the ſon of the rock the poet means the ecchoing back of the human voice from a
+ rock. The vulgar were of opinion, that this repetition of ſound was made by a ſpirit within the
+ rock ; and they, on that account called it mac talla; the ſon who dwells in the rock.
+
+
+
The poet here only means that Erath was bound with leathern thongs.
+
+
Oſſian is ſometimes poetically called the voice of Cona.
+
+
Cuthullin the ſon of Semo and grandſon to Caithbat a druid celebrated in tradition for his
+ wiſdom and valour. Cuthullin when very young married Bragela the daughter of Sorglan, and
+ paſſing over into Ireland, lived for ſome time with Connal, grandſon by a daughter to Congal the
+ petty king of Ulſter. His wiſdom and valour in a ſhort time gained him ſuch reputation, that in
+ the minority of Cormac the ſupreme king of Ireland, he was choſen guardian to the young king,
+ and ſole manager of the war againſt Swaran king of Lochlin. After a ſeries of great actions he
+ was killed in battle ſomewhere in Connaught, in the twenty-ſeventh year of his age. He was ſo
+ remarkable for his ſtrength, that to deſcribe a ſtrong man it has paſſed into a proverb, “He has
+ the ſtrength of Cuthullin,” They ſhew the remains of his palace at Dunſcaich in the Iſle of Skye
+ ; and a ſtone to which he bound his dog Luath, goes ſtill by his name.
+
+
Cairbar or Cairbre, ſignifies a ſtrong man.
+
+
Cuthullin having previous intelligence of the invaſion intended by Swaran, ſent ſcouts a!l
+ over the coaſt of Ullin or Ulſter, to give early notice of the firſt appearance of the enemy, at
+ the ſame time that he ſent Munan the ſon of Stirmal to implore the aſſiſtance of Fingal. He
+ himſelf collected the flower of the Iriſh youth to Tura, a caſtle on the coaſt, to ſtop the
+ progreſs of the enemy till Fingal ſhould arrive from Scotland. We may conclude from Cuthullin's
+ applying ſo early for foreign aid, that the Iriſh were not then ſo numerous as they have ſince
+ been; which is a great preſumption againſt the high antiquities of that people. We have the
+ teſtimony of Tacitus that one legion only was thought ſufficient, in the time of Agricola, to
+ reduce the whole iſland under the Roman yoke ; which would not probably have been the caſe had
+ the iſland been inhabited for any number of centuries before.
+
+
Moran ſignifies many; and Fithil, or rather Fili, an inferior bard.
+
+
Fingal the ſon of Comhal and Morna the daughter of Thaddu. His grandfather was Trathal, and
+ great grandfather Trenmor, both of whom are often mentioned in the poem.
+
+
Meal-mór, a great hill.
+
+
Cabait, or rather Cathbait, grandfather to the hero, was ſo remarkable for his valour, that
+ his ſhield was made uſe of to alarm his poſterity to the battles of the family. We find Fingal
+ making the ſame uſe of his own ſhield in the 4th book. A horn was the moſt common inſtrument to
+ call the army together.
+
+
Cu raoch ſignifies the madneſs of battle.
+
+
Cruth-geal, fair-complexioned.
+
+
Cu-thón, the mournful ſound of waves.
+
+
Crom-leach ſignified a place of worſhip among the Druids. It is here the proper name of a
+ hill on the coaſt of Ullin or Ulſter.
+
+
Ireland ſo called from a colony that ſettled there called Falans. Innis-fail, the iſland of
+ the Fa-il or Falans.
+
+
Connal, the friend of Cuthullin, was the ſon of Caithbait prince of the Tongorma or the
+ iſland of blue waves, probably one of the Hebrides. His mother was Fioncoma the
+ daughter of Congal. He had a ſon by Foba of Conachar-neſſar, who was afterwards petty king of
+ Ulſter. For his ſervices in the war againſt Swaran he had lands conferred on him, which, from
+ his name, were called Tir-chonnuil or Tir-connel, i. e. the land of Connal.
+
+
Erin, a name of Ireland; from ear or iar Weſt, and in an iſland.
+ This name was not always confined to Ireland, for there is the higheſt probability that the
+ Ierne of the ancients was Britain to the North of the Forth. For Ierne is ſaid to be to
+ the North of Britain, which could not be meant of Ireland. Strabo, I, 2,
+ & 4. Casaub.l.1.
+
+
Cálm-er, a ſtrong man.
+
+
The Galic name of Scandinavia in general.
+
+
The Orkney iſlands.
+
+
Dubhchomar, a black well made man.
+
+
Fear-guth, the man of the word; or a commander of an army.
+
+
This paſſage alludes to the manner of burial among the ancient Scots. They opened a grave ſix
+ or eight feet deep : the bottom was lined with fine clay: and on this they laid the body of the
+ deceaſed, and, if a warrior, his ſword, and the heads of twelve arrows by his ſide. Above they
+ laid another ſtratum of clay, in which they placed the horn of a deer, the ſymbol of hunting.
+ The whole was covered with a fine mold, and four ſtones placed on end to mark the extent of the
+ grave. Theſe are the four ſtones alluded to here.
+
+
Muirne, or Morna, a woman beloved by all.
+
+
Torman, thunder. This is the true origin of the Jupiter Taramis of the
+ ancients.
+
+
She alludes to his name, the dark man.
+
+
Moina, ſoft in temper and perſon.
+
+
It was the opinion then, as indeed it is to this day, of ſome of the Highlanders, that the
+ ſouls of the deceaſed hovered round their living friends; and ſometimes appeared to them when
+ they were about to enter on any great undertaking.
+
+
Sithallin ſignifies a handſome man; Fiona, a fair maid; and Ardan,
+ pride.
+
+
The Iſle of Sky ; not improperly called the iſle of miſt, as its high hills, which
+ catch the clouds from the weſtern ocean, occaſion almoſt continual rains.
+
+
One of Cuthullin's horſes. Dubhſtron gheal.
+
+
Sith-fadda, i. e. a long ſtride.
+
+
The maid of Iniſtore was the daughter of Gorlo king of Iniſtore or Orkney iſlands.
+ Trenar was brother to the king of Iniſcon, ſuppoſed to be one of the iſlands of Shetland. The
+ Orkneys and Shetland were at that time ſubject to the king of Lochlin. We find that the dogs of
+ Trenar are ſenſible at home of the death of their maſter, the very inſtant he is killed. It was
+ the opinion of the times, that the ſouls of heroes went immediately after death to the hills of
+ their country, and the ſcenes they frequented the moſt happy time of their life. It was thought
+ too that dogs and horſes ſaw the ghoſts of the deceaſed.
+
+
The ancient manner of preparing feaſts after hunting, is handed down by tradition. A pit
+ lined with ſmooth ſtones was made ; and near it ſtood a heap of ſmooth flat ſtones of the flint
+ kind. The ſtones as well as the pit were properly heated with heath. Then they laid ſome veniſon
+ in the bottom, and a ſtratum of the ſtones above it; and thus they did alternately till the pit
+ was full, The whole was covered over with heath to confine the ſteam. Whether this is probable I
+ cannot ſay ; but ſome pits are ſhewn, which the vulgar ſay, were uſed in that manner.
+
+
Cean-ſeana, i. e, the head of the people.
+
+
The Cona here mentioned is that ſmall river that runs through Glenco in Argyleſhire. One of
+ the hills which environ that romantic valley is ſtill called Scornafena, or the hill of Fingal's
+ people.
+
+
This epiſode is introduced with propriety. Calmar and Connal, two of the Iriſh heroes, had
+ diſputed warmly before the battle about engaging the enemy, Carril endeavours to reconcile them
+ with the ſtory of Cairbar and Grudar ; who, tho' enemies before, fought ſide by ſide in
+ the war, The poet obtained his aim, for we find Calmar and Connal perfectly reconciled in the
+ third book.
+
+
Golb-bhean, as well as Cromleach, ſignifies a crooked hill.
+
+
Lubar, a river in Ulſter. Labhar, loud, noiſy.
+
+
Braſſolis ſignifies a woman with a white breaſt.
+
+
It was long the opinion of the ancient Scots, that a ghoſt was heard ſhrieking near the place
+ where a death was to happen ſoon after. The accounts given, to this day, among the vulgar, of
+ this extraordinary matter, are very poetical. The ghoſt comes mounted on a meteor, and ſurrounds
+ twice or thrice the place deſtined for the perſon to die; and then goes along the road through
+ which the funeral is to paſs, ſhrieking at intervals; at laſt, the meteor and ghoſt diſappear
+ above the burial place.
+
+
The ſcene here deſcribed will appear natural to thoſe who have been in the highlands of
+ Scotland, The poet removes him to a diſtance from the army, to add more horror to the
+ deſcription of Crugal's ghoſt by the lonelineſs of the place.
+
+
The poet teaches us the opinions that prevailed in his time concerning the fate of ſeparate
+ ſouls. From Connal's expreſſion, “That the ſtars dim-twinkled through the form of Crugal,” and
+ Cuthullin's reply, we may gather that they both thought the ſoul was material, ſomething like
+ the εἰδωλον of the ancient Greeks.
+
+
The ancient Scots, as well as the preſent Highlanders, drank in ſhells: ; hence it is that we
+ ſo often meet, in the old poetry, with the chief of ſhells, and the halls of
+ ſhells.
+
+
Crugal had married Degrena but a little time before the battle, conſequently ſhe may with
+ propriety be called a ſtranger in the hall of her grief.
+
+
Deo-gréna ſignifies a ſun bean.
+
+
A place in Ulſter.
+
+
The ſecond night, ſince the opening of the poem, continues ; and Cuthullin, Connal, and
+ Carril ſtill ſit in the place deſcribed in the preceding book. The ſtory of Agandecca is
+ introduced here with propriety, as great uſe is made of it in the courſe of the poem, and as
+ it, in ſome meaſure, brings about the cataſtrophe.
+
Starno was the father of Swaran as well as Agandecca. His fierce and cruel character is well
+ marked in other poems concerning the times.
+
+
This paſſage moſt certainly alludes to the religion of Lochlin, and the ſtone of
+ power here mentioned is the image of one of the deities of Scandinavia.
+
+
All the North-weſt coaſt of Scotland probably went of old under the name of Morven, which
+ ſignifies a ridge of very high hills.
+
+
This is the only paſſage in the poem that has the appearance of religion. But Cuthullin's
+ apoſtrophe to this ſpirit is accompanied with a doubt, ſo that it is not eaſy to determine
+ whether the hero meant a ſuperior being, or the ghoſts of deceaſed warriors, who were ſuppoſed
+ in thoſe times to rule the ſtorms, and to tranſport themſelves in a guſt of wind from one
+ country to another.
+
+
What the Craca here mentioned was, is not, at this diſtance of time, eaſy to determine. The
+ moſt probable opinion is, that it was one of the Shetland iſles. There is a ſtory concerning a
+ daughter of the king of Craca in the ſixth book.
+
+
Gaul, the ſon of Morni, was chief of a tribe that diſputed long, the pre-eminence, with
+ Fingal himſelf. They were reduced at laſt to obedience, and Gaul, from an enemy, turned Fingal's
+ beſt friend and greateſt hero, His character is ſomething like that of Ajax in the Iliad ; a
+ hero of more ſtrength than conduct in battle. He was very fond of military fame, and here he
+ demands the next battle to himſelf. The poet, by an artifice, removes Fingal, that his return
+ may be the more magnificent.
+
+
The poet prepares us for the dream of Fingal in the next book.
+
+
Fingal being aſleep, and the action ſuſpended by night, the poet introduces the ſtory of his
+ courtſhip of Evirallin the daughter of Branno, The epiſode is neceſſary to clear up ſeveral
+ paſſages that follow in the poem; at the ſame time that it naturally brings on the action of the
+ book, which may be ſuppoſed to begin about the middle of the third night from the opening of the
+ poem. This book, as many of Oſſian's other compoſitions, is addreſſed to the beautiful Malvina
+ the daughter of Toſcar. She appears to have been in love with Oſcar, and to have affected the
+ company of the father after the death of the ſon.
+
+
The poet returns to his ſubject. If one could fix the time of the year in which the action of
+ the poem happened, from the ſcene deſcribed here, I ſhould be tempted to place it in autumn. The
+ trees ſhed their leaves, and the winds are variable, both which circumſtances agree with that
+ ſeaſon of the year.
+
+
The cuſtom of encouraging men in battle with extempore rhyme, has been carried down almoſt to
+ our own times. Several of theſe war ſongs are extant, but the moſt of them are only a group of
+ epithets, without either beauty or harmony, utterly deſtitute of poetical merit.
+
+
Fingal's ſtandard was diſtinguiſhed by the name of ſunbeam ; probably on account of
+ its bright colour, and its being ſtudded with gold. To begin a battle is expreſſed, in old
+ compoſition, by lifting of the ſun beam.
+
+
Lamh-dhearg ſignifies bloody hand. Gelchoſſa, white legged. Tuathal,
+ ſurly. Ulfadda, long beard. Ferchios, the conqueror of men.
+
+
Bran is a common name of grey-hounds to this day. It is a cuſtom in the north of Scotland, to
+ give the names of the heroes mentioned in this poem, to their dogs; a proof that they are
+ familiar to the ear, and their fame generally known.
+
+
Allad is a druid: he is called the ſon of the rock, from his dwelling in a cave; and the
+ circle of ſtones here mentioned is the pale of the druidical temple. He is here conſulted as one
+ who had a ſupernatural knowlege of things ; from the druids, no doubt, came the ridiculous
+ notion of the ſecond ſight, which prevailed in the highlands and iſles.
+
+
The ancient Celtæ brewed beer, and they were no ſtrangers to mead. Several ancient poems
+ mention wax lights and wine as common in the halls of Fingal. The Caledonians in their frequent
+ incurſions to the province might become acquainted with thoſe conveniencies of life, and
+ introduce them into their own country, among the booty which they carried from South Britain.
+
+
+
Trenmor was great grandfather to Fingal. The ſtory is introduced to facilitate the diſmiſſion
+ of Swaran.
+
+
This paſſage alludes to the religion of the king of Craca.
+
+
This is the only paſſage in the poem, wherein the wars of Fingal againſt the Romans are
+ alluded to: the Roman emperor is diſtinguiſhed in old compoſition by the title of king of
+ the world.
+
+
Connan was of the family of Morni. He is mentioned in ſeveral other poems, and always
+ appears, with the ſame character. The poet paſſed him over in ſilence till now, and his
+ behaviour here deſerves no better uſage.
+
+
The practice of ſinging when they row is univerſal among the inhabitants of the northweſt
+ coaſt of Scotland and the iſles. It deceives time, and inſpirits the rowers.
+
+
It is ſaid by tradition, that it was the intelligence of Lathmon's invaſion, that occaſioned
+ Fingal's return from Ireland; though Oſſian, more poetically, aſcribes the cauſe of Fingal's
+ knowlege to his dream.
+
+
He alludes to a battle wherein Fingal had defeated Lathmon.
+
+
Morni was chief of a numerous tribe, in the days of Fingal, and his father Comhal. The laſt
+ mentioned hero was killed in battle againſt Morni's tribe; but the valour and conduct of Fingal
+ reduced them, at laſt, to obedience. We find the two heroes perfectly reconciled in this poem.
+
+
+
Stru'-moné, ſtream of the hill. Here the proper name of a rivulet in the
+ neighbourhood of Selma.
+
+
Oſſian ſpeaks. The contraſt between the old and young heroes is ſtrongly marked. The
+ circumſtance of the latter's drawing their ſwords is well imagined, and agrees with the
+ impatience of young ſoldiers, juſt entered upon action.
+
+
Ullin had choſen ill the ſubject of his ſong. The darkneſs which gathered on Morni's
+ brow, did not proceed from any diſlike he had to Comhal's name, though they were foes, but
+ from his fear that the ſong would awaken Fingal to a remembrance of the feuds which had
+ ſubſiſted of old between the families. Fingal's ſpeech on this occaſion abounds with generoſity
+ and good ſenſe.
+
+
Fingal,
+
+
Fingal and Morni,
+
+
Suil-mhath, a man of good eye ſight.,
+
+
Dubh-bhranna, dark mountain-ſtream. A river in Scotland, which falls into the ſea at
+ Banff, ſtill retains the name of Duvran. If that is meant in this paſſage, Lathmon muſt have
+ been a prince of the Pictiſh nation, or thoſe Caledonians who inhabited of old the eaſtern coaſt
+ of Scotland.
+
+
It was thought, in Oſſian's time, that each perſon had his attending ſpirit. The traditions
+ concerning this opinion are dark and unſatisfactory.
Cairbar, who murdered Cormac king of Ireland, and uſurped the throne. He was afterwards
+ killed by Oſcar the ſon of Oſſian in a ſingle combat. The poet, upon other occaſions, gives him
+ the epithet of red-haired,
+
+
Dar-thúla, or Dart-'huile, a woman with fine eyes. She was the moſt famous beauty of
+ antiquity. To this day, when a woman is praiſed for her beauty, the common phraſe is, that
+ ſhe is as lovely as Dar-thula.
+
+
The word ſignifies either beautiful to behold, or a place with a pleaſant or
+ wide proſpect. In early time, they built their houſes upon eminences, to command a view of
+ the country, and to prevent their being ſurprized: many of them, on that account, were called
+ Seláma. The famous Selma of Fingal is derived from the ſame root.
+
+
Cormac the young king of Ireland, who was privately murdered by Cairbar.
+
+
That is, of the love of Cairbar.
+
+
It was the cuſtom of ancient times, that every warrior at a certain age, or when he became
+ unfit for the field, fixed his arms, in the great hall, where the tribe feaſted, upon joyful
+ occaſions. He was afterwards never to appear in battle; and this ſtage of life was called the
+ time of fixing of the arms.
+
+
Lona, a marſhy plain. Cairbar had juſt provided an entertainment for his army, upon
+ the defeat of Truthil the ſon of Colla, and the reſt of the party of Cormac, when Colla and his
+ aged warriors arrived to give him battle.
+
+
The poet, by an artifice, avoids the deſcription of the battle of Lona, as it would be
+ improper in the mouth of a woman, and could have nothing new, after the numerous deſcriptions,
+ of that kind, in the reſt of the poems. He, at the ſame time, gives an opportunity to Dar-thula
+ to paſs a fine compliment on her lover.
+
+
Oſcar, the ſon of Oſſian, had long reſolved on the expedition, into Ireland, againſt Cairbar,
+ who had aſſaſſinated his friend Cathal, the ſon of Moran, an Iriſhman of noble extraction, and
+ in the intereſt of the family of Cormac.
+
+
Lamh-mhor, mighty hand.
+
+
Temora was the reſidence of the ſupreme kings of Ireland. It is here called mournful, on
+ account of the death of Cormac, who was murdered there by Cairbar who uſurped his throne.
+
+
Slis ſeamha, ſoft boſom. She was the wife of Uſtoth and daughter of Semo the chief of
+ the iſle of miſt.
+
+
Althos had juſt returned from viewing the coaſt of Lena, whither he had been ſent by Nathos,
+ the beginning of the night.
+
+
Cairbar had gathered an army, to the coaſt of Ulſter, in order to oppoſe Fingal, who prepared
+ for an expedition to Ireland to re-eſtabliſh the houſe of Cormac on the throne, which Cairbar
+ had uſurped. Between the wings of Cairbar's army was the bay of Tura, into which the ſhip of the
+ ſons of Uſnoth was driven: ſo that there was no poſſibility of their eſcaping.
+
+
Semo was grandfather to Nathos by the mother's ſide, The ſpear mentioned here was given to
+ Uſnoth on his marriage, it being the cuſtom then for the father of the lady to give his arms to
+ his ſon-in-law,
+
+
Uſnoth.
+
+
By the ſpirit of the mountain is meant that deep and melancholy ſound which precedes a ſtorm;
+ well known to thoſe who live in a high country.
+
+
He alludes to the flight of Cairbar from Selima,
+
+
Truthil was the ſounder of Dar-thula's family.
+
+
Togorma, i. e. the iſland of blue waves, one of the Hebrides, was ſubject to Connal,
+ the ſon of Caithbat, Cuthullin's friend. He is ſometimes called the ſon of Colgar, from one of
+ that name who was the founder of the family. Connal, a few days before the news of Torlath's
+ revolt, came to Temora, had ſailed to Togorma, his native iſle ; where he was detained by
+ contrary winds during the war in which Cuthullin was killed.
+
+
The royal palace of the Iriſh kings; Teamhrath, according to ſome of the bards.
+
+
The bards were the heralds of ancient times; and their perſons were ſacred on account of
+ their office. In later times they abuſed that privilege ; and as their perſons were inviolable,
+ they ſatyriſed and lampooned ſo freely thoſe who were not liked by their patrons, that they
+ became a public nuiſance. Screened under the character of heralds, they groſly abuſed the enemy
+ when he would not accept the terms they offered.
+
+
Cean-teola', head of a family.
+
+
Slia'mór, great hill.
+
+
Calmar, the ſon of Matha. His death is related at large in the third book of Fingal. He was
+ the only ſon of Matha ; and the family was extinct in him. The ſeat of the family was on the
+ banks of the river Lara, in the neighbourhood of Lego, and probably near the place where
+ Cuthullin lay ; which circumſtance ſuggeſted to him, the lamentation of Alclétha over her ſon.
+
+
+
Ald-cla'tha, decaying beauty : probably a poetical name given the mother of Calmar,
+ by the bard himſelf.
+
+
Alcletha ſpeaks. Calmar had promiſed to return, by a certain day, and his mother and his
+ ſiſter Alona are repreſented as looking, with impatience, towards that quarter where they
+ expected Calmar ſhould make his firſt appearance.
+
+
Alùine, exquiſitely beautiful.
+
+
Alcletha ſpeaks.
+
+
She addreſſes herſelf to Larnir, Calmar's friend, who had returned with the news of his
+ death.
+
+
Loda, in the third book of Fingal, is mentioned as a place of worſhip in Scandinavia : by the
+ ſpirit of Loda, the poet probably means Odin, the great deity of the northern nations.
+ He is deſcribed here with all his terrors.
+
+
Conloch, who was afterwards very famous for his great exploits in Ireland. He was ſo
+ remarkable for his dexterity in handling the javelin, that when a good markſman is deſcribed, it
+ has paſſed into a proverb, in the north of Scotland, He is unerring as the arm of
+ Conloch.
+
+
It was of old, the cuſtom to bury the favourite dog near the maſter. This was not peculiar to
+ the ancient Scots, for we find it practiſed by many other nations in their ages of heroiſm.
+ There is a ſtone ſhewn ſtill at Dunſcai in the iſle of Sky, to which Cuthullin commonly bound
+ his dog Luath. The ſtone goes by his name to this day.
+
+
This is the ſong of the bards over Cuthullin's tomb. Every ſtanza cloſes with ſome remarkable
+ title of the hero, which was always the cuſtom in funeral elegies.
+
+
Alluding to the religious hymns of the Culdees.
+
+
Erragon, or Ferg-thonn, ſignifies the rage of the waves ; probably a poetical name
+ given him by Oſſian himſelf ; for he goes by the name of Annir in tradition.
+
+
This was at Fingal's return from his war againſt Swaran.
+
+
Comhal the father of Fingal was ſlain in battle, againſt the tribe of Morni, the very day
+ that Fingal was born; ſo that he may, with propriety, be ſaid to have been born in the midſt
+ of battles.
+
+
Neart-mór, great ſtrength. Lora, noiſy.
+
+
Boſ-mhina, ſoft and tender hand. She was the youngeſt of Fingal's children.
+
+
Sanctified girdles, till very lately, were kept in many families in the north of Scotland;
+ they were bound about women in labour, and were ſuppoſed to alleviate their pains, and to
+ accelerate the birth. They were impreſſed with ſeveral myſtical figures, and the ceremony of
+ binding them about the woman's waiſt, was accompanied with words and geſtures which ſhewed the
+ cuſtom to have come originally from the druids.
+
+
The Roman emperors,
+
+
Fear-cuth, the ſame with Fergus, the man of the ſword,
+ or a commander of an army.
+
+
The poet addreſſes himſelf to the Culdee.
+
+
Be thou on a moon-beam, O Morna, near the window of my reſt ; when my thoughts are of peace;
+ and the din of arms is paſt. Fingal, B.I.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+
+
+
+
+
+ The Poems of Ossian : TEI edition
+
+ transcribed and encoded by
+ Lou Burnard
+
+
+
+ Prepared for Ossian Online (http://ossianonline.org/)
+
+
+
Distributed via the GitHub repository https://github.com/lb42/Ossian_1773
+
Ossian Online is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International
+ License
+
+
+ The poems of Ossian. Translated by James Macpherson esq... A new edition, carefully
+ corrected and greatly improvedLondonPrinted for W
+ Strahan and T. Becket in the Strand...MDCCLXXIIINYPL digital facsimile (Vol 1)NYPL digital facsimile (Vol 2)NLS digital facsimile (Vol 1)NLS digital facsimile (Vol 2)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
Spacing between punctuation marks and words has been retained, except for double quotes, and
+ foot note sigla. Linebreaks in the source have been removed. Long S and other unusual
+ characters preserved where a Unicode representation exists.
+
Decorative and functional features of the source copies have not been encoded and reproduced.
+ These include printers' ornaments and rules, running titles, catchwords, signature marks, and
+ press figures.
+
Half titles, present in the NYPL copy but not the NLS copy, have been retained.
+
+
+
+
End-of-line hyphenation silently removed where appropriate(not in cases where the hyphenation
+ would be preserved if occuring mid-line).
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+ encoded before the page-break in the XML file.
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+ as given in the source.
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+ English
+ Latin
+ Greek
+ Gaelic (Scottish)
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+ LB : initial upload : 2021-03-17
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+ THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.
+ TRANSLATED By JAMES MACPHERSON, Eſq:
+ IN TWO VOLUMES.
+ VOL. I.
+
+ A NEW EDITION, Carefully corrected, and greatly improved.
+ LONDON: Printed for W. Strahan; and T. Becket,
+ in the Strand, Bookſeller to their Royal Highneſſes the Prince of Wales and
+ Biſhop of Osnabrugh. MDCCLXXIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ PREFACE.
+
Without encreaſing his genius, the Author may have improved his language,
+ in the eleven years, that the following poems have been in the hands of the public. Errors in
+ diction might have been committed at twenty-four, which the experience of a riper age may remove;
+ and ſome exuberances in imagery may be reſtrained, with advantage, by a degree of judgment
+ acquired in the progreſs of time. Impreſſed with this opinion, he ran over the whole with
+ attention and accuracy ; and, he hopes, he has brought the work to a ſtate of correctneſs, which
+ will preclude all future improvements.
+
The eagerneſs, with which theſe Poems have been received abroad, are a
+ recompence for the coldneſs with which a few have affected to treat them at home. All the polite
+ nations of Europe have transferred them into their
+
+ reſpective languages; and they ſpeak of him, who brought them to light, in
+ terms that might flatter the vanity of one fond of fame. In a convenient indifference for a
+ literary reputation, the Author hears praiſe without being elevated, and ribaldry, without being
+ depreſſed. He has frequently ſeen the firſt beſtowed too precipitately; and the latter is ſo
+ faithleſs to its purpoſe, that it is often the only index to merit in the preſent age.
+
Though the taſte, which defines genius, by the points of the compaſs, is a
+ ſubject fit for mirth in itſelf, it is often a ſerious matter in the ſale of a work. When rivers
+ define the limits of abilities, as well as the boundaries of countries, a Writer may meaſure his
+ ſucceſs, by the latitude under which he was born. It was to avoid a part of this inconvenience,
+ that the Author is ſaid, by ſome, who ſpeak without any authority, to have aſcribed his own
+ productions to another name. If this was the caſe, he was but young in the art of deception. When
+ he placed the poet in
+
+ antiquity, the Tranſlator ſhould have been born on this ſide of the
+ Tweed.
+
These obſervations regard only the frivolous in matters of literature;
+ theſe, however, form a majority in every age and nation. In this country, men of genuine taſte
+ abound ; but their ſtill voice is drowned in the clamours of a multitude, who judge by faſhion of
+ poetry, as of dreſs. The truth is, to judge aright requires almoſt as much genius as to write
+ well; and good critics are as rare as great poets. Though two hundred thouſand Romans ſtood up,
+ when Virgil came into the Theatre, Varius only could correct the Æneid. He that obtains fame muſt
+ receive it through mere faſhion; and gratify his vanity with the applauſe of men, of whoſe
+ judgment he cannot approve.
+
The following Poems, it muſt be confeſſed, are more calculated to pleaſe
+ perſons of exquiſite feelings of heart, than thoſe who receive all their impreſſions by the ear.
+ The novelty of cadence, in what is called a proſe verſion, tho'
+
+ not deſtitute of harmony, will not to common readers ſupply the abſence of
+ the frequent returns of rhime. This was the opinion of the Writer himſelf, tho' he yielded to the
+ judgment of others, in a mode, which preſented freedom and dignity of expreſſion, inſtead of
+ fetters, which cramp the thought, whilſt the harmony of language is preſerved. His intention was
+ to publiſh in verſe. The making of poetry, like any other handicraft, may be learned by induſtry;
+ and he had ſerved his apprenticeſhip, though in ſecret, to the muſes,
+
It is, however, doubtful, whether the harmony which theſe poems might derive
+ from rhime, even in much better hands than thoſe of the tranſlator, could atone for the
+ ſimplicity and energy, which they would loſe. The determination of this point ſhall be left to
+ the readers of this preface. The following is the beginning of a poem, tranſlated from the Norſe
+ to the Gaëlic language ; and, from the latter, transferred into Engliſh. The verſe took little
+ more time to the writer than the proſe; and even he himſelf is doubtful, (if he
+
+ has ſucceeded in either) which of them is the moſt literal verſion.
+
+
Where Harold, with golden hair, ſpread o'er Lochlin
+
The Gaelic name of Scandinavia, or Scandinia,
his high commands; where, with
+ juſtice, he ruled the tribes, who ſunk, ſubdued, beneath his ſword ; abrupt riſes Gormal
+
The mountains of Sevo,
in ſnow ! The tempeſts roll dark on his ſides, but calm,
+ above, his vaſt forehead appears, White-iſſuing from the ſkirt of his ſtorms, the troubled
+ torrents pour down his ſides. Joining, as they roar along, they bear the Torno, in foam, to the
+ main.
+
Grey on the bank and far from men, halfcovered by ancient pines, from the
+ wind, a lonely pile exalts its head, long-ſhaken by the ſtorms of the north. To this fled Sigurd,
+ fierce in fight, from Harold the leader of armies, when fate had brightened his ſpear,
+
+
+ with renown: When he conquered in that rude field, where Lulan's warriors
+ fell in blood, or roſe, in terror, on the waves of the main. Darkly ſat the grey-haired chief;
+ yet ſorrow dwelt not in his ſoul. But when the warrior thought on the paſt, his proud heart
+ heaved again his ſide: Forth-flew his ſword from its place, he wounded Harold in all the
+ winds.
+
One daughter, and only one, but bright in form and mild of ſoul, the laſt
+ beam of the ſetting line, remained to Sigurd of all his race. His ſon, in Lulan's battle ſlain,
+ beheld not his father's flight from his foes. Nor finiſhed ſeemed the ancient line ! The ſplendid
+ beauty of bright-eyed Fithon, covered ſtill the fallen king with renown. Her arm was white like
+ Gormal's ſnow ; her boſom whiter than the foam of the main, when roll the waves beneath the wrath
+ of the winds. Like two ſtars were her radiant eyes, like two ſtars that riſe on the deep, when
+ dark tumult embroils the night. Pleaſant are their beams aloft, as ſtately they aſcend the
+ ſkies.
+
+
+ Nor Odin forgot, in aught, the maid. Her form ſcarce
+ equalled her lofty mind. Awe moved around her ſtately ſteps. Heroes loved—but ſhrunk away in
+ their fears. Yet midſt the pride of all her charms, her heart was ſoft, and her ſoul was kind.
+ She ſaw the mournful with tearful eyes. Tranſient darkneſs aroſe in her breaſt. Her joy was in
+ the chace. Fach morning, when doubtful light wandered dimly on Lulan's waves, ſhe rouzed the
+ reſounding woods, to Gormal's head of ſnow. Nor moved the maid alone, &c.
+
.
+ Where fair-hair'd Harold, o'er Scandinia reign'd
+ And held, with juſtice, what his valour gain'd,
+ Sevo, in ſnow, his rugged forehead rears
+ And, o'er the warfare of his ſtorms, appears
+ Abrupt and vaſt. — White-wandering down his ſide
+ A thouſand torrents, gleaming as they glide,
+ Unite below ; and pouring through the plain
+ Hurry the troubled Torno to the main.
+
+ Grey, on the bank, remote from human kind,
+ By aged pines, half ſhelter'd from the wind,
+ A homely manſion roſe, of antique form,
+ For ages batter'd by the polar ſtorm.
+ To this fierce Sigurd fled, from Norway's lord
+ When fortune ſettled, on the warrior's ſword,
+
+
+ In that rude field, where Suecia's chieſs were ſlain,
+ Or forced to wander o'er the Bothnic main.
+ Dark was his life, yet undiſturb'd with woes,
+ But when the memory of defeat aroſe
+ His proud heart ſtruck his ſide ; he graſpt the ſpear,
+ And wounded Harold in the vacant air.
+
+ One daughter only, but of form divine,
+ The laſt fair beam of the departing line,
+ Remain'd of Sigurd's race. His warlike ſon
+ Fell in the ſhock, which overturn'd the throne.
+ Nor deſolate the houſe ! Fionia's charms
+ Suſtain'd the glory, which they loſt in arms.
+ White was her arm, as Sevo's lofty ſnow,
+ Her boſom fairer, than the waves below,
+ When heaving to the winds. Her radiant eyes
+ Like two bright ſtars, exulting as they riſe,
+ O'er the dark tumult of a ſtormy night
+ And gladd'ning heav'n, with their majeſtic light,
+
+ In nought is Odin to the maid unkind
+ Her form ſcarce equals her exalted mind,
+ Awe leads her ſacred ſteps where'er they move,
+ And mankind worſhip, where they dare not love.
+ But, mix'd with ſoftneſs, was the virgin's pride,
+ Her heart had feelings, which her eyes deny'd.
+ Her bright tears ſtarted at another's woes,
+ While tranſient darkneſs on her ſoul aroſe.
+
+ The chace ſhe lov'd; when morn, with doubtful beam
+ Came dimly wandering o'er the Bothnic ſtream,
+ On Sevo's ſounding ſides, ſhe bent the bow,
+ And rouz'd his foreſts to his head of ſnow.
+ Nor mov'd the maid alone; &c.
+
+
+
+
+
One of the chief improvements, on this edition, is the care taken, in
+ arranging the poems in the order of time; ſo as to form a kind of regular hiſtory of the age to
+ which they relate. The writer has now reſigned them for ever to their fate. That they have been
+ well received by the public, appears from an extenſive ſale; that they ſhall continue to be well
+ received, he may venture to prophecy without the gift of that inſpiration, to which poets lay
+ claim. Through the medium of verſion upon verſion, they retain, in foreign languages, their
+ native character of ſimplicity and energy. Genuine poetry, like gold, loſes little, when properly
+ transfuſed ; but when a compoſition cannot bear the teſt of a literal verſion, it is a
+ counterfeit which ought not to paſs current. The operation muſt, however, be performed with
+ ſkilful hands. A tranſlator, who cannot equal his original, is incapable of expreſſing its
+ beauties.
+
London, Aug. 15, 1773
+
+
+
+
+
+ CONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
+
+ CATH-LODA,
+ Part Firſt — Page 1
+ Part Second, — 15;
+ Part Third, 27310
+
+ COMALA, — — — 37
+ CARRIC-THURA, — — 51
+ CARTHORN, — — — 75
+ OINA-MORUL, — — 97
+ COLNA-DONA, — — 105
+ OITHONA, — — 113
+ CROMA, — — 125
+ CALTHON and COLMAL, — 139
+ The WAR of CAROS, — 153
+ CATHLIN of CLUTHA, — 167
+ SUL-MALLA of LUMON, — 181
+ WAR of INIS-THONA, — 193
+ The SONGS of SELMA, — 203
+
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL,
+ Book I. — — 217
+ Book II. — — 243
+ Book III. — — 261
+ Book IV. — — 281
+ Book V. — — 299
+ Book VI. — — 315
+
+ LATHMON, — — 331
+ DAR-THULA, — — 351
+ DEATH of CUTHULLIN, 375
+ BATTLE of LORA, — — 391
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CATH-LODA: A POEM, DUAN FIRST.
+
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Fingal, when very young, making a voyage to the Orkney Iſlands, was
+ driven, by ſtreſs of weather, into a bay of Scandinavia, near the reſidence of Starno, king of
+ Lochlins. Starno invites Fingal to a feaſt, Fingal, doubting the faith of the king, and
+ mindful of a former breach of hoſpitality, refuſes to go.—Starno gathers together his tribes:
+ Fingal reſolves to defend himſelf. — Night coming on, Duth-maruno propoſes to Fingal, to
+ obſerve the motions of the enemy.— The king himſelf undertakes the watch. Advancing towards
+ the enemy, he, accidentally, comes to the cave of Turthor, where Starno had confined
+ Conban-carglas, the captive daughter of a neighbouring chief. — Her ſtory is imperfect, a part
+ of the original being loſt.— Fingal comes to a place of worſhip, where Starno and his ſon,
+ Swaran, conſulted the ſpirit of Loda, concerning the iſſue of the war.— The rencounter of
+ Fingal and Swaran.— Duän firſt concludes with a deſcription of the airy
+ hall of Cruth-loda ſuppoſed to be the Odin of Scandinavia.
+
+
+
+
+ CATH-LODA. DUAN
+
The bards diſtinguiſhed thoſe compoſitions, in which the narration is often interrupted, by
+ epiſodes and apoſtrophes, by the name of Duän. Since the extinction of the order of
+ the bards, it has been a general name for all ancient compoſitions in verſe. The abrupt manner
+ in which the ſtory of this poem begins, may render it obſcure to ſome readers ; it may not
+ therefore be improper, to give here the traditional preface, which is generally prefixed to
+ it. Two years after he took to wife Ros-crana, the daughter of Cormac, king of Ireland, Fingal
+ undertook an expedition into Orkney, to viſit his friend Cathulla, king of Iniſtore. After
+ ſtaying a few days at Caric-thura, the reſidence of Cathulla, the king ſet ſail, to return to
+ Scotland ; but, a violent ſtorm ariſing, his ſhips were driven into a bay of Scandinavia, near
+ Gormal, the ſeat of Starno, king of Lochlin, his avowed enemy. Starno, upon the appearance of
+ ſtrangers on his coaſt, ſummoned together the neighbouring tribes, and advanced, in a hoſtile
+ manner, towards the bay of U-thorno, where Fingal had taken ſhelter. Upon diſcovering who the
+ ſtrangers were, and fearing the valour of Fingal, which he had, more than once, experienced
+ before, he reſolved to accompliſh by treachery what he was afraid he ſhould fail in by open
+ force. He invited, therefore, Fingal to a feaſt, at which he intended to aſſaſſinate him, The
+ king prudently declined to go, and Starno betook himſelf to arms. The ſequel of the ſtory may
+ be learned from the poem itſelf.
FIRST.
+
A Tale of the times of old!
+
Why, thou wanderer unſeen! Thou bender of the thiſtle of Lora ; why, thou
+ breeze of the valley, haſt thou left mine ear ? I hear
+
+ no diſtant roar of ſtreams! No ſound of the harp, from the rock ! Come,
+ thou huntreſs of Lutha, Malvina, call back his ſoul to the bard. I look forward to Lochlin of
+ lakes, to the dark, billowy bay of U-thorno, where Fingal deſcends from Ocean, from the roar of
+ winds. Few are the heroes of Morven, in a land unknown !
+
Starno ſent a dweller of Loda, to bid Fingal to the feaſt; but the King
+ remembered the paſt, and all his rage aroſe, “Nor Gormal's moſſy towers, nor Starno ſhall
+ Fingal behold. Deaths wander, like ſhadows, over his fiery ſoul! Do I forget that beam of
+ light, the whitehanded daughter
+
Agandecca, the daughter of Starno, whom her father killed, on account of her diſcovering to
+ Fingal, a plot laid againſt his life, Her ſtory is related at large, in the third book of
+ Fingal.
+ of kings? Go, ſon of Loda; his words are wind to Fingal : wind, that, to and fro,
+ drives the thiſtle, in autumn's duſky
+
+ vale. Duth-maruno
+
Duth-maruno is a name very famous in tradition. Many of his great actions are handed down,
+ but the poems, which contained the detail of them, are long ſince loſt. He lived, it is
+ ſuppoſed, in that part of the north of Scotland, which is over againſt Orkney. Duth-maruno,
+ Cromma-glas, Struthmor, and Cormar, are mentioned, as attending Comhal, in his laſt battle
+ againſt the tribe of Morni, in a poem, which is ſtill preſerved. It is not the work of Oſſian
+ ; the phraſeology betrays it to be a modern compoſition. It is ſomething like thoſe trivial
+ compoſitions, which the Iriſh bards forged, under the name of Oſſian, in the fifteenth and
+ ſixteenth centuries. Duth-maruno ſignifies, black and ſteady; Cromma-glas,
+ bending and ſwarthy; Struthmor, roaring ſtream ; Cormar, expert at
+ ſea.
+ , arm of death ! Crommaglas, of iron ſhields! Struthmor, dweller of battle's wing !
+ Cormar, whoſe ſhips bound on ſeas, careleſs as the courſe of a meteor, on dark-rolling clouds!
+ Ariſe, around me, children of heroes, in a land unknown! Let each look on his ſhield, like
+ Trenmor, the ruler of wars. “Come down, thus Trenmor ſaid, thou dweller between the harps. Thou
+ ſhalt roll this ſtream away, or waſte with me in earth.”
+
Around the king they riſe in wrath. No words come forth : they ſeize their
+ ſpears. Each ſoul is rolled into itſelf. At length the ſudden clang is waked, on all their
+ echoing ſhields. Each takes his hill, by night; at intervals, they darkly ſtand. Unequal burſts
+ the hum of ſongs, between the roaring wind !
+
+
+
+
Broad over them roſe the moon !
+
In his arms, came tall Duth-maruno; he from Croma of rocks, ſtern hunter
+ of the boar ! In his dark boat he roſe on waves, when Crumthormo
+
Crumthormoth, one of the Orkney or Shetland iſlands, The name is not of Galic original. It
+ was ſubject to its own petty king, who is mentioned in one of Oſſian's poems.
+ awaked its woods. In the chace he ſhone, among foes: No fear was thine, Duthmaruno
+ !
+
“Son of daring Comhal, ſhall my ſteps be forward through night? From this
+ ſhield ſhall I view them, over their gleaming tribes? Starno king of lakes, is before me, and
+ Swaran, the foe of ſtrangers. Their words are not in vain, by Loda's ſtone of power. — Should
+ Duthmaruno not return, his ſpouſe is lonely, at home, where meet two roaring ſtreams, on
+ Crathmo-craulo's plain. Around are hills, with echoing woods, the ocean is rolling near. My ſon
+ looks on ſcreaming ſea-fowl, a young wanderer on the field. Give the head of a boar to Can-dona
+
Cean-daona, head of the people, the ſon of Duth-maruno. He became afterwards
+ famous, in the expeditions of Oſſian, after the death of Fingal. The traditional tales
+ concerning him are very numerous, and, from the epithet, in them, beſtowed on him (Candona
+ of boars) it would appear, that he applied himſelf to that kind of hunting, which his
+ father, in this paragraph, is ſo anxious to recommend to him. As I have mentioned the
+ traditional tales of the Highlands, it may not be improper here, to give ſome account of them.
+ After the expulſion of the bards, from the houſes of the chiefs, they, being an indolent race
+ of men, owed all their ſubſiſtence to the generoſity of the vulgar, whom they diverted with
+ repeating the compoſitions of their predeceſſors, and running up the genealogies of their
+ entertainers to the family of their chiefs. As this ſubject was, however, ſoon exhauſted, they
+ were obliged to have recourſe to invention, and form ſtories having no foundation in fact
+ which were ſwallowed, with great credulity, by an ignorant multitude. By frequent repeating,
+ the fable grew upon their hands, and, as each threw in whatever circumſtance he thought
+ conducive to raiſe the admiration of his hearers, the ſtory became, at laſt, ſo devoid of all
+ probability, that even the vulgar themſelves did nor believe it. They, however, liked the
+ tales ſo well, that the bards found their advantage in turning profeſſed tale makers. They
+ then launched out into the wildeſt regions of fiction and romance. I firmly believe, there are
+ more ſtories of giants, enchanted caſtles, dwarfs, and palfreys, in the Highlands, than in any
+ country in Europe. Theſe tales, it is certain, like other romantic compoſitions, have many
+ things in them unnatural, and, conſequently, diſguſtful to true taſte, but, I know not how it
+ happens, they command attention more than any other fictions I ever met with. The extreme
+ length of theſe pieces is very ſurpriſing, ſome of them requiring many days to repeat them,
+ but ſuch hold they take of the memory, that few circumſtances are ever omitted by thoſe who
+ have received them only from oral tradition : What is ſtill more amazing, the very language of
+ the bards is ſtill preſerved. It is curious to ſee, that the deſcriptions of magnificence,
+ introduced in theſe tales, is even ſuperior to all the pompous oriental fictions of the kind.
+
+ , tell him of his father's joy, when the
+
+ briſtly ſtrength of I-thorno rolled on his lifted ſpear. Tell him of my
+ deeds in war ! Tell where his father fell!''
+
+
+
“Nor forgetful of my fathers,” ſaid Fingal, “I have bounded over the ſeas. Theirs were the
+ times of danger, in the days of old. Nor ſettles darkneſs on me, before foes, tho' youthful in
+ my locks. Chief of Crathmo-craulo, the field of night is mine.”
+
Fingal ruſhed, in all his arms, wide-bounding over Turthor's ſtream, that ſent its ſullen
+ roar, by night, through Gormal's miſty vale. A moon-beam glittered on a rock; in the midſt,
+ ſtood a ſtately form; a form with floating locks, like Lochlin's white-boſomed maids. Unequal
+ are her ſteps, and ſhort. She throws a broken ſong on wind. At times ſhe toſſes her white arms
+ : for grief is dwelling in her ſoul.
+
“Torcul-Torno
+
Torcul-torno, according to tradition, was king of Crathlun, a diſtrict in Sweden. The river
+ Lulan ran near the reſidence of Torcul-torno. There is a river in Sweden, ſtill called Lula,
+ which is probably the ſame with Lulan. The war between Starno and Torcul-torno, which
+ terminated in the death of the latter, had its riſe at a hunting party. Starno being invited,
+ in a friendly manner, by Torcul-rorno, both Kings, with their followers, went to the mountains
+ of Stivamore, to hunt. A boar ruſhed from the wood before the kings, and Torcul-torno killed
+ it. Starno thought this behaviour a breach upon the privilege of gueſts, who were always,
+ honoured, as tradition expreſſes it, with the danger of the chace. A quarrel
+ aroſe, the kings came to battle, with all their attendants, and the party of Torcul-torno were
+ totally defeated, and he himſelf ſlain. Starno purſued his victory, laid waſte the diſtrict of
+ Crathlun, and, coming to the reſidence of Torcul torno, carried off, by force, Conban-carglas,
+ the beautiful daughter of his enemy. Her he confined in a cave, near the palace of Gormal,
+ where, on account of her cruel treatment, ſhe became diſtracted.
+
The paragraph, juſt now before us, is the ſong of Conbancarglas, at the time ſhe was
+ diſcovered by Fingal. It is in Lyric meaſure, and ſet to muſic, which is wild and ſimple, and
+ ſo inimitably ſuited to the ſituation of the unhappy lady, that few can hear it without tears.
+
+ , of aged locks !” ſhe ſaid, “where now are thy ſteps, by Lulan? Thou
+
+
+ haſt failed, at thine own dark ſtreams, father of Conban-cârgla ! But I
+ behold thee, chief of Lulan, ſporting by Loda's hall, when the dark-ſkirted night is rolled
+ along the ſky.—Thou, ſometimes, hideſt the moon, with thy ſhield. I have ſeen her dim, in
+ heaven. Thou kindleſt thy hair into meteors, and ſaileſt along the night. Why am I forgot, in
+ my cave, king of ſhaggy boars? Look, from the hall of Loda, on thy lonely daughter.”
+
“Who art thou,” ſaid Fingal, “voice of night ?”
+
She, trembling, turned away.
+
“Who art thou, in thy darkneſs ?”
+
She ſhrunk into the cave.
+
The king looſed the thong from her hands. He aſked about her fathers.
+
+
+
+
“Torcul-Torno,” ſhe ſaid, “once dwelt at Lulan's foamy ſtream : he
+ dwelt—but, now, in Loda's hall, he ſhakes the ſounding ſhell. He met Starno of Lochlin, in war
+ ; long fought the dark-eyed kings. My father fell, in his blood, blue-ſhielded Torcul-torno! By
+ a rock, at Lulan's ſtream, I had pierced the bounding roe. My white hand gathered my hair, from
+ off the ruſhing winds. I heard a noiſe. Mine eyes were up. My ſoft breaſt roſe on high. My ſtep
+ was forward, at Lulan, to meet thee, Torcul-torno ! It was Starno, dreadful king ! His red eyes
+ rolled on me in love. Dark waved his ſhaggy brow, above his gathered ſmile. Where is my father;
+ I ſaid, he that was mighty in war? Thou art left alone among foes, O daughter of Torcul-torno!
+ He took my hand. He raiſed the ſail. In this cave he placed me dark. At times, he comes, a
+ gathered miſt. He lifts, before me, my father's ſhield. But often paſſes a beam
+
By the beam of youth, it afterwards appears, that Conbancarglas means Swaran, the
+ ſon of Starno, with whom, during her confinement, ſhe had fallen in love.
+ of youth, far-diſtant from my cave. The ſon of Starno moves, in my ſight. He dwells
+ lonely in my ſoul.”
+
“Maid of Lulan,” ſaid Fingal, “white
+
+ handed daughter of grief! a cloud, marked with ſtreaks of fire, is
+ rolled along thy ſoul. Look not to that dark-robed moon ; look not to thoſe meteors of heaven.
+ My gleaming ſteel is around thee, the terror of thy foes! It is not the ſteel of the feeble,
+ nor of the dark in ſoul! The maids are not ſhut in our
+
From this contraſt, which Fingal draws, between his own nation, and the inhabitants of
+ Scandinavia, we may learn, that the former were much leſs barbarous than the latter. This
+ distinction is ſo much obſerved throughout the poems of Oſſian, that there can be no doubt,
+ that he followed the real manners of both nations in his own time. At the cloſe of the ſpeech
+ of Fingal, there is a great part of the original loſt.
+ caves of ſtreams. They toſs not their white arms alone. They bend, fair within their
+ locks, above the harps of Selma. Their voice is not in the deſart wild. We melt along the
+ pleaſing ſound !”
+
* * * * * *
+
Fingal, again, advanced his ſteps, wide thro' the boſom of night, to where
+ the trees of Loda ſhook amid ſqually winds. Three ſtones, with heads of moſs, are there; a
+ ſtream, with foaming courſe: and dreadful, rolled around them, is the dark-red cloud of Loda.
+ High from its top looked forward a ghoſt, half-formed of the ſhadowy ſmoak. He poured his
+ voice, at times, amidſt the roaring ſtream. Near,
+
+
+ bending beneath a blaſted tree, two heroes received his words : Swaran
+ of lakes, and Starno foe of ſtrangers. On their dun ſhields, they darkly leaned : their ſpears
+ are forward through night. Shrill ſounds the blaſt of darkneſs, in Starno's floating beard.
+
They heard the tread of Fingal. The warriors roſe in arms. “Swaran, lay
+ that wanderer low,” ſaid Starno, in his pride. “Take the ſhield of thy father. It is a rock in
+ war.”— Swaran threw his gleaming ſpear. It ſtood fixed in Loda's tree. Then came the foes
+ forward, with ſwords. They mixed their rattling ſteel. Through the thongs of Swaran's ſhield
+ ruſhed the blade
+
The ſword of Fingal, ſo called from its maker, Luno of Lochlin.
+ of Luno. The ſhield fell rolling on earth. Cleft the helmet
+
The helmet of Swaran. The behaviour of Fingal is always conſiſtent with that generoſity of
+ ſpirit which belongs to a hero. He takes no advantage of a foe diſarmed.
+ fell down. Fingal ſtopt the lifted ſteel. Wrathful ſtood Swaran, unarmed. He rolled his
+ ſilent eyes; he threw his ſword on earth. Then, ſlowly ſtalking over the ſtream, he whiſtled as
+ he went.
+
Nor unſeen of his father is Swaran. Starno turns away in wrath. His ſhaggy
+ brows wave dark, above his gathered rage. He ſtrikes Loda's
+
+ tree, with his ſpear. He raiſes the hum of ſongs. They come to the hoſt
+ of Lochlin, each in his own dark path; like two foam-covered ſtreams, from two rainy vales
+ !
+
To Turthor's plain Fingal returned. Fair roſe the beam of the eaſt. It ſhone on the ſpoils of
+ Lochlin in the hand of the king. From her cave came forth, in her beauty, the daughter of
+ Torcul-torno. She gathered her hair from wind. She wildly raiſed her ſong. The ſong of Lulan of
+ ſhells, where once her father dwelt. She ſaw Starno's bloody ſhield. Gladneſs roſe, a light, on
+ her face. She ſaw the cleft helmet of Swaran
+
Conban-carglas, from ſeeing the helmet of Swaran bloody in the hands of Fingal conjectured,
+ that that hero was killed. A part of the original is loſt, It appears, however, from the
+ ſequel of the poem, that the daughter of Torcultorno did not long ſurvive her ſurprize,
+ occaſioned by the ſuppoſed death of her lover. The deſcription of the airy hall of Loda (which
+ is ſuppoſed to be the ſame with that of Odin, the deity of Scandinavia) is more pictureſque
+ and deſcriptive, than any in the Edda, or other works of the northern Scalders.
+ . She ſhrunk, darkened, from Fingal.—“Art thou fallen, by thy hundred ſtreams, O love of
+ the mournful maid.”
+
U-Thorno, that riſeſt in waters! on whoſe ſide are the meteors of night! I
+ behold the dark moon deſcending, behind thy reſounding woods. On thy top dwells the miſty Loda:
+ the houſe of
+
+ the ſpirits of men! In the end of his cloudy hall, bends forward
+ Cruth-loda of ſwords. His form is dimly ſeen, amid his wavy miſt. His right-hand is on his
+ ſhield. In his left is the half-viewleſs ſhell. The roof of his dreadful hall is marked, with
+ nightly fires!
+
The race of Cruth-loda advance, a ridge of formleſs ſhades. He reaches the
+ ſounding ſhell, to thoſe who ſhone in war. But, between him and the feeble, his ſhield riſes, a
+ darkened orb. He is a ſetting meteor to the weak in arms. Bright, as a rainbow on ſtreams, came
+ Lulan's white-boſomed maid.
+
+
+
+
+ CATH-LODA: A POEM. DUAN SECOND
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
FINGAL returning, with day, devolves the command on Duthmaruno, who engages the enemy, and
+ drives them over the ſtream of Turthor. Having recalled his people, he congratulates
+ Duth-maruno on his ſucceſs, but diſcovers, that that hero had been mortally wounded in the
+ action. —Duthmaruno dies. Ulin, the bard, in honour of the dead, introduces the epiſode of
+ Colgorm and Strina-dona, which concludes this duan.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CATH-LODA: DUAN SECOND.
+
“Where art thou, ſon of the king,” ſaid dark-haired Duth-maruno ? “Where
+ haſt thou ſailed, young beam of Selma? He returns not, from the boſom of night ! Morning is
+ ſpread on U-thorno. In his miſt is the ſun, on his hill. Warriors, lift the ſhields, in my
+ preſence. He muſt not fall, like a fire from heaven, whoſe place is not marked on the ground.
+ He comes, like an eagle, from the ſkirt of his ſqually wind ! In his hand are the ſpoils of
+ foes. King of Selma, our ſouls were ſad !”
+
“Near us are the foes, Duth-maruno. They come forward, like waves in miſt,
+ when their foamy tops are ſeen, at times, above the low-ſailing vapour. The traveller ſhrinks
+ on his journey ; he knows not whither to fly. No trembling travellers are we ! Sons of heroes
+ call forth the ſteel. Shall the ſword of Fingal ariſe, or ſhall a warrior lead ?”
+
+
+
+
In this ſhort epiſode we have a very probable account given us, of the origin of monarchy
+ in Caledonia. The Caël or Gauls, who poſeſſed the countries to the north of the Firth
+ of Edinburgh, were, originally, a number of diſtinct tribes, or clans, each ſubject to its own
+ chief, who was free and independent of any other power. When the Romans invaded them, the
+ common danger might, perhaps, have induced thoſe reguli to join
+ together, but, as they were unwilling to yield to the command of one of their own number,
+ their battles were ill-conducted, and, conſequently, unſucceſsful. Trenmor was the firſt who
+ repreſented to the chiefs, the bad conſequences of carrying on their wars in this irregular
+ manner, and adviſed, that they themſelves ſhould alternately lead in battle. They did ſo, but
+ they were unſucceſsful. When it came to Trenmor's turn, he totally defeated the enemy, by his
+ ſuperior valour and conduct, which gained him ſuch an intereſt among the tribes, that he, and
+ his family after him, were regarded as kings; or to uſe the poet's expreſſion, the words
+ of power ruſhed forth from Selma of kings. The regal authority, however, except in time
+ of war, was but inconſiderable; for every chief, within his own diſtrict, was abſolute and
+ independent. From the ſcene of the battle in this epiſode, (which was in the valley of Crona,
+ a little to the north of Agricola's wall) I ſhould ſuppoſe, that the enemies of the
+ Caledonians were the Romans, or provincial Britons.
+ The deeds of old, ſaid Duth-maruno, are like paths to our eyes, O
+ Fingal. Broad-ſhielded Trenmor, is ſtill ſeen, amidſt his own dim years. Nor feeble was the
+ ſoul of the king. There, no dark deed wandered in ſecret. From their hundred ſtreams came the
+ tribes, to graſſy Colglancrona. Their chiefs were before them. Each ſtrove to lead the war.
+ Their ſwords were often half-unſheathed. Red rolled their eyes of rage.
+
+ Separate they ſtood, and hummed their ſurly ſongs. “Why ſhould they
+ yield to each other ? their fathers were equal in war.” Trenmor was there, with his people,
+ ſtately in youthful locks. He ſaw the advancing foe. The grief of his ſoul aroſe. He bade the
+ chiefs to lead, by turns : they led, but they were rolled away. From his own moſſy hill,
+ blue-ſhielded Trenmor came down. He led wide-ſkirted battle, and the ſtrangers failed. Around
+ him the dark-browed warriors came : they ſtruck the ſhield of joy. Like a pleaſant gale, the
+ words of power ruſhed forth from Selma of kings. But the chiefs led, by turns, in war, till
+ mighty danger roſe : then was the hour of the king to conquer in the field.
+
“Not unknown, ſaid Cromma-glaſs
+
In tradition, this Cromma glas makes a great figure in that battle which Comhal loſt,
+ together with his life, to the tribe of Morni. I have juſt now, in my hands, an Iriſh
+ compoſition, of a very modern date, as appears from the language, in which all the traditions,
+ concerning that deciſive engagement, are jumbled together. In juſtice to the merit of the
+ poem, I ſhould have here preſented to the reader a tranſlation of it, did not the bard mention
+ ſome circumſtances very ridiculous, and others altogether indecent. Morna, the wife of Comhal,
+ had a principal hand in all the tranſactions previous to the defeat and death of her huſband ;
+ ſhe, to uſe the words of the bard, who was the guiding ſtar of the women of Erin. The
+ bard, it is to be hoped, miſrepreſented the ladies of his country, for Morna's behaviour was,
+ according to him, ſo void of all decency and virtue, that it cannot be ſuppoſed, they had
+ choſen her for their guiding ſtar, The poem conſiſts of many ſtanzas. The language is
+ figurative, and the numbers harmonious ; but the piece is ſo full of anachroniſms, and ſo
+ unequal in its compoſition, that the author, moſt undoubtedly, was either mad, or drunk, when
+ he wrote it. It is worthy of being remarked, that Comhal is, in this poem, very often called,
+ Comhal na h'Albin, or Comhal of Albion, which ſufficiently
+ demonſtrates, that the allegations of Keating and O'Flaherty, concerning Fion
+ Mac-Comnal, are but of late invention.
+ of
+
+
+ ſhields, are the deeds of our fathers. But who ſhall now lead the war,
+ before the race of kings? Miſt ſettles on theſe four dark hills : within it let each warrior
+ ſtrike his ſhield. Spirits may deſcend in darkneſs, and mark us for the war.”
+
They went, each to his hill of miſt. Bards marked the ſounds of the
+ ſhields. Loudeſt rung thy boſs, Duth-maruno. Thou muſt lead in war!
+
Like the murmur of waters, the race of Uthorno came down. Starno led the
+ battle, and Swaran of ſtormy iſles. They looked forward from iron ſhields, like Cruth-loda
+ fiery-eyed, when he looks from behind the darkened moon, and ſtrews his ſigns on night. The
+ foes met by Turthor's ſtream. They heaved like ridgy waves. Their echoing ſtrokes are mixed.
+ Shadowy death flies over the hoſts. They were clouds of hail, with ſqually winds in their
+ ſkirts. Their
+
+ ſhowers are roaring together. Below them ſwells the dark-rolling
+ deep.
+
Strife of gloomy U-thorno, why ſhould I mark thy wounds ! Thou art with
+ the years that are gone ! thou fadeſt on my ſoul !
+
Starno brought forward his ſkirt of war, and Swaran his own dark wing. Nor
+ a harmleſs fire is Duth-maruno's ſword. Lochlin is rolled over her ſtreams. The wrathful kings
+ are loſt in thought. They roll their ſilent eyes, over the flight of their land. The horn of
+ Fingal was heard; the ſons of woody Albion returned. But many lay, by Turthor's ſtream, ſilent
+ in their blood.
+
Chief of Crathmo, ſaid the king, Duthmaruno, hunter of boars ! not
+ harmleſs returns my eagle, from the field of foes! For this white-boſomed Lanul ſhall brighten,
+ at her ſtreams; Candona ſhall rejoice, as he wanders in Crathmo's fields.
+
Colgorm
+
The family of Duth-maruno, it appears, came originally from Scandinavia, or, at leaſt, from
+ ſome of the northern Iles, ſubject, in chief, to the kings of Lochlin. The Highland ſenachies,
+ who never miſſed to make their comments on, and additions to, the works of Oſſian, have given
+ us a long liſt of the anceſtors of Duth maruno, and a particular account of their actions,
+ many of which are of the marvellous kind. One of the tale-makers of the north has choſen for
+ his hero, Starnmor, the father of Duth-maruno, and, conſidering the adventures thro' which he
+ has led him, the piece is neither diſagreeable, nor abounding with that kind of fiction, which
+ ſhocks credibility.
+ , replied the chief, was the firſt
+
+
+ of my race in Albion; Colgorm, the rider of ocean, thro' its watry
+ vales. He ſlew his brother in I-thorno
+
An iſland of Scandinavia,
+ : he left the land of his fathers. He choſe his place, in ſilence, by rocky
+ Crathmo-craulo. His race came forth, in their years; they came forth to war, but they always
+ fell. The wound of my fathers is mine, king of echoing iſles !
+
He drew an arrow from his ſide! He fell pale, in a land unknown. His ſoul
+ came forth to his fathers, to their ſtormy iſle. There they purſued boars of miſt, along the
+ ſkirts of winds. The chiefs ſtood ſilent around, as the ſtones of Loda, on their hill. The
+ traveller ſees them, through the twilight, from his lonely path. He thinks them the ghoſts of
+ the aged, forming future wars,
+
Night came down, on U-thorno. Still ſtood the chiefs in their grief. The
+ blaſt whiſtled by turns, thro' every warrior's hair. Fingal, at length, broke forth from the
+ thoughts of his ſoul. He called Ullin of harps, and bade the ſong to riſe. “No falling fire,
+ that is only ſeen, and then retires in night ; no
+
+ departing meteor was he that is laid ſo low. He was like the
+ ſtrong-beaming ſun, long rejoicing on his hill. Call the names of his fathers, from their
+ dwellings old !”
+
I-thorno
+
This epiſode is, in the original, extremely beautiful. It is ſet to that wild kind of
+ muſic, which ſome of the Highlanders diſtinguiſh, by the title of Fón Oimarra, or,
+ the Song of mermaids. Some part of the air is abſolutely infernal, but there are many
+ returns in the meaſure, which are inexpreſſibly wild and beautiful. From the genius of the
+ muſic, I ſhould think it came originally from Scandinavia, for the fictions delivered down
+ concerning the Oi-marra, (who are reputed the authors of the muſic) exactly
+ correſpond with the notions of the northern nations, concerning their diræ, or
+ goddeſſes of death, —Of all the names in this epiſode, there is none of a Galic
+ original, except Strina-dona, which signifies, the ſtrife of heroes.
+ , ſaid the bard, that riſeſt midſt ridgy ſeas! Why is thy head ſo gloomy, in the ocean's
+ miſt ? From thy vales came forth a race, fearleſs as thy ſtrong-winged eagles; the race of
+ Colgorm of iron ſhields, dwellers of Loda's hall.
+
In Tormoth's reſounding iſle, aroſe Lurthan, ſtreamy hill. It bent its
+ woody head over a ſilent vale. There, at foamy Cruruth's ſource, dwelt Rurmar, hunter of boars!
+ His daughter was fair as a ſun-beam, white-boſomed Strinadona !
+
Many a king of heroes, and hero of iron ſhields; many a youth of heavy
+ locks came to Rurmar's echoing hall. They came to woo the
+
+ maid, the ſtately huntreſs of Tormoth wild. But thou lookeſt careleſs
+ from thy ſteps, high-boſomed Strina-dona !
+
If on the heath ſhe moved, her breaſt was whiter than the down of Cana
+
The Cana is a certain kind of graſs, which grows plentiful in the heathy moraſſes
+ of the north. Its ſtalk is of the reedy kind, and it carries a tuft of down, very much
+ reſembling cotton. It is exceſſively white, and, conſequently often introduced by the bards,
+ in their ſimiles concerning the beauty of women.
+ ; if on the ſea-beat ſhore, than the foam of the rolling ocean. Her eyes were two ſtars
+ of light. Her face was heaven's bow in ſhowers. Her dark hair flowed round it, like the
+ ſtreaming clouds. Thou wert the dweller of ſouls, white-handed Strina-dona !
+
Colgorm came, in his ſhip, and Corcul-Suran, king of ſhells. The brothers
+ came, from I-thorno, to woo the ſun-beam of Tormoth wild. She ſaw them in their echoing ſteel.
+ Her ſoul was fixed on blue-eyed Colgorm. Ul-lochlin's
+
Ul-locklin, the guide to Lochlin ; the name of a ſtar.
+ nightly eye looked in, and ſaw the toſſing arms of Strina-dona.
+
Wrathful the brothers frowned. Their flaming eyes, in ſilence, met. They
+ turned away. They ſtruck their ſhields. Their hands were trembling on their ſwords. They ruſhed
+ into the ſtrife of heroes, for long-haired Strina-dona.
+
+
+
Corcul-suran fell in blood. On his iſle, raged the ſtrength of his father.
+ He turned Colgorm, from I-thorno, to wander on all the winds. In Crathmo-craulo's rocky field,
+ he dwelt by a foreign ſtream. Nor darkened the king alone, that beam of light was near, the
+ daughter of echoing Tormoth, white-armed Strina-dona
+
The continuation of this epiſode is juſt now in my hands ; but the language is ſo different
+ from, and the ideas ſo unworthy of, Oſſian, that I have rejected it, as an interpolation by a
+ modern bard.
+ .
+
+
+
+
+ CATH-LODA: A POEM. DUAN THIRD
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Oſſian, after ſome general reflections, deſcribes the ſituation of
+ Fingal, and the poſition of the army of Lochlin.—The converſation of Starno and Swaran.—The
+ epiſode of Corman-trunar and Foinar-bragal.—Starno, from his own example, recommends to
+ Swaran, to ſurprize Fingal, who had retired alone to a neighbouring hill. Upon Swaran's
+ refuſal, Starno undertakes the enterprize himſelf, is overcome, and taken priſoner, by
+ Fingal.—He is diſmiſſed, after a ſevere reprimand for his cruelty.
+
+
+
+
+
+ CATH-LODA: DUAN THIRD.
+
Whence is the ſtream of years? Whither do they roll along? Where have
+ they hid, in miſt, their many-coloured ſides ?
+
I look into the times of old, but they ſeem dim to Oſſian's eyes, like reflected moon-beams,
+ on a diſtant lake. Here riſe the red beams of war! There, ſilent, dwells a feeble race ! They
+ mark no years with their deeds, as ſlow they paſs along. Dweller between the ſhields ! thou
+ that awakeſt the failing ſoul! deſcend from thy wall, harp of Cona, with thy voices three !
+ Come with that which kindles the paſt : rear the forms of old, on their own dark-brown years
+ !
+
The bards, who were always ready to ſupply what they thought deficient in the poems of
+ Oſſian, have inſerted a great many incidents between the ſecond and third duän of
+ Cathloda. Their interpolations are ſo eaſily diſtinguiſhed from the genuine remains of Oſſian,
+ that it took me very little time to mark them out, and totally to reject them. If the modern
+ Scotch and Iriſh bards have ſhewn any judgment, it is in aſcribing their own compoſitions to
+ names of antiquity, for, by that means, they themſelves have eſcaped that contempt, which the
+ authors of ſuch futile performances muſt, neceſſarily, have met with, from people of true
+ taſte. I was led into this obſervation, by an Iriſh poem, juſt now before me. It concerns a
+ deſcent made by Swaran, king of Lochlin, on Ireland, and is the work, ſays the traditional
+ preface prefixed to it, of Oſſian Mac-Fion. It however appears, from ſeveral pious
+ ejaculations, that it was rather the compoſition of ſome good prieſt, in the fifteenth or
+ ſixteenth century, for he ſpeaks; with great devotion, of pilgrimage, and more particularly,
+ of the blue-eyed daughters of the convent. Religious, however, as this poet was, he
+ was not altogether decent, in the ſcenes he introduces between Swaran and the wife of
+ Congcullion, both of whom he repreſents as giants. It happening unfortunately, that
+ Congcullion was only of a moderate ſtature, his wife without heſitation, preferred
+ Swaran, as a more adequate match for her own gigantic ſize. From this fatal preference
+ proceeded ſo much miſchief, that the good poet altogether loſt ſight of his principal action,
+ and he ends the piece, with an advice to men, in the choice of their wives, which, however
+ good it may be, I ſhall leave concealed in the obſcurity of the original.
+ Uthorno, hill of ſtorms, I behold my race on thy ſide. Fingal is
+ bending, in night, over
+
+
+ Duth-maruno's tomb. Near him are the ſteps of his heroes, hunters of the
+ boar. By Turthor's ſtream the hoſt of Lochlin is deep in ſhades. The wrathful kings ſtood on
+ two hills ; they looked forward from their boſſy ſhields. They looked forward to the ſtars of
+ night, red-wandering in the weſt. Cruth-loda bends from high, like a formleſs meteor in clouds,
+ He ſends
+
+ abroad the winds, and marks them, with his ſigns. Starno foreſaw, that
+ Morven's king was not to yield in war.
+
He twice ſtruck the tree in wrath. He ruſhed before his ſon. He hummed a
+ ſurly ſong ; and heard his hair in wind. Turned
+
The ſurly attitude of Starno and Swaran is well adapted to their fierce and uncomplying
+ diſpoſitions. Their characters, at firſt ſight, ſeem little different ; but, upon examination,
+ we find that the poet has dexterouſly diſtinguiſhed between them. They were both dark,
+ ſtubborn, haughty and reſerved ; but Starno was cunning, revengeful, and cruel, to the higheſt
+ degree; the diſpoſition of Swaran, though ſavage, was leſs bloody, and ſomewhat tinctured with
+ generoſity. It is doing injuſtice to Oſſian, to ſay, that he has not a great variety of
+ characters.
+ from one another, they ſtood, like two oaks, which different winds had bent; each hangs
+ over its own loud rill, and ſhakes its boughs in the courſe of blaſts.
+
“Annir,” ſaid Starno of lakes, “was a fire that conſumed of old. He poured
+ death from his eyes, along the ſtriving fields. His joy was in the fall of men. Blood, to him,
+ was a ſummer ſtream, that brings joy to withered vales, from its own moſſy rock. He came forth
+ to the lake Luth-cormo, to meet the tall Colman-trunar, he from Urlor of ſtreams, dweller of
+ battle's wing.”
+
+
+
“The chief of Urlor had come to Gormal, with his dark-boſomed ſhips. He
+ ſaw the daughter of Annir, white-armed Foina-brâgal. He ſaw her ! Nor careleſs rolled her eyes,
+ on the rider of ſtormy waves. She fled to his ſhip in darkneſs, like a moon-beam thro' a
+ nightly vale. Annir purſued along the deep; he called the winds of heaven. Nor alone was the
+ king ! Starno was by his ſide. Like U-thorno's young eagle, I turned my eyes on my father.
+
We ruſhed into roaring Urlor. With his people came tall Corman-trunar. We fought ; but the
+ foe prevailed. In his wrath my father ſtood. He lopped the young trees, with his ſword. His
+ eyes rolled red in his rage. I marked the ſoul of the king, and I retired in night. From the
+ field I took a broken helmet : a ſhield that was pierced with ſteel : pointleſs was the ſpear
+ in my hand. I went to find the foe.
+
On a rock ſat tall Corman-trunar, beſide his burning oak ; and near him,
+ beneath a tree, ſat deep-boſomed Foina-brâgal. I threw my broken ſhield before her. I ſpoke the
+ words of peace. “Beſide his rolling ſea, lies Annir of many lakes. The king was pierced in
+ battle ; and Starno is to raiſe his tomb. Me, a ſon of Loda, he ſends
+
+ to white-handed Foina, to bid her ſend a lock from her hair, to reſt
+ with her father, in earth. And thou king of roaring Urlor, let the battle ceaſe, till Annir
+ receive the ſhell, from fiery-eyed Cruth-loda.
+
Oſſian is very partial to the fair ſex. Even the daughter of the cruel Annir, the ſiſter of
+ the revengeful and bloody Starno, partakes not of thoſe diſagreeable characters ſo peculiar to
+ her family. She is altogether tender and delicate. Homer, of all ancient poets, uſes the ſex
+ with leaſt ceremony. His cold contempt is even worſe, than the downright abuſe of the moderns
+ ; for to draw abuſe implies the poſſeſſion of ſome merit.
+ Bursting into tears, ſhe roſe, and tore a lock from her hair; a
+ lock, which wandered, in the blaſt, along her heaving breaſt. Corman-trunar gave the ſhell; and
+ bade me to rejoice before him, I reſted in the ſhade of night; and hid my face in my helmet
+ deep. Sleep deſcended on the foe. I roſe, like a ſtalking ghoſt. I pierced the ſide of
+ Cormantrunar. Nor did Foina-bragal eſcape. She rolled her white boſom in blood,
+
Why then, daughter of heroes, didſt thou wake my rage ?
+
Morning roſe. The foe were fled, like the departure of miſt. Annir ſtruck
+ his boſſy ſhield. He called his dark-haired ſon. I came, ſtreaked with wandering blood; thrice
+ roſe the
+
+ ſhout of the king, like the burſting forth of a ſquall of wind, from a
+ cloud, by night. We rejoiced, three days, above the dead, and called the hawks of heaven. They
+ came, from all their winds, to feaſt on Annir's foes. Swaran! Fingal is alone
+
Fingal, according to the cuſtom of the Caledonian kings, had retired to a hill alone, as he
+ himſelf was to reſume the command of the army the next day. Starno might have ſome
+ intelligence of the king's retiring, which occaſions his requeſt to Sweran, to ſtab him ; as
+ he foreſaw, by his art of divination, that he could not overcome him in open battle.
+ , on his hill of night. Let thy ſpear pierce the king in ſecret; like Annir, my ſoul
+ ſhall rejoice.
+
“Son of Annir,” ſaid Swaran, “I ſhall not ſlay in ſhades. I move forth in
+ light : the hawks ruſh from all their winds. They are wont to trace my courſe : it is not
+ harmleſs thro' war.”
+
Burning roſe the rage of the king. He thrice raiſed his gleaming ſpear.
+ But, ſtarting, he ſpared his ſon; and ruſhed into the night. By Turthor's ſtream a cave is
+ dark, the dwelling of Conban-carglas. There he laid the helmet of kings, and called the maid of
+ Lulan, but ſhe was diſtant far, in Loda's reſounding hall.
+
Swelling in his rage, he ſtrode, to where Fingal lay alone. The King was
+ laid on his ſhield, on his own ſecret hill.
+
+
+
Stern hunter of ſhaggy boars! no feeble maid is laid before thee. No boy,
+ on his ferny bed, by Turthor's murmuring ſtream. Here is ſpread the couch of the mighty, from
+ which they riſe to deeds of death ! Hunter of ſhaggy boars awaken not the terrible !
+
Starno came murmuring on. Fingal aroſe in arms. “Who art thou, ſon of
+ night?” Silent he threw the ſpear. They mixed their gloomy ſtrife. The ſhield of Starno fell,
+ cleft in twain. He is bound to an oak. The early beam aroſe, It was then Fingal beheld the
+ king. He rolled a while his ſilent eyes. He thought of other days, when white-boſomed Agandecca
+ moved like the muſic of ſongs. He looſed the thong from his hands. Son of Annir, he ſaid,
+ retire. Retire to Gormal of ſhells; a beam that was ſet returns. I remember thy white-boſomed
+ daughter; dreadful king away ! Go to thy troubled dwelling, cloudy foe of the lovely ! Let the
+ ſtranger ſhun thee, thou gloomy in the hall!
+
A TALE of the times of old!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ COMÁLA: A DRAMATIC POEM.
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
This poem is valuable on account of the light it throws on the antiquity of Oſſian's
+ compoſitions, The Caracul mentioned here is the ſame with Caracalla the ſon of Severus, who in
+ the year 211 commanded an expedition againſt the Caledonians, The variety of the meaſure ſhews
+ that the poem was originally ſet to muſic, and perhaps preſented before the chiefs upon ſolemn
+ occaſions. Tradition has handed down the ſtory more complete than it is in the poem. “Comala,
+ the daughter of Sarno king of Iniſtore or Orkney iſlands, fell in love with Fingal the ſon of
+ Comhal at a feaſt, to which her father had invited him, [Fingal, B. III.] upon his return from
+ Lochlin, after the death of Apandecca. Her paſſion was ſo violent, that ſhe followed him,
+ diſguiſed like a youth, who wanted to be employed in his wars. She was ſoon diſcovered by
+ Hidallan the ſon of Lamor, one of Fingal's heroes, whoſe love ſhe had ſlighted ſome time before.
+ Her romantic paſſion and beauty recommended her ſo much to the king, that he had reſolved to
+ make her his wife ; when news was brought him of Caracul's expedition. He marched to ſtop the
+ progreſs of the enemy, and Comala attended him. He left her on a hill, within ſight of Caracul's
+ army, when he himſelf went to battle, having previouſly promiſed, if he ſurvived, to return that
+ night,” The ſequel of the ſtory may be gathered from the poem itſelf.
The chace is over. No noiſe on Ardven but the torrent's roar! Daughter of
+ Morni, come from Crona's banks. Lay down the bow and take the harp. Let the night come on with
+ ſongs, Let our joy be great on Ardven.
+
+
+ Melilcoma
+
Melilcoma, — ſoft-rolling eye.
.
+
Night comes apace, thou blue-eyed maid ; grey night grows dim along the
+ plain. I ſaw a
+
+ deer at Crona's ſtream, a moſſy bank he ſeemed through the gloom, but ſoon
+ he bounded away. A meteor played round his branching horns ! the awful faces
+
+ — dreadful ſounds I hear,
+ And the dire form of hoſtile gods appear.
+ Dryden.
+ of other times looked from the clouds of Crona !
+
+
+ Dersagrena
+
Derſagrena, the brightneſs of a ſun-beam.
.
+
These are the ſigns of Fingal's death. The king of ſhields is fallen! and
+ Caracul prevails. Riſe, Comala
+
Comala, the maid of the pleaſant brow.
+ , from thy rock; daughter of Sarno, riſe in tears. The youth of thy love is low ; his
+ ghoſt is on our hills.
+
+
+ Melilcoma.
+
There Comala ſits forlorn! two grey dogs near ſhake their rough ears, and
+ catch the flying breeze. Her red cheek reſts upon her arm, the mountain wind is in her hair. She
+ turns her blue eyes toward the fields of his promiſe. Where art thou, O Fingal, the night is
+ gathering around ?
+
+
+
+
+ Comala.
+
O Carun
+
Carun or Cara'on, a winding river. — This river retains ſtill the name of Carron,
+ and falls into the Forth ſome miles to the North of Falkirk.
+
+
+ —Genteſque alias cum pelleret armis
+ Sedibus, aut victas vilem ſervaret in uſum
+ Servitii, hic contenta ſuos defendere fines
+ Roma ſecurigeris prætendit mænia Scotis :
+ Hic ſpe progreſſus poſita, Caronis ad undam
+ Terminus Auſonii ſignat divortia regni.
+
+ Buchanan.
+ of the ſtreams! why do I behold thy waters rolling in blood? Has the noiſe of the battle
+ been heard; and ſleeps the king of Morven? Riſe, moon, thou daughter of the ſky ! look from
+ between thy clouds, riſe that I may behold the gleam of his ſteel, on the field of his promiſe.
+ Or rather let the meteor, that lights our fathers through the night, come, with its red beam, to
+ ſhew me the way to my fallen hero. Who will defend me from ſorrow ? Who from the love of
+ Hidallan? Long ſhall Comala look before ſhe can behold Fingal in the midſt of his hoſt ; bright
+ as the coming forth of the morning, in the cloud of an early ſhower.
+
+
+
+
+ Hidallan
+
Hidallan was ſent by Fingal to give notice to Comala of his return ; he, to revenge himſelf
+ on her for ſlighting his love ſome time before, told her that the king was killed in battle. He
+ even pretended that he carried his body from the field to be buried in her preſence ; and this
+ circumſtance makes it probable that the poem was preſented of old.
.
+
Dwell, thou miſt of gloomy Crona, dwell on the path of the king. Hide his
+ ſteps from mine eyes, let me remember my friend no more, The bands of battle are ſcattered, no
+ crowding tread is round the noiſe of his ſteel. O Carun, roll thy ſtreams of blood, the chief of
+ the people is low.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Who fell on Carun's ſounding banks, ſon of the cloudy night? Was he white
+ as the ſnow of Ardven? Blooming as the bow of the ſhower? Was his hair like the miſt of the
+ hill, ſoft and curling in the day of the ſun? Was he like the thunder of heaven in battle? Fleet
+ as the roe of the deſart?
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
O That I might behold his love, fair-leaning from her rock ! Her red eye
+ dim in tears, her bluſhing cheek half hid in her locks! Blow, O gentle breeze, lift thou the
+ heavy locks of the
+
+ maid, that I may behold her white arm, her lovely cheek in her
+ grief.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
And is the ſon of Comhal fallen, chief of the mournful tale? The thunder
+ rolls on the hill! The lightning flies on wings of fire! They frighten not Comala; for Fingal is
+ low. Say, chief of the mournful tale, fell the breaker of the ſhields ?
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
The nations are ſcattered on their hills! they ſhall hear the voice of the
+ king no more.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Confusion purſue thee over thy plains ! Ruin overtake thee, thou king of
+ the world ! Few be thy ſteps to thy grave; and let one virgin mourn thee. Let her be like
+ Comala, tearful in the days of her youth. Why haſt thou told me, Hidallan, that my hero fell? I
+ might have hoped a little while his return, I might have thought I ſaw him on the diſtant rock;
+ a tree might have deceived me with his appearance ; the wind of the hill might have been the
+ ſound of his horn in mine ear. O that I were on the banks of Carun! that my tears might be warm
+ on his cheek !
+
+
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
He lies not on the banks of Carun : on Ardven heroes raiſe his tomb, Look
+ on them, O moon, from thy clouds ; be thy beam bright on his breaſt, that Comala may behold him
+ in the light of his armour.
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Stop, ye ſons of the grave, till I behold my love ! He left me at the
+ chace alone. I knew not that he went to war. He ſaid he would return with the night; the king of
+ Morven is returned ! Why didſt thou not tell me that he would fall, O trembling dweller of the rock
+
By the dweller of the rock ſhe means a druid. It is probable that ſome of the order
+ of the druids remained as late as the beginning of the reign of Fingal ; and that Comala had
+ conſulted one of them concerning the event of the war with Caracul.
+ ! Thou ſaweſt him in the blood of his youth; but thou didſt not tell Comala !
+
+
+ Melilcoma.
+
What ſound is that on Ardven? Who is that bright in the vale? Who comes
+ like the ſtrength of rivers, when their crouded waters glitter to the moon ?
+
+
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Who is it but the foe of Comala, the ſon of the king of the world! Ghoſt
+ of Fingal! do thou, from thy cloud, direct Comala's bow. Let him fall like the hart of the
+ deſart. It is Fingal in the crowd of his ghoſts. Why doſt thou come, my love, to frighten and
+ pleaſe my ſoul ?
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Raise, ye bards the ſong, raiſe the wars of the ſtreamy Carun ! Caracul
+ has fled from our arms along the fields of his pride. He ſets far diſtant like a meteor, that
+ incloſes a ſpirit of night, when the winds drive it over the heath, and the dark woods are
+ gleaming around. I heard a voice, or was it the breeze of my hills? Is it the huntreſs of
+ Ardven, the whitehanded daughter of Sarno? Look from thy rocks, my love ; let me hear the voice
+ of Comala !
+
+
+ Comala.
+
Take me to the cave of thy reſt, O lovely ſon of death !
+
+
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Come to the cave of my reſt. The ſtorm is paſt, the ſun is on our fields.
+ Come to the cave of my reſt, huntreſs of ecchoing Ardven!
+
+
+ Comala.
+
He is returned with his fame! I feel the right hand of his wars! But I
+ muſt reſt beſide the rock till my ſoul returns from my fear ! O let the harp be near! raiſe the
+ ſong, ye daughters of Morni !
+
+
+ Dersagrena.
+
Comala has ſlain three deer on Ardven, the fire aſcends on the rock; go to
+ the feaſt of Comala, king of the woody Morven.
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Raise, ye ſons of ſong, the wars of the ſtreamy Carun; that my
+ white-handed maid may rejoice: while I behold the feaſt of my love.
+
+
+ Bards.
+
Roll, ſtreamy Carun, roll in joy, the ſons of battle fled! The ſteed is
+ not ſeen on our
+
+ fields ; the wings
+
Perhaps the poet alludes to the Roman eagle,
+ of their pride ſpread in other lands. The ſun will now riſe in peace, and the ſhadows
+ deſcend in joy. The voice of the chace will be heard; the ſhields hang in the hall. Our delight
+ will be in the war of the ocean, our hands ſhall grow red in the blood of Lochlin. Roll, ſtreamy
+ Carun, roll in joy, the ſons of battle fled !
+
+
+ Melilcoma.
+
Descend, ye light miſts from high! Ye moon-beams, lift her ſoul. Pale lies
+ the maid at the rock ! Comala is no more ?
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Is the daughter of Sarno dead; the white-boſomed maid of my love? Meet me,
+ Comala, on my heaths, when I ſit alone at the ſtreams of my hills !
+
+
+ Hidallan.
+
Ceased the voice of the huntreſs of Ardven ? Why did I trouble the ſoul of
+ the maid ? When ſhall I fee thee, with joy, in the chace of the dark-brown hinds ?
+
+
+
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
Youth of the gloomy brow! no more ſhalt thou feaſt in my halls. Thou ſhalt
+ not purſue my chace, my foes ſhall not fall by thy ſword
+
The ſequel of the ſtory of Hidallan is introduced in another poem.
+ , Lead me to the place of her reſt that I may behold her beauty. Pale ſhe lies at the
+ rock, the cold winds lift her hair. Her bow-ſtring ſounds in the blaſt, her arrow was broken in
+ her fall. Raiſe the praiſe of the daughter of Sarno! give her name to the winds of heaven !
+
+
+ Bards.
+
See ! meteors gleam around the maid ! See! moon-beams lift her ſoul!
+ Around her, from their clouds, bend the awful faces of her fathers; Sarno
+
Sarno the father of Comala died ſoon after the flight of his daughter. Fidallan was the
+ firſt king that reigned in Iniſtore.
+ of the gloomy brow ! the red-rolling eyes of Fidallan ! When ſhall thy white hand ariſe?
+ When ſhall thy voice be heard on our rocks? The maids ſhall ſeek thee on the heath, but they
+ ſhall not find thee. Thou ſhalt come, at times, to their dreams, to ſettle peace
+
+ in their ſoul. Thy voice ſhall remain in their ears, they ſhall
+ think with joy on the dreams of their reſt. Meteors gleam around the maid, and moon-beams lift
+ her ſoul!
Fingal, returning from an expedition which he had made into the Roman province, reſolved to
+ viſit Cathulla king of Iniſtore, and brother to Comala, whoſe ſtory is related, at large, in the
+ preceding dramatic poem. Upon his coming in ſight of Carric-thura, the palace of Cathulla, he
+ obſerved a flame on its top, which, in thoſe days, was a ſignal of diſtreſs. The wind drove him
+ into a bay, at ſome diſtance from Carric-thura, and he was obliged to paſs the night on the
+ ſhore. Next day he attacked the army of Frothal king of Sora, who had beſieged Cathulla in his
+ palace of Carric-thura, and took Frothal himſelf priſoner, after he had engaged him in a ſingle
+ combat. The deliverance of Carric-thura is the ſubject of the poem, but ſeveral other epiſodes
+ are interwoven with it. It appears from tradition, that this poem was addreſſed to a Culdee, or
+ one of the firſt Chriſtian miſſionaries, and that the ſtory of the Spirit of Loda,
+ ſuppoſed to be the ancient Odin of Scandinavia, was introduced by Oſſian in oppoſition to the
+ Culdee's doctrine. Be this as it will, it lets us into Oſſian's notions of a ſuperior being; and
+ ſhews that he was not addicted to the ſuperſtition which prevailed all the world over, before
+ the introduction of Chriſtianity.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CARRIC-THURA: A POEM.
+
Hast
+
The ſong of Ullin, with which the poem opens, is in a lyric meaſure. It was uſual with
+ Fingal, when he returned from his expeditions, to ſend his bards ſinging before him. This
+ ſpecies of triumph is called, by Oſſian, the ſong of victory.
+ thou left thy blue courſe in heaven, golden-haired ſon of the ſky ! The weſt has opened
+ its gates ; the bed of thy repoſe is there. The waves come to behold thy beauty. They lift their
+ trembling heads. They ſee thee lovely in thy ſleep; they ſhrink away with fear. Reſt, in thy
+ ſhadowy cave, O ſun! let thy return be in joy.
+
But let a thouſand lights ariſe to the ſound of the harps of Selma : let the beam ſpread in the
+ hall, the king of ſhells is returned ! The ſtrife of Carun is paſt
+
Oſſian has celebrated the ſtrife of Crona, in a particular poem. This poem is
+ connected with it, but it was impoſſible for the tranſlator to procure that part which relates
+ to Crona, with any degree of purity.
+ , like ſounds that are no more. Raiſe the ſong, O bards, the king is returned, with his
+ fame!
+
+
+
+ Such were the words of Ullin, when Fingal returned
+ from war: when he returned in the fair bluſhing of youth, with all his heavy locks. His blue arms
+ were on the hero; like a light cloud on the ſun, when he moves in his robes of miſt, and ſhews
+ but half his beams. His heroes follow the king : the feaſt of ſhells is ſpread. Fingal turns to
+ his bards, and bids the ſong to riſe.
+
Voices of ecchoing Cona ! he ſaid, O bards of other times! Ye, on whoſe
+ ſouls the blue hoſts of our fathers riſe! ſtrike the harp in my hall; and let me hear the ſong.
+ Pleaſant is the joy of grief! it is like the ſhower of ſpring, when it ſoftens the branch of the
+ oak, and the young leaf rears its green head. Sing on, O bards, to-morrow we lift the ſail. My
+ blue courſe is through the ocean, to Carric-thura's walls; the moſſy walls of Sarno, where Comála
+ dwelt, There the noble Cathulla, ſpreads the feaſt of ſhells. The boars of his woods are many ;
+ the ſound of the chace ſhall ariſe !
+
Cronnan
+
One ſhould think that the parts of Shilric and Vinvela were repreſented by Cronnan and
+ Minona, whoſe very names denote that they were ſingers, who performed in public. Cronnan
+ ſignifies a mournful ſound, Minona, or Min-'onn, ſoft air., All the dramatic
+ poems of Oſſian appear to have been preſented before Fingal, upon ſolemn occaſions.
+ , ſon of the ſong! ſaid Ullin, Minona, graceful at the harp! raiſe the tale of
+
+
+
+ Shilric, to pleaſe the king of Morven. Let Vinvela come in her beauty,
+ like the ſhowery bow, when it ſhews its lovely head on the lake, and the ſetting ſun is bright.
+ She comes, O Fingal ! her voice is ſoft but ſad.
+
+ Vinvela.
+
My love is a ſon of the hill. He purſues the flying deer. His grey dogs
+ are panting around him ; his bow-ſtring ſounds in the wind. Doſt thou reſt by the fount of the
+ rock, or by the noiſe of the mountain-ſtream? the ruſhes are nodding to the wind, the miſt flies
+ over the hill. I will approach my love unſeen ; I will behold him from the rock. Lovely I ſaw
+ thee firſt by the aged oak of Branno
+
Bran, or Branno, ſignifies a mountain-ſtream : it is here ſome river known by that
+ name, in the days of Oſſian. There are ſeveral ſmall rivers in the north of Scotland ſtill
+ retaining the name of Bran ; in particular one which falls into the Tay at Dunkeld.
+ ; thou wert returning tall from the chace ; the faireſt among thy friends.
+
+
+ Shilric.
+
What voice is that I hear ? that voice like the ſummer-wind ! I ſit not by
+ the nodding
+
+ ruſhes ; I hear not the fount of the rock. Afar, Vinvela
+
Bhin bheul, a woman with a melodious voice. Bh in the Galic language has
+ the ſame ſound with the v in Engliſh.
+ , afar, I go to the wars of Fingal. My dogs attend me no more. No more I tread the hill.
+ No more from on high I ſee thee, fair-moving by the ſtream of the plain; bright as the bow of
+ heaven; as the moon on the weſtern wave.
+
+
+ Vinvela.
+
Then thou art gone, O Shilric ! I am alone on the hill ! The deer are ſeen
+ on the brow ; void of fear they graze along. No more they dread the wind; no more the ruſtling
+ tree. The hunter is far removed; he is in the field of graves. Strangers! ſons of the waves!
+ ſpare my lovely Shilric !
+
+
+ Shilric.
+
If fall I muſt in the field, raiſe high my grave, Vinvela. Grey ſtones and
+ heaped-up earth, ſhall mark me to future times. When the hunter ſhall ſit by the mound, and
+ produce his food at noon, “Some warrior reſts here,” he will ſay ; and my fame ſhall live in his
+ praiſe. Remember me, Vinvela, when low on earth I lie!
+
+
+
+
+ Vinvela.
+
Yes! I will remember thee; alas ! my Shilric will fall! What ſhall I do,
+ my love ! when thou art for ever gone? Through theſe hills I will go at noon : I will go through
+ the ſilent heath, There I will ſee the place of thy reſt, returning from the chace. Alas! my
+ Shilric will fall ; but I will remember Shilric.
+
And I remember the chief, ſaid the king of woody Morven; he conſumed the
+ battle in his rage. But now my eyes behold him not. I met him, one day, on the hill; his cheek
+ was pale; his brow was dark. The ſigh was frequent in his breaſt: his ſteps were towards the
+ deſart. But now he is not in the crowd of my chiefs, when the ſounds of my ſhields ariſe. Dwells
+ he in the narrow houſe
+
The grave.
+ , the chief of high Carmora
+
Carn-mór, high rocky hill.
+ ?
+
Cronnan ! ſaid Ullin of other times, raiſe the ſong of Shilric; when he
+ returned to his hills, and Vinvela was no more. He leaned on her grey moſſy ſtone ; he thought
+ Vinvela lived. He ſaw her fair moving
+
The diſtinction which the ancient Scots made between good and bad ſpirits, was, that the
+ former appeared ſometimes in the day-time in lonely unfrequented places, but the latter never
+ but by night, and in a diſmal gloomy ſcene.
+ on the plain: but the
+
+ bright form laſted not : the ſun-beam fled from the field, and ſhe was
+ ſeen no more. Hear the ſong of Shilric, it is ſoft but ſad!
+
I sit by the moſſy fountain; on the top of the hill of winds. One tree is
+ ruſtling above me. Dark waves roll over the heath. The lake is troubled below. The deer deſcend
+ fron the hill. No hunter at a diſtance is ſeen. It is mid-day : but all is ſilent. Sad are my
+ thoughts alone. Didſt thou but appear, O my love, a wanderer on the heath ! thy hair floating on
+ the wind behind thee; thy boſom heaving on the ſight; thine eyes full of tears for thy friends,
+ whom the miſt of the hill had concealed ! Thee I would comfort, my love, and bring thee to thy
+ father's houſe !
+
But is it ſhe that there appears, like a beam of light on the heath? bright
+ as the moon in autumn, as the ſun in a ſummer-ſtorm, comeſt thou, O maid, over rocks, over
+ mountains to me? She ſpeaks : but how weak her voice ! like the breeze in the reeds of the
+ lake.
+
“Returnest thou ſafe from the war? Where are thy friends, my love? I heard
+ of thy death on the hill; I heard and mourned thee, Shilric! Yes, my fair, I return; but I alone
+ of my race. Thou ſhalt ſee them no more : their graves I raiſed on the plain, But
+
+ why art thou on the deſert hill? Why on the heath alone ?”
+
“Alone I am, O Shilric! alone in the winter-houſe, With grief for thee I
+ fell. Shilric, I am pale in the tomb.”
+
She fleets, ſhe ſails away ; as miſt before the wind ! and, wilt thou not
+ ſtay, Vinvela ? Stay and behold my tears ! fair thou appeareſt, Vinvela ! fair thou waſt, when
+ alive !
+
By the moſſy fountain I will ſit; on the top of the hill of winds. When
+ mid-day is ſilent around, O talk with me, Vinvela! come on the light-winged gale ! on the breeze
+ of the deſart, come! Let me hear thy voice, as thou paſſeſt, when mid-day is ſilent around !
+
Such was the ſong of Cronnan, on the night of Selma's joy. But morning roſe
+ in the eaſt ; the blue waters rolled in light. Fingal bade his ſails to riſe; the winds came
+ ruſtling from their hills. Iniſtore roſe to fight, and Carric-thura's moſſy towers! But the ſign
+ of diſtreſs was on their top : the warning flame edged with ſmoke. The king of Morven ſtruck his
+ breaſt: he aſſumed, at once, his ſpear. His darkened brow bends forward to the coaſt: he looks
+ back to the lagging winds. His hair is diſordered on his back. The ſilence of the king is
+ terrible !
+
+
+ Night came down on the ſea; Rotha's bay received
+ the ſhip. A rock bends along the coaſt with all its ecchoing wood. On the top is the circle
+
The circle of Loda is ſuppoſed to be a place of worſhip among the Scandinavians, as
+ the ſpirit of Loda is thought to be the ſame with their god Odin.
+ of Loda, the moſſy ſtone of power! A narrow plain ſpreads beneath, covered with graſs
+ and aged trees, which the midnight winds, in their wrath, had torn from the ſhaggy rock. The
+ blue courſe of a ſtream is there ! the lonely blaſt of ocean purſues the thiſtle's beard. The
+ flame of three oaks aroſe: the feaſt is ſpread around: but the ſoul of the king is ſad, for
+ Carric-thura's Chief diſtreſt.
+
The wan, cold moon roſe, in the eaſt. Sleep deſcended on the youths! Their
+ blue helmets glitter to the beam ; the fading fire decays. But ſleep did not reſt on the king :
+ he roſe in the midſt of his arms, and ſlowly aſcended the hill to behold the flame of Sarno's
+ tower.
+
The flame was dim and diſtant; the moon hid her red face in the eaſt. A
+ blaſt came from the mountain, on its wings was the ſpirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrors
+
He is deſcribed, in a ſimile, in the poem concerning the death of Cuchullin.
+ , and ſhook
+
+ his duſky ſpear. His eyes appear like flames in his dark face; his voice
+ is like diſtant thunder. Fingal advanced his ſpear in night, and raiſed his voice on high.
+
Son of night, retire : call thy winds and fly ! Why doſt thou come to my
+ preſence, with thy ſhadowy arms? Do I fear thy gloomy form, ſpirit of diſmal Loda? Weak is thy
+ ſhield of clouds : feeble is that meteor, thy ſword. The blaſt rolls them together; and thou
+ thyſelf art loſt. Fly from my preſence ſon of night! call thy winds and fly !
+
Dost thou force me from my place, replied the hollow voice? The people bend
+ before me. I turn the battle in the field of the brave. I look on the nations and they vaniſh:
+ my noſtrils pour the blaſt of death. I come abroad on the winds: the tempeſts are before my
+ face. But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my reſt are pleaſant.
+
Dwell in thy pleaſant fields, ſaid the king : Let Comhal's ſon be forgot.
+ Do my ſteps aſcend, from my hills, into thy peaceful plains ? Do I meet thee, with a ſpear, on
+ thy cloud, ſpirit of diſmal Loda? Why then doſt thou frown on me? why ſhake thine airy ſpear ?
+ Thou frowneſt in vain: I never fled from the
+
+ mighty in war. And ſhall the ſons of the wind frighten the king of
+ Morven? No: he knows the weakneſs of their arms !
+
Fly to thy land, replied the form : receive the wind and fly ! The blaſts
+ are in the hollow of my hand : the courſe of the ſtorm is mine. The king of Sora is my ſon, he
+ bends at the ſtone of my power. His battle is around Carricthura ; and he will prevail ! Fly to
+ thy land, ſon of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath !
+
He lifted high his ſhadowy ſpear ! He bent forward his dreadful height.
+ Fingal, advancing, drew his ſword; the blade of dark-brown Luno
+
The famous ſword of Fingal, made by Lun, or Lano, a ſmith of Lochlin.
+ . The gleaming path of the ſteel winds thro' the gloomy ghoſt. The form fell ſhapeleſs
+ into air, like a column of ſmoke, which the ſtaff of the boy diſturbs, as it riſes from the
+ half-extinguiſhed furnace.
+
The ſpirit of Loda ſhrieked, as, rolled into himſelf, he roſe on the wind.
+ Iniſtore ſhook at the ſound. The waves heard it on the deep. They ſtopped, in their courſe, with
+ fear : the friends of Fingal ſtarted, at once; and took their heavy ſpears. They miſſed the king
+ : they roſe in rage; all their arms reſound !
+
+
The moon came forth in the eaſt. Fingal returned in the gleam of his
+ arms. The joy of his youth was great, their ſouls ſettled, as a ſea from a ſtorm. Ullin raiſed
+ the ſong of gladneſs. The hills of Iniſtore rejoiced. The flame of the oak aroſe; and the tales
+ of heroes are told.
+
But Frothal, Sora's wrathful king, ſits in ſadneſs beneath a tree. The hoſt
+ ſpreads around Carric-thura. He looks towards the walls with rage. He longs for the blood of
+ Cathulla, who, once, overcame him in war. When Annir reigned
+
Annir was alſo the father of Erragon, who was king after the death of his brother Frothal.
+ The death of Erragon is the ſubject of the Battle of Lora, a poem in this collection.
+
+ in Sora, the father of ſea-borne Frothal, a ſtorm aroſe on the ſea, and carried Frothal
+ to Iniſtore. Three days he feaſted in Sarno's halls, and ſaw the ſlow rolling eyes of Comála. He
+ loved her, in the flame of youth, and ruſhed to ſeize the white-armed maid. Cathulla met the
+ chief. The gloomy battle roſe. Frothal was bound in the hall; three days he pined alone. On the
+ fourth, Sarno ſent him to his ſhip, and he returned to his land. But wrath darkened in his ſoul
+ againſt the noble
+
+ Cathulla. When Annir's ſtone
+
That is, after the death of Annir. To erect the ſtone of one's fame, was, in other words, to
+ ſay that the perſon was dead.
+ of fame aroſe, Frothal came in his ſtrength. The battle burned round Carric-thura, and
+ Sarno's moſſy walls.
+
Morning roſe on Iniſtore. Frothal ſtruck his dark-brown ſhield. His chiefs
+ ſtarted at the ſound; they ſtood, but their eyes were turned to the ſea. They ſaw Fingal coming
+ in his ſtrength; and firſt the noble Thubar ſpoke. “Who comes like the ſtag of the deſart, with
+ all his herd behind him? Frothal, it is a foe! I fee his forward ſpear. Perhaps it is the king
+ of Morven, Fingal the firſt of men. His deeds are well known in Lochlin; the blood of his foes
+ is in Starno's halls. Shall I aſk the peace
+
Honourable terms of peace.
+ of kings? His ſword is the bolt of heaven!”
+
Son of the feeble hand, ſaid Frothal, ſhall my days begin in a cloud? Shall
+ I yield before I have conquered, chief of ſtreamy Tora? The people would ſay in Sora, Frothal
+ flew forth like a meteor; but a darkneſs has met him; and his fame is no more. No: Thubar, I
+ will never yield ; my fame ſhall ſurround me like light, No : I will never yield, chief of
+ ſtreamy Tora !
+
+
+ He went forth with the ſtream of his people, but they
+ met a rock: Fingal ſtood unmoved, broken they rolled back from his ſide. Nor did they ſafely
+ fly; the ſpear of the king purſued their ſteps. The field is covered with heroes. A riſing hill
+ preſerved the foe.
+
Frothal ſaw their flight. The rage of his boſom roſe. He bent his eyes to
+ the ground, and called the noble Thubar. Thubar ! my people are fled. My fame has ceaſed to
+ ariſe. I will fight the king; I feel my burning ſoul! Send a bard to demand the combat. Speak
+ not against Frothal's words! But, Thubar! I love a maid; she dwells by Thano's ſtream, the
+ white-boſomed daughter of Herman, Utha with ſoft-rolling eyes. She feared the low-laid Comála ;
+ her ſecret ſighs roſe, when I ſpread the ſail. Tell to Utha of harps, that my ſoul delighted in
+ her!
+
Such were his words, reſolved to fight, The ſoft ſigh of Utha was near !
+ She had followed her hero, in the armour of a man. She rolled her eye on the youth, in ſecret,
+ from beneath her ſteel. She ſaw the bard as he went; the ſpear fell thrice from her hand ! Her
+ looſe hair flew on the wind. Her white breaſt roſe, with ſighs. She raiſed her eyes to the king.
+ She would ſpeak, but thrice ſhe failed,
+
+
+ Fingal heard the words of the bard; he came in the
+ ſtrength of his ſteel. They mixed their deathful ſpears: They raiſed the gleam of their arms.
+ But the ſword of Fingal deſcended and cut Frothal's ſhield in twain. His fair ſide is expoſed ;
+ half bent he foreſees his death. Darkneſs gathered on Utha's ſoul. The tear rolled down her
+ cheek. She ruſhed to cover the chief with her ſhield; but a fallen oak met her ſteps. She fell
+ on her arm of ſnow; her ſhield, her helmet flew wide. Her white boſom heaved to the ſight; her
+ dark-brown hair is ſpread on earth.
+
Fingal pitied the white-armed maid ! he ſtayed the uplifted ſword. The tear
+ was in the eye of the king, as, bending forward, he ſpoke. “King of ſtreamy Sora ! fear not the
+ ſword of Fingal. It was never ſtained with the blood of the vanquiſhed ; it never pierced a
+ fallen foe. Let thy people rejoice by thy native ſtreams. Let the maids of thy love be glad. Why
+ ſhouldeſt thou fall in thy youth, King of ſtreamy Sora ?” Frothal heard the words of Fingal, and
+ ſaw the riſing maid: they
+
Frothal and Utha,
+ ſtood in ſilence, in their beauty : like two young trees of the plain, when the ſhower
+ of ſpring is on their leaves, and the loud winds are laid.
+
+
+ Daughter of Herman, ſaid Frothal, didſt thou come
+ from Tora's ſtreams ; didſt thou come, in thy beauty, to behold thy warrior low ? But he was low
+ before the mighty, maid of the ſlow-rolling eye ! The feeble did not overcome the ſon of
+ car-borne Annir ! Terrible art thou, O king of Morven! in battles of the ſpear. But, in peace,
+ thou art like the ſun, when he looks thro' a ſilent ſhower: the flowers lift their fair heads
+ before him ; the gales ſhake their ruſtling wings. O that thou wert in Sora ! that my feaſt were
+ ſpread The future kings of Sora would ſee thy arms and rejoice. They would rejoice at the fame
+ of their fathers, who beheld the mighty Fingal !
+
Son of Annir, replied the king, the fame of Sora's race ſhall be heard !
+ When chiefs are ſtrong in war, then does the ſong ariſe ! But if their ſwords are ſtretched over
+ the feeble : if the blood of the weak has ſtained their arms; the bard ſhall forget them in the
+ ſong, and their tombs ſhall not be known. The ſtranger ſhall come and build there, and remove
+ the heaped-up earth. An half-worn ſword ſhall riſe before him; bending above it, he will ſay,
+ “Theſe are the arms of the chiefs of old, but their names are not in ſong.” Come thou, O
+ Frothal, to
+
+ the feaſt of Iniſtore ; let the maid of thy love be there ; let our
+ faces brighten with joy !
+
Fingal took his ſpear, moving in the ſteps of his might. The gates of
+ Carric-thura are opened wide. The feaſt of ſhells is ſpread. The ſoft ſound of muſic aroſe.
+ Gladneſs brightened in the hall. The voice of Ullin was heard; the harp of Selma was ſtrung.
+ Utha rejoiced in his preſence, and demanded the ſong of grief; the big tear hung in her eye,
+ when the ſoft
+
There is a propriety in introducing this epiſode, as the ſituations of Crimora and Utha were
+ ſo ſimilar.
+ Crimora ſpoke. Crimora the daughter of Rinval, who dwelt at Lotha's
+
Lotha was the ancient name of one of the great rivers in the north of Scotland. The only one
+ of them that ſtill retains a name of a like ſound is Locky, in Inverneſsſhire; but whether it
+ is the river mentioned here, the tranſlator will not pretend to ſay.
+ roaring ſtream ! The tale was long, but lovely ; and pleaſed the bluſhing Utha.
+
+
+ Crimora.
+
+
Cri-móra, a woman of a great ſoul.
+
Who cometh from the hill, like a cloud tinged with the beam of the weſt?
+ Whoſe voice is that, loud as the wind, but pleaſant as the harp of Carril
+
Perhaps the Carril mentioned here is the ſame with Carril the ſon of Kinſena, Cuchullin's
+ bard. The name itſelf is proper to any bard, as it ſignifies a ſprightly and harmonious
+ ſound.
+ ? It is my love in the light of
+
+ ſteel; but ſad is his darkened brow ! Live the mighty race of Fingal? or
+ what darkens in Connal's ſoul
+
Connal, the ſon of Diaran, was one of the moſt famous heroes of Fingal; he was ſlain in a
+ battle againſt Dargo a Briton ; but whether by the hand of the enemy, or that of his miſtreſs,
+ tradition does not determine.
+ ?
+
+
+ Connal.
+
They live. They return from the chace, like a ſtream of light. The ſun is
+ on their ſhields. Like a ridge of fire they deſcend the hill. Loud is the voice of the youth !
+ the war, my love, is near ! To-morrow the dreadful Dargo comes to try the force of our race. The
+ race of Fingal he defies; the race of battle and wounds !
+
+
+ Crimora.
+
Connal, I ſaw his ſails like grey miſt on the dark-brown wave. They ſlowly
+ came to land, Connal, many are the warriors of Dargo!
+
+
+ Connal.
+
Bring me thy father's ſhield ; the boſſy, iron ſhield of Rinval ; that
+ ſhield like the full-orbed moon, when ſhe moves darkened through heaven.
+
+
+
+
+ Crimora.
+
That ſhield I bring, O Connal; but it did not defend my father. By the
+ ſpear of Gormar he fell. Thou may'ft fall, O Connal !
+
+
+ Connal.
+
Fall I may! But raiſe my tomb, Crimora ! Grey ſtones, a mound of earth,
+ ſhall ſend my name to other times. Bend thy red eye over my grave, beat thy mournful heaving
+ breaſt. Though fair thou art, my love, as the light; more pleaſant than the gale of the hill;
+ yet I will not here remain. Raiſe my tomb, Crimora !
+
+
+ Crimora.
+
Then give me thoſe arms that gleam; that ſword, and that ſpear of ſteel. I
+ ſhall meet Dargo with Connal, and aid him in the fight. Farewel, ye rocks of Ardven! ye deer !
+ and ye ſtreams of the hill! We ſhall return no more. Our tombs are diſtant far !
+
+
“And did they return no more?” ſaid Utha's burſting figh. “Fell the mighty
+ in battle, and did Crimora live? Her ſteps were lonely ; her ſoul was ſad for Connal. Was he not
+ young and lovely; like the beam of the
+
+ ſetting ſun ?” Ullin ſaw the virgin's tear, he took the ſoftly-trembling
+ harp : the ſong was lovely, but ſad, and ſilence was in Carric-thura,
+
Autumn is dark on the mountains ; grey miſt reſts on the hills. The
+ whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. A tree ſtands
+ alone on the hill, and marks the ſlumbering Connal. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and
+ ſtrew the grave of the dead. At times are ſeen here the ghoſts of the departed, when the muſing
+ hunter alone ſtalks ſlowly over the heath.
+
Who can reach the ſource of thy race, O Connal ? who recount thy fathers?
+ Thy family grew like an oak on the mountain, which meeteth the wind with its lofty head, But now
+ it is torn from the earth. Who ſhall ſupply the place of Connal? Here was the din of arms; here
+ the groans of the dying. Bloody are the wars of Fingal! O Connal! it was here thou didſt fall.
+ Thine arm was like a ſtorm; thy ſword a beam of the ſky; thy height, a rock on the plain; thine
+ eyes, a furnace of fire. Louder than a ſtorm was thy voice, in the battles of thy ſteel. Warriors
+ fell by thy ſword, as the thiſtle by the ſtaff of a boy. Dargo the mighty came on, darkening in
+ his rage. His brows were gathered into wrath. His eyes like two caves
+
+ in a rock, Bright roſe their ſwords on each ſide; loud was the clang of
+ their ſteel.
+
The daughter of Rinval was near ; Crimora bright in the armour of man; her
+ yellow hair is looſe behind, her bow is in her hand. She followed the youth to the war, Connal
+ her much-beloved. She drew the ſtring on Dargo; but erring ſhe pierced her Connal. He falls like
+ an oak on the plain; like a rock from the ſhaggy hill. What ſhall ſhe do, hapleſs maid ! He
+ bleeds ; her Connal dies! All the night long ſhe cries, and all the day, “O Connal, my love, and
+ my friend!” With grief the ſad mourner dies! Earth here incloſes the lovelieſt pair on the hill.
+ The graſs grows between the ſtones of the tomb; I often ſit in the mournful ſhade. The wind ſighs
+ through the graſs ; their memory ruſhes on my mind. Undiſturbed you now ſleep together; in the
+ tomb of the mountain you reſt alone !
+
And ſoft be their reſt, ſaid Utha, hapleſs children of ſtreamy Lotha! I will remember them with
+ tears, and my ſecret ſong ſhall riſe; when the wind is in the groves of Tora, when the ſtream is
+ roaring near. Then ſhall they come on my ſoul, with all their lovely grief !
+
Three days feaſted the kings : on the fourth their white ſails aroſe. The
+ winds of the north
+
+ drove Fingal to Morven's woody land. But the ſpirit of Loda ſat, in his
+ cloud, behind the ſhips of Frothal. He hung forward with all his blaſts, and ſpread the
+ white-boſomed ſails. The wounds of his form were not forgot ; he ſtill feared
+
The ſtory of Fingal and the ſpirit of Loda, ſuppoſed to be the famous Odin, is the moſt
+ extravagant fiction in all Oſſian's poems. It is not, however, without precedents in the beſt
+ poets; and it muſt be ſaid for Oſſian, that he ſays nothing but what perfectly agreed with the
+ notions of the times, concerning ghoſts. They thought the ſouls of the dead were material, and
+ conſequently ſuſceptible of pain. Whether a proof could be drawn from this paſſage, that Oſſian
+ had no notion of a divinity, I ſhall leave to others to determine: it appears, however, that he
+ was of opinion, that ſuperior beings ought to take no notice of what paſſed among men.
+ the hand of the king !
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CARTHON: A POEM.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
This poem is compleat, and the ſubject of it, as of moſt of Oſſian's compoſitions, tragical.
+ In the time of Comhal the ſon of Trathal, and father of the celebrated Fingal, Cleſsámmor the
+ ſon of Thaddu and brother of Morna, Fingal's mother, was driven by a ſtorm into the river Clyde,
+ on the banks of which ſtood Balclutha, a town belonging to the Britons between the walls. He was
+ hoſpitably received by Reuthámir, the principal man in the place, who gave him Moina his only
+ daughter in marriage. Reuda, the ſon of Cormo, a Briton who was in love with Moina, came to
+ Reuthamir's houſe, and behaved haughtily towards Cleſsámmor. A quarrel inſued, in which Reada
+ was killed ; the Britons, who attended him preſſed ſo hard on Cleſsámmor, that he was obliged to
+ throw himſelf into the Clyde, and ſwim to his ſhip. He hoiſted ſail, and the wind being
+ favourable, bore him out to ſea. He often endeavoured to return, and carry off his beloved Moina
+ by night; but the wind continuing contrary, he was forced to deſiſt.
+
Moina, who had been left with child by her huſband, brought forth a ſon, and died ſoon after.
+ — Reuthámir named the child Carthon, i. e. the murmur of waves, from the ſtorm which
+ carried off Cleſsámmor his father, who was ſuppoſed to have been caſt away. When Carthon was
+ three years old, Comhal the father of Fingal, in one of his expeditions againſt the Britons,
+ took and burnt Balclutha, Reuthámir was killed in the attack: and Carthon was carried ſafe away
+ by his nurſe, who fled farther into the country of the Britons. Carthon, coming to man's eſtate
+ was reſolved to revenge the fall of Balclutha on Comhal's poſterity. He ſet ſail, from the
+ Clyde, and, falling on the coaſt of Morven, defeated two of Fingal's heroes, who came to oppoſe
+ his progreſs. He was, at laſt, unwittingly killed by his father Cleſsámmor, in a ſingle combat.
+ This ſtory is the foundation of the preſent poem, which opens on the night preceding the death
+ of Carthon, ſo that what paſſed before is introduced by way of epiſode. The poem is addreſſed to
+ Malvina the daughter of Toſcar.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CARTHON: A POEM.
+
A tale of the times of old ! The deeds of days of other years !
+
The murmur of thy ſtreams, O Lora, brings back the memory of the paſt. The
+ ſound of thy woods, Garmallar, is lovely in mine ear. Doſt thou not behold, Malvina, a rock with
+ its head of heath ? Three aged pines bend from its face; green is the narrow plain at its feet ;
+ there the flower of the mountain grows, and ſhakes its white head in the breeze. The thiſtle is
+ there alone, ſhedding its aged beard. Two ſtones, half ſunk in the ground, ſhew their heads of
+ moſs. The deer of the mountain avoids the place, for he beholds a dim ghoſt ſtanding there
+
It was the opinion of the times, that deer ſaw the ghoſts of the dead. To this day, when
+ beaſts ſuddenly ſtart without any apparent cauſe, the vulgar think that they ſee the ſpirits of
+ the deceaſed.
+ . The mighty lie, O Malvina, in the narrow plain of the rock.
+
+
+ A tale of the times of old ! the deeds of days of other
+ years !
+
Who comes from the land of ſtrangers, with his thouſands around him ? the
+ ſun-beam pours its bright ſtream before him ; his hair meets the wind of his hills. His face is
+ ſettled from war. He is calm as the evening beam that looks, from the cloud of the weſt, on
+ Cona's ſilent vale. Who is it but Comhal's ſon
+
Fingal returns here, from an expedition againſt the Romans, which was celebrated by Oſſian in
+ a poem called the ſtrife of Crona.
+ , the king of mighty deeds! He beholds his hills with joy, he bids a thouſand voices rife.
+ “Ye have fled over your fields, ye ſons of the diſtant land! The king of the world ſits in his
+ hall, and hears of his people's flight. He lifts his red eye of pride ; he takes his father's
+ ſword. Ye have fled over your fields, ſons of the diſtant land !”
+
Such were the words of the bards, when they came to Selma's halls. A
+ thouſand lights
+
Probably wax-lights ; which are often mentioned as carried, among other booty, from the Roman
+ province.
+ from the ſtranger's land roſe, in the midſt of the people. The feaſt is ſpread around;
+ the night paſſed away in joy. Where is the noble Cleſsámmor
+
Cleſſamh mór, mighty deeds.
+ , ſaid the fair-haired Fingal ? Where is the brother of Morna, in the hour of my joy ?
+
+
+ Sullen and dark he paſſes his days in the vale of ecchoing Lora : but,
+ behold, he comes from the hill, like a ſteed in his ſtrength, who finds his companions in the
+ breeze ; and toſſes his bright mane in the wind. Bleſt be the ſoul of Cleſsámmor, why ſo long
+ from Selma ?
+
Returns the chief, ſaid Cleſsámmor, in the midſt of his fame? Such was the
+ renown of Comhal in the battles of his youth. Often did we paſs over Carun to the land of the
+ ſtrangers : our ſwords returned, not unſtained with blood : nor did the kings of the world
+ rejoice. Why do I remember the times of our war? My hair is mixed with grey. My hand forgets to
+ bend the bow : I lift a lighter ſpear. O that my joy would return, as when I firſt beheld the
+ maid ; the white boſomed daughter of ſtrangers, Moina
+
Moina, ſoft in temper and perſon. We find the Britiſh names in this poem derived from
+ the Galic, which is a proof that the ancient language of the whole iſland was one and the ſame.
+
+ , with the dark-blue eyes !
+
Tell, ſaid the mighty Fingal, the tale of thy youthful days. Sorrow, like a
+ cloud on the ſun, ſhades the ſoul of Cleſámmor. Mournful are thy thoughts, alone, on the banks of
+ the roaring Lora. Let us hear the ſorrow of thy youth, and the darkneſs of thy days!
+
+
+
+ “It was in the days of peace,” replied the great
+ Cleſsámmor, “I came, in my bounding ſhip, to Balclutha's
+
Balclutha, i. e. the town of Clyde, probably the Alcluth of Bede.
+ walls of towers. The winds had roared behind my ſails, and Clutha's
+
Clutha, or Cluäth, the Galic name of the river Clyde, the ſignification of the word is
+ bending, in alluſion to the winding courſe of that river. From Clutha is derived its
+ Latin name, Glotta,
+ ſtreams received my dark-boſomed ſhip. Three days I remained in Reuthámir's halls, and
+ ſaw his daughter, that beam of light. The joy of the ſhell went round, and the aged hero gave the
+ fair. Her breaſts were like foam on the wave, and her eyes like ſtars of light: her hair was dark
+ as the raven's wing: her ſoul was generous and mild. My love for Moina was great: my heart poured
+ forth in joy.”
+
“The ſon of a ſtranger came ; a chief who loved the white-boſomed Moina. His
+ words were mighty in the hall ; he often half-unſheathed his ſword. Where, ſaid he, is the mighty
+ Comhal, the reſtleſs wanderer
+
The word in the original here rendered by reſtleſs wanderer, is Scuta,
+ which is the true origin of the Scoti of the Romans; an opprobrious name impoſed by the
+ Britons, on the Caledonian's on account of the continual incurſions into their country.
+ of the heath ? Comes he, with his hoſt, to Balclutha, ſince Cleſsámmor is ſo bold? My
+ ſoul, I replied, O warrior! burns in a
+
+ light of its own. I ſtand without fear in the midſt of thouſands,
+ though the valiant are diſtant far. Stranger ! thy words are mighty, for Cleſsámmor is alone. But
+ my ſword trembles by my ſide, and longs to glitter in my hand. Speak no more of Comhal, ſon of
+ the winding Clutha !”
+
“The ſtrength of his pride aroſe. We fought; he fell beneath my ſword. The
+ banks of Clutha heard his fall ; a thouſand ſpears glittered around. I fought : the ſtrangers
+ prevailed : I plunged into the ſtream of Clutha. My white ſails roſe over the waves, and I
+ bounded on the dark-blue ſea. Moina came to the ſhore, and rolled the red eye of her tears: her
+ looſe hair flew on the wind; and I heard her mournful, diſtant cries. Often did I turn my ſhip !
+ but the winds of the Eaſt prevailed. Nor Clutha ever ſince have I ſeen, nor Moina of the dark
+ brown hair. She fell in Balclutha, for I have ſeen her ghoſt. I knew her as ſhe came through the
+ duſky night, along the murmur of Lora : ſhe was like the new moon, ſeen through the gathered miſt
+ : when the ſky pours down its flaky ſnow, and the world is ſilent and dark.”
+
Raise
+
The title of this poem, in the original, is Duan na nlaol, i.e. The Poem of the
+ Hymns : probably on account of its many digreſſions from the ſubject, all which are in a
+ lyric meaſure, as this ſong of Fingal. Fingal is celebrated by the Iriſh hiſtorians for his
+ wiſdom in making laws, his poetical genius, and his foreknowledge of events. O'Flaherty goes ſo
+ far as to ſay, that Fingal's laws were extant in his own time.
+ , ye bards, ſaid the mighty Fingal,
+
+
+ the praiſe of unhappy Moina. Call her ghoſt, with your ſongs, to our hills;
+ that ſhe may reſt with the fair of Morven, the ſun-beams of other days, the delight of heroes of
+ old. I have ſeen the walls of Balclutha, but they were deſolate. The fire had reſounded in the
+ halls: and the voice of the people is heard no more. The ſtream of Clutha was removed from its
+ place, by the fall of the walls. The thiſtle ſhook, there, its lonely head: the moſs whiſtled to
+ the wind. The fox looked out, from the windows, the rank graſs of the wall waved round its head.
+ Deſolate is the dwelling of Moina, ſilence is in the houſe of her fathers. Raiſe the ſong of
+ mourning, O bards, over the land of ſtrangers. They have but fallen before us: for, one day, we
+ muſt fall. Why doſt thou build the hall, ſon of the winged days? Thou lookeſt from thy towers
+ to-day ; yet a few years, and the blaſt of the deſart comes; it howls in thy empty court, and
+ whiſtles round thy half-worn ſhield. And let the blaſt of the deſart come! we ſhall be renowned
+ in our day ! The mark of my arm ſhall be in battle; my name in the ſong of bards. Raiſe
+
+ the ſong ; ſend round the ſhell : let joy be heard in my hall. When thou,
+ ſun of heaven, ſhalt fail ! if thou ſhalt fail, thou mighty light! if thy brightneſs is for a
+ ſeaſon, like Fingal ; our fame ſhall ſurvive thy beams !
+
Such was the ſong of Fingal, in the day of his joy. His thouſand bards
+ leaned forward from their ſeats, to hear the voice of the king. It was like the muſic of harps on
+ the gale of the ſpring: Lovely were thy thoughts, O Fingal ! why had not Oſſian the ſtrength of
+ thy ſoul ? But thou ſtandeſt alone, my father ! who can equal the king of Selma ?
+
The night paſſed away in ſong; morning returned in joy. The mountains ſhewed
+ their grey heads; the blue face of ocean ſmiled. The white wave is ſeen tumbling round the
+ diſtant rock; a miſt roſe, ſlowly, from the lake. It came, in the figure of an aged man, along
+ the ſilent plain. Its large limbs did not move in ſteps; for a ghoſt ſupported it in mid air. It
+ came towards Selma's hall, and diſſolved in a ſhower of blood.
+
The king alone beheld the ſight ; he foreſaw the death of the people. He
+ came, in ſilence, to his hall; and took his father's ſpear. The mail rattled on his breaſt. The
+ heroes roſe around. They looked, in ſilence, on each
+
+ other, marking the eyes of Fingal. They ſaw battle in his face : the death
+ of armies on his ſpear. A thouſand ſhields, at once, are placed on their arms; they drew a
+ thouſand ſwords. The hall of Selma brightened around. The clang of arms aſcends. The grey dogs
+ howl in their place. No word is among the mighty chiefs. Each marked the eyes of the king; and
+ half aſſumed his ſpear.
+
Sons of Morven, begun the king, this is no time to fill the ſhell. The
+ battle darkens near us; death hovers over the land. Some ghoſt, the friend of Fingal, has
+ forewarned us of the foe. The ſons of the ſtranger come from the darkly-rolling ſea. For, from
+ the water, came the ſign of Morven's gloomy danger. Let each aſſume his heavy ſpear, each gird on
+ his father's ſword. Let the dark helmet riſe on every head; the mail pour its lightening from
+ every ſide. The battle gathers like a ſtorm; ſoon ſhall ye hear the roar of death.
+
The hero moved on before his hoſt, like a cloud before a ridge of green
+ fire; when it pours on the ſky of night, and mariners foreſee a ſtorm. On Cona's riſing heath
+ they ſtood : the white-boſomed maids beheld them above like a grove ; they foreſaw the death of
+ the youth, and looked towards the ſea with fear. The white
+
+ wave deceived them for diſtant ſails; the tear is on their cheek ! The
+ ſun roſe on the ſea, and we beheld a diſtant fleet. Like the miſt of ocean they came: and poured
+ their youth upon the coaſt. The chief was among them, like the ſtag in the midſt of the herd. His
+ ſhield is ſtudded with gold; ſtately ſtrode the king of ſpears. He moved towards Selma ; his
+ thouſands moved behind.
+
Go, with a ſong of peace, ſaid Fingal; go, Ullin, to the king of ſwords.
+ Tell him that we are mighty in war ; that the ghoſts of our foes are many. But renowned are they
+ who have feaſted in my halls! they ſhew the arms
+
It was a cuſtom among the ancient Scots, to exchange arms with their gueſts, and thoſe arms
+ were preſerved long in the different families, as monuments of the friendſhip which ſubſiſted
+ between their anceſtors.
+ of my fathers in a foreign land: the ſons of the ſtrangers wonder, and bleſs the friends
+ of Morven's race ; for our names have been heard afar : the kings of the world ſhook in the midſt
+ of their hoſt.
+
Ullin went with his ſong. Fingal reſted on his ſpear : he ſaw the mighty foe
+ in his armour : he bleſt the ſtranger's ſon. “How ſtately art thou, ſon of the ſea! ſaid the king
+ of woody Morven. Thy ſword is a beam of fire by thy
+
+ ſide : thy ſpear is a pine that defies the ſtorm. The varied face of the
+ moon is not broader than thy ſhield. Ruddy is thy face of youth! ſoft the ringlets of thy hair !
+ But this tree may fall ; and his memory be forgot ! The daughter of the ſtranger will be ſad,
+ looking to the rolling ſea : the children will ſay, “We ſee a ſhip ; perhaps it is the king of
+ Balclutha.” The tear ſtarts from their mother's eye. Her thoughts are of him who ſleeps in Morven
+ !”
+
Such were the words of the king, when Ullin came to the mighty Carthon : he
+ threw down the ſpear before him ; he raiſed the ſong of peace. “Come to the feaſt of Fingal,
+ Carthon, from the rolling ſea ! partake of the feaſt of the king, or lift the ſpear of war ! The
+ ghoſts of our foes are many : but renowned are the friends of Morven ! Behold that field, O
+ Carthon ; many a green hill riſes there, with moſſy ſtones and ruſtling graſs : theſe are the
+ tombs of Fingal's foes, the ſons of the rolling ſea !”
+
“Dost thou ſpeak to the weak in arms!” ſaid Carthon, “bard of the woody
+ Morven ? Is my face pale for fear, ſon of the peaceful ſong ? Why, then, doſt thou think to
+ darken my ſoul with the tales of thoſe who fell? My arm has fought in battle; my renown is known
+ afar. Go to the feeble in arms, bid them yield to
+
+ Fingal. Have not I ſeen the fallen Balclutha? And ſhall I feaſt with
+ Comhal's ſon? Comhal! who threw his fire, in the midſt of my father's hall ! I was young, and
+ knew not the cauſe, why the virgins wept. The columns of ſmoke pleaſed mine eye, when they roſe
+ above my walls ! I often looked back, with gladneſs, when my friends fled along the hill. But
+ when the years of my youth came on, I beheld the moſs of my fallen walls : my ſigh aroſe with the
+ morning, and my tears deſcended with night. Shall I not fight, I ſaid to my ſoul, againſt the
+ children of my foes? And I will fight, O bard! I feel the ſtrength of my ſoul.”
+
His people gathered around the hero, and drew, at once, their ſhining
+ ſwords. He ſtands, in the midſt, like a pillar of fire; the tear half-ſtarting from his eye ; for
+ he thought of the fallen Balclutha ; the crowded pride of his ſoul aroſe. Sidelong he looked up
+ to the hill, where our heroes ſhone in arms; the ſpear trembled in his hand: bending forward, he
+ ſeemed to threaten the king.
+
Shall I, ſaid Fingal to his ſoul, meet, at once, the youth ? Shall I ſtop
+ him, in the midſt of his courſe, before his fame ſhall ariſe ? But the bard, hereafter, may ſay,
+ when he ſees the tomb
+
+ of Carthon ; Fingal took his thouſands to battle, before the noble Carthon
+ fell. No : bard of the times to come ! thou thalt not leſſen Fingal's fame. My heroes will fight
+ the youth, and Fingal behold the war. If he overcomes, I ruſh, in my ſtrength, like the roaring
+ ſtream of Cona. Who, of my chiefs, will meet the ſon of the rolling ſea? Many are his warriors on
+ the coaſt : and ſtrong is his aſhen ſpear !
+
Cathul
+
Cath-'huil, the eye of battle.
+ roſe, in his ſtrength, the ſon of the mighty Lormar : three hundred youths attend the
+ chief, the race
+
It appears, from this paſſage, that clanſhip was eſtabliſhed, in the days of Fingal, though
+ not on the ſame footing with the preſent tribes in the north of Scotland.
+ of his native ſtreams. Feeble was his arm againſt Carthon, he fell; and his heroes fled. Connal
+
This Connal is very much celebrated in ancient poetry, for his wiſdom and valour : there is a
+ ſmall tribe ſtill ſubſiſting, in the North, who pretend they are deſcended from him.
+ reſumed the battle, but he broke his heavy ſpear : he lay bound on the field : Carthon
+ purſued his people.
+
Clessammor ! ſaid the king
+
Fingal did not then know that Carthon was the ſon of Cleſsámmor.
+ of Morven, where is the ſpear of thy ſtrength? Wilt thou behold Connal bound ; thy
+ friend, at the ſtream of Lora? Riſe, in the light of thy ſteel,
+
+ companion of valiant Comhal. Let the youth of
+ Balclutha feel the ſtrength of Morven's race. He roſe in the ſtrength of his ſteel, ſhaking his
+ grizly locks. He fitted the ſhield to his ſide ; he ruſhed, in the pride of valour.
+
Carthon ſtood, on a rock; he ſaw the hero ruſhing on. He loved the dreadful
+ joy of his face : his ſtrength, in the locks of age ! “Shall I lift that ſpear, he ſaid, that
+ never ſtrikes, but once, a foe? Or ſhall I, with the words of peace, preſerve the warrior's life
+ ? Stately are his ſteps, of age! lovely the remnant of his years! Perhaps it is the huſband of
+ Moina ; the father of car-borne Carthon. Often have I heard, that he dwelt at the ecchoing ſtream
+ of Lora.”
+
Such were his words, when Cleſámmor came, and lifted high his ſpear. The
+ youth received it on his ſhield, and ſpoke the words of peace. “Warrior of the aged locks! Is
+ there no youth to lift the ſpear ? Haſt thou no ſon, to raiſe the ſhield before his father, to
+ meet the arm of youth? Is the ſpouſe of thy love no more? or weeps ſhe over the tombs of thy
+ ſons? Art thou of the kings of men? What will be the fame of my ſword ſhould'ſt thou fall ?
+
It will be great, thou ſon of pride ! begun the tall Cleſsámmor. I have been
+ renowned in
+
+ battle; but I never told my name
+
To tell one's name to an enemy was reckoned, in thoſe days of heroiſm, a manifeſt evaſion of
+ fighting him ; for, if it was once known, that friendſhip ſubſiſted, of old, between the
+ anceſtors of the combatants, the battle immediately ceaſed ; and the ancient amity of their
+ forefathers was renewed. A man who tells his name to his enemy, was of old an
+ ignominious term for a coward,
+ to a foe. Yield to me, ſon of the wave, then ſhalt thou know, that the mark of my ſword
+ is in many a field. “I never yielded, king of ſpears ! replied the noble pride of Carthon : I
+ have alſo fought in war; I behold my future fame. Deſpiſe me not, thou chief of men; my arm, my
+ ſpear is ſtrong. Retire among thy friends, let younger heroes fight.” Why doſt thou wound my
+ ſoul, replied Cleſsámmor with a tear? Age does not tremble on my hand; I ſtill can lift the
+ ſword. Shall I fly in Fingal's ſight; in the ſight of him I love? Son of the ſea! I never fled :
+ exalt thy pointed ſpear.
+
They fought, like two contending winds, that ſtrive to roll the wave.
+ Carthon bade his ſpear to err; he ſtill thought that the foe was the ſpouſe of Moina. He broke
+ Cleſsámmor's beamy ſpear in twain: he ſeized his ſhining ſword. But as Carthon was binding the
+ chief ; the chief drew the dagger of his fathers. He
+
+ ſaw the foe's uncovered ſide; and opened, there, a wound.
+
Fingal ſaw Cleſsámmor low : he moved in the ſound of his ſteel. The hoſt
+ ſtood ſilent, in his preſence ; they turned their eyes to the king. He came, like the ſullen
+ noiſe of a ſtorm, before the winds ariſe : the hunter hears it in the vale, and retires to the
+ cave of the rock. Carthon ſtood in his place : the blood is ruſhing down his ſide : he ſaw the
+ coming down of the king ; his hopes of fame aroſe
+
This expreſſion admits of a double meaning, either that Carthon hoped to acquire glory by
+ killing Fingal; or to be rendered famous by falling by his hand. The laſt is the moſt probable,
+ as Carthon is already wounded.
+ ; but pale was his cheek : his hair flew looſe, his helmet ſhook on high : the force of
+ Carthon failed ; but his ſoul was ſtrong.
+
Fingal beheld the heroe's blood ; he ſtopt the uplifted ſpear. “Yield, king
+ of ſwords ! ſaid Comhal's ſon ; I behold thy blood. Thou haſt been mighty in battle; and thy fame
+ ſhall never fade.” Art thou the king ſo far renowned, replied the car-borne Carthon? Art thou
+ that light of death, that frightens the kings of the world ? But why ſhould Carthon aſk? for he
+ is like the ſtream of his hills; ſtrong as a river, in
+
+ his courſe: ſwift as the eagle of heaven. O that I had fought with the
+ king; that my fame might be great in ſong! that the hunter, beholding my tomb, might ſay, he
+ fought with the mighty Fingal. But Carthon dies unknown; he has poured out his force on the
+ weak.”
+
But thou ſhalt not die unknown, replied the king of woody Morven: my bards
+ are many, O Carthon, their ſongs deſcend to future times. The children of years to come ſhall
+ hear the fame of Carthon; when they ſit round the burning oak
+
In the north of Scotland, till very lately, they burnt a large trunk of an oak at their
+ feſtivals; it was called the trunk of the feaſt. Time had, ſo much, conſecrated the
+ cuſtom, that the vulgar thoght it a kind of ſacrilege to diſuſe it.
+ , and the night is ſpent in ſongs of old. The hunter, ſitting in the heath, ſhall hear the
+ ruſtling blaſt; and, raiſing his eyes, behold the rock where Carthon fell. He ſhall turn to his
+ ſon, and ſhew the place where the mighty fought; “There the king of Balclutha fought, like the
+ ſtrength of a thouſand ſtreams.”
+
Joy roſe in Carthon's face: he lifted his heavy eyes. He gave his ſword to
+ Fingal, to lie within his hall, that the memory of Balclutha's king might remain in Morven. The
+
+
+ battle ceaſed along the field, the bard had ſung the ſong of peace. The
+ chiefs gathered round the falling Carthon ; they heard his words, with ſighs. Silent they leaned
+ on their ſpears, while Balclutha's hero ſpoke. His hair ſighed in the wind, and his voice was ſad
+ and low.
+
“King of Morven, Carthon ſaid, I fall in the midſt of my courſe. A foreign
+ tomb receives, in youth, the laſt of Reuthámir's race. Darkneſs dwells in Balclutha : the ſhadows
+ of grief in Crathmo. But raiſe my remembrance on the banks of Lora: where my fathers dwelt.
+ Perhaps the huſband of Moina will mourn over his fallen Carthon.” His words reached the heart of
+ Cleſsámmor : he fell, in ſilence, on his ſon. The hoſt ſtood darkened around: no voice is on the
+ plain. Night came, the moon, from the eaſt, looked on the mournful field : but ſtill they ſtood,
+ like a ſilent grove that lifts its head on Gormal, when the loud winds are laid, and dark autumn
+ is on the plain.
+
Three days they mourned above Carthon ; on the fourth his father died. In
+ the narrow plain of the rock they lie; a dim ghoſt defends their tomb. There lovely Moina is
+ often ſeen; when the ſun-beam darts on the rock, and all around is dark. There ſhe is ſeen,
+ Malvina,
+
+ but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the ſtranger's
+ land ; and ſhe is ſtill alone !
+
Fingal was ſad for Carthon ; he commanded his bards to mark the day, when
+ ſhadowy autumn returned : And often did they mark the day and ſing the hero's praiſe. “Who comes
+ ſo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's ſhadowy cloud? Death is trembling in his hand ! his eyes
+ are flames of fire! Who roars along dark Lora's heath? Who but Carthon, king of ſwords? The
+ people fall! ſee ! how he ſtrides, like the ſullen ghoſt of Morven! But there he lies a goodly
+ oak, which ſudden blaſts overturned ! When ſhalt thou riſe, Balclutha's joy ! When, Carthon,
+ ſhalt thou ariſe? Who comes ſo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's ſhadowy cloud?” Such were
+ the words of the bards, in the day of their mourning : Oſſian often joined their voice; and added
+ to their ſong. My ſoul has been mournful for Carthon ; he fell in the days of his youth: and
+ thou, O Cleſsámmor ! where is thy dwelling in the wind? Has the youth forgot his wound? Flies he,
+ on clouds, with thee? I feel the ſun, O Malvina, leave me to my reſt. Perhaps they may come to my
+ dreams; I think I hear
+
+ a feeble voice! The beam of heaven delights to ſhine on the grave of
+ Carthon: I feel it warm around !
+
O THOU that rolleſt above, round as the ſhield of my fathers! Whence are thy
+ beams, O ſun! thy everlaſting light? Thou comeſt forth, in thy awful beauty ; the ſtars hide
+ themſelves in the ſky; the moon, cold and pale, ſinks in the weſtern wave. But thou thyſelf
+ moveſt alone: who can be a companion of thy courſe! The oaks of the mountains fall : the
+ mountains themſelves decay with years; the ocean ſhrinks and grows again : the moon herſelf is
+ loſt in heaven; but thou art for ever the ſame ; rejoicing in the brightneſs of thy courſe. When
+ the world is dark with tempeſts ; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies ; thou lookeſt in thy
+ beauty, from the clouds, and laugheſt at the ſtorm. But to Oſſian, thou lookeſt in vain ; for he
+ beholds thy beams no more ; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eaſtern clouds, or thou
+ trembleſt at the gates of the weſt. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a ſeaſon, thy years will
+ have an end. Thou ſhalt ſleep in thy clouds, careleſs of the voice of the morning. Exult then, O
+ ſun, in the ſtrength of thy youth ! Age is dark and unlovely ; it is like the
+
+ glimmering light of the moon, when it ſhines through broken clouds, and the
+ miſt is on the hills; the blaſt of north is on the plain, the traveller ſhrinks in the midſt of
+ his journey.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ OINA-MORUL: A POEM.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
After an addreſs to Malvina, the daughter of Toſcar, Oſſian proceeds to relate his own
+ expedition to Fuärfed, an iſland of Scandinavia. Mal-orchol, king of Fuärfed, being hard preſſed
+ in war, by Ton-thormod, chief of Sar-dronlo, (who had demanded, in vain, the daughter of
+ Mal-orchol in marriage) Fingal ſent Oſſian to his aid. Oſſian, on the day after his arrival,
+ came to battle with Ton-thormod, and took him priſoner. Mal-orchol offers his daughter
+ Oina-morul to Oſſian ; but he, diſcovering her paſſion for Tonthormod, generouſly ſurrenders her
+ to her lover, and brings about a reconciliation between the two kings.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ OINA-MORUL: A POEM.
+
As flies the unconſtant ſun, over Larmon's graſſy hill; ſo paſs the tales
+ of old, along my ſoul, by night! When bards are removed to their place; when harps are hung in
+ Selma's hall; then comes a voice to Oſſian, and awakes his ſoul! It is the voice of years that
+ are gone ! they roll before me, with all their deeds ! I ſeize the tales, as they paſs, and pour
+ them forth in ſong. Nor a troubled ſtream is the ſong of the king, it is like the riſing of muſic
+ from Lutha of the ſtrings. Lutha of many ſtrings, not ſilent are thy ſtreamy rocks, when the
+ white hands of Malvina move upon the harp! Light of the ſhadowy thoughts, that fly acroſs my
+ ſoul, daughter of Toſcar of helmets, wilt thou not hear the ſong! We call back, maid of Lutha,
+ the years that have rolled away !
+
It was in the days of the king, while yet my locks were young, that I marked
+
+ Con-cathlin
+
Con-cathlin, mild beam of the wave. What ſtar was ſo called of old is not eaſily
+ aſcertained, Some now diſtinguiſh the Pole-ſtar by that name, A ſong, which is ſtill in repute,
+ among the ſea-faring part of the Highlanders, alludes to this paſſage of Oſſian. The author
+ commends the knowlege of Oſſian in ſea affairs, a merit, which, perhaps, few of us moderns will
+ allow him, or any in the age in which be lived. One thing is certain, that the Caledonians often
+ made their way thro' the dangerous and tempeſtuous ſeas of Scandinavia; which is more, perhaps,
+ than the more poliſhed nations, ſubſiſting in thoſe times, dared to venture. In eſtimating the
+ degree of knowledge of arts among the antients, we ought not to bring it into compariſon with
+ the improvements of modern times. Our advantages over them proceed more from accident, than any
+ merit of ours.
+ , on high, from ocean's nightly wave. My courſe was towards the iſle of Fuärfed, woody
+ dweller of ſeas! Fingal had ſent me to the aid of Mal-orchol, king of Fuärfed wild : for war was
+ around him, and our fathers had met, at the feaſt.
+
In Col-coiled, I bound my ſails; I ſent my ſword to Mal-orchol of ſhells. He
+ knew the ſignal of Albion, and his joy aroſe. He came from his own high hall, and ſeized my hand
+ in grief. “Why comes the race of heroes to a falling king ? Ton-thormod of many ſpears is the
+ chief of wavy Sar-dronlo. He ſaw and loved my daughter, white-boſomed Oina-morul. He ſought ; I
+ denied the maid ; for our fathers had been foes, He came, with battle, to
+
+ Fuärfed; my people are rolled away, Why comes the race of heroes to a
+ falling king?”
+
I come not, I ſaid, to look, like a boy, on the ſtrife. Fingal remembers
+ Mal-orchol, and his hall for ſtrangers. From his waves, the warrior deſcended, on thy woody iſle.
+ Thou wert no cloud before him. Thy feaſt was ſpread with ſongs. For this my ſword ſhall rife; and
+ thy foes perhaps may fail. Our friends are not forgot in their danger, tho' diſtant is our
+ land.
+
“Deſcendant of the daring Trenmor, thy words are like the voice of Cruth-loda, when he ſpeaks,
+ from his parting cloud, ſtrong dweller of the ſky! Many have rejoiced at my feaſt but they all
+ have forgot Mal-orchol, I have looked towards all the winds ; but no white ſails were ſeen. But ſteel
+
There is a ſevere ſatire couched in this expreſſion, againſt the gueſts of Mal-orchol. Had
+ his feaſt been ſtill ſpread, had joy continued in his hall, his former paraſites would not have
+ failed to reſort to him. But as the time of feſtivity was paſt, their attendance alſo ceaſed.
+ The ſentiments of a certain old bard are agreeable to this obſervation, He, poetically, compares
+ a great man to a fire kindled in a deſart place. “Thoſe that pay court to him, ſays he, are
+ rolling large around him, like the ſmoke about the fire. This ſmoke gives the fire a great
+ appearance at a diſtance, but it is but an empty vapour itſelf, and varying its form at every
+ breeze. When the trunk, which fed the fire, is conſumed, the ſmoke departs on all the winds. So
+ the flatterers forſake their chief, when his power declines.” I have choſen to give a
+ paraphraſe, rather than a tranſlation, of this paſſage, as the original is verboſe and frothy,
+ notwithſtanding of the ſentimental merit of the author, He was one of the leſs antient bards,
+ and their compoſitions are not nervous enough to bear a literal tranſlation.
+ reſounds in my hall; and
+
+
+ not the joyful ſhells. Come to my dwelling, race of heroes;
+ dark-ſkirted night is near. Hear the voice of ſongs, from the maid of Fuärfed wild.
+
WE went. On the harp aroſe the white hands of Oina-morul. She waked her own
+ ſad tale, from every trembling ſtring. I ſtood in ſilence; for bright in her locks was the
+ daughter of many iſles! Her eyes were two ſtars, looking forward thro' a ruſhing ſhower. The
+ mariner marks them on high, and bleſſes the lovely beams. With morning we ruſhed to battle, to
+ Tormul's reſounding ſtream: the foe moved to the ſound of Ton-thormod's boſſy ſhield, From wing
+ to wing the ſtrife was mixed. I met Ton-thormod in fight. Wide flew his broken ſteel. I ſeized
+ the king in war. I gave his hand, bound faſt with thongs, to Mal-orchol, the giver of ſhells. Joy
+ roſe at the feaſt of Fuärfed, for the foe had failed. Ton-thormod turned his face away, from
+ Oina-morul of iſles !
+
+
+ Son of Fingal, begun Mal-orchol, not forgot ſhalt
+ thou paſs from me. A light ſhall dwell in thy ſhip, Oina-morul of ſlow-rolling eyes. She ſhall
+ kindle gladneſs, along thy mighty ſoul. Nor unheeded ſhall the maid move in Selma, thro' the
+ dwelling of kings!
+
In the hall I lay in night. Mine eyes were half-cloſed in ſleep. Soft muſic
+ came to mine ear: it was like the riſing breeze, that whirls, at firſt, the thiſtle's beard; then
+ flies, dark-ſhadowy, over the graſs. It was the maid of Fuärfed wild ! ſhe raiſed the nightly
+ ſong; ſhe knew that my ſoul was a ſtream, that flowed at pleaſant ſounds. “Who looks,” ſhe ſaid,
+ “from his rock, on ocean's cloſing miſt ? His long locks, like the raven's wing, are wandering on
+ the blaſt. Stately are his ſteps in grief ! The tears are in his eyes! His manly breaſt is
+ heaving over his burſting ſoul! Retire, I am diſtant far; a wanderer in lands unknown. Tho' the
+ race of kings are around me, yet my ſoul is dark. Why have our fathers been foes, Ton-thormod
+ love of maids !”
+
“Soft voice of the ſtreamy iſle,” I ſaid, why doſt thou mourn by night ? The
+ race of daring Trenmor are not the dark in ſoul. Thou ſhalt not wander, by ſtreams unknown,
+ blue-eyed Oina-morul ! Within this boſom is a voice;
+
+ it comes not to other ears: it bids Oſſian hear the hapleſs, in their
+ hour of woe. Retire, ſoft ſinger by night; Ton-thormod ſhall not mourn on his rock !”
+
With morning I looſed the king. I gave the long-haired maid. Mal-orchol
+ heard my words, in the midſt of his echoing halls. “King of Fuärfed wild, why ſhould Ton-thormod
+ mourn? He is of the race of heroes, and a flame in war. Your fathers have been foes, but now
+ their dim ghoſts rejoice in death. They ſtretch their hands of miſt to the ſame ſhell in Loda.
+ Forget their rage, ye warriors, it was the cloud of other years.”
+
Such were the deeds of Oſſian, while yet his locks were young : tho'
+ lovelineſs, with a robe of beams, clothed the daughter of many iſles. We call back, maid of
+ Lutha, the years that have rolled away !
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ COLNA-DONA: A POEM
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Fingal diſpatches Oſſian and Toſcar, the ſon of Conloch and father of
+ Malvina, to raiſe a ſtone, on the banks of the ſtream of Crona, to perpetuate the memory of a
+ victory, which he had obtained in that place, When they were employed in that work, Car-ul, a
+ neighbouring chief, invited them to a feaſt, They went : and Toſcar fell deſperately in love
+ with Colna-dona, the daughter of Car-ul. Colna-dona became no leſs enamoured of Toſcar. An
+ incident, at a hunting party, brings their loves to a happy iſſue.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ COLNA-DONA: A POEM.
+
+
Colna-dona ſignifies the love of heroes. Col-amon, narrow river. Car-ul,
+ dark-eyed Col-amon, the reſidence of Car-ul, was in the neighbourhood of Agricola's
+ wall, towards the ſouth, Car-ul ſeems to have been of the race of thoſe Britons, who are
+ diſtinguiſhed by the name of Maiatæ, by the writers of Rome. Maiatæ is derived from two Galic
+ words, Moi, a plain, and Aitich,
+ inhabitants ; ſo that the ſignification of Maiatæ is, the inhabitants of the plain
+ country ; a name given to the Britons, who were ſettled in the Lowlands, in
+ contradiſtinction to the Caledonians, (i. e. Cael-don, the Gauls of the
+ hills ) who were poſſeſſed of the more mountainous diviſion of North-Britain.
Colamon of troubled ſtreams, dark wanderer of diſtant vales, I behold thy courſe,
+ between trees, near Car-ul's echoing halls! There dwelt bright Colna-dona, the daughter of the
+ king. Her eyes were rolling ſtars; her arms were white as the foam of ſtreams. Her breaſt roſe
+ ſlowly to ſight, like ocean's heaving wave. Her ſoul was a ſtream of
+
+ light. Who, among the maids, was like the love of heroes ?
+
Beneath the voice of the king, we moved to Crona
+
Crona, murmuring, was the name of a ſmall ſtream, which diſcharged itſelf in the
+ river Carron. It is often mentioned by Oſſian, and the ſcenes of many of his poems are on its
+ banks. The enemies, whom Fingal defeated here, are not mentioned. They were, probably, the
+ provincial Britons. That tract of country between the Firths of Forth and Clyde has been, thro'
+ all antiquity, famous for battles and rencounters, between the different nations, who were
+ poſſeſſed of North and South Britain. Stirling, a town ſituated there, derives its name from that
+ very circumſtance. It is a corruption of the Galic name, Strila, i. e. the
+ hill, or rock, of contention.
of the ſtreams, Toſcar of graſſy Lutha, and
+ Oſſian, young in fields. Three bards attended with ſongs. Three boſſy ſhields were born before us
+ : for we were to rear the ſtone, in memory of the paſt. By Crona's moſſy courſe, Fingal had
+ ſcattered his foes : he had rolled away the ſtrangers, like a troubled ſea. We came to the place
+ of renown: from the mountains deſcended night. I tore an oak from its hill, and raiſed a flame on
+ high. I bade my fathers to look down, from the clouds of their hall; for, at the fame of their
+ race, they brighten in the wind.
+
I took a ſtone from the ſtream, amidſt the ſong of bards. The blood of
+ Fingal's foes hung curdled in its ooze. Beneath, I placed, at
+
+ intervals, three boſſes from the ſhields of foes, as roſe or fell the
+ ſound of Ullin's nightly ſong. Toſcar laid a dagger in earth, a mail of ſounding ſteel. We raiſed
+ the mould around the ſtone, and bade it ſpeak to other years.
+
Oozy daughter of ſtreams, that now art reared on high, ſpeak to the feeble,
+ O ſtone, after Selma's race have ſailed ! Prone, from the ſtormy night, the traveller ſhall lay
+ him, by thy ſide : thy whiſtling moſs ſhall ſound in his dreams ; the years that were paſt ſhall
+ return. Battles riſe before him, blue-ſhielded kings deſcend to war : the darkened moon looks
+ from heaven, on the troubled field, He ſhall burſt, with morning, from dreams, and ſee the tombs
+ of warriors round. He ſhall aſk about the ſtone, and the aged ſhall reply, “This grey ſtone was
+ raiſed by Oſſian, a chief of other years !”
+
The manners of the Britons and Caledonians were ſo fimilar, in the days of Oſſian, that there
+ can be no doubt, that they were originally the ſame people, and deſcended from thoſe Gauls who
+ firſt poſſeſſed themſelves of South-Britain, and gradually migrated to the north. This hypotheſis
+ is more rational than the idle fables of ill-informed ſenachies, who bring the Caledonians from
+ diſtant countries. The bare opinion of Tacitus, (which, by-the-bye, was only ſounded on a
+ ſimilarity of the perſonal figure of the Caledonians to the Germans of his own time) tho' it has
+ ſtaggered ſome learned men, is not ſufficient to make us believe, that the antient inhabitants of
+ North-Britain were a German colony. A diſcuſſion of a point like this might be curious, but could
+ never be ſatisfactory. Periods ſo diſtant are ſo involved in obſcurity, that nothing certain can
+ be now advanced concerning them. The light which the Roman writers hold forth is too feeble to
+ guide us to the truth, thro' the darkneſs which has ſurrounded it.
From Col-amon came a bard, from Car-ul, the friend of ſtrangers, He bade us to the feaſt
+
+
+
+ of kings, to the dwelling of bright Colna-dona. We went to the hall of
+ harps. There Car-ul brightened between his aged locks, when he beheld the ſons of his friends,
+ like two young branches before him.
+
“Sons of the mighty,” he ſaid; “ye bring back the days of old, when firſt I
+ deſcended from waves, on Selma's ſtreamy vale ! I purſued Duthmocarglos, dweller of ocean's wind.
+ Our fathers had been foes, we met by Clutha's winding waters. He fled, along the ſea, and my
+ ſails were ſpread behind him. Night deceived me, on the deep. I came to the dwelling of kings, to
+ Selma of high-boſomed maids. Fingal came forth with his bards, and Conloch, arm of death. I
+ feaſted three days in the hall, and ſaw the blue-eyes of Erin, Ros-crana, daughter of heroes,
+ light of Cormac's race, Nor forgot did my ſteps depart : the kings gave their ſhields to Car-ul :
+ they hang, on high, in Col-amon, in memory of the paſt. Sons of the daring kings, ye bring back
+ the days of old !
+
+
+ Car-ul kindled the oak of feaſts. He took two boſſes
+ from our ſhields. He laid them in earth, beneath a ſtone, to ſpeak to the hero's race. “When
+ battle,” ſaid the King, “ſhall roar, and our ſons are to meet in wrath. My race ſhall look,
+ perhaps, on this ſtone, when they prepare the ſpear. Have not our fathers met in peace, they will
+ ſay, and lay aſide the ſhield ?”
+
Night came down. In her long locks moved the daughter of Car-ul. Mixed with
+ the harp aroſe the voice of white-armed Colna-dona. Toſcar darkened in his place, before the love
+ of heroes. She came on his troubled ſoul, like a beam to the dark-heaving ocean : when it burſts
+ from a cloud, and brightens the foamy ſide of a wave
+
Here an epiſode is intirely loſt; or, at leaſt, is handed down ſo imperfectly, that it does
+ not deſerve a place in the poem.
+
* * *
+
With morning we awaked the woods ; and hung forward on the path of the roes.
+ They fell by their wonted ſtreams. We returned thro' Crona's vale. From the wood a youth came
+ forward, with a ſhield and pointleſs ſpear. “Whence, ſaid Toſcar of Lutha, is the flying beam ?
+ Dwells there peace at Col-amon, round bright Colna-dona of harps ?
+
+
+ “By Col-amon of ſtreams,” ſaid the youth, “bright
+ Colna-dona dwelt. She dwelt ; but her courſe is now in deſarts, with the ſon of the king ; he
+ that ſeized with love her ſoul as it wandered thro' the hall.” “Stranger of tales,” ſaid Toſcar,
+ “haſt thou marked the warrior's courſe? He muſt fall, give thou that boſſy ſhield !” In wrath he
+ took the ſhield. Fair behind it roſe the breaſts of a maid, white as the boſom of a ſwan, riſing
+ graceful on ſwift-rolling waves. It was Colna-dona of harps, the daughter of the king ! Her blue
+ eyes had rolled on Toſcar, and her love aroſe !
+
+
+
+
+
+ OITHÓNA: A POEM
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Gaul, the ſon of Morni, attended Lathmon into his own country, after his being defeated in
+ Morven, as related in the preceding poem. He was kindly entertained by Nuäth, the father of
+ Lathmon, and fell in love with his daughter Oithona. The lady was no leſs enamoured of Gaul, and
+ a day was fixed for their marriage. In the mean time Fingal, preparing for an expedition into
+ the country of the Britons, ſent for Gaul. He obeyed, and went; but not without promiſing to
+ Oithona to return, if he ſurvived the war, by a certain day. Lathmon too was obliged to attend
+ his father Nuäth in his wars, and Oithona was left alone at Dunlathmon, the ſeat of the family.
+ Dunrommath, lord of Uthal, ſuppoſed to be one of the Orkneys, taking advantage of the abſence of
+ her friends, came and carried off, by force, Oithona, who had formerly rejected his love, into
+ Tromithon, a deſart iſland, where he concealed her in a cave.
+
Gaul returned on the day appointed; heard of the rape, and ſailed to Tromathon, to revenge
+ himſelf on Dunrommath. When he landed, he found Oithona diſconſolate, and reſolved not to
+ ſurvive the loſs of her honour. She told him the ſtory of her misfortunes, and ſhe ſcarce ended,
+ when Dunrommath, with his followers, appeared at the further end of the iſland. Gaul prepared to
+ attack him, recommending to Oithona to retire, till the battle was over. She ſeemingly obeyed ;
+ but ſhe ſecretly armed herſelf, ruſhed into the thickeſt of the battle, and was mortally
+ wounded. Gaul purſuing the flying enemy, found her juſt expiring on the field; he mourned over
+ her, raiſed her tomb, and returned to Morven. Thus is the ſtory handed down by tradition ; nor
+ is it given with any material difference in the Poem, which opens with Gaul's return to
+ Dunlathmon, after the rape of Oithona.
+
+
+
+
+
+ OITHÓNA: A POEM.
+
Darkness dwells around Dunlathmon, though the moon ſhews half her face on
+ the hill. The daughter of night turns her eyes away ; ſhe beholds the approaching grief. The ſon
+ of Morni is on the plain : there is no ſound in the hall. No long-ſtreaming beam of light comes
+ trembling through the gloom. The voice of Oithona
+
Oi-thóna, the virgin of the wave.
+ is not heard amidſt the noiſe of the ſtreams of Duvranna. “Whither art thou gone in thy
+ beauty, dark-haired daughter of Nuäth ? Lathmon is in the field of the valiant, but thou didſt
+ promiſe to remain in the hall; thou didſt promiſe to remain in the hall till the ſon of Morni
+ returned. Till he returned from Strumon, to the maid of his love ! The tear was on thy cheek at
+ his departure ; the ſigh roſe in ſecret in thy breaſt. But thou doſt not come forth
+
+
+ with ſongs, with the lightly-trembling ſound of the harp!”
+
Such were the words of Gaul, when he came to Dunlathmon's towers. The gates
+ were open and dark. The winds were bluſtering in the hall. The trees ſtrowed the threſhold with
+ leaves ; the murmur of night was abroad. Sad and ſilent, at a rock, the ſon of Morni ſat : his
+ ſoul trembled for the maid , but he knew not whither to turn his courſe! The ſon
+
Morlo, the ſon of Leth, is one of Fingal's moſt famous heroes. He and three other men
+ attended Gaul on his expedition to Tromathon.
+ of Leth ſtood at a diſtance, and heard the winds in his buſhy hair. But he did not raiſe
+ his voice, for he ſaw the ſorrow of Gaul !
+
Sleep deſcended on the chiefs. The viſions of night aroſe. Oithona ſtood,
+ in a dream, before the eyes of Morni's ſon. Her hair was looſe and diſordered : her lovely eye
+ rolled deep in tears. Blood ſtained her ſnowy arm. The robe half hid the wound of her breaſt.
+ She ſtood over the chief, and her voice was feebly heard. “Sleeps the ſon of Morni, he that was
+ lovely in the eyes of Oithona? Sleeps Gaul at the diſtant rock, and the daughter of Nuäth low :
+ The ſea rolls round the dark iſle of Tromáthon. I ſit in my tears in the cave! Nor do I ſit
+ alone, O
+
+ Gaul, the dark chief of Cuthal is there. He is there in the rage of his
+ love. What can Oithona do!”
+
A rougher blaſt ruſhed through the oak. The dream of night departed. Gaul
+ took his aſpen ſpear. He ſtood in the rage of his ſoul. Often did his eyes turn to the eaſt. He
+ accuſed the lagging light. At length the morning came forth. The hero lifted up the ſail. The
+ winds came ruſtling from the hill ; he bounded on the waves of the deep. On the third day aroſe Tromáthon
+
Tróm-thón, heavy or deep ſounding wave..
+ , like a blue ſhield in the midſt of the ſea. The white wave roared againſt its rocks ;
+ ſad Oithona ſat on the coaſt ! She looked on the rolling waters, and her tears came down. But
+ when ſhe ſaw Gaul in his arms, ſhe ſtarted and turned her eyes away. Her lovely cheek is bent
+ and red ; her white arm trembles by her ſide. Thrice ſhe ſtrove to fly from his preſence ;
+ thrice her ſteps failed her as ſhe went !
+
“Daughter of Nuäth,” ſaid the hero, “why doſt thou fly from Gaul. Do my
+ eyes ſend forth the flame of death ! Darkens hatred in my ſoul ? Thou art to me the beam of the
+ eaſt, riſing in a land unknown. But thou covereſt thy face with ſadneſs, daughter of car-borne
+ Näith ! Is the foe
+
+ of Oithona near ? My ſoul burns to meet him in fight. The ſword trembles
+ by the ſide of Gaul, and longs to glitter in his hand. Speak, daughter of Nuäth, doſt thou not
+ behold my tears ?”
+
“Young chief of Strumon,” replied the maid, “why comeſt thou over the
+ dark-blue wave, to Nuäth's mournful daughter? Why did I not paſs away in ſecret, like the flower
+ of the rock, that lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrows its withered leaves on the blaſt? Why
+ didſt thou come, O Gaul, to hear my departing ſigh? I vaniſh in my youth ; my name ſhall not be
+ heard. Or it will be heard with grief ; the tears of Nuäth muſt fall. Thou wilt be ſad, ſon of
+ Morni, for the departed fame of Oithona. But ſhe ſhall ſleep in the narrow tomb, far from the
+ voice of the mourner. Why didſt thou come, chief of Strumon, to the ſea-beat rocks of Tromáthon
+ ?”
+
“I came to meet thy foes, daughter of car-borne Nuäth! the death of
+ Cuthal's chief darkens before me; or Morni's ſon ſhall fall! Oithona ! when Gaul is low, raiſe
+ my tomb on that oozy rock. When the dark-bounding ſhip ſhall paſs, call the ſons of the ſea!
+ call them, and give this ſword, to bear it hence to Morni's hall. The grey-haired chief will
+ then
+
+ ceaſe to look towards the deſart, for the return of his ſon.”
+
“Shall the daughter of Nuäth live?” ſhe replied with a burſting figh.
+ “Shall I live in Tromathon, and the ſon of Morni low ? My heart is not of that rock; nor my ſoul
+ careleſs as that ſea; which lifts its blue waves to every wind, and rolls beneath the ſtorm !
+ The blaſt which ſhall lay thee low, ſhall ſpread the branches of Oithona on earth. We ſhall
+ wither together, ſon of car-borne Morni ! The narrow houſe is pleaſant to me, and the grey ſtone
+ of the dead : for never more will I leave thy rocks, O ſea-ſurrounded Tromáthon ! Night
+
Oithona relates how ſhe was carried away by Dunrommath.
+ came on with her clouds, after the departure of Lathmon, when he went to the wars of his
+ fathers, to the moſs-covered rock of Duthormoth. Night came on. I ſat in the hall, at the beam
+ of the oak! The wind was abroad in the trees. I heard the ſound of arms. Joy roſe in my face. I
+ thought of thy return. It was the chief of Cuthal, the red-haired ſtrength of Dunrommath. His
+ eyes rolled in fire : the blood of my people was on his ſword. They who defended Oithona fell by
+ the gloomy chief! What could I do? My arm was weak. I could not lift the ſpear.
+
+ He took me in my grief, amidſt my tears he raiſed the ſail. He feared the
+ returning Lathmon, the brother of unhappy Oithona ! But behold he comes with his people! the
+ dark wave is divided before him ! Whither wilt thou turn thy ſteps, ſon of Morni? Many are the
+ warriors of thy foe !”
+
“My ſteps never turned from battle,” Gaul ſaid and unſheathed his ſword.
+ Shall I then begin to fear, Oithona, when thy foes are near? Go to thy cave, my love, till our
+ battle ceaſe on the field. Son of Leth, bring the bows of our fathers! the ſounding quiver of
+ Morni ! Let our three warriors bend the yew. Ourſelves will lift the ſpear. They are an hoſt on
+ the rock ! our ſouls are ſtrong in war !”
+
Oithona went to the cave. A troubled joy roſe on her mind, like the red
+ path of lightning on a ſtormy cloud ! Her ſoul was reſolved , the tear was dried from her
+ wildly-looking eye. Dunrommath ſlowly approached. He ſaw the ſon of Morni. Contempt contracted
+ his face, a ſmile is on his dark-brown cheek; his red eye rolled, half-conceal'd, beneath his
+ ſhaggy brows !
+
“Whence are the ſons of the ſea,” begun the gloomy chief? “Have the winds
+ driven you on the rocks of Tromáthon? Or come
+
+ you in ſearch of the white-handed maid ? The ſons of the unhappy, ye
+ feeble men, come to the hand of Dunrommath ! His eye ſpares not the weak ; he delights in the
+ blood of ſtrangers. Oithona is a beam of light, and the chief of Cuthal enjoys it in ſecret;
+ wouldſt thou come on its lovelineſs, like a cloud, ſon of the feeble hand ! Thou mayſt come, but
+ ſhalt thou return to the halls of thy fathers?” “Doſt thou not know me,” ſaid Gaul, “red-haired
+ chief of Cuchal ? Thy feet were ſwift on the heath, in the battle of car-borne Lathmon ; when
+ the ſword of Morni's ſon purſued his hoſt, in Morven's woody land. Dunrommath! thy words are
+ mighty, for thy warriors gather behind thee. But do I fear them, ſon of pride? I am not of the
+ race of the feeble !”
+
Gaul advanced in his arms; Dunrommath ſhrunk behind his people. But the
+ ſpear of Gaul pierced the gloomy chief; his ſword lopped off his head, as it bended in death.
+ The ſon of Morni ſhook it thrice by the lock ; the warriors of Dunrommath fled. The arrows of
+ Morven purſued them : ten fell on the moſſy rocks. The reſt lift the ſounding ſail, and bound on
+ the troubled deep. Gaul advanced towards the cave of Oithona. He beheld a youth leaning on a
+ rock. An arrow had pierced
+
+ his ſide; his eye rolled faintly beneath his helmet. The ſoul of Morni's
+ ſon was ſad, he came and ſpoke the words of peace.
+
“Can the hand of Gaul heal thee, youth of the mournful brow? I have
+ ſearched for the herbs of the mountains; I have gathered them on the ſecret banks of their
+ ſtreams. My hand has cloſed the wound of the brave, their eyes have bleſſed the ſon of Morni.
+ Where dwelt thy fathers, warrior? Were they of the ſons of the mighty ? Sadneſs ſhall come, like
+ night, on thy native ſtreams. Thou art fallen in thy youth !”
+
“My fathers,” replied the ſtranger, “Were of the race of the mighty ; but
+ they ſhall not be ſad; for my fame is departed like morning miſt. High walls riſe on the banks
+ of Duvranna ; and ſee their moſſy towers in the ſtream; a rock aſcends behind them with its
+ bending pines. Thou mayſt behold it far diſtant. There my brother dwells. He is renowned in
+ battle : give him this glittering helm.”
+
The helmet fell from the hand of Gaul. It was the wounded Oithona ! She had
+ armed herſelf in the cave, and came in ſearch of death. Her heavy eyes are half cloſed ; the
+ blood pours from her heaving ſide. “Son of Morni,” ſhe ſaid, “prepare the narrow tomb. Sleep
+ grows, like
+
+ darkneſs, on my ſoul. The eyes of Oithona are dim ! O had I dwelt at
+ Duvranna, in the bright beam of my fame ! then had my years come on with joy; the virgins would
+ then bleſs my ſteps. But I fall in youth, ſon of Morni ; my father ſhall bluſh in his hall
+ !”
+
She fell pale on the rock of Tromáthon. The mournful warrior raiſed her
+ tomb. He came to Morven ; we ſaw the darkneſs of his ſoul. Oſſian took the harp in the praiſe of
+ Oithona. The brightneſs of the face of Gaul returned. But his ſigh roſe, at times, in the midſt
+ of his friends; like blaſts that ſhake their unfrequent wings, after the ſtormy winds are laid !
Malvina the daughter of Toſcar is overheard by Oſſian lamenting the death of Oſcar her lover.
+ Oſſian, to divert her grief, relates his own actions in an expedition which he undertook, at
+ Fingal's command, to aid Crothar the petty king of Croma, a country in Ireland, againſt Rothmar
+ who invaded his dominions. The ſtory is delivered down thus in tradition. Crothar king of Croma
+ being blind with age, and his ſon too young for the field, Rothmar the chief of Tromlo reſolved
+ to avail himſelf of the opportunity offered of annexing the dominions of Crothar to his own. He
+ accordingly marched into the country ſubject to Crothar, but which he held of Arth or Artho, who
+ was, at the time, ſupreme king of Ireland.
+
Crothar being, on account of his age and blindneſs, unfit for action, ſent for aid to Fingal
+ king of Scotland; who ordered his ſon Oſſian to the relief of Crothar. But before his arrival
+ Fovargormo, the ſon of Crothar, attacking Rothmar, was ſlain himſelf, and his forces totally
+ defeated. Oſſian renewed the war; came to battle, killed Rothmar, and routed his army. Croma
+ being thus delivered of its enemies, Oſſian returned to Scotland.
+
+
+
+
+
+ CROMA: A POEM.
+
“It was the voice of my love! ſeldom art thou, in the dreams of Malvina!
+ Open your airy halls, O fathers of Toſcar of ſhields ! Unfold the gates of your clouds : the
+ ſteps of Malvina are near. I have heard a voice in my dream. I feel the fluttering of my ſoul.
+ Why didſt thou come, O blaſt, from the dark-rolling face of the lake? Thy ruſtling wing was in
+ the tree; the dream of Malvina fled. But ſhe beheld her love, when his robe of miſt flew on the
+ wind. A ſun-beam was on his ſkirts, they glittered like the gold of the ſtranger. It was the
+ voice of my love! ſeldom comes he to my dreams!”
+
“But thou dwelleſt in the ſoul of Malvina, ſon of mighty Oſſian! My ſighs
+ ariſe with the beam of the eaſt; my tears deſcend with the drops of night. I was a lovely tree,
+ in thy
+
+ preſence, Oſcar, with all my branches round me; but thy death came like a
+ blaſt from the deſart, and laid my green head low. The ſpring returned with its ſhowers; no leaf
+ of mine aroſe ! The virgins ſaw me ſilent in the hall; they touched the harp of joy. The tear was
+ on the cheek of Malvina : the virgins beheld me in my grief. Why art thou ſad, they ſaid ; thou
+ firſt of the maids of Lutha? Was he lovely as the beam of the morning, and ſtately in thy
+ ſight?”
+
Pleasant is thy ſong in Oſſian's ear, daughter of ſtreamy Lutha! Thou haſt
+ heard the muſic of departed bards, in the dream of thy reſt, when ſleep fell on thine eyes, at
+ the murmur of Moruth
+
Mor'-ruth, great ſtream.
+ . When thou didſt return from the chace, in the day of the ſun, thou haſt heard the muſic
+ of bards, and thy ſong is lovely ! It is lovely, O Malvina, but it melts the ſoul. There is a joy
+ in grief when peace dwells in the breaſt of the ſad. But ſorrow waſtes the mournful, O daughter
+ of Toſcar, and their days are few! They fall away, like the flower on which the ſun hath looked
+ in his ſtrength after the mildew has paſſed over it, when its head is heavy with the drops of
+ night. Attend to the tale of Oſſian, O maid. He remembers the days of his youth !
+
+
+
+ The king commanded; I raiſed my ſails, and ruſhed into
+ the bay of Croma; into Croma's ſounding bay in lovely Inisfail
+
Inisfail, one of the ancient names of Ireland.
+ . High on the coaſt aroſe the towers of Crothar king of ſpears; Crothar renowned in the
+ battles of his youth ; but age dwelt then around the chief. Rothmar had raiſed the ſword againſt
+ the hero; and the wrath of Fingal burned. He ſent Oſſian to meet Rothmar in war, for the chief of
+ Croma was the friend of his youth. I ſent the bard before me with ſongs. I came into the hall of
+ Crothar. There ſat the chief amidſt the arms of his fathers, but his eyes had failed. His grey
+ locks waved around a ſtaff, on which the warrior leaned. He hummed the ſong of other times, when
+ the ſound of our arms reached his ears. Crothar roſe, ſtretched his aged hand and bleſſed the ſon
+ of Fingal.
+
“Ossian!” ſaid the hero, “the ſtrength of Crothar's arm has failed. O could
+ I lift the ſword, as on the day that Fingal fought at Strutha ! He was the firſt of men ! but
+ Crothar had alſo his fame. The king of Morven praiſed me ; he placed on my arm the boſſy ſhield
+ of Calthar, whom the king had flain in his wars. Doſt thou not behold it on the wall, for
+
+
+ Crothar's eyes have failed ? Is thy ſtrength, like thy fathers, Oſſian
+ ? let the aged feel thine arm !”
+
I gave my arm to the king; he felt it with his aged hands. The ſigh roſe in
+ his breaſt, and his tears came down. “Thou art ſtrong, my ſon, he ſaid, but not like the king of
+ Morven! But who is like the hero among the mighty in war! Let the feaſt of my hall be ſpread; and
+ let my bards exalt the ſong. Great is he that is within my walls, ye ſons of ecchoing Croma !”
+ The feaſt is ſpread. The harp is heard; and joy is in the hall. But it was joy covering a ſigh,
+ that darkly dwelt in every breaſt. It was like the faint beam of the moon ſpread on a cloud in
+ heaven. At length the muſic ceaſed, and the aged king of Croma ſpoke; he ſpoke without a tear,
+ but ſorrow ſwelled in the midſt of his voice.
+
“Son of Fingal! behold'ſt thou not the darkneſs of Crothar's joy? My ſoul
+ was not ſad at the feaſt, when my people lived before me. I rejoiced in the preſence of
+ ſtrangers, when my ſon ſhone in the hall. But, Oſſian, he is a beam that is departed. He left no
+ ſtreak of light behind. He is fallen, ſon of Fingal, in the wars of his father. Rothmar the chief
+ of graſſy Tromlo heard that theſe eyes had failed; he heard that my arms were fixed in the hall,
+
+
+ and the pride of his ſoul aroſe! He came towards Croma ; my people fell
+ before him. I took my arms in my wrath, but what could ſightleſs Crothar do? My ſteps were
+ unequal; my grief was great. I wiſhed for the days that were paſt. Days! wherein I fought; and
+ won in the field of blood. My ſon returned from the chace ; the fair-haired Fovar-gormo
+
Faobhar-gorm, the blue point of ſteel.
+ . He had not lifted his ſword in battle, for his arm was young. But the ſoul of the youth
+ was great ; the fire of valour burnt in his eyes. He ſaw the diſordered ſteps of his father, and
+ his ſigh aroſe. “King of Croma,” he ſaid, “is it becauſe thou haſt no ſon; is it for the weakneſs
+ of Forar-gormo's arm that thy ſighs ariſe ? I begin, my father, to feel my ſtrength ; I have
+ drawn the ſword of my youth; and I have bent the bow. Let me meet this Rothmar, with the ſons of
+ Croma : let me meet him, O my father; I feel my burning ſoul!” And thou ſhalt meet him, I ſaid,
+ ſon of the ſightleſs Crothar ! But let others advance before thee, that I may hear the tread of
+ thy feet at thy return; for my eyes behold thee not, fair-haired Fovar-gormo ! He went, he met
+ the foe; he fell. Rothmar advances to Croma. He who ſlew my ſon is near, with all his pointed
+ ſpears.”
+
+
+
This is no time to fill the ſhell, I replied, and took my ſpear! My people
+ ſaw the fire of my eyes ; they all aroſe around. Through night we ſtrode along the heath. Grey
+ morning roſe in the eaſt. A green narrow vale appeared before us; nor wanting was its winding
+ ſtream. The dark hoſt of Rothmar are on its banks, with all their glittering arms. We fought
+ along the vale. They fled. Rothmar ſunk beneath my ſword ! Day had not deſcended in the weſt,
+ when I brought his arms to Crothar. The aged hero felt them with his hands; and joy brightened
+ over all his thoughts.
+
The people gather to the hall. The ſhells of the feaſt are heard. Ten harps
+ are ſtrung ; five bards advance, and ſing, by turns
+
Thoſe extempore compoſitions were in great repute among ſucceeding bards. The pieces extant
+ of that kind ſhew more of the good ear, than of the poetical genius of their authors. The
+ tranſlator has only met with one poem of this ſort, which he thinks worthy of being preſerved.
+ It is a thouſand years later than Oſſian, but the authors ſeem to have obſerved his manner, and
+ adopted ſome of his expreſſions. The ſtory of it is this. Five bards, paſſing the night in the
+ houſe of a chief, who was a poet himſelf, went ſeverally to make their obſervations on, and
+ returned with an extempore deſcription of, night. The night happened to be one in October, as
+ appears from the poem, and in the north of Scotland, it has all that variety which the bards
+ aſcribe to it, in their deſcriptions.
+
+ First Bard.
+
Night is dull and dark. The clouds reſt on the hills. No ſtar with green
+ trembling beam; no moon looks from the ſky. I hear the blaſt in the wood ; but I hear it
+ diſtant far. The ſtream of the valley murmurs; but its murmur is ſullen and ſad. From the tree
+ at the grave of the dead the long-howling owl is heard. I ſee a dim form on the plain! It is a
+ ghoſt ! it fades, it flies. Some funeral ſhall paſs this way : the meteor marks the path.
+
The diſtant dog is howling from the hut of the hill, The ſtag lies on the mountain moſs :the
+ hind is at his hide, She hears the wind in his branchy horns. She ſtarts, but lies again,
+
The roe is in the cleft of the rock ; the heath-cock's head is beneath his wing. No beaſt, no
+ bird is abroad, but the owl and the howling fox. She on a leafleſs tree: he in a cloud on the
+ hill,
+
Dark, panting, trembling, ſad the traveller has loſt his way, Through ſhrubs, through thorns,
+ he goes, along the gurgling rill. He fears the rock and the fen. He fears the ghoſt of night.
+ The old tree groans to the blaſt; the falling branch reſounds. The wind drives the withered
+ burs, clung together, along the graſs. It is the light tread of a ghoſt! He trembles amidſt the
+ night.
+
Dark, duſky, howling is night, cloudy, windy, and full of ghoſts! The dead are abroad! my
+ friends, receive me from the night.
+
+
+ Second Bard,
+
The wind is up. The ſhower deſcends. The ſpirit of the mountain ſhrieks. Woods fall from
+ high. Windows flap. The growing river roars. The traveller attempts the ford.
+
Hark that ſhriek! he dies; The ſtorm drives the horſe from the hill, the goat, the lowing
+ cow. They tremble as drives the ſhower, beſide the mouldering bank,
+
The hunter ſtarts from ſleep, in his lonely hut; he wakes the fire decayed. His wet dogs
+ ſmoke around him. He fills the chinks with heath. Loud roar two mountain ſtreams which meet
+ beſide his booth.
+
Sad on the ſide of a hill the wandering ſhepherd ſits. The tree reſounds above him. The
+ ſtream roars down the rock. He waits for the riſing moon to guide him to his home.
+
Ghoſts ride on the ſtorm to-night. Sweet is their voice between the ſqualls of wind. Their
+ ſongs are of other worlds.
+
The rain is paſt. The dry wind blows. Streams roar, and windows flap. Cold drops fall from
+ the roof. I ſee the ſtarry ſky. But the ſhower gathers again. The weſt is gloomy and dark.
+ Night is ſtormy and diſmal; receive me, my friends, from night.
+
+
+ Third Bard.
+
The wind ſtill ſounds between the hills: and whiſtles through the graſs of the rock. The
+ firs fall from their place. The turfy hut is torn. The clouds, divided, fly over the ſky, and
+ ſhew the burning ſtars. The meteor, token of death! flies ſparkling through the gloom. It reſts
+ on the hill. I ſee the withered fern, the dark-browed rock, the fallen oak. Who is that in his
+ ſhrowd beneath the tree, by the ſtream ?
+
The waves dark-tumble on the lake, and laſh its rocky ſides. The boat is brimfull in the
+ cove; the oars on the rocking tide. A maid ſits ſad beſide the rock, and eyes the rolling
+ ſtream. Her lover promiſed to come. She ſaw his boat, when yet it was light, on the lake. Is
+ this his broken boat on the ſhore ? Are theſe his groans on the wind?
+
Hark! the hail rattles around. The flaky ſnow deſcends, The tops of the hills are white. The
+ ſtormy winds abate. Various is the night and cold; receive me, my friends, from night.
+
+
+ Fourth Bard.
+
Night is calm and fair; blue, ſtarry, ſettled is night. The winds, with the clouds, are
+ gone. They ſink behind the hill. The moon is up on the mountain. Trees gliſter : ſtreams ſhine
+ on the rock. Bright rolls the ſettled lake ; bright the ſtream of the vale.
+
I ſee the trees overturned ; the ſhocks of corn on the plain. The wakeful hind rebuilds the
+ ſhocks, and whiſtles on the diſtant field.
+
Calm, ſettled, fair is night! Who comes from the place of the dead ? That form with the robe
+ of ſnow ; white arms and dark-brown hair! It is the daughter of the chief of the people : ſhe
+ that lately fell! Come, let us view thee, O maid! thou that haſt been the delight of heroes!
+ The blaſt drives the phantom away; white, without form, it aſcends the hill.
+
The breezes drive the blue miſt, ſlowly over the narrow vale. It riſes on the hill, and joins
+ its head to heaven. Night is ſettled, calm, blue, ſtarry, bright with the moon. Receive me not,
+ my friends, for lovely is the night.
+
+
+ Fifth Bard.
+
Night is calm, but dreary. The moon is in a cloud in the weſt. Slow moves that pale beam
+ along the ſhaded hill. The giant wave is heard. The torrent murmurs on the rock. The cock is
+ heard from the booth. More than half the night is paſt. The houſe-wife, groping in the gloom,
+ rekindles the ſettled fire. The hunter thinks that day approaches, and calls his bounding dogs.
+ He aſcends the hill and whiſtles on his way. A blaſt removes the cloud. He ſees the ſtarry
+ plough of the north. Much of the night is to paſs. He nods by the moſſy rock.
+
Hark! the whirlwind is in the wood ! A low murmur in the vale! it is the mighty army of the
+ dead returning from the air.
+
The moon reſts behind the hill. The beam is ſtill on that lofty rock. Long are the ſhadows of
+ the trees. Now it is dark over all. Night is dreary, ſilent, and dark; receive me, my friends,
+ from night.
+
+
+ The Chief.
+
Let clouds reſt on the hills: ſpirits fly and travellers fear. Let the winds of the woods
+ ariſe, the ſounding ſtorms deſcend. Roar ſtreams and windows flap, and green winged meteors fly
+ ; riſe the pale moon from behind her hills, or incloſe her head in clouds; night is alike to
+ me, blue, ſtormy, or gloomy the ſky. Night flies before the beam, when it is poured on the
+ hill. The young day returns from his clouds, but we return no more.
+
Where are our chiefs of old? Where our kings of mighty name? The ſhields of their battles are
+ ſilent. Scarce their moſſy tombs remain. We ſhall alſo be forgot. This lofty houſe ſhall fall.
+ Our ſons ſhall not behold the ruins in graſs. They ſhall aſk of the aged, “Where ſtood the
+ walls of our fathers ?”
+
Raiſe the ſong, and ſtrike the harp ; ſend round the ſhells of joy. Suſpend a hundred tapers
+ on high. Youths and maids begin the dance. Let ſome gray bard be near me to tell the deeds of
+ other times ; of kings renowned in our land, of chiefs we behold no more. Thus let the night
+ paſs until morning ſhall appear in our halls. Then let the bow be at hand, the dogs, the youths
+ of the chace. We ſhall aſcend the hill with day ; and awake the deer.
+
+ , the praiſe
+
+
+ of Oſſian ; they poured forth their burning ſouls, and the ſtring
+ anſwered to their voice. The joy of Croma was great : for peace returned to the
+
+
+ land. The night came on with ſilence; the morning returned with joy. No
+ foe came in darkneſs, with his glittering ſpear. The joy of Croma was great; for the gloomy
+ Rothmar had fallen!
+
+
+
+ I raised my voice for Fovar-gormo, when they laid the
+ chief in earth. The aged Crothar was there, but his ſigh was not heard. He
+
+
+ ſearched for the wound of his ſon, and found it in his breaſt. Joy roſe
+ in the face of the aged.
+
+ He came and ſpoke to Oſſian, “King of ſpears !” he ſaid, “my ſon has not
+ fallen without his fame. The young warrior did not fly; but met death, as he went forward in his
+ ſtrength. Happy are they who die in youth, when their renown is heard! The feeble will not behold
+ them in the hall; or ſmile at their trembling hands. Their memory ſhall be honoured in ſong ; the
+ young tear of the virgin will fall. But the aged wither away, by degrees, the fame of their
+ youth, while yet they live is all forgot. They fall in ſecret. The ſigh of their ſon is not
+ heard. Joy is around their tomb; the ſtone of their fame is placed without a tear. Happy are they
+ who die in youth, when their renown is around them.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CALTHON and COLMAL: A POEM.
+
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
This piece, as many more of Oſſian's compoſitions, is addreſſed to one of the firſt Chriſtian
+ miſſionaries. The ſtory of the poem is handed down, by tradition, thus. In the country of the
+ Britons between the walls, two chiefs lived in the days of Fingal, Dunthalmo, lord of Teutha,
+ ſuppoſed to be the Tweed ; and Rathmor, who dwelt at Clutha, well known to be the river Clyde.
+ Rathmore was not more renowned for his generoſity and hoſpitality, than Dunthalmo was infamous
+ for his cruelty and ambition. Dunthalmo, through envy, or on account of ſome private feuds,
+ which ſubſiſted between the families, murdered Cathmore at a feaſt ; but being afterwards
+ touched with remorſe, he educated the two ſons of Rathmore, Calthon and Colmar, in his own
+ houſe. They growing up to man's eſtate, dropped ſome hints that they intended to revenge the
+ death of their father, upon which Dunthilmo ſhut them up in two caves on the banks of Teutha,
+ intending to take them off privately. Colmal, the daughter of Dunthalmo, who was ſecretly in
+ love with Calthon, helped him to make his eſcape from priſon, and fled with him to Fingal,
+ diſguiſed in the habit of a young warrior, and implored his aid againſt Dunthalmo. Fingal ſent
+ Oſſian with three hundred men, to Colmar's relief. Dunthalmo having previouſly murdered Colmar,
+ came to a battle with Oſſian; but he was killed by that hero, and his army totally defeated,
+
Calthon married Colmal, his deliverer; and Oſſian returned to Morven.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CALTHON and COLMAL: A POEM.
+
Pleasant is the voice of thy ſong, thou lonely dweller of the rock. It
+ comes on the ſound of the ſtream, along the narrow vale. My ſoul awakes, O ſtranger! in the midſt
+ of my hall. I ſtretch my hand to the ſpear, as in the days of other years. I ſtretch my hand, but
+ it is feeble ; and the ſigh of my boſom grows. Wilt thou not liſten, ſon of the rock, to the ſong
+ of Oſſian ? My ſoul is full of other times ; the joy of my youth returns. Thus the ſun appears in
+ the weſt, after the ſteps of his brightneſs have moved behind a ſtorm ; the green hills lift
+ their dewy heads. the blue ſtreams rejoice in the vale. The aged hero comes forth on his ſtaff;
+ his grey hair glitters in the beam. Doſt thou not behold, ſon of the rock, a ſhield in Oſſian's
+ hall ? It is marked with the ſtrokes of battle; and the brightneſs of its boſſes has failed,
+
+
+ That ſhield the great Dunthalmo bore, the chief of ſtreamy
+ Teutha. Dunthalmo bore it in battle, before he fell by Oſſian's ſpear. Liſten, ſon of the rock,
+ to the tale of other years !
+
Rathmor was a Chief of Clutha. The feeble dwelt in his hall. The gates of
+ Rathmor were never ſhut; his feaſt was always ſpread. The ſons of the ſtranger came. They bleſſed
+ the generous chief of Clutha. Bards raiſed the ſong, and touched the harp: joy brightened on the
+ face of the ſad ! Dunthalmo came, in his pride, and ruſhed into the combat of Rathmor. The chief
+ of Clutha overcame : the rage of Dunthalmo roſe. He came, by night, with his warriors; the mighty
+ Rathmor fell. He fell in his halls, where his feaſt was often ſpread for ſtrangers.
+
Colmar and Calthon were young, the ſons of car-borne Rathmor. They came, in
+ the joy of youth, into their father's hall. They behold him in his blood ; their burſting tears
+ deſcend. The ſoul of Dunthalmo melted, when he ſaw the children of youth. He brought them to Alteutha's
+
Al-teutha, or rather Balteutha, the town of Tweed, the name of Dunthalmo's ſeat. It
+ is obſervable that all the names in this poem, are derived from the Galic language ; which is a
+ proof that it was once the univerſal language of the whole iſland
+ walls ; they grew in the houſe of
+
+ their foe. They bent the bow in his preſence ; and came forth to his
+ wars. They ſaw the fallen walls of their fathers; they ſaw the green thorn in the hall. Their
+ tears ruſhed forth in ſecret. At times, their faces were ſad. Dunthalmo beheld their grief: his
+ darkening ſoul deſigned their death. He cloſed them in two caves, on the ecchoing banks of
+ Teutha. The ſun did not come there with his beams ; nor the moon of heaven by night. The ſons of
+ Rathmor remained in darkneſs, and foreſaw their death.
+
The daughter of Dunthalmo wept in ſilence, the fair-haired, blue-eyed Colmal
+
Caol-mhal, a woman with ſmall eye-brows; ſmall eyebrows were a diſtinguiſhing part
+ of beauty in Oſſian's time : and he ſeldom fails to give them to the fine women of his poems.
+
+ . Her eye had rolled in ſecret on Calthon ; his lovelineſs ſwelled in her ſoul. She
+ trembled for her warrior; but what could Colmal do? Her arm could not lift the ſpear; nor was the
+ ſword formed for her ſide. Her white breaſt never roſe beneath a mail. Neither was her eye the
+ terror of heroes. What canſt thou do, O Colmal ! for the falling chief? Her ſteps are unequal ;
+ her hair is looſe : her eye looks wildly through her tears. She came, by night, to the hall
+
That is, the hall where the arms taken from enemies were hung up as trophies. Oſſian is very
+ careful to make his ſtories probable; for he makes Colmal put on the arms of a youth killed in
+ his firſt battle, as more proper for a young woman, who cannot be ſuppoſed ſtrong enough to
+ carry the armour of a full-grown warrior.
+ . She
+
+ armed her lovely form in ſteel ; the ſteel of a young warrior,
+ who fell in the firſt of his battles. She came to the cave of Calthon, and looſed the thong from
+ his hands.
+
“Arise, ſon of Rathmor,” the ſaid, “ariſe, the night is dark! Let us fly to
+ the king of Selma
+
Fingal.
+ , chief of fallen Clutha ! I an the ſon of Lamgal, who dwelt in thy father's hall. I heard
+ of thy dark dwelling in the cave, and my ſoul aroſe. Ariſe, ſon of Rathmor, ariſe, the night is
+ dark !” “Bleſt voice!” replied the chief, “comeſt thou from the clouds to Calthon? The ghoſts of
+ his fathers have often deſcended in his dreams, ſince the ſun has retired from his eyes, and
+ darkneſs has dwelt around him. Or art thou the ſon of Lamgal, the chief I often ſaw in Clutha ?
+ But ſhall I fly to Fingal, and Colmar my brother low ? Will I fly to Morven, and the hero cloſed
+ in night? No: give me that ſpear, ſon of Lamgal, Calthon will defend his brother !”
+
“A thousand warriors,” replied the maid, ſtretch their ſpears round
+ car-borne Colmar. What can Calthon do againſt a hoſt ſo great ? Let us fly to the King of Morven,
+ he will come
+
+ with war. His arm is ſtretched forth to the unhappy ; the lightning of his
+ ſword is round the weak. Ariſe, thou ſon of Rathmor; the ſhadows will fly away. Ariſe, or thy
+ ſteps may be ſeen, and thou muſt fall in youth !”
+
The ſighing hero roſe ; his tears deſcend for car-borne Colmar. He came with
+ the maid to Selma's hall ; but he knew not that it was Colmal. The helmet cover'd her lovely
+ face. Her boſom heaved beneath the ſteel. Fingal returned from the chace, and found the lovely
+ ſtrangers. They were like two beams of light, in the midſt of the hall of ſhells. The king heard
+ the tale of grief; and turned his eyes around. A thouſand heroes half-roſe before him ; claiming
+ the war of Teutha. I came with my ſpear from the hill ; the joy of battle roſe in my breaſt : for
+ the king ſpoke to Oſſian in the midſt of a thouſand chiefs.
+
“Son of my ſtrength,” began the king, “take thou the ſpear of Fingal. Go to
+ Teutha's ruſhing ſtream, and ſave the car-borne Colmar. Let thy fame return before thee like a
+ pleaſant gale ; that my ſoul may rejoice over my ſon, who renews the renown of our fathers.
+ Oſſian ! be thou a ſtorm in war ; but mild when the foe is low ! It was thus my fame aroſe, O my
+ ſon; be thou like Selma's chief. When the haughty
+
+ come to my halls, my eyes behold them not. But my arm is
+ ſtretched forth to the unhappy. My ſword defends the weak.”
+
I rejoiced in the words of the king. I took my rattling arms. Diaran
+
Diaran, father of that Connal who was unfortunately killed by Crimora, his miſtreſs.
+ roſe at my ſide, and Dargo
+
Dargo, the ſon of Collath, is celebrated in other poems by Oſſian. He is ſaid to have been
+ killed by a boar at a hunting party. The lamentation of his miſtreſs, or wife, Mingala, over his
+ body, is extant ; but whether it is of Oſſian's compoſition, I cannot determine. It is generally
+ aſcribed to him, and has much of his manner ; but ſome traditions mention it as an imitation by
+ ſome later bard. As it has ſome poetical merit, I have ſubjoined it.
+
+
The ſpouſe of Dargo comes in tears: for Dargo was no more! The heroes ſigh
+ over Lartho's chief: and what ſhall ſad Mingala do? The dark ſoul vaniſhed like morning miſt,
+ before the king of ſpears: but the generous glowed in his preſence like the morning ſtar.
+
Who was the faireſt and moſt lovely ? Who but Collath's ſtately ſon? Who ſat in the midſt of
+ the wiſe, but Dargo of the mighty deeds ?
+
Thy hand touched the trembling harp: Thy voice was ſoft as ſummer-winds. Ah me! what ſhall
+ the Heroes ſay ? for Dargo fell before a boar. Pale is the lovely cheek; the look of which was
+ firm in danger ! Why haſt thou failed on our hills, thou fairer than the beams of the ſun ?
+
The daughter of Adonſion was lovely in the eyes of the valiant ; ſhe was lovely in their
+ eyes, but ſhe choſe to be the ſpouſe of Dargo.
+
But thou art alone, Mingala! the night is coming with its clouds; where is the bed of thy
+ repoſe ? Where but in the tomb of Dargo ?
+
Why doſt thou lift the ſtone, O bard! why doſt thou ſhut the narrow houſe? Mingala's eyes
+ are heavy, bard ! She muſt ſleep with Dargo.
+
Laſt night I heard the ſong of joy in Lartho's lofty hall. But ſilence dwells around my bed.
+ Mingala reſts with Dargo.
+
+ king of ſpears. Three hundred youths
+
+
+ followed our ſteps : the lovely ſtrangers were at my ſide. Dunthalmo
+ heard the ſound of our approach. He gathered the ſtrength of Teutha. He ſtood on a hill with his
+ hoſt. They were like rocks broken with thunder, when their bent trees are ſinged and bare, and
+ the ſtreams of their chinks have failed. The ſtream of Teutha rolled, in its pride, before the
+ gloomy foe. I ſent a bard to Dunthalmo, to offer the combat on the plain ; but he ſmiled in the
+ darkneſs of his pride. His unſettled hoſt moved on the hill ; like the mountain-cloud, when the
+ blaſt has entered its womb, and ſcatters the curling gloom on every ſide.
+
They brought Colmar to Teutha's bank, bound with a thouſand thongs. The chief is ſad, but
+ ſtately. His eye is on his friends ; for we ſtood, in our arms, whilſt Teutha's waters rolled
+ between. Dunthalmo came with his ſpear, and pierced the hero's ſide : he rolled on the bank in
+ his blood. We heard his broken ſighs. Calthon ruſhed into the ſtream : I bounded forward on my
+ ſpear. Teutha's race fell before us.
+
+ Night came rolling down. Dunthalmo reſted on a rock, amidſt an
+ aged wood. The rage of his boſom burned againſt the car-borne Calthon. But Calthon ſtood in his
+ grief; he mourned the fallen Colmar ; Colmar ſlain in youth, before his fame aroſe!
+
I bade the ſong of woe to riſe, to ſooth the mournful chief; but he ſtood
+ beneath a tree, and often threw his ſpear on earth. The humid eye of Colmal rolled near in a
+ ſecret tear : ſhe foreſaw the fall of Dunthalmo, or of Clutha's warlike chief. Now half the night
+ had paſſed away. Silence and darkneſs were on the field. Sleep reſted on the eyes of the heroes:
+ Calthon's ſettling ſoul was ſtill. His eyes were half-cloſed ; but the murmur of Teutha had not
+ yet failed in his ear. Pale, and ſhewing his wounds, the ghoſt of Colmar came: he bent his head
+ over the hero, and raiſed his feeble voice !
+
“Sleeps the ſon of Rathmor in his night, and his brother low? Did we not
+ riſe to the chace together? Purſued we not the dark-brown hinds ? Colmar was not forgot till he
+ fell : till death had blaſted his youth. I lie pale beneath the rock of Lona. O let Calthon riſe!
+ the morning comes with its beams; Durthalmo will diſhonour the fallen.” He paſſed away in his
+ blaſt. The riſing Calthon ſaw the ſteps of his departure.
+
+ He ruſhed in the ſound of his ſteel. Unhappy Colmal roſe. She followed
+ her hero through night, and dragged her ſpear behind. But when Calthon came to Lona's rock, he
+ found his fallen brother. The rage of his boſom roſe; he ruſhed among the foe. The groans of
+ death aſcend. They cloſe around the chief. He is bound in the midſt, and brought to gloomy
+ Dunthalmo. The ſhout of joy aroſe ; and the hills of night replied.
+
I started at the ſound: and took my father's ſpear. Diaran roſe at my ſide;
+ and the youthful ſtrength of Dargo. We miſſed the chief of Clutha, and our ſouls were ſad. I
+ dreaded the departure of my fame. The pride of my valour roſe! “Sons of Morven,” I ſaid, “it is
+ not thus our fathers fought. They reſted not on the field of ſtrangers, when the foe was not
+ fallen before them. Their ſtrength was like the eagles of heaven; their renown is in the ſong.
+ But our people fall by degrees. Our fame begins to depart. What ſhall the king of Morven ſay, if
+ Oſſian conquers not at Teutha? Riſe in your ſteel, ye warriors; follow the ſound of Oſſian's
+ courſe. He will not return, but renowned, to the ecchoing walls of Selma.”
+
Morning roſe on the blue waters of Teutha. Colmal ſtood before me in tears.
+ She told of
+
+ the chief of Clutha : thrice the ſpear fell from her hand. My
+ wrath turned againſt the ſtranger ; for my ſoul trembled for Calthon. “Son of the feeble hand,” I
+ ſaid, “do Teutha's warriors fight with tears? The battle is not won with grief; nor dwells the
+ ſigh in the ſoul of war. Go to the deer of Carmun, to the lowing herds of Teutha. But leave theſe
+ arms, thou ſon of fear. A warrior may lift them in fight.”
+
I tore the mail from her ſhoulders. Her ſnowy breaſt appeared. She bent her
+ bluſhing face to the ground. I looked in ſilence to the chiefs. The ſpear fell from my hand ; the
+ ſigh of my boſom roſe ! But when I heard the name of the maid, my crowding tears ruſhed down. I
+ bleſſed the lovely beam of youth, and bade the battle move !
+
Why, ſon of the rock, ſhould Oſſian tell how Teutha's warriors died ? They
+ are now forgot in their land ; their tombs are not ſound on the heath. Years came on with their
+ ſtorms. The green mounds are mouldered away. Scarce is the grave of Dunthalmo ſeen, or the place
+ where he fell by the ſpear of Oſſian. Some grey warrior, half blind with age, ſitting by night at
+ the flaming oak of the hall, tells now my deeds to his ſons, and the fall of the dark Dunthalmo,
+ The faces of youth bend ſidelong
+
+ towards his voice. Surprize and joy burn in their eyes! I found Calthon
+ bound to an oak ; my ſword cut the thongs from his hands. I gave him the white-boſomed Colmal.
+ They dwelt in the halls of Teutha.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE WAR of CAROS: A POEM.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Caros is probably the noted uſurper Carauſius, by birth a Menapian, who aſſumed the purple in
+ the year 284: and, ſeizing on Britain, defeated the Emperor Maximian Herculius in ſeveral naval
+ engagements, which gives propriety to his being called in this poem the king of ſhips.
+ He repaired Agricola's wall, in order to obſtruct the incurſions of the Caledonians; and when he
+ was employed in that work, it appears he was attacked by a party under the command of Oſcar the
+ ſon of Oſſian. This battle is the foundation of the preſent poem, which is addreſſed to Malvina
+ the daughter of Toſcar.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ 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
+
Crona is the name of a ſmall ſtream which runs into the Carron.
+ . But it is the miſt of the deſart, 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
+
Ryno is often mentioned in the ancient poetry, He ſeems to have been a Bard, of the firſt
+ rank, in the days of Fingal.
+ 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
+
The Roman eagle.
+ of his pride, bard of the times of old?” “He ſpreads them, Oſcar,” replied the bard, “but
+ it is behind his gathered heap
+
Agricola's wall which Carauſius repaired.
+ . He looks over his ſtones with fear. He beholds thee terrible, as the ghoſt of night,
+ that rolls the wave to his ſhips !”
+
“Go, thou firſt of my bards,” ſays Oſcar, “take the ſpear of Fingal. Fix a flame on its point.
+ Shake it to the winds of heaven. Bid him, in ſongs, to advance, and leave the rolling of his
+ wave. Tell to Caros that I long for battle; that my bow is weary of the chace of Cona. Tell him
+ the mighty are not here; and that my arm is young.”
+
He went with the murmur of ſongs. Oſcar reared his voice on high. It reached his heroes on
+ Ardven, like the noiſe of a cave; when the ſea of Togorma rolls before it; and its trees meet the
+ roaring winds. They gather round
+
+ my ſon like the ſtreams of the hill ; when, after rain, they roll in the
+ pride of their courſe. Ryno came to the mighty Caros. He ſtruck his flaming ſpear. Come to the
+ battle of Oſcar, O thou that ſitteſt on the rolling of waves. Fingal is diſtant far; he hears the
+ ſongs of bards in Morven : the wind of his hall is in his hair. His terrible ſpear is at his
+ ſide; his ſhield that is like the darkened moon ! Come to the battle of Oſcar ; the hero is alone
+ !
+
He came not over the ſtreamy Carun
+
The river Carron.
+ . The bard returned with his ſong. Grey night grows dim on Crona. The feaſt of ſhells is
+ ſpread. A hundred oaks burn to the wind; faint light gleams over the heath. The ghoſts of Ardven
+ paſs through the beam, and ſhew their dim and diſtant forms. Comala
+
This is the ſcene of Comala's death, which is the ſubject of the dramatic poem. The poet
+ mentions her in this place, in order to introduce the ſequel of Hidallan's ſtory, who, on
+ account of her death, had been expelled from the wars of Fingal.
+ is half unſeen on her meteor ; Hidallan is ſullen and dim, like the darkened moon behind
+ the miſt of night.
+
“Why art thou ſad ?” ſaid Ryno; for he alone beheld the chief. “Why art thou ſad, Hidallan?
+ haſt thou not received thy fame ?
+
+ The ſongs of Oſſian have been heard ; thy ghoſt has brightened in
+ wind, when thou didſt bend from thy cloud, to hear the ſong of Morven's bard! “And do thine
+ eyes,” ſaid Oſcar, “behold the chief, like the dim meteor of night ? Say, Ryno, ſay, how fell
+ Hidallan, the renowned in the days of my fathers? His name remains on the rocks of Cona. I have
+ often ſeen the ſtreams of his hills !”
+
Fingal, replied the bard, drove Hidallan from his wars. The king's ſoul was
+ ſad for Comala, and his eyes could not behold the chief. Lonely, ſad along the heath he, ſlowly,
+ moved, with ſilent ſteps. His arms hang diſordered on his ſide. His hair flies looſe from his
+ brow. The tear is in his down-caſt eyes; a ſigh half-ſilent in his breaſt! Three days he ſtrayed
+ unſeen, alone, before he came to Lamor's halls : the moſſy halls of his fathers, at the ſtream of Balva
+
This is perhaps that ſmall ſtream, ſtill retaining the name of Balva, which runs through the
+ romantic valley of Glentivar in Stirlingſhire. Balva ſignifies a ſilent ſtream; and
+ Glentivar, the ſequeſtered vale.
+ . There Lamor ſat alone beneath a tree; for he had ſent his people with Hidallan to war.
+ The ſtream ran at his feet, his grey head reſted on his ſtaff. Sightleſs are his aged eyes. He
+ hums the ſong of other times.
+
+ The noiſe of Hidallan's feet came to his ear : he knew the tread of his
+ ſon.
+
“Is the ſon of Lamor returned; or is it the ſound of his ghoſt? Haſt thou fallen on the banks
+ of Carun, ſon of the aged Lamor ? Or, if I hear the ſound of Hidallan's feet; where are the
+ mighty in the war? where are my people, Hidallan, that were wont to return with their echoing
+ ſhields? Have they fallen on the banks of Carun ?”
+
“No: replied the ſighing youth, the people of Lamor live. They are renowned in war, my father;
+ but Hidallan is renowned no more. I muſt ſit alone on the banks of Balva, when the roar of the
+ battle grows.”
+
“But thy fathers never ſat alone,” replied the riſing pride of Lamor. “They never ſat alone on
+ the banks of Balva, when the roar of battle roſe. Doſt thou not behold that tomb ? My eyes
+ diſcern it not; there reſts the noble Garmállon, who never fled from war! Come, thou renowned in
+ battle, he ſays, come to thy father's tomb. How am I renowned, Garmállon? my ſon has fled from
+ war!”
+
“King of the ſtreamy Balva !” ſaid Hidallan with a ſigh, “why doſt thou
+ torment my ſoul? Lamor, I never fled. Fingal was ſad for
+
+ Comala ; he denied his wars to Hidallan. Go to the grey ſtreams of
+ thy land, he ſaid ; moulder like a leafleſs oak, which the winds have bent over Balva, never more
+ to grow!”
+
“And muſt I hear,” Lamor replied, “the lonely tread of Hidallan's feet?
+ When thouſands are renowned in battle, ſhall he bend over my grey ſtreams? Spirit of the noble
+ Garmállon ! carry Lamor to his place; his eyes are dark; his ſoul is ſad ; his ſon has loft his
+ fame !”
+
“Where,” ſaid the youth, “ſhall I ſearch for fame to gladden the ſoul of
+ Lamor? From whence ſhall I return with renown, that the ſound of my arms may be pleaſant in his
+ ear ? If I go to the chace of hinds, my name will not be heard. Lamor will not feel my dogs, with
+ his hands, glad at my arrival from the hill. He will not enquire of his mountains, or of the
+ dark-brown deer of his deſarts !”
+
“I must fall,” ſaid Lamor, “like a leafleſs oak: it grew on a rock! it was
+ overturned by the winds! My ghoſt will be ſeen on my hills, mournful for my young Hidallan. Will
+ not ye, ye miſts, as ye riſe, hide him from my ſight? My ſon! go to Lamor's hall : there the arms
+ of our fathers hang. Bring the ſword of Garmallon ; he took it from a foe!”
+
+
+
+
+ He went and brought the ſword with all its ſtudded thongs. He gave it to
+ his father. The grey-haired hero felt the point with his hand.
+
“My ſon! lead me to Garmállon's tomb : it riſes beſide that ruſtling tree.
+ The long graſs is withered; I hear the breezes whiſtling there. A little fountain murmurs near,
+ and ſends its water to Balva. There let me reſt; it is noon ; the ſun is on our fields !”
+
He led him to Garmállon's tomb. Lamor pierced the ſide of his ſon. They
+ ſleep together : their ancient halls moulder away. Ghoſts are ſeen there at noon : the valley is
+ ſilent, and the people ſhun the place of Lamor.
+
“Mournful is thy tale,” ſaid Oſcar, “ſon of the times of old ! My ſoul ſighs
+ for Hidallan; he fell in the days of his youth. He flies on the blaſt of the deſart, his
+ wandering is in a foreign land. Sons of the ecchoing Morven! draw near to the foes of Fingal.
+ Send the night away in ſongs; watch the ſtrength of Caros. Oſcar goes to the people of other
+ times ; to the ſhades of ſilent Ardven; where his fathers ſit dim in their clouds, and behold the
+ future war. And art thou there, Hidallan, like a half-extinguiſhed meteor ? Come to my ſight, in
+ thy ſorrow, chief of the winding Balva!”
+
+
+
+ The heroes move with their ſongs. Oſcar ſlowly
+ aſcends the hill. The meteors of night ſet on the heath before him. A diſtant torrent faintly
+ roars. Unfrequent blaſts ruſh through aged oaks. The half-enlightened moon ſinks dim and red
+ behind her hill. Feeble voices are heard on the heath. Oſcar drew his ſword !
+
“Come,” ſaid the hero, “O ye ghoſts of my fathers! ye that fought againſt
+ the kings of the world! Tell me the deeds of future times ; and your converſe in your caves; when
+ you talk together and behold your ſons in the fields of the brave.”
+
Trenmor came, from his hill, at the voice of his mighty ſon. A cloud, like
+ the ſteed of the ſtranger, ſupported his airy limbs. His robe is of the miſt of Lano, that brings
+ death to the people. His ſword is a green meteor half-extinguiſhed. His face is without form, and
+ dark. He ſighed thrice over the hero : thrice the winds of night roared around ! Many were his
+ words to Oſcar ; but they only came by halves to our ears: they were dark as the tales of other
+ times, before the light of the ſong aroſe. He ſlowly vaniſhed, like a miſt that melts on the
+ ſunny hill. It was then, O daughter of Toſcar, my ſon began firſt to be ſad. He foreſaw the fall
+ of his race. At times,
+
+ he was thoughtful and dark; like the ſun when he carries a cloud on his
+ face, but again he looks forth from his darkneſs on the green hills of Cona.
+
Oscar paſſed the night among his fathers, grey morning met him on Carun's
+ banks. A green vale ſurrounded a tomb which aroſe in the times of old. Little hills lift their
+ head at a diſtance; and ſtretch their old trees to the wind. The warriors of Caros ſat there, for
+ they had paſſed the ſtream by night. They appeared, like the trunks of aged pines, to the pale
+ light of the morning. Oſcar ſtood at the tomb, and raiſed thrice his terrible voice. The rocking
+ hills ecchoed around ; the ſtarting roes bounded away: And the trembling ghoſts of the dead fled,
+ ſhrieking on their clouds. So terrible was the voice of my ſon, when he called his friends!
+
A thousand ſpears aroſe around ; the people of Caros roſe. Why, daughter of
+ Toſcar, why that tear? My ſon, though alone, is brave, Oſcar is like a beam of the ſky; he turns
+ around and the people fall. His hand is the arm of a ghoſt, when he ſtretches it from a cloud ;
+ the reſt of his thin form is unſeen; but the people die in the vale! My ſon beheld the approach
+ of the foe; he ſtood in the ſilent darkneſs of his ſtrength. “Am I alone, ſaid Oſcar, in the
+
+
+ midſt of a thouſand foes? Many a ſpear is there ! many a
+ darkly-rolling eye ! Shall I fly to Ardven? But did my fathers ever fly? The mark of their arm is
+ in a thouſand battles. Oſcar too ſhall be renowned ! Come, ye dim ghoſts of my fathers, and
+ behold my deeds in war! I may fall; but I will be renowned like the race of the ecchoing Morven.”
+ He ſtood, growing in his place, like a flood in a narrow vale ! The battle came, but they fell :
+ bloody was the ſword of Oſcar !
+
The noiſe reached his people at Crona ; they came like a hundred ſtreams.
+ The warriors of Caros fled ; Oſcar remained like a rock left by the ebbing ſea. Now dark and
+ deep, with all his ſteeds, Caros rolled his might along: the little ſtreams are loſt in his
+ courſe; the earth is rocking round. Battle ſpreads from wing to wing : ten thouſand ſwords gleam
+ at once in the ſky. But why ſhould Oſſian ſing of battles? For never more ſhall my ſteel ſhine in
+ war. I remember the days of my youth with grief; when I feel the weakneſs of my arm. Happy are
+ they who fell in their youth, in the midſt of their renown! They have not beheld the tombs of
+ their friend : or failed to bend the bow of their ſtrength. Happy art thou, O Oſcar, in the midſt
+ of thy ruſhing blaſt. Thou often
+
+ goeſt to the fields of thy fame, where Caros fled from thy lifted
+ ſword.
+
Darkness comes on my ſoul, O fair daughter of Toſcar, I behold not the form
+ of my ſon at Carun; nor the figure of Oſcar on Crona. The ruſtling winds have carried him far
+ away ; and the heart of his father is ſad. But lead me, O Malvina, to the ſound of my woods; to
+ the roar of my mountain ſtreams. Let the chace be heard on Cona ; let me think on the days of
+ other years. And bring me the harp, O maid, that I may touch it, when the light of my ſoul ſhall
+ ariſe, Be thou near, to learn the ſong ; future times ſhall hear of me! The ſons of the feeble
+ hereafter will lift the voice on Cona ; and, looking up to the rocks, ſay, “Here Oſſian dwelt.”
+ They ſhall admire the chiefs of old, the race that are no more! while we ride on our clouds,
+ Malvina, on the wings of the roaring winds. Our voices ſhall be heard, at times, in the deſart;
+ we ſhall ſing on the breeze of the rock.
An addreſs to Malvina, the daughter of Toſcar. The poet relates the arrival of Cathlin in
+ Selma, to ſolicit aid againſt Duth-carmor of Cluba, who had killed Cathmol, for the ſake of his
+ daughter Lanŭl. Fingal declining to make a choice among his heroes, who were all claiming the
+ command of the expedition ; they retired each to his hill of ghoſts ; to be determined
+ by dreams. The ſpirit of Trenmor appears to Oſſian and Oſcar : they ſail, from the bay of
+ Carmona, and, on the fourth day, appear off the valley of Rath-col, in Inis-huna, where
+ Duth-carmor had fixed his reſidence. Oſſian diſpatches a bard to Duth-carmor to demand battle.
+ Night comes on. The diſtreſs of Cathlin of Clutha. Oſſian devolves the command on Oſcar, who,
+ according to the cuſtom of the kings of Morven, before battle, retired to a neighbouring hill.
+ Upon the coming on of day, the battle joins. Oſcar and Duth-carmor meet. The latter falls. Oſcar
+ carries the mail and helmet of Duth-carmor to Cathlin, who had retired from the field. Cathlin
+ is diſcovered to be the daughter of Cathmol, in diſguiſe, who had been carried off, by force,
+ by, and had made her eſcape from, Duth-carmor.
+
+
+
+
+
+ CATHLIN of CLUTHA: A POEM.
+
+
The traditions, which accompany this poem, inform us, that it went, of old, under the name
+ of Laoi-Oi-lutha; i. e, the hymn of the maid of Lutha. They pretend alſo to
+ fix the time of its compoſition, to the third year after the death of Fingal ; that is, during
+ the expedition of Fergus the ſon of Fingal, to the banks of Uiſca-duthon. In ſupport
+ of this opinion, the Highland ſenachies have prefixed to his poem, an addreſs of Oſſian, to
+ Congal the young ſon of Fergus, which I have rejected, as having no manner of connection with
+ the reſt of the piece. It has poetical merit ; and, probably, it was the opening of one of
+ Oſſian's other poems, tho' the bards injudiciouſly transferred it to the piece now before
+ us.
+
+ “Congal, ſon of Fergus of Durath, thou light between thy locks, aſcend to the rock of
+ Selma, to the oak of the breaker of ſhields. Look over the boſom of night, it is ſtreaked with
+ the red paths of the dead: look on the night of ghoſts, and kindle, O Congal, thy ſoul. Be
+ not, like the moon on a ſtream, lonely in the midſt of clouds : darkneſs cloſes around it ;
+ and the beam departs, Depart not, ſon of Fergus, ere thou markeſt the field with thy ſword.
+ Aſcend to the rock of Selma ; to the oak of the breaker of ſhields.”
+
+ Come, thou beam that art lonely, from watching in the night! The
+ ſqually winds are around thee, from all their echoing hills. Red, over my hundred ſtreams, are
+ the
+
+
+ light-covered paths of the dead. They rejoice, on the eddying
+ winds, in the ſeaſon of night. Dwells there no joy in ſong, white hand of the harps of Lutha ?
+ Awake the voice of the ſtring ; roll my ſoul to me. It is a ſtream that has failed. Malvina pour
+ the ſong.
+
I hear thee, from thy darkneſs, in Selma, thou that watcheſt, lonely, by
+ night! Why didſt thou with-hold the ſong, from Oſſian's failing ſoul ? As the falling brook to
+ the ear of the hunter, deſcending from his ſtorm-covered hill ; in a ſun-beam rolls the echoing
+ ſtream ; he hears, and ſhakes his dewy locks: ſuch is the voice of Lutha, to the friend of the
+ ſpirits of heroes. My ſwelling boſom beats high. I look back on the days that are paſt. Come,
+ thou beam that art lonely, from watching in the night !
+
In the echoing bay of Carmona
+
Car-mona, bay of the dark brown hills, an arm of the ſea, in the neighbourhood of
+ Selma. In this paragraph are mentioned the ſignals preſented to Fingal, by thoſe who came to
+ demand his aid. The ſuppliants held, in one hand, a ſhield covered with blood, and, in the
+ other, a broken ſpear ; the firſt a ſymbol of the death of their friends, the laſt an emblem of
+ their own helpleſs ſituation, If the king choſe to grant ſuccours, which generally was the
+ caſe, he reached to them the ſhell of feaſts, as a token of his hoſpitality and
+ friendly intentions towards them.
+
It may not be diſagreeable to the reader to lay here before him the ceremony of the
+ Cran-tara, which was of a ſimilar nature, and, till very lately, uſed in the Highlands. When
+ the news of an enemy came to the reſidence of the chief, he immediately killed a goat with his
+ own ſword, dipped the end of an half-burnt piece of wood in the blood, and gave it to one of
+ his ſervants, to be carried to the next hamlet. From hamlet to hamlet this teſſera was
+ carried with the utmoſt expedition, and, in the ſpace of a few hours, the whole clan were in
+ arms, and convened in an appointed place; the name of which was the only word that accompanied
+ the delivery of the Cran tara. This ſymbol was the manifeſto of the chief, by which he
+ threatened fire and ſword to thoſe of his clan, that did not immediately appear at his
+ ſtandard,
+ we ſaw, one day, the bounding ſhip. On high, hung
+
+
+ a broken ſhield ; it was marked with wandering blood. Forward came a
+ youth, in arms, and ſtretched his pointleſs ſpear. Long, over his tearful eyes, hung looſe his
+ diſordered locks. Fingal gave the ſhell of kings. The words of the ſtranger aroſe. “In his hall
+ lies Cathmol of Clutha, by the winding of his own dark ſtreams. Duth-carmor ſaw white-boſomed Lanul
+
Lanul, full eyed, a ſurname which, according to tradition, was beſtowed on the
+ daughter of Cathmol, on account of her beauty ; this tradition, however, may have been founded
+ on that partiality, which the bards have ſhewn to Cathlin of Clutha ; for, according
+ to them, no falſhood could dwell in the ſoul of the lovely.
+ , and pierced her father's ſide. In the
+
+ ruſhy deſart were my ſteps. He fled in the ſeaſon of night. Give
+ thine aid to Cathlin to revenge his father. I ſought thee not as a beam, in a land of clouds.
+ Thou, like the ſun, art known, king of echoing Selma !
+
Selma's king looked around. In his preſence, we roſe in arms. But who
+ ſhould lift the ſhield ? for all had claimed the war. The night came down; we ſtrode, in
+ ſilence; each to his hill of ghoſts : that ſpirits might deſcend, in our dreams, to mark us for
+ the field. We ſtruck the ſhield of the dead : we raiſed the hum of ſongs. We thrice called the
+ ghoſts of our fathers. We laid us down in dreams. Trenmor came, before mine eyes, the tall form
+ of other years ! His blue hoſts were behind him in half-diſtinguiſhed rows. Scarce ſeen is their
+ ſtrife in miſt, or their ſtretching forward to deaths. I liſtened ; but no ſound was there. The
+ forms were empty wind!
+
I started from the dream of ghoſts. On a ſudden blaſt flew my whiſtling
+ hair. Low-ſounding, in the oak, is the departure of the dead. I took my ſhield from its bough.
+ Onward came the rattling of ſteel. It was Oſcar
+
Oſcar is here called Oſcar of Lego, from his mother being the daughter of Branno, a
+ powerful chief, on the banks of that lake. It is remarkable that Oſfian addreſſes no poem to
+ Malvina, in which her lover Oſcar was not one of the principal actors. His attention to her,
+ after the death of his ſon, ſhews that delicacy of ſentiment is not confined, as ſome fondly
+ imagine, to our own poliſhed times.
+ of
+
+
+ Lego. He had ſeen his fathers. “As ruſhes forth the blaſt, on the boſom
+ of whitening waves; ſo careleſs ſhall my courſe be, through ocean, to the dwelling of foes. I
+ have ſeen the dead, my father ! My beating ſoul is high ! My fame is bright before me, like the
+ ſtreak of light on a cloud, when the broad ſun comes forth, red traveller of the ſky !”
+
“Grandson of Branno,” I ſaid; “not Oſcar alone ſhall meet the foe. I ruſh
+ forward, thro' ocean, to the woody dwelling of heroes. Let us contend, my ſon, like eagles, from
+ one rock, when they lift their broad wings, againſt the ſtream of winds.” We raiſed our ſails in
+ Carmona. From three ſhips, they marked my ſhield on the wave, as I looked on nightly Ton-thena
+
Ton-thena,fire of the wave, was the remarkable ſtar mentioned in the ſeventh book
+ of Temora, which directed the courſe of Larthon to Ireland. It ſeems to have been well known to
+ thoſe, who ſailed on that ſea, which divides Ireland from South-Britain. As the courſe of
+ Oſſian was along the coaſt of Inis-huna, he mentions with propriety, that ſtar which directed
+ the voyage of the colony from that country to Ireland,
+ , red traveller between the clouds. Four days came the breeze abroad. Lumon came
+
+
+ forward in miſt. In winds were its hundred groves. Sun-beams
+ marked, at times, its brown ſide. White, leapt the foamy ſtreams, from all its echoing
+ rocks.
+
A green field, in the boſom of hills, winds ſilent with its own blue
+ ſtream. Here, midſt the waving of oaks, were the dwellings of kings of old. But ſilence, for
+ many dark-brown years, had ſettled in graſſy Rath-col
+
Rath-col, woody-field, does not appear to have been the reſidence of Duth-carmor :
+ he ſeems rather to have been forced thither by a ſtorm ; at leaſt I ſhould think that to be the
+ meaning of the poet, from his expreſſion, that Toz-thena had hid her head, and that
+ he bound his white-boſomed ſails; which is as much as to ſay, that the weather was
+ ſtormy, and that Duthcarmor put in to the bay of Rathcol for ſhelter.
+ ; for the race of heroes had failed, along the pleaſant vale. Duthcarmor was here, with
+ his people, dark rider of the wave. Ton-thena had hid her head in the ſky. He bound his
+ white-boſomed ſails. His courſe is on the hills of Rath-col, to the ſeats of roes. We came. I
+ ſent the bard, with ſongs, to call the foe to fight. Duth-carmor heard him, with joy. The king's
+ ſoul was like a beam of fire; a beam of fire, marked with ſmoak, ruſhing, varied, thro' the
+ boſom of night. The deeds of Duth-carmor were dark, tho' his arm was ſtrong.
+
Night came, with the gathering of clouds. By the beam of the oak we ſat
+ down. At a
+
+ diftance ſtood Cathlin of Clutha. I ſaw the changeful
+
From this circumſtance, ſucceeding bards feigned that Cathlin, who is here in the diſguiſe
+ of a young warrior, had fallen in love with Duth-carmor at a feaſt, to which he had been
+ invited by her father. Her love was converted into deteſtation for him, after he had murdered
+ her father. But as thoſe rain-bows of heaven are changeful, ſay my authors, ſpeaking
+ of women, ſhe felt the return of her former paſſion, upon the approach of Duth-carmor's danger.
+ I myſelf, who think more favourably of the ſex, muſt attribute the agitation of Cathlin's mind
+ to her extream ſenſibility to the injuries done her by Duth-carmor; and this opinion is
+ favoured by the ſequel of the ſtory.
+ ſoul of the ſtranger. As ſhadows fly over the field of graſs, ſo various is Cathlin's
+ cheek. It was fair, within locks, that roſe on Rath-col's wind. I did not ruſh, amidſt his ſoul,
+ with my words. I bade the ſong to riſe.
+
“Oscar of Lego,” I ſaid, “be thine the ſecret hill
+
This paſſage alludes to the well known cuſtom among the ancient kings of Scotland, to retire
+ from their army on the night preceding a battle. The ſtory which Oſſian introduces in the next
+ paragraph, concerns the fall of the Druids. It is ſaid in many old poems, that the Druids, in
+ the extremity of their affairs, had ſolicited and obtained aid from Scandinavia. Among the
+ auxiliaries there came many pretended magicians, which circumſtance Oſſian alludes to, in his
+ deſcription of the ſon of Loda, Magic and incantation could not, however, prevail ;
+ for Trenmor, aſſiſted by the valour of his ſon Trathal, entirely broke the power of the Druids.
+
+ , to-night. Strike the ſhield, like Morven's kings. With day, thou ſhalt lead in
+
+
+ war. From my rock, I ſhall ſee thee, Oſcar, a dreadful form
+ aſcending in fight, like the appearance of ghoſts, amidſt the ſtorms they raiſe: Why ſhould mine
+ eyes return to the dim times of old, ere yet the ſong had burſted forth, like the ſudden riſing
+ of winds? But the years, that are paſt, are marked with mighty deeds. As the nightly rider of
+ waves looks up to Ton-thena of beams : ſo let us turn our eyes to Trenmor, the father of
+ kings.”
+
“Wide, in Caracha's echoing field, Carmal had poured his tribes. They were
+ a dark ridge of waves. The grey-haired bards were like moving foam on their face. They kindled
+ the ſtrife around, with their red-rolling eyes. Nor alone were the dwellers of rocks; a ſon of
+ Loda was there; a voice, in his own dark land, to call the ghoſts from high. On his hill, he had
+ dwelt; in Lochlin, in the midſt of a leafleſs grove. Five ſtones lifted, near, their heads. Loud
+ roared his ruſhing ſtream. He often raiſed his voice to the winds, when meteors marked their
+ nightly wings; when the dark-robed moon was rolled behind her hill. Nor unheard of ghoſts was he
+ ! They came with the ſound of eagle wings. They turned battle, in fields, before the kings of
+ men.
+
“But, Trenmor, they turned not from battle. He drew forward that troubled
+ war ; in its dark
+
+ ſkirt was Trathal, like a riſing light. It was dark; and Loda's ſon
+ poured forth his ſigns, on night. The feeble were not before thee, ſon of other lands!
+
Trenmor and Trathal, Oſſian introduced this epiſode, as an example to his ſon, from ancient
+ times.
+ Then roſe the ſtrife of kings, about the hill of night; but it was ſoft as two ſummer
+ gales, ſhaking their light wings, on a lake. Trenmor yielded to his ſon ; for the fame of the
+ king had been heard. Trathal came forth before his father, and the foes failed, in echoing
+ Caracha. The years that are paſt, my ſon, are marked with mighty deeds
+
Thoſe who deliver down this poem in tradition, lament that there is a great part of it loſt.
+ In particular they regret the loſs of an epiſode, which was here introduced, with the ſequel of
+ the ſtory of Carmal and his Druids. Their attachment to it was founded on the deſcriptions of
+ magical inchantments which it contained.
+ .”
+
In clouds roſe the eaſtern light. The foe came forth in arms. The ſtrife is
+ mixed on Rath-col, like the roar of ſtreams. Behold the contending of kings ! They meet beſide
+ the oak. In gleams of ſteel the dark forms are loſt ; ſuch is the meeting of meteors, in a vale
+ by night : red light is ſcattered round, and men foreſee the ſtorm ! Duth-carmor is low in
+ blood! The ſon of Oſſian overcame ! Not harmleſs in battle was he, Malvina hand of harps !
+
+
+
+
Nor, in the field, were the ſteps of Cathlin. The ſtranger ſtood by a
+ ſecret ſtream, where the foam of Rath-col ſkirted the moſſy ſtones. Above, bends the branchy
+ birch, and ſtrews its leaves, on wind. The inverted ſpear of Cathlin touched, at times, the
+ ſtream. Oſcar brought Duth-carmor's mail : his helmet with its eagle-wing. He placed them before
+ the ſtranger, and his words were heard. “The foes of thy father have failed. They are laid in
+ the field of ghoſts. Renown returns to Morven, like a riſing wind. Why art thou dark, chief of
+ Clutha ? Is there cauſe for grief?
+
“Son of Oſſian of harps, my ſoul is darkly ſad. I behold the arms of
+ Cathmol, which he raiſed in war. Take the mail of Cathlin, place it high in Selma's hall; that
+ thou mayſt remember the hapleſs in thy diſtant land.” From white breaſts deſcended the mail. It
+ was the race of kings; the ſoft-handed daughter of Cathmol, at the ſtreams of Clutha!
+ Duth-carmor ſaw her bright in the hall, he had come, by night, to Clutha. Cathmol met him, in
+ battle, but the hero fell. Three days dwelt the foe, with the maid. On the fourth ſhe fled in
+ arms. She remembered the race of kings, and felt her burſting ſoul!
+
+
+
Why, maid of Toſcar of Lutha, ſhould I tell how Cathlin failed? Her tomb is
+ at ruſhy Lumon, in a diſtant land. Near it were the ſteps of Sul-malla, in the days of grief.
+ She raiſed the ſong, for the daughter of ſtrangers, and touched the mournful harp.
+
Come, from the watching of night, Malvina, lonely beam !
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ SUL-MALLA OF LUMON: A POEM.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
This poem, which, properly ſpeaking, is a continuation of the laſt, opens
+ with an addreſs to Sul-malla, the daughter of the king of Inis-huna, whom Oſſian met, at the
+ chace, as he returned from the battle ef Rath-col. Sul-malla invites Oſſian and Oſcar to a
+ feaſt, at the reſidence of her father, who was then abſent in the wars. Upon hearing their name
+ and family, ſhe relates an expedition of Fingal into Inis huna. She caſually mentioning Cathmor,
+ chief of Atha, (who then aſſiſted her father againſt his enemies) Oſſian introduces the epiſode
+ of Culgorm and Surandronlo, two Scandinavian kings, in whoſe wars Oſſian himſelf and Cathmor
+ were engaged on oppoſite ſides. The ſtory is imperfect, a part of the original being loſt.
+ Oſſian, warned, in a dream, by the ghoſt of Trenmor, ſets ſail from Inishuna.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ SUL-MALLA OF LUMON: A POEM.
+
+
The expedition of Oſſian to Inis-huna happened a ſhort time before Fingal paſſed over into
+ Ireland, to dethrone Cairbar the ſon of Borbar-duthul. Cathmor, the brother of Cairbar, was
+ aiding Conmor, king of Inis-huna, in his wars, at the time that Oſſian defeated Duth-carmor, in
+ the valley of Rath-col, The poem is more intereſting, that it contains ſo many particulars
+ concerning thoſe perſonages, who make ſo great a figure in Temora.
+
The exact correſpondence in the manners and cuſtoms of Inis-huna, as here deſcribed, to thoſe
+ of Caledonia, leaves no room to doubt, that the inhabitants of both were originally the ſame
+ people. Some may allege, that Oſſian might transfer, in his poetical deſcriptions, the manners
+ of his own nation to foreigners. This objection is eaſily anſwered. Why has he not done this
+ with regard to the inhabitants of Scandinavia? We find the latter very different in their
+ cuſtoms and ſuperſtitions from the nations of Britain and Ireland. The Scandinavian manners are
+ remarkably barbarous and fierce, and ſeem to mark out a nation much leſs advanced in a ſtate of
+ civilization, than the inhabitants of Britain were in the times of Oſſian.
+ Who moves ſo ſtately, on Lumon, at the roar of the foamy waters? Her
+ hair falls upon her heaving breaſt. White is her arm behind, as ſlow the bends the bow. Why
+
+
+
+ doſt thou wander in deſarts, like a light thro' a cloudy field
+ ? The young roes are panting, by their ſecret rocks. Return, thou daughter of kings! the cloudy
+ night is near! It was the young branch of green Inis-huna, Sul-malla of blue eyes. She ſent the
+ bard from her rock, to bid us to her feaſt. Amidſt the ſong we ſat down, in Cluba's ecchoing
+ hall. White moved the hands of Sul-malla, on the trembling ſtrings. Half-heard amidſt the ſound,
+ was the name of Atha's king : he that was abſent in battle for her own green land. Nor abſent
+ from her ſoul was he; he came midſt her thoughts by night. Ton-thena looked in, from the ſky, and
+ ſaw her toſſing arms.
+
The ſound of ſhells had ceaſed. Amidſt long locks, Sul-malla roſe. She ſpoke
+ with bended eyes, and aſked of our courſe thro' ſeas ; “for of the kings of men are ye, tall
+ riders of the
+
+ wave
+
Sul-malla here diſcovers the quality of Oſſian and Oſcar, from their ſtature and ſtately
+ gait. Among nations, not far advanced in civilization, a ſuperior beauty and ſtatelineſs of
+ perſon were inſeparable from nobility of blood. It was from theſe qualities, that thoſe of
+ family were known by ſtrangers, not from tawdry trappings of ſtate injudiciouſly thrown round
+ them. The cauſe of this diſtinguiſhing property, muſt, in ſome meaſure, be aſcribed to their
+ unmixed blood. They had no inducement to intermarry with the vulgar: and no low notions of
+ intereſt made them deviate from their choice, in their own ſphere. In ſtates, where luxury has
+ been long eſtabliſhed, beauty of perſon is, by no means, the characteriſtic of antiquity of
+ family. This muſt be attributed to thoſe enervating vices, which are inſeparable from luxury and
+ wealth. A great family, (to alter a little the words of the hiſtorian) it is true, like a river,
+ becomes conſiderable from the length of its courſe, but, as it rolls on, hereditary diſtempers,
+ as well as property, flow ſucceſively into it.
+ .” “Not unknown,” I ſaid, “at his ſtreams is he, the father of our race. Fingal has been
+ heard of at Cluba, blue-eyed daughter of kings. Nor only, at Cona's ſtream, is Oſſian and Oſcar
+ known. Foes trembled at our voice, and ſhrunk in other lands.”
+
“Not unmarked,” ſaid the maid, “by Sul-malla, is the ſhield of Morven's
+ king. It hangs high, in my father's hall, in memory of the paſt; when Fingal came to Cluba, in
+ the days of other years. Loud roared the boar of Culdarnu, in the midſt of his rocks and woods.
+ Inis-huna ſent her youths, but they failed ; and
+
+ virgins wept over tombs. Careleſs went Fingal to Culdarnu. On
+ his ſpear rolled the ſtrength of the woods. He was bright, they ſaid, in his locks, the firſt of
+ mortal men. Nor at the feaſt were heard his words. His deeds paſſed from his ſoul of fire, like
+ the rolling of vapours from the face of the wandering ſun. Not careleſs looked the blue eyes of
+ Cluba on his ſtately ſteps. In white boſoms roſe the king of Selma, in the midſt of their
+ thoughts by night. But the winds bore the ſtranger to the ecchoing vales of his roes. Nor loſt to
+ other lands was he, like a meteor that ſinks in a cloud. He came forth, at times, in his
+ brightneſs, to the diſtant dwelling of foes. His fame came, like the ſound of winds, to Cluba's
+ woody vale
+
Too partial to our own times, we are ready to mark out remote antiquity, as the region of
+ ignorance and barbariſm. This, perhaps, is extending our prejudices too far, It has been long
+ remarked, that knowlege, in a great meaſure, is founded on a free intercourſe between mankind ;
+ and that the mind is enlarged in proportion to the obſervations it has made upon the manners of
+ different men and nations. If we look, with attention, into the hiſtory of Fingal, as delivered
+ by Oſſian, we ſhall find that he was not altogether a poor ignorant hunter, confined to the
+ narrow corner of an iſland. His expeditions to all parts of Scandinavia, to the north of
+ Germany, and the different ſtates of Great Britain and Ireland, were very numerous, and
+ performed under ſuch a character, and at ſuch times, as gave him an opportunity to mark the
+ undiſguiſed manners of mankind. War and an active life, as they call forth, by turns, all the
+ powers of the ſoul, preſent to us the different characters of men: in times of peace and quiet,
+ for want of objects to exert them, the powers of the mind lie concealed, in a great meaſure, and
+ we ſee only artificial paſſions and manners. It is from this conſideration I conclude, that a
+ traveller of penetration could gather more genuine knowlege from a tour of ancient Gaul, than
+ from the minuteſt obſervation of all the artificial manners, and elegant refinements of modern
+ France.
+ .”
+
+
+ “Darkness dwells in Cluba of harps : the race of kings
+ is diſtant far ; in battle is my father Conmor: and Lormar
+
Lormar was the ſon of Conmor, and the brother of Sulmalla. After the death of Conmor, Lormar
+ ſucceeded him in the throne.
+ my brother, king of ſtreams. Nor darkening alone are they; a beam, from other lands, is
+ nigh; the friend of ſtrangers
+
Cathmor, the ſon of Barbar-duthul. It would appear, from the partiality with which Sul-malla
+ ſpeaks of that hero, that ſhe had ſeen him, previous to his joining her father's army ; tho'
+ tradition poſitively aſſerts, that it was, after his return, that ſhe fell in love with him.
+
+ in Atha, the troubler of the field. High, from their miſty hills, look forth the blue
+ eyes of Erin; for he is far away, young dweller of their ſouls! Nor, harmleſs, white hands of
+ Erin ! is Cathmor in the ſkirts of war; he rolls ten thouſand before him, in his diſtant
+ field.”
+
“Not unſeen by Oſſian,” I ſaid, “ruſhed Cathmor from his ſtreams, when he
+ poured his
+
+ ſtrength on I-thorno
+
I-thorno, ſays tradition, was an iſland of Scandinavia. In it, at a hunting party, met
+ Culgorm and Suran-dronlo, the kings of two neighbouring iſles. They differed about the honour of
+ killing a boar; and a war was kindled between them. From this epiſode we may learn, that the
+ manners of the Scandinavians were much more ſavage and cruel, than thoſe of Britain. It is
+ remarkable, that the names, introduced in this ſtory, are not of Galic original, which
+ circumſtance affords room to ſuppoſe, that it had its foundation in true hiſtory.
+ , iſle of many waves! In ſtrife met two kings in I-thorno, Culgorm and Suran-dronlo : each
+ from his ecchoing iſle, ſtern hunters of the boar !”
+
“They met a boar, at a foamy ſtream : each pierced him with his ſpear. They
+ ſtrove for the fame of the deed; and gloomy battle roſe. From iſle to iſle they ſent a ſpear,
+ broken and ſtained with blood, to call the friends of their fathers, in their ſounding arms.
+ Cathmor came, from Erin, to Culgorm, red-eyed king : I aided Suran-dronlo, in his land of
+ boars.”
+
“We ruſhed on either ſide of a ſtream, which roared thro' a blaſted heath.
+ High broken rocks were round, with all their bending trees. Near were two circles of Loda, with
+ the ſtone of power ; where ſpirits deſcended, by night, in dark-red ſtreams of fire. There, mixed
+ with the murmur of waters, roſe the
+
+ voice of aged men, they called the forms of night, to aid them in their war.”
+
From the circumſtance of Oſſian not being preſent at the rites, deſcribed in the preceding
+ paragraph, we may ſuppoſe that he held them in contempt. This difference of ſentiment, with
+ regard to religion, is a ſort of argument, that the Caledonians were not originally a colony of
+ Scandinavians, as ſome have imagined. Concerning ſo remote a period, mere conjecture muſt ſupply
+ the place of argument and poſitive proofs.
+ Heedless I ſtood, with my people, where fell the foamy ſtream from
+ rocks. The moon moved red from the mountain. My ſong, at times, aroſe. Dark, on the other ſide,
+ young Cathmor heard my voice; for he lay, beneath the oak, in all his gleaming arms. Morning
+ came; we ruſhed to fight: from wing to wing is the rolling of ſtrife. They fell, like the
+ thiſtle's head, beneath autumnal winds.
+
In armour came a ſtately form : I mixed my ſtrokes with the chief. By turns
+ our ſhields are pierced : loud rung our ſteely mails. His helmet fell to the ground. In
+ brightneſs ſhone the foe. His eyes, two pleaſant flames, rolled between his wandering locks. I
+ knew Cathmor of Atha, and threw my ſpear on earth. Dark, we turned, and ſilent paſſed to mix with
+ other foes.”
+
+
+ “Not ſo paſſed the ſtriving kings
+
Culporm and Suran dronlo. The combat of the kings and their attitude in death are hiphly
+ pictureſque, and expreſſive of that ferocity of manners, which diſtinguiſhed the northern
+ nations.
+ . They, mixed in ecchoing fray ; like the meeting of ghoſts, in the dark wing of winds.
+ Thro' either breaſt ruſhed the ſpears ; nor yet lay the foes on earth ! A rock received their
+ fall ; half-reclined they lay in death. Each held the lock of his foe; each grimly ſeemed to roll
+ his eyes. The ſtream of the rock leapt on their ſhields, and mixed below with blood.
+
The battle ceaſed in I-thorno. The ſtrangers met in peace: Cathmor from Atha
+ of ſtreams, and Oſſian, king of harps. We placed the dead in earth. Our ſteps were by Runar's
+ bay. With the bounding boat, afar, advanced a ridgy wave. Dark was the rider of ſeas, but a beam
+ of light was there, like the ray of the ſun, in Stromlo's rolling ſmoak. It was the daughter
+
Tradition has handed down the name of this princeſs. The bards call her Runo-forlo, which has
+ no other ſort of title for being genuine, but its not being of Galic original ; a diſtinction,
+ which the bards had not the art to preſerve, when they feigned names for foreigners. The
+ highland ſenachies, who very often endeavoured to ſupply the deficiency, they thought they found
+ in the tales of Oſſian, have given us the continuation of the ſtory of the daughter of
+ Suran-dronlo. The cataſtrophe is ſo unnatural, and the circumſtances of it ſo ridiculouſly
+ pompous, that, for the ſake of the inventors, I ſhall conceal them.
+
The wildly beautiful appearance of Runo-forlo, made a deep impreſſion on a chief, ſome ages
+ ago, who was himſelf no contemptible poet. The ſtory is romantic, but not incredible, if we make
+ allowances for the lively imagination of a man of genius. Our chief ſailing, in a ſtorm, along
+ one of the iſlands of Orkney, ſaw a woman, in a boat, near the ſhore, whom he thought, as he
+ expreſſes it himſelf, as beautiful as a ſudden ray of the ſun, on the dark-heaving
+ deep. The verſes of Oſſian, on the attitude of Runo-forlo, which was ſo ſimilar to that of
+ the woman in the boat, wrought ſo much on his fancy, that he fell deſperately in love. The
+ winds, however, drove him from the coaſt, and, after a few days, he arrived at his reſidence in
+ Scotland. There his paſſion increaſed to ſuch a degree, that two of his friends, fearing the
+ conſequence, ſailed to the Orkneys, to carry to him the object of his deſire. Upon enquiry they
+ ſoon found the nymph, and carried her to the enamoured chief; but mark his ſurprize, when,
+ inſtead of a ray of the fun, he ſaw a ſkinny fiſherwoman, more than middle aged,
+ appearing before him. Tradition here ends the ſtory : but it may be eaſily ſuppoſed that the
+ paſſion of the chief ſoon ſubſided.
+ of Suran-dronlo, wild in brightened looks.
+
+
+ Her eyes were wandering flames, amidſt diſordered locks. Forward is her
+ white arm, with the ſpear ; her high-heaving breaſt is ſeen, white as foamy waves that rife, by
+ turns, amidſt rocks. They are beautiful, but terrible, and mariners call the winds !”
+
“Come, ye dwellers of Loda!” ſhe ſaid, “come, Carchar, pale in the midſt of
+ clouds !
+
+
+ Sluthmor, that ſtrideſt in airy halls ! Corchtur, terrible in
+ winds ! Receive, from his daughter's ſpear, the foes of Suran-dronlo. No ſhadow, at his roaring
+ ſtreams; no mildly-looking form was he ! When he took up his ſpear, the hawks ſhook their
+ ſounding wings: for blood was poured around the ſteps of dark-eyed Suran-dronlo. He lighted me,
+ no harmleſs beam, to glitter on his ſtreams. Like meteors, I was bright, but I blaſted the foes
+ of Suran-dronlo.”
+
* * * *
+
Nor unconcerned heard Sul-malla, the praiſe of Cathmor of ſhields. He was
+ within her ſoul, like a fire in ſecret heath, which awakes at the voice of the blaſt, and ſends
+ its beam abroad. Amidſt the ſong removed the daughter of kings, like the voice of a
+ ſummer-breeze; when it lifts the heads of flowers, and curls the lakes and ſtreams. The ruſtling
+ ſound gently ſpreads o'er the vale, foſtly-pleaſing as it ſaddens the ſoul.
+
By night came a dream to Oſſian; formleſs ſtood the ſhadow of Trenmor. He ſeemed to ſtrike the
+ dim ſhield, on Selma's ſtreamy rock. I roſe, in my rattling ſteel ; I knew that war was near,
+ before the winds our ſails were ſpread ; when Lumon ſhewed its ſtreams to the morn.
+
Come from the watching of night, Malvina, lonely beam !
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE WAR of INIS-THONA: A POEM.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Reflections on the poet's youth. An apoſtrophe to Selma. Oſcar obtains leave to go to
+ Inis-thona, an iſland of Scandinavia. The mournful ſtory of Argon and Kuro, the two ſons of the
+ king of Inis-thona. Oſcar revenges their death, and returns in triumph to Selma. A ſoliloquy by
+ the poet himſelf.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE WAR of INIS-THONA: A POEM.
+
Our youth is like the dream of the hunter on the hill of heath. He ſleeps
+ in the mild beams of the ſun ; he awakes amidſt a ſtorm; the red lightning flies around : trees
+ ſhake their heads to the wind ! He looks back with joy, on the day of the ſun; and the pleaſant
+ dreams of his reſt! When ſhall Oſſian's youth return ? When his ear delight in the ſound of arms
+ ? When ſhall I, like Oſcar, travel in the light of my ſteel? Come, with your ſtreams, ye hills of
+ Cona ! liſten to the voice of Oſſian. The ſong riſes, like the ſun, in my ſoul. I feel the joys
+ of other times !
+
I behold thy towers, O Selma ! the oaks of thy ſhaded wall: thy ſtreams
+ ſound in my ear thy heroes gather around. Fingal ſits in the
+
+
+ midſt. He leans on the ſhield of Trenmor: his ſpear ſtands
+ againſt the wall ; he liſtens to the ſong of his bards. The deeds of his arm are heard; the
+ actions of the king in his youth ! Oſcar had returned from the chace, and heard the hero's
+ praiſe. He took the ſhield of Branno
+
This is Branno, the father of Everallin, and grandfather to Oſcar; he was of Iriſh
+ extraction, and lord of the country round the lake of Lego. His great actions are handed down by
+ tradition, and his hoſpitality has paſſed into a proverb.
+ from the wall; his eyes were filled with tears. Red was the cheek of youth. His voice was
+ trembling, low. My ſpear ſhook its bright head in his hand : he ſpoke to Morven's king.
+
“Fingal! thou king of heroes! Oſſian, next to him in war! ye have fought in
+ your youth; your names are renowned in ſong. Oſcar is like the miſt of Cona ; I appear and I
+ vaniſh away. The bard will not know my name. The hunter will not ſearch in the heath for my tomb.
+ Let me fight, O heroes, in the battles of Inis-Thona. Diſtant is the land of my war! ye ſhall not
+ hear of Oſcar's fall ! Some bard may find me there ; ſome bard may give my name to ſong. The
+ daughter of the ſtranger ſhall ſee my tomb, and weep over the youth, that came from afar. The
+ bard ſhall ſay, at the feaſt, “hear the ſong of Oſcar from the diſtant land !”
+
+
+
“Oscar,” replied the king of Morven ; “thou ſhalt fight, ſon of my fame !
+ Prepare my dark-boſomed ſhip to carry my hero to Inisthona. Son of my ſon, regard our fame ; thou
+ art of the race of renown ! Let not the children of ſtrangers ſay, feeble are the ſons of Morven
+ ! Be thou, in battle, a roaring ſtorm : mild as the evening ſun in peace ! Tell, Oſcar, to
+ Inisthona's king, that Fingal remembers his youth; when we ſtrove in the combat together, in the
+ days of Agandecca.”
+
They lifted up the ſounding ſail; the wind whiſtled through the thongs
+
Leather thongs were uſed among the Celtic nations, inſtead of ropes.
+ of their maſts. Waves laſh the oozy rocks: the ſtrength of ocean roars. My ſon beheld,
+ from the wave, the land of groves, He ruſhed into Runa's ſounding bay, and ſent his ſword to
+ Annir of ſpears. The grey-haired hero roſe, when he ſaw the ſword of Fingal. His eyes were full
+ of tears; he remembered his battles in youth. Twice had they lifted the ſpear, before the lovely
+ Agandecca : heroes ſtood far diſtant, as if two ſpirits were ſtriving in winds.
+
“But now,” began the king, “I am old; the ſword lies uſeleſs in my hall.
+ Thou, who
+
+ art of Morven's race! Annir has ſeen the battle of ſpears ;
+ but now he is pale and withered, like the oak of Lano. I have no ſon to meet thee with joy, to
+ bring thee to the halls of his fathers. Argon is pale in the tomb, and Ruro is no more. My
+ daughter is in the hall of ſtrangers : ſhe longs to behold my tomb. Her ſpouſe ſhakes ten
+ thouſand ſpears; he comes
+
Cormalo had reſolved on a war againſt his father in law Annir king of Inis-thona, in order to
+ deprive him of his kingdom : the injuſtice of his deſigns was ſo much reſented by Fingal, that
+ he ſent his grandſon, Oſcar, to the aſſiſtance of Annir. Both armies came ſoon to a battle, in
+ which the conduct and valour of Oſcar obtained a compleat victory. An end was put to the war by
+ the death of Cormalo, who fell in a ſingle combat, by Oſcar's hand. Thus is the ſtory delivered
+ down by tradition ; though the poet, to raiſe the character of his ſon, makes Oſcar himſelf
+ propoſe the expedition.
+ a cloud of death from Lano. Come, to ſhare the feaſt of Annir, ſon of ecchoing Morven
+ !”
+
Three days they feaſted together; on the fourth, Annir heard the name of
+ Oſcar. They rejoiced in the ſhell
+
To rejoice in the ſhell is a phraſe for feaſting ſumptuouſly and drinking freely.
+
+ . They purſued the boars of Runa. Beſide the fount of moſſy ſtones, the weary heroes reſt.
+ The tear ſteals in ſecret from Annir: he broke the riſing ſigh. “Here darkly reſt,” the hero
+ ſaid, “the children of my youth. This ſtone is the tomb of Ruro; that tree ſounds
+
+ over the grave of Argon. Do ye hear my voice, O my ſons, within your
+ narrow houſe ? Or do ye ſpeak in theſe ruſtling leaves, when the winds of the deſart riſe ?”
+
“King of Inis-thona,” ſaid Oſcar, “how fell the children of youth? The wild
+ boar ruſhes over their tombs, but he does not diſturb their repoſe. They purſue deer
+
The notion of Oſſian concerning the ſtate of the deceaſed, was the ſame with that of the
+ ancient Greeks and Romans. They imagined that the ſouls purſued, in their ſeparate ſtate, the
+ employments and pleaſures of their former life.
+ formed of clouds, and bend their airy bow. They ſtill love the ſport of their youth ; and
+ mount the wind with joy.”
+
“Cormalo,” replicd the king, “is a chief of ten thouſand ſpears. He dwells
+ at the waters of Lano
+
Lano was a lake of Scandinavia, remarkable, in the days of Oſſian, for emitting a
+ peſtilential vapour in autumn. And thou, O valiant Duchomar, like the miſt of marſhy
+ Lano ; when it ſails ever the plains of autumn, and brings death to the hoſt.Fingal, B. I.
+ , which ſends forth the vapour of death. He came to Runa's ecchoing halls, and ſought the
+ honour of the ſpear
+
By the honour of the ſpear is meant the tournament practiſed among the ancient
+ northern nations.
+ . The youth was lovely as the firſt beam of the ſun ; few were they who could meet him in
+ fight ! My heroes yielded to Cormalo : my daughter was ſeized in his love.
+
+ Argon and Ruro returned from the chace; the tears of their
+ pride deſcend : they roll their ſilent eyes on Runa's heroes, who had yielded to a ſtranger.
+ Three days they feaſted with Cormalo : on the fourth young Argon fought. But who could fight with
+ Argon ! Cormalo is overcome. His heart ſwelled with the grief of pride; he reſolved, in ſecret,
+ to behold the death of my ſons? They went to the hills of Runa : they purſued the dark-brown
+ hinds. The arrow of Cormalo flew in ſecret ; my children fell in blood. He came to the maid of
+ his love ; to Inis-thona's long-haired maid. They fled over the deſart. Annir remained alone.
+ Night came on and day appeared; nor Argon's voice, nor Ruro's came. At length their much-loved
+ dog was ſeen ; the fleet and bounding Runar. He came into the hall and howled ; and ſeemed to
+ look towards the place of their fall. We followed him : we ſound them here : we laid them by this
+ moſſy ſtream. This is the haunt of Annir, when the chace of the hinds is paſt. I bend like the
+ trunk of an aged oak; my tears for ever flow !
+
“O Ronnan !” ſaid the riſing Oſcar, “Ogar king of ſpears! call my heroes to
+ my ſide, the ſons of ſtreamy Morven. To-day we go to Lano's water, that ſends forth the vapour of
+
+
+ death. Cormalo will not long rejoice: death is often at the point of our
+ ſwords !”
+
They came over the deſart like ſtormy clouds, when the winds roll them along
+ the heath : their edges are tinged with lightning ; the ecchoing groves foreſee the form! The
+ horn of Oſcar's battle is heard ; Lano ſhook over all its waves. The children of the lake
+ convened around the ſounding ſhield of Cormalo. Oſcar fought, as he was wont in war. Cormalo fell
+ beneath his ſword : the ſons of diſmal Lano fled to their ſecret vales! Oſcar brought the
+ daughter of Inis-thona to Annir's ecchoing halls. The face of age is bright with joy ; he bleſt
+ the king of ſwords !
+
How great was the joy of Oſſian, when he beheld the diſtant fail of his ſon! it was like a
+ cloud of light that riſes in the eaſt, when the traveller is ſad in a land unknown; and diſmal
+ night, with her ghoſts, is fitting around in ſhades! We brought him, with ſongs, to Selma's
+ halls. Fingal ſpread the feaſt of ſhells. A thouſand bards raiſed the name of Oſcar : Morven
+ anſwered to the ſound. The daughter of Toſcar was there; her voice was like the harp; when the
+ diſtant ſound comes, in the evening, on the foſt-ruſtling breeze of the vale!
+
+
+
O Lay me, ye that ſee the light, near ſome rock of my hills ! let the thick
+ hazels be around, let the ruſtling oak be near. Green be the place of my reſt; let the ſound of
+ the diſtant torrent be heard. Daughter of Toſcar, take the harp, and raiſe the lovely ſong of
+ Selma ; that ſleep may overtake my ſoul in the midſt of joy ; that the dreams of my youth may
+ return, and the days of the mighty Fingal. Selma! I behold thy towers, thy trees, thy ſhaded wall
+ ! I ſee the heroes of Morven ; I hear the ſong of bards ! Oſcar lifts the ſword of Cormalo; a
+ thouſand youths admire its ſtudded thongs. They look with wonder on my ſon: They admire the
+ ſtrength of his arm. They mark the joy of his father's eyes; they long for an equal fame. And ye
+ ſhall have your fame, O ſons of ſtreamy Morven! My ſoul is often brightened with ſong; I remember
+ the friends of my youth. But ſleep deſcends, in the ſound of the harp! pleaſant dreams begin to
+ riſe! Ye ſons of the chace ſtand far diſtant, nor diſturb my reſt. The bard of other times holds
+ diſcourſe with his fathers, the chief of the days of old ! Sons of the chace, ſtand far diſtant !
+ diſturb not the dreams of Oſſian !
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE SONGS of SELMA.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Addreſs to the evening ſtar. An apoſtrophe to Fingal and his times. Minona ſings before the
+ king the ſong of the unfortunate Colma; and the bards exhibit other ſpecimens of their poetical
+ talents; according to an annual cuſtom eſtabliſhed by the monarchs of the ancient Caledonians
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE SONGS of SELMA.
+
Star of deſcending night! fair is thy light in the weſt ! thou lifteſt thy
+ unſhorn head from thy cloud : thy ſteps are ſtately on thy hill. What doſt thou behold in the
+ plain ? The ſtormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb
+ the diſtant rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings; the hum of their courſe is on
+ the field. What doſt thou behold, fair light ? But thou doſt ſmile and depart. The waves come
+ with joy around thee : they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewel, thou ſilent beam ! Let the light of
+ Oſſian's ſoul ariſe !
+
And it does ariſe in its ſtrength! I behold my departed friends. Their
+ gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other years. Fingal comes like a watry column of miſt;
+ his heroes are around : And ſee the bards of ſong,
+
+ grey-haired Ullin! ſtately Ryno! Alpin
+
Alpin is from the ſame root with Albion, or rather Albin, the ancient name of Britain; Alp,
+ high Iſland, or country. The preſent name of our iſland has its origin in the
+ Celtic tongue; ſo that thoſe who derived it from any other, betrayed their ignorance of the
+ ancient language of our country. Brait or Braid, extenſive; and in,
+ land.
+ , with the tuneful voice! the ſoft complaint of Minona! How are ye changed, my friends,
+ ſince the days of Selma's feaſt ? when we contended, like gales of ſpring, as they fly along the
+ hill, and bend by turns the feebly-whiſtling graſs.
+
Minona
+
Oſſian introduces Minona, not in the ideal ſcene in his own mind, which he had deſcribed ;
+ but at the annual feaſt of Selma, where the bards repeated their works before Fingal.
+ came forth in her beauty ; with down-caſt look and tearful eye. Her hair flew ſlowly on
+ the blaſt, that ruſhed unfrequent from the hill. The ſouls of the heroes were ſad when ſhe raiſed
+ the tuneful voice. Often had they ſeen the grave of Salgar
+
Sealg-'er, a hunter.
+ , the dark dwelling of white-boſomed Colma
+
Cul math, a woman with fine hair.
+ . Colma left alone on the hill, with all her voice of ſong! Salgar promiſed to come: but
+ the night deſcended around. Hear the voice of Colma, when ſhe ſat alone on the hill !
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ Colma.
+
It is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of ſtorms. The wind is heard
+ in the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on
+ the hill of winds !
+
Rise, moon ! from behind thy clouds. Stars of the night ariſe! Lead me,
+ ſome light, to the place, where my love reſts from the chace alone! his bow near him, unſtrung:
+ his dogs panting around him. But here I muſt ſit alone, by the rock of the moſſy ſtream. The
+ ſtream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of my love! Why delays my Salgar, why the
+ chief of the hill, his promiſe ? Here is the rock, and here the tree! here is the roaring ſtream
+ ! Thou didſt promiſe with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgar gone ? With thee I would
+ fly, from my father ; with thee, from my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes ; we are
+ not foes, O Salgar!
+
Cease a little while, O wind! ſtream, be thou ſilent a while! let my voice
+ be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me ! Salgar ! it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree, and
+ the rock. Salgar, my love! I am here. Why delayeſt thou thy coming? Lo! the calm moon
+
+
+ comes forth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are
+ grey on the ſteep. I ſee him not on the brow. His dogs come not before him, with tidings of his
+ near approach. Here I muſt ſit alone !
+
Who lie on the heath beſide me? Are they my love and my brother ? Speak to
+ me, O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speak to me: I am alone! My ſoul is tormented
+ with fears! Ah! they are dead ! Their ſwords are red from the fight. O my brother ! my brother !
+ why haſt thou ſlain my Salgar? why, O Salgar! haſt thou ſlain my brother ? Dear were ye both to
+ me ! what ſhall I ſay in your praiſe ? Thou wert fair on the hill among thouſands ! he was
+ terrible in fight. Speak to me; hear my voice; hear me, ſons of my love! They are ſilent; ſilent
+ for ever! Cold, cold are their breaſts of clay! Oh! from the rock on the hill; from the top of
+ the windy ſteep, ſpeak, ye ghoſts of the dead ! ſpeak, I will not be afraid ! Whither are ye
+ gone to reſt? In what cave of the hill ſhall I find the departed ? No feeble voice is on the
+ gale : no anſwer half-drowned in the ſtorm !
+
I sit in my grief! I wait for morning in my tears! Rear the tomb, ye
+ friends of the dead. Cloſe it not till Colma come, My life flies
+
+ away like a dream : why ſhould I ſtay behind ? Here ſhall I
+ reſt with my friends, by the ſtream of the ſounding rock. When night comes on the hill; when the
+ loud winds ariſe; my ghoſt ſhall ſtand in the blaſt, and mourn the death of my friends. The
+ hunter ſhall hear from his booth. He ſhall fear but love my voice! For ſweet ſhall my voice be
+ for my friends: pleaſant were her friends to Colma !
+
Such was thy ſong, Minona, ſoftly-bluſhing daughter of Torman. Our tears
+ deſcended for Colma, and our ſouls were ſad! Ullin came with his harp ; he gave the ſong of
+ Alpin. The voice of Alpin was pleaſant ; the ſoul of Ryno was a beam of fire! But they had
+ reſted in the narrow houſe : their voice had ceaſed in Selma. Ullin had returned, one day, from
+ the chace, before the heroes fell. He heard their ſtrife on the hill; their ſong was ſoft but
+ ſad! They mourned the fall of Morar, firſt of mortal men ! His ſoul was like the ſoul of Fingal
+ ; his ſword like the ſword of Oſcar. But he fell, and his father mourned : his ſiſter's eyes
+ were full of tears. Minona's eyes were full of tears, the ſiſter of car-borne Morar. She retired
+ from the ſong of Ullin, like the moon in the weſt, when ſhe foreſees the ſhower, and hides her
+ fair head
+
+ in a cloud. I touched the harp, with Ullin; the ſong of
+ mourning roſe !
+
+
+ Ryno.
+
The wind and the rain are paſt: calm is the noon of day. The clouds are
+ divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies the inconſtant ſun. Red through the ſtony vale
+ comes down the ſtream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O ſtream ! but more ſweet is the voice
+ I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the ſon of ſong, mourning for the dead ! Bent is his head of
+ age; red his tearful eye. Alpin, thou ſon of ſong, why alone on the ſilent hill? why complaineſt
+ thou, as a blaſt in the wood; as a wave on the lonely ſhore ?
+
+
+ Alpin.
+
My tears, O Ryno! are for the dead; my voice for thoſe that have paſſed
+ away. Tall thou art on the hill, fair among the ſons of the vale. But thou ſhalt fall like Morar
+
Mór-ér, great man.
+ ; the mourner ſhall ſit on thy tomb. The hills ſhall know thee no more; thy bow ſhall lie
+ in the hail, unſtrung !
+
Thou wert ſwift, O Morar! as a roe on the deſart; terrible as a meteor of
+ fire. Thy wrath
+
+ was as the ſtorm. Thy ſword in battle, as lightning in the
+ field. Thy voice was a ſtream after rain; like thunder on diſtant hills. Many fell by thy arm;
+ they were conſumed in the flames of thy wrath. But when thou didſt return from war, how peaceful
+ was thy brow ! Thy face was like the ſun after rain ; like the moon in the ſilence of night;
+ calm as the breaſt of the lake when the loud wind is laid.
+
Narrow is thy dwelling now! dark the place of thine abode ! With three
+ ſteps I compaſs thy grave, O thou who waſt ſo great before ! Four ſtones, with their heads of
+ moſs, are the only memorial of thee. A tree with ſcarce a leaf, long graſs, which whiſtles in
+ the wind, mark to the hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed.
+ Thou haſt no mother to mourn thee; no maid with her tears of love. Dead is ſhe that brought thee
+ forth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan.
+
Who on his ſtaff is this? who is this, whoſe head is white with age ? whoſe
+ eyes are red with tears? who quakes at every ſtep? It is thy father
+
Torman, the ſon of Carthul, lord of I-mora, one of the weſtern iſles.
+ , O Morar! the father of no ſon but thee. He heard of thy fame in war; he heard
+
+
+ of foes diſperſed. He heard of Morar's renown ; why did he not
+ hear of his wound ? Weep, thou father of Morar ! weep ; but thy ſon heareth thee not. Deep is
+ the ſleep of the dead ; low their pillow of duſt. No more ſhall he hear thy voice; no more awake
+ at thy call. When ſhall it be morn in the grave, to bid the ſlumberer awake? Farewel, thou
+ braveſt of men ! thou conqueror in the field ! but the field ſhall ſee thee no more ; nor the
+ dark wood be lightened with the ſplendor of thy ſteel. Thou haſt left no ſon, The ſong ſhall
+ preſerve thy name. Future times ſhall hear of thee; they ſhall hear of the fallen Morar !
+
The grief of all aroſe, but moſt the burſting ſigh of Armin
+
Armin, a hero. He was chief or petty king of Gorma, i. e. the blue iſland, ſuppoſed
+ to be one of the Hebrides.
+ . He remembers the death of his ſon, who fell in the days of his youth. Carmor
+
Cear-mór, a tall dark-complexioncd man.
+ was near the hero, the chief of the ecchoing Galmal. Why burſts the ſigh of Armin, he
+ ſaid? Is there a cauſe to mourn ? The ſong comes, with its muſic, to melt and pleaſe the ſoul.
+ It is like ſoft miſt, that, riſing from a lake, pours on the ſilent vale; the green flowers are
+ filled with dew, but the ſun returns in his ſtrength, and the miſt is gone, Why
+
+ art thou ſad, O Armin, chief of ſea-ſurrounded Gorma ?
+
Sad ! I am ! nor ſmall is my cauſe of woe ! Carmor, thou haſt loſt. Colgar
+ the valiant lives; and Annira faireſt maid. The boughs of thy houſe aſcend, O Carmor! but Armin
+ is the laſt of his race. Dark is thy bed, O Daura ! deep thy ſleep in the tomb ! When ſhalt thou
+ awake with thy ſongs? with all thy voice of muſic ?
+
Arise, winds of autumn, ariſe ; blow along the heath ! ſtreams of the
+ mountains roar ! roar, tempeſts, in the groves of my oaks! walk through broken clouds, O moon!
+ ſhow thy pale face, at intervals! bring to my mind the night, when all my children fell ; when
+ Arindal the mighty fell ; when Daura the lovely failed ! Daura, my daughter! thou wert fair;
+ fair as the moon on Fura
+
Fuar-a, cold iſland.
+ ; white as the driven ſnow ; ſweet as the breathing gale. Arindal, thy bow was ſtrong.
+ Thy ſpear was ſwift in the field. Thy look was like miſt on the wave : thy ſhield, a red cloud
+ in a ſtorm. Armar, renowned in war, came, and ſought Daura's love. He was not long refuſed :
+ fair was the hope of their friends !
+
+
+
Erath, ſon of Odgal, repined : his brother had been ſlain by Armor. He came
+ diſguiſed like a ſon of the ſea: fair was his ſkiff on the wave ; white his locks of age; calm
+ his ſerious brow. Faireſt of women, he ſaid, lovely daughter of Armin! a rock not diſtant in the
+ ſea, bears a tree on its ſide ; red ſhines the fruit afar! There Armor waits for Daura. I come
+ to carry his love ! She went; ſhe called on Armar. Nought anſwered, but the ſon
+
By the ſon of the rock the poet means the ecchoing back of the human voice from a
+ rock. The vulgar were of opinion, that this repetition of ſound was made by a ſpirit within the
+ rock ; and they, on that account called it mac talla; the ſon who dwells in the rock.
+
+ of the rock, Armor, my love! my love! why tormenteſt thou me with fear ? hear, ſon of
+ Arnart, hear : it is Daura who calleth thee! Erath the traitor fled laughing to the land. She
+ lifted up her voice ; ſhe called for her brother and her father. Arindal ! Armin ! none to
+ relieve your Daura !
+
Her voice came over the ſea. Arindal my ſon deſcended from the hill ; rough
+ in the ſpoils of the chace. His arrows rattled by his ſide; his bow was in his hand : five dark
+ grey dogs attend his ſteps. He ſaw fierce Erath on the ſhore: he ſeized and bound him to an oak.
+
+
+ Thick wind the thongs
+
The poet here only means that Erath was bound with leathern thongs.
+ of the hide around his limbs; he loads the wind with his groans. Arindal aſcends the
+ deep in his boat, to bring Daura to land. Armar came in his wrath, and let fly the
+ grey-feathered ſhaft. It ſung ; it ſunk in thy heart, O Arindal my ſon ! for Erath the traitor
+ thou diedſt. The oar is ſtopped at once; he panted on the rock and expired. What is thy grief, O
+ Daura, when round thy feet is poured thy brother's blood ! The boat is broken in twain. Armar
+ plunges into the ſea, to reſcue his Daura or die. Sudden a blaſt from the hill came over the
+ waves. He ſunk, and he roſe no more.
+
Alone, on the ſea-beat rock, my daughter was heard to complain. Frequent
+ and loud were her cries. What could her father do? All night I ſtood on the ſhore, I ſaw her by
+ the faint beam of the moon. All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind ; the rain beat hard
+ on the hill. Before morning appeared, her voice was weak. It died away, like the evening-breeze
+ among the graſs of the rocks. Spent with grief ſhe expired. And left thee Armin alone: gone is
+ my ſtrength in war! fallen my pride among women! When the ſtorms aloft
+
+ ariſe : when the north lifts the wave on high; I ſit by the
+ ſounding ſhore, and look on the fatal rock. Often by the ſetting moon, I ſee the ghoſts of my
+ children. Half-viewleſs, they walk in mournful conference together. Will none of you ſpeak in
+ pity ? They do not regard their father. I am ſad, O Carmor, nor ſmall is my cauſe of woe !
+
+
Such were the words of the bards in the days of ſong; when the King heard
+ the muſic of harps, the tales of other times ! The chiefs gathered from all their hills, and
+ heard the lovely ſound. They praiſed the voice
+
Oſſian is ſometimes poetically called the voice of Cona.
+ of Cona ! the firſt among a thouſand bards! But age is now on my tongue; my ſoul has
+ failed! I hear, at times, the ghoſts of bards, and learn their pleaſant ſong.
+ But memory fails on my mind. I hear the call of years!
+ They ſay, as they paſs along, why does Oſſian ſing ? Soon ſhall he be in the narrow houſe, and no
+ bard ſhall raiſe his fame ! Roll on, ye dark-brown years; ye bring no joy on your courſe! Let the
+ tomb open to Oſſian, for his ſtrength has failed. The ſons of ſong are gone to reſt. My voice
+ remains, like a blaſt, that roars, lonely, on a ſea-ſurrounded rock, after the winds are laid.
+ The dark moſs whiſtles there; the diſtant mariner ſees the waving trees !
+
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS.
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book I.
+
Cuthullin, (general of the Iriſh tribes, in the minority of Cormac, king of Ireland) ſitting
+ alone beneath a tree, at the gate of Tura, a caſtle of Ulſter, (the other chiefs having gone on a
+ hunting party to Cromla, a neighbouring hill) is informed of the landing of Swaran, king of
+ Lochlin, by Moran, the ſon of Fithil, one of his ſcouts. He convenes the chiefs ; a council is
+ held, and diſputes run high about giving battle to the enemy. Connal, the petty king of Togorma,
+ and an intimate friend of Cuthullin, was for retreating till Fingal, king of thoſe Caledonians
+ who inhabited the north-weſt coaſt of Scotland, whoſe aid had been previouſly ſollicited, ſhould
+ arrive ; but Calmar, the ſon of Matha, lord of Lara, a country in Connaught, was for engaging the
+ enemy immediately. Cuthullin, of himſelf willing to fight, went into the opinion of Calmar.
+ Marching towards the enemy, he miſſed three of his braveſt heroes, Fergus, Duchomar, and Cathba.
+ Fergus arriving, tells Cuthullin of the death of the two other chiefs ; which introduces the
+ affecting epiſode of Morna, the daughter of Cormac. The army of Cuthullin is deſcried at a
+ diſtance by Swaran, who ſent the ſon of Arno to obſerve the motions of the enemy, while he
+ himſelf ranged his forces in order of battle. The ſon of Arno returning to Swaran, deſcribes to
+ him Cuthullin's chariot, and the terrible appearance of that hero. The armies engage, but night
+ coming on, leaves the victory undecided. Cuthullin, according to the hoſpitality of the times,
+ ſends to Swaran a formal invitation to a feaſt, by his bard Carril, the ſon of Kinfena. Swaran
+ refuſes to come. Carril relates to Cuthullin the ſtory of Grudar and Braſſolis. A party, by
+ Connal's advice, is ſent to obſerve the enemy ; which cloſes the action of the firſt day.
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS. BOOK I.
+
Cuthullin
+
Cuthullin the ſon of Semo and grandſon to Caithbat a druid celebrated in tradition for his
+ wiſdom and valour. Cuthullin when very young married Bragela the daughter of Sorglan, and
+ paſſing over into Ireland, lived for ſome time with Connal, grandſon by a daughter to Congal the
+ petty king of Ulſter. His wiſdom and valour in a ſhort time gained him ſuch reputation, that in
+ the minority of Cormac the ſupreme king of Ireland, he was choſen guardian to the young king,
+ and ſole manager of the war againſt Swaran king of Lochlin. After a ſeries of great actions he
+ was killed in battle ſomewhere in Connaught, in the twenty-ſeventh year of his age. He was ſo
+ remarkable for his ſtrength, that to deſcribe a ſtrong man it has paſſed into a proverb, “He has
+ the ſtrength of Cuthullin,” They ſhew the remains of his palace at Dunſcaich in the Iſle of Skye
+ ; and a ſtone to which he bound his dog Luath, goes ſtill by his name.
+ ſat by Tura's wall : by the tree of the ruſtling ſound. His ſpear leaned againſt a rock.
+ His ſhield lay on graſs, by his
+
+ ſide. Amid his thoughts of mighty Carbar
+
Cairbar or Cairbre, ſignifies a ſtrong man.
+ , a hero ſlain by the chief in war; the ſcout
+
Cuthullin having previous intelligence of the invaſion intended by Swaran, ſent ſcouts a!l
+ over the coaſt of Ullin or Ulſter, to give early notice of the firſt appearance of the enemy, at
+ the ſame time that he ſent Munan the ſon of Stirmal to implore the aſſiſtance of Fingal. He
+ himſelf collected the flower of the Iriſh youth to Tura, a caſtle on the coaſt, to ſtop the
+ progreſs of the enemy till Fingal ſhould arrive from Scotland. We may conclude from Cuthullin's
+ applying ſo early for foreign aid, that the Iriſh were not then ſo numerous as they have ſince
+ been; which is a great preſumption againſt the high antiquities of that people. We have the
+ teſtimony of Tacitus that one legion only was thought ſufficient, in the time of Agricola, to
+ reduce the whole iſland under the Roman yoke ; which would not probably have been the caſe had
+ the iſland been inhabited for any number of centuries before.
+ of ocean comes, Moran
+
Moran ſignifies many; and Fithil, or rather Fili, an inferior bard.
+ the ſon of Fithil !
+
“Arise,” ſays the youth, “Cuthullin, ariſe. I ſee the ſhips of the north !
+ Many, chief of men, are the foe. Many the heroes of the ſea-borne Swaran !'' “Moran!” replied the
+ blue-eyed chief, “thou ever trembleſt, ſon of Fithil ! “Thy fears have increaſed the foe. It is
+ Fingal, king
+
Fingal the ſon of Comhal and Morna the daughter of Thaddu. His grandfather was Trathal, and
+ great grandfather Trenmor, both of whom are often mentioned in the poem.
+ of deſarts, with aid to green Erin of ſtreams.” “I beheld their chief,” ſays Moran, “tall
+ as a glittering rock. His ſpear is a blaſted
+
+ pine. His ſhield the riſing moon ! He ſat on the ſhore ! like
+ a cloud of miſt on the ſilent hill ! Many, chief of heroes ! I ſaid, many are our hands of war.
+ Well art thou named, the Mighty Man : but many mighty men are ſeen from Tura's windy walls.”
+
“He ſpoke, like a wave on a rock, who in this land appears like me? Heroes
+ ſtand not in my preſence: they fall to earth from my hand. Who can meet Swaran in fight? Who but
+ Fingal, king of Selma of ſtorms? Once we wreſtled on Malmor
+
Meal-mór, a great hill.
+ ; our heels overturned the woods. Rocks fell from their place ; rivulets, changing their
+ courſe, fled murmuring from our ſide ? Three days we renewed the ſtrife; heroes ſtood at a
+ diſtance and trembled. On the fourth, Fingal ſays, that the king of the ocean fell ! but Swaran
+ ſays, he ſtood ! Let dark Cuthullin yield to him, that is ſtrong as the ſtorms of his land !”
+
“No!” replied the blue-eyed chief, “I never yield to mortal man ! Dark
+ Cuthullin ſhall be great or dead! Go, ſon of Fithil, take my ſpear. Strike the ſounding ſhield of Semo
+
Cabait, or rather Cathbait, grandfather to the hero, was ſo remarkable for his valour, that
+ his ſhield was made uſe of to alarm his poſterity to the battles of the family. We find Fingal
+ making the ſame uſe of his own ſhield in the 4th book. A horn was the moſt common inſtrument to
+ call the army together.
+ .
+
+ It hangs at Tura's ruſtling gate. The ſound of peace is not its
+ voice! My heroes ſhall hear and obey.” He went. He ſtruck the boſſy ſhield. The hills, the rocks
+ reply. The ſound ſpreads along the wood: deer ſtart by the lake of roes. Curach
+
Cu raoch ſignifies the madneſs of battle.
+ leaps from the ſounding rock; and Connal of the bloody ſpear ! Crugal's
+
Cruth-geal, fair-complexioned.
+ breaſt of ſnow beats high. The ſon of Fari leaves the dark-brown hind. It is the ſhield
+ of war, ſaid Ronnar ! the ſpear of Cuthullin, ſaid Lugar! ſon of the ſea put on thy arms! Calmar
+ lift thy ſounding ſteel Puno! dreadful hero, ariſe! Cairbar from thy red tree of Cromla ! Bend
+ thy knee, O Eth; deſcend from the ſtreams of Lena. Ca-olt ſtretch thy 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 rocky Cuthon
+
Cu-thón, the mournful ſound of waves.
+ .
+
Now I behold the chiefs, in the pride of their former deeds! Their ſouls are
+ kindled at the battles of old; at the actions of other times. Their eyes are flames of fire. They
+ roll in ſearch of the foes of the land. Their mighty hands are on their ſwords. Lightning pours
+ from their ſides of ſteel. They come like ſtreams from the
+
+ mountains ; each ruſhes roaring from his hill. Bright are the
+ chiefs of battle, in the armour of their fathers. Gloomy and dark their heroes follow, like the
+ gathering of the rainy clouds behind the red meteors of heaven. The ſounds of craſhing arms
+ aſcend. The grey dogs howl between. Unequal burſts the ſong of battle. Rocking Cromla
+
Crom-leach ſignified a place of worſhip among the Druids. It is here the proper name of a
+ hill on the coaſt of Ullin or Ulſter.
+ ecchoes round. On Lena's duſky heath they ſtand, like miſt that ſhades the hills of
+ autumn : when broken and dark it ſettles high, and lifts its head to heaven !
+
“Hail,” ſaid Cuthullin, “ſons of the narrow vales ! hail, 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 war ! or yield green Erin
+
Ireland ſo called from a colony that ſettled there called Falans. Innis-fail, the iſland of
+ the Fa-il or Falans.
+ to Lochlin ! O Connal
+
Connal, the friend of Cuthullin, was the ſon of Caithbait prince of the Tongorma or the
+ iſland of blue waves, probably one of the Hebrides. His mother was Fioncoma the
+ daughter of Congal. He had a ſon by Foba of Conachar-neſſar, who was afterwards petty king of
+ Ulſter. For his ſervices in the war againſt Swaran he had lands conferred on him, which, from
+ his name, were called Tir-chonnuil or Tir-connel, i. e. the land of Connal.
+ ſpeak, thou firſt of men! thou breaker of the ſhields! thou haſt often fought with
+ Lochlin : wilt thou lift thy father's ſpear ?
+
+
+
+ “Cuthullin!” calm the chief replied, “the ſpear
+ of Connal is keen. It delights to ſhine in battle; to mix with the blood of thouſands. But tho'
+ my hand is bent on fight, my heart is for the peace of Erin
+
Erin, a name of Ireland; from ear or iar Weſt, and in an iſland.
+ This name was not always confined to Ireland, for there is the higheſt probability that the
+ Ierne of the ancients was Britain to the North of the Forth. For Ierne is ſaid to be to
+ the North of Britain, which could not be meant of Ireland. Strabo, I, 2,
+ & 4. Casaub.l.1.
+ . Behold, thou firſt in Cormac's war, the ſable fleet of Swaran. His maſts are many on our
+ coaſt, like reeds in the lake of Lego. His ſhips are foreſts cloathed with miſt, when the trees
+ yield by turns to the ſqually wind. Many are his chiefs in battle. Connal is for peace! Fingal
+ would ſhun his arm the firſt of mortal men ! Fingal, who ſcatters the mighty, as ſtormy winds the
+ heath; when ſtreams roar thro' ecchoing Cona : and night ſettles with all her clouds on the hill
+ !
+
“Fly, thou man of peace,” ſaid Calmar
+
Cálm-er, a ſtrong man.
+ , “ fly,” ſaid the ſon of Matha ; “go, Connal, to thy ſilent hills, where the ſpear never
+ brightens in war ! Purſue the dark-brown deer of Cromla : ſtop with thine arrows the bounding
+ roes of Lena. But, blue-eyed ſon of Semo,
+
+ Cuthullin, ruler of the field, ſcatter thou the ſons of Lochlin
+
The Galic name of Scandinavia in general.
+ ; roar thro' the ranks of their pride, Let no veſſel of the kingdom of Snow bound on the
+ dark-rolling waves of Inis tore
+
The Orkney iſlands.
+ . Riſe, ye dark winds of Erin riſe ! roar whirlwinds of Lara of hinds! Amid the tempeſt
+ let me die, torn, in a cloud, by angry ghoſts of men ; amid the tempeſt let Calmar die, if ever
+ chace was ſport to him, ſo much as the battle of ſhields !”
+
“Calmar !” Connal ſlow replied, “I never fled, young ſon of Matha! I was
+ ſwift with my friends in fight ; but ſmall is the fame of Connal ! The battle was won in my
+ preſence; the valiant overcame! But, ſon of Semo, hear my voice, regard the ancient throne of
+ Cormac. Give wealth and half the land for peace, till Fingal ſhall arrive on our coaſt. Or, if
+ war be thy choice, I lift the ſword and ſpear. My Joy ſhall be in the midſt of thouſands; my ſoul
+ ſhall lighten through the gloom of the fight!”
+
“To me,” Cuthullin replies, “pleaſant is the noiſe of arms ! pleaſant as the thunder of heaven,
+ before the ſhower of ſpring ! But gather all the ſhining tribes that I may view the ſons of war!
+ Let them paſs along the heath, bright as
+
+ the ſun-ſhine before a ſtorm ; when the weſt wind collects the
+ clouds and Morven ecchoes over all her oaks ! But where are my friends in battle ? The ſupporters
+ of my arm in danger ? Where art thou, white-boſom'd Cathbar? Where is that cloud in war, Duchômar
+
Dubhchomar, a black well made man.
+ ? Haſt thou left me; O Fergus
+
Fear-guth, the man of the word; or a commander of an army.
+ ! in the day of the ſtorm? Fergus, firſt in our joy at the feaſt ! ſon of Roſſa! arm of
+ death ! comeſt thou like a roe from Malmor. Like a hart from thy echoing hills? Hail thou ſon of
+ Roſſa! what ſhades the ſoul of war ?”
+
“Four ſtones
+
This paſſage alludes to the manner of burial among the ancient Scots. They opened a grave ſix
+ or eight feet deep : the bottom was lined with fine clay: and on this they laid the body of the
+ deceaſed, and, if a warrior, his ſword, and the heads of twelve arrows by his ſide. Above they
+ laid another ſtratum of clay, in which they placed the horn of a deer, the ſymbol of hunting.
+ The whole was covered with a fine mold, and four ſtones placed on end to mark the extent of the
+ grave. Theſe are the four ſtones alluded to here.
+ ,” replied the chief, “riſe on the grave of Câthba. Theſe hands have laid in earth
+ Duchômar, that cloud in war ! Câthba, ſon of Torman! thou wert a ſun-beam in Erin. And thou, O
+ valiant Duchômar, a miſt of the marſhy Lano ; when it moves on the plains of autumn, bearing the
+ death of thouſands along; Morna! faireſt of maids ! calm is thy ſleep in
+
+ the cave of the rock ! Thou haſt fallen in darkneſs, like a
+ ſtar, that ſhoots acroſs the deſart ; when the traveller is alone, and mourns the tranſient beam
+ !”
+
“Say,” ſaid Semo's blue-eyed ſon, “ſay how fell the chiefs of Erin? Fell
+ they by the ſons of Lochlin, ſtriving in the battle of heroes ? Or what confines the ſtrong in
+ arms to the dark and narrow houſe ?” “Cathba,” replied the hero, “fell by the
+ ſword of Duchômar at the oak of the noiſy ſtreams. Duchômar came to Tura's cave; he ſpoke to the
+ lovely Morna. Morna
+
Muirne, or Morna, a woman beloved by all.
+ , faireſt among women, lovely daughter of ſtrong-armed Cormac! Why in the circle of
+ ſtones? in the cave of the rock alone? The ſtream murmurs along. The old tree groans in the wind.
+ The lake is troubled before thee ; dark are the clouds of the ſky! But thou art ſnow on the heath
+ ; thy hair is the miſt of Cromla ; when it curls on the hill; when it ſhines to the beam of the
+ weſt ! Thy breaſts are two ſmooth rocks ſeen from Branno of ſtreams. Thy arms, like two white
+ pillars, in the halls of the great Fingal.
+
“From whence,” the fair-haired maid replied, “from whence, Duchômar, moſt
+ gloomy of men? Dark are thy brows and terrible! Red
+
+ are thy rolling eyes! Does Swaran appear on the ſea? What of
+ the foe, Duchômar ?” “From the hill I return, O Morna, from the hill of the dark-brown hinds.
+ Three have I ſlain with my bended yew. Three with my long bounding dogs of the chace. Lovely
+ daughter of Cormac, I love thee as my ſoul! I have ſlain one ſtately deer for thee. High was his
+ branchy head; and fleet his feet of wind.” “Duchômar!” calm the maid replied, “I love thee not,
+ thou gloomy man ! hard is thy heart of rock; dark is thy terrible brow. But Cathba, young ſon of Torman
+
Torman, thunder. This is the true origin of the Jupiter Taramis of the
+ ancients.
+ , thou art the love of Morna. Thou art a ſun-beam, in the day of the gloomy ſtorm. Saweſt
+ thou the ſon of Torman, lovely on the hill of his hinds? Here the daughter of Cormac waits the
+ coming of Câthba !”
+
“Long ſhall Morna wait,” Duchomar ſaid, “long ſhall Morna wait for Câthba !
+ Behold this ſword unſheathed ! Here wanders the blood of Câthba. Long ſhall Morna wait. He fell
+ by the ſtream of Branno ! On Croma I will raiſe his tomb, daughter of blue-ſhielded Cormac ! Turn
+ on Duchômar thine eyes; his arm is ſtrong as a ſtorm.” “Is the ſon of Torman fallen ?” ſaid the
+ wildly burſting voice of the maid, “Is he fallen on his ecchoing hills, the
+
+ youth with the breaſt of ſnow ? The firſt in the chace of
+ hinds? The foe of the ſtrangers of ocean ? Thou art dark
+
She alludes to his name, the dark man.
+ to me, Duchômar, cruel is thine arm to Morna ! Give me that ſword, my foe! I love the
+ wandering blood of Câthba !”
+
He gave the ſword to her tears. She pierced his manly breaſt! He fell, like
+ the bank of a mountain-ſtream, and ſtretching forth his hand, he ſpoke. “Daughter of
+ blue-ſhielded Cormac! Thou haſt ſlain me in youth ! The ſword is cold in my breaſt: Morna, I feel
+ it cold. Give me to Moina
+
Moina, ſoft in temper and perſon.
+ the maid. Duchômar was the dream of her night ! She will raiſe my tomb ; the hunter ſhall
+ raiſe my fame. But draw the ſword from my breaſt. Morna, the ſteel is cold !” She came, in all
+ her tears, ſhe came; ſhe drew the ſword from his breaſt. He pierced her white ſide! He ſpread her
+ fair locks on the ground ! Her burſting blood ſounds from her ſide: her white arm is ſtained with
+ red. Rolling in death ſhe lay. The cave re-ecchoed to her ſighs.”
+
“Peace,” ſaid Cuthullin, “to the ſouls of the heroes! their deeds were great
+ in fight. Let them ride around
+
It was the opinion then, as indeed it is to this day, of ſome of the Highlanders, that the
+ ſouls of the deceaſed hovered round their living friends; and ſometimes appeared to them when
+ they were about to enter on any great undertaking.
+ me on clouds. Let them
+
+ ſhew their features of war. My ſoul ſhall then be firm in danger;
+ mine arm like the thunder of heaven ! But be thou on a moon-beam, O Morna ! near the window of my
+ reſt; when my thoughts are of peace; when the din of arms is paſt. Gather the ſtrength of the
+ tribes ! Move to the wars of Erin! Attend the car of my battles! Rejoice in the noiſe of my
+ courſe! Place three ſpears by my ſide : follow the bounding of my ſteeds! That my ſoul may be
+ ſtrong in my friends, when battle darkens round the beams of my ſteel !
+
As ruſhes a ſtream of foam from the dark ſhady deep of Cromla; when the
+ thunder is travelling above, and dark-brown night ſits on half the hill. Through the breaches of
+ the tempeſt look forth the dim faces of ghoſts. So fierce, ſo vaſt, ſo terrible ruſhed on the
+ ſons of Erin. The chief like a whale of ocean, whom all his billows purſue, poured valour forth,
+ as a ſtream, rolling his might along the ſhore. The ſons of Lochlin heard the noiſe, as the ſound
+ of a winterform. Swaran ſtruck his boſſy ſhield: he called the ſon of Arno, “What murmur rolls
+ along the hill, like the gathered flies of the eve? The ſons of Erin deſcend, or ruſtling winds
+ roar in the diſtant wood! Such is the noiſe of Gormal, before the white tops of my waves ariſe.
+
+
+ O ſon of Arno, aſcend the hill; view the dark face of the
+ heath!”
+
He went. He trembling, ſwift returned. His eyes rolled wildly round. His
+ heart beat high againſt his ſide. His words were faultering, broken, ſlow. “Ariſe, ſon of ocean,
+ ariſe, chief of the dark-brown ſhields! I ſee the dark, the mountain-ſtream of battle ! The
+ deep-moving ſtrength of the ſons of Erin! The car, the car of war comes on, like the flame of
+ death ! the rapid car of Cuthullin, the noble ſon of Semo ! It bends behind like a wave near a
+ rock ; like the ſun-ſtreaked miſt of the heath. Its ſides are emboſſed with ſtones, and ſparkle
+ like the ſea round the boat of night. Of poliſhed yew is its beam; its ſeat of the ſmootheſt
+ bone. The ſides are repleniſhed with ſpears; the bottom is the foot-ſtool of heroes ! Before the
+ right ſide of the car is ſeen the ſnorting horſe! The high-maned, broad-breaſted, proud,
+ wide-leaping, ſtrong ſteed of the hill. Loud and reſounding is his hoof; the ſpreading of his
+ mane above is like a ſtream of ſmoke on a ridge of rocks. Bright are the ſides of the ſteed ! his
+ name is Sulin-Sifadda!”
+
“Before the left ſide of the car is ſeen the ſnorting horſe ! The
+ thin-maned, high-headed, ſtrong-hoofed, fleet, bounding ſon of the hill : his name is Duſronnal,
+ among the ſtormy ſons
+
+ of the ſword! A thouſand thongs bind the car on high. Hard
+ poliſhed bits ſhine in a wreath of foam. Thin thongs bright-ſtudded with gems, bend on the
+ ſtately necks of the ſteeds. The ſteeds that like wreaths of miſt fly over the ſtreamy vales! The
+ wildneſs of deer is in their courſe, the ſtrength of eagles deſcending on the prey. Their noiſe
+ is like the blaſt of winter, on the ſides of the ſnow-headed Gormal.
+
Within the car is ſeen the chief; the ſtrong-armed ſon of the ſword. The hero's name is
+ Cuthullin, ſon of Semo king of ſhells. His red cheek is like my poliſhed yew. The look of his
+ blue-rolling eye is wide, beneath the dark arch of his brow. His hair flies from his head like a
+ flame, as bending forward he wields the ſpear, Fly, king of ocean, fly! He comes, like a ſtorm,
+ along the ſtreamy vale !
+
“When did I fly,” replied the king? When fled Swaran from the battle of ſpears? When did I
+ ſhrink from danger, chief of the little ſoul? I met the ſtorm of Gormal, when the foam of my
+ waves beat high. I met the ſtorm of the clouds; ſhall Swaran fly from a hero? Were Fingal himſelf
+ before me, my ſoul ſhould not darken with fear. Ariſe to battle, my thouſands! pour round me like
+ the ecchoing main, Gather round the bright ſteel of your
+
+ king; ſtrong as the rocks of my land; that meet the ſtorm, with
+ joy, and ſtretch their dark pines to the wind !”
+
Like autumn's dark ſtorms, pouring from two ecchoing hills, toward each
+ other approached the heroes. Like two deep ſtreams from high rocks meeting, mixing, roaring on
+ the plain; loud, rough and dark in battle meet Lochlin and Innis-fail. Chief mixes his ſtrokes
+ with chief, and man with man ; ſteel, clanging, ſounds on ſteel. Helmets are cleft on high. Blood
+ burſts and ſmokes around. Strings murmur on the poliſhed yews. Darts ruſh along the ſky. Spears
+ fall like the circles of light, which gild the face of night. As the noiſe of the troubled ocean,
+ when roll the waves on high. As the laſt peal of thunder in heaven, ſuch is the din of war!
+ Though Cormac's hundred bards were there, to give the fight to ſong; feeble was the voice of a
+ hundred bards to ſend the deaths to future times ! For many were the deaths of heroes; wide
+ poured the blood of the brave !
+
Mourn, ye ſons of ſong, mourn the death of the noble Sithâllin
+
Sithallin ſignifies a handſome man; Fiona, a fair maid; and Ardan,
+ pride.
+ . Let the ſighs of Fiöna riſe, on the lone plains of her lovely Ardan.
+
+ They fell, like two hinds of the deſart, by the hands of the
+ mighty Swaran; when, in the midſt of thouſands, he roared; like the ſhrill ſpirit of a ſtorm. He
+ ſits dim, on the clouds of the north, and enjoys the death of the mariner. Nor ſlept thy hand by
+ thy ſide, chief of the iſle of miſt
+
The Iſle of Sky ; not improperly called the iſle of miſt, as its high hills, which
+ catch the clouds from the weſtern ocean, occaſion almoſt continual rains.
+ ! many were the deaths of thine arm, Cathullin, thou ſon of Semo ! His ſword was like the
+ beam of heaven when it pierces the ſons of the vale; when the people are blaſted and fall, and
+ all the hills are burning around. Duſronnal
+
One of Cuthullin's horſes. Dubhſtron gheal.
+ ſnorted over the bodies of heroes. Sifadda
+
Sith-fadda, i. e. a long ſtride.
+ bathed his hoof in blood. The battle lay behind them, as groves overturned on the deſart
+ of Cromla ; when the blaſt has paſſed the heath, laden with the ſpirits of night!
+
Weep on the rocks of roaring winds, O maid of Iniſtore
+
The maid of Iniſtore was the daughter of Gorlo king of Iniſtore or Orkney iſlands.
+ Trenar was brother to the king of Iniſcon, ſuppoſed to be one of the iſlands of Shetland. The
+ Orkneys and Shetland were at that time ſubject to the king of Lochlin. We find that the dogs of
+ Trenar are ſenſible at home of the death of their maſter, the very inſtant he is killed. It was
+ the opinion of the times, that the ſouls of heroes went immediately after death to the hills of
+ their country, and the ſcenes they frequented the moſt happy time of their life. It was thought
+ too that dogs and horſes ſaw the ghoſts of the deceaſed.
+ ! Bend thy fair head over the waves,
+
+
+
+ thou lovelier than the ghoſt of the hills; when it moves, in a
+ ſun-beam, at noon, over the ſilence of Morven ! He is fallen! thy youth is low ! pale beneath the
+ ſword of Cuthullin! No more ſhall valour raiſe thy love to match the blood of kings. Trenar,
+ graceful Trenar died, O maid of Iniſtore. His grey dogs are howling at home ; they ſee his
+ paſſing ghoſt. His bow is in the hall unſtrung. No ſound is in the hill of his hinds !
+
As roll a thouſand waves to the rocks, ſo Swaran's hoſt came on. As meets a rock a thouſand
+ waves, ſo Erin met Swaran of ſpears. Death raiſes all his voices around, and mixes with the
+ ſounds of ſhields. Each hero is a pillar of darkneſs; the ſword a beam of fire in his hand. The
+ field ecchoes from wing to wing, as a hundred hammers that riſe, by turns, on the red ſon of the
+ furnace. Who are theſe on Lena's heath, theſe ſo gloomy and dark ? Who are theſe like two clouds
+ and their ſwords like lightning above them? The little hills are troubled around; the rocks
+ tremble with all their moſs. Who is it but Ocean's ſon and the
+
+ car-borne chief of Erin? Many are the anxious eyes of their
+ friends, as they ſee them dim on the heath. But night conceals the chiefs in clouds, and ends the
+ dreadful ſight !
+
It was on Cromla's ſhaggy ſide that Dorglas had placed the deer
+
The ancient manner of preparing feaſts after hunting, is handed down by tradition. A pit
+ lined with ſmooth ſtones was made ; and near it ſtood a heap of ſmooth flat ſtones of the flint
+ kind. The ſtones as well as the pit were properly heated with heath. Then they laid ſome veniſon
+ in the bottom, and a ſtratum of the ſtones above it; and thus they did alternately till the pit
+ was full, The whole was covered over with heath to confine the ſteam. Whether this is probable I
+ cannot ſay ; but ſome pits are ſhewn, which the vulgar ſay, were uſed in that manner.
+ ; the early fortune of the chace, before the heroes left the hill. A hundred youths
+ collect the heath; ten warriors wake the fire; three hundred chuſe the poliſh'd ſtones. The feaſt
+ is ſmoaking wide! Cuthullin, chief of Erin's war, reſumed his mighty ſoul. He ſtood upon his
+ beamy ſpear, and ſpoke to the ſon of ſongs ; to Carril of other times, the grey-haired ſon of Kinfena
+
Cean-ſeana, i. e, the head of the people.
+ . “Is this feaſt ſpread for me alone and the king of Lochlin on Erin's ſhore ; far from
+ the deer of his hills, and ſounding halls of his feaſts? Riſe, Carril of other times; carry my
+ words to Swaran. Te!l him from the roaring of waters, that Cuthullin gives his feaſt.
+
+
+ Here let him liſten to the ſound of my groves, amidſt the
+ clouds of night. For cold and bleak the bluſtering winds ruſh over the foam of his ſeas. Here let
+ him praiſe the trembling harp, and hear the ſongs of heroes !”
+
Old Carril went, with ſofteſt voice. He called the king of dark-brown
+ ſhields! “Riſe from the ſkins of thy chace, riſe, Swaran king of groves! Cuthullin gives the joy
+ of ſhells. Partake the feaſt of Erin's blue-eyed chief!” He anſwered like the ſullen ſound of
+ Cromla before a ſtorm. “Though all thy daughters, Inis-fail! ſhould ſtretch their arms of ſnow;
+ ſhould raiſe the heavings of their breaſts, and ſoftly roll their eyes of love; yet, fixed as
+ Lochlin's thouſand rocks, here Swaran ſhould remain ; till morn, with the young beams of the
+ eaſt, ſhall light me to the death of Cuthullin. Pleaſant to my ear is Lochlin's wind ! It ruſhes
+ over my ſeas ! It ſpeaks aloft in all my ſhrouds, and brings my green foreſts to my mind: The
+ green foreſts of Gormal, which often ecchoed to my winds, when my ſpear was red in the chace of
+ the boar. Let dark Cuthullin yield to me the ancient thrones of Cormac; or Erin's torrents ſhall
+ ſhew from their hills the red foam of the blood of his pride !”
+
+
+ “Sad is tbe ſound of Swaran's voice,” ſaid
+ Carril of other times! “Sad to himſelf alone,” ſaid the blue-eyed ſon of Semo. “But, Carril,
+ raiſe the voice on high; tell the deeds of other times. Send thou the night away in ſong ; and
+ give the joy of grief. For many heroes and maids of love, have moved on Inis-fail : And lovely
+ are the ſongs of woe that are heard in Albion's rocks; when the noiſe of the chace is paſt, and
+ the ſtreams of Cona anſwer to the voice of Oſſian
+
The Cona here mentioned is that ſmall river that runs through Glenco in Argyleſhire. One of
+ the hills which environ that romantic valley is ſtill called Scornafena, or the hill of Fingal's
+ people.
+ .”
+
“In other days
+
This epiſode is introduced with propriety. Calmar and Connal, two of the Iriſh heroes, had
+ diſputed warmly before the battle about engaging the enemy, Carril endeavours to reconcile them
+ with the ſtory of Cairbar and Grudar ; who, tho' enemies before, fought ſide by ſide in
+ the war, The poet obtained his aim, for we find Calmar and Connal perfectly reconciled in the
+ third book.
+ ,” Carril replies, “came the ſons of Ocean to Erin! A thouſand veſſels bounded on waves to
+ Ullin's lovely plains, The ſons of Inis-fail aroſe, to meet the race of dark-brown ſhields.
+ Cairbar, firſt of men, was there, and Grudar, ſtately youth ! Long had they ſtrove for the
+ ſpotted bull, that lowed on
+
+ Golbun's
+
Golb-bhean, as well as Cromleach, ſignifies a crooked hill.
+ ecchoing heath. Each claimed him as his own. Death was often at the point of their ſteel
+ ! Side by ſide the heroes fought ; the ſtrangers of Ocean fled. Whoſe name was fairer on the
+ hill, than the name of Cairbar and Grudar! But ah! why ever lowed the bull, on Golbun's ecchoing
+ heath. They ſaw him leaping like ſnow. The wrath of the chiefs returned !”
+
“On Lubar's
+
Lubar, a river in Ulſter. Labhar, loud, noiſy.
+ graſſy banks they fought ; Grudar fell in his blood. Fierce Cairbar came to the vale,
+ where Braſſolis
+
Braſſolis ſignifies a woman with a white breaſt.
+ , faireſt of his ſiſters, all alone, raiſed the ſong of grief. She ſang of the actions of
+ Grudar, the youth of her ſecret ſoul! She mourned him in the field of blood ; but ſtill ſhe hoped
+ for his return. Her white boſom is ſeen from her robe, as the moon from the clouds of night, when
+ its edge heaves white on the view, from the darkneſs, which covers its orb. Her voice was ſofter
+ than the harp to raiſe the ſong of grief. Her ſoul was fixed on Grudar. The ſecret look of her
+ eye was his. “When ſhalt thou come in thine arms, thou mighty in the war?”
+
“Take, Braſſiolis,” Cairbar came and ſaid, “take, Braſſiolis, this ſhield of
+ blood. Fix it
+
+ on high within my hall, the armour of my foe ! Her ſoft heart
+ beat againſt her ſide. Diſtracted, pale, ſhe flew. She found her youth in all his blood; ſhe died
+ on Cromla's heath. Here reſts their duſt, Cuthullin ; theſe lonely yews ſprung from their tombs,
+ and ſhade them from the ſtorm. Fair was Braſſolis on the plain! Stately was Grudar on the hill !
+ The bard thall preſerve their names, and ſend them down to future times !”
+
“Pleasant is thy voice, O Carril,” ſaid the blue-eyed chief of Erin.
+ “Pleaſant are the words of other times! They are like the calm ſhower of ſpring; when the ſun
+ looks on the field, and the light cloud flies over the hills. O ſtrike the harp in praiſe of my
+ love, the lonely ſun-beam of Dunſcaith. Strike the harp in the praiſe of Bragéla ; ſhe that I
+ left in the Iſle of Miſt, the ſpouſe of Semo's ſon! Doſt thou raiſe thy fair face from the rock
+ to find the ſails of Cuthullin? The ſea is rolling diſtant far ; its white foam deceives thee for
+ my ſails. Retire, for it is night, my love; the dark winds ſign in thy hair. Retire to the halls
+ of my feaſts ; think of the times that are paſt. I will not return till the ſtorm of war is
+ ceaſed. O Connal, ſpeak of war and arms, and ſend her from my mind. Lovely with her flowing hair
+ is the white-boſomed daughter of Sorglan.”
+
+
+ Connal, ſlow to ſpeak, replied, “Guard
+ againſt the race of Ocean. Send thy troop of night abroad, and watch the ſtrength of Swaran.
+ Cuthullin ! I am for peace till the race of Selma come; till Fingal come, the firſt of men, and
+ beam, like the ſun, on our fields !” The hero ſtruck the ſhield of alarms, the warriors of the
+ night moved on! The reſt lay in the heath of the deer, and ſlept beneath the duſky wind. The ghoſts
+
It was long the opinion of the ancient Scots, that a ghoſt was heard ſhrieking near the place
+ where a death was to happen ſoon after. The accounts given, to this day, among the vulgar, of
+ this extraordinary matter, are very poetical. The ghoſt comes mounted on a meteor, and ſurrounds
+ twice or thrice the place deſtined for the perſon to die; and then goes along the road through
+ which the funeral is to paſs, ſhrieking at intervals; at laſt, the meteor and ghoſt diſappear
+ above the burial place.
+ of the lately dead were near, and ſwam on the gloomy clouds: And far diſtant, in the dark
+ ſilence of Lena, the feeble voices of death were faintly heard.
+
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. BOOK II.
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book II.
+
The ghoſt of Crugal, one of the Iriſh heroes who was killed in battle, appearing to Connal,
+ foretels the defeat of Cuthullin in the next battle; and earneſtly adviſes him to make peace with
+ Swaran. Connal communicates the viſion; but Cuthullin is inflexible; from a principle of honour
+ he would not be the firſt to ſue for peace, and he reſolved to continue the war. Morning comes;
+ Swaran propoſes diſhonourable terms to Cuthullin, which are rejected. The battle begins, and is
+ obſtinately fought for ſome time, until, upon the flight of Grumal, the whole Iriſh army gave
+ way. Cuthullin and Connal cover their retreat: Carril leads them to a neighbouring hill, whither
+ they are ſoon followed by Cuthullin himſelf, who deſcries the fleet of Fingal making towards the
+ coaſt; but, night coming on, he loſt ſight of it again. Cuthullin, dejected after his defeat,
+ attributes his ill ſucceſs to the death of Ferda his friend, whom he had killed ſome time before.
+ Carril, to ſhew that ill ſucceſs did not always attend thoſe who innocently killed their friends,
+ introduces the epiſode of Comal and Galvina.
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS. BOOK II.
+
Connal
+
The ſcene here deſcribed will appear natural to thoſe who have been in the highlands of
+ Scotland, The poet removes him to a diſtance from the army, to add more horror to the
+ deſcription of Crugal's ghoſt by the lonelineſs of the place.
+ lay by the ſound of the mountain ſtream, beneath the aged tree. A ſtone, with its moſs,
+ ſupported his head. Shrill thro' the heath of Lena, he heard the voice of night. At diſtance from
+ the heroes he lay ; the ſon of the ſword feared no foe! The hero beheld, in his reſt, a dark-red
+ ſtream of fire ruſhing down from the hill. Crugal ſat upon the beam, a chief who fell in fight.
+ He fell by the hand of Swaran, ſtriving in the battle of heroes. His face is like the beam of the
+ ſetting
+
+ moon. His robes are of the clouds of the hill. His eyes are
+ two decaying flames ! Dark is the wound of his breaſt! “Crugal,” ſaid the mighty Connal, ſon of
+ Dedgal famed on the hill of hinds ! “Why ſo pale and ſad, thou breaker of the ſhields? Thou haſt
+ never been pale for fear! What diſturbs the departed Crugal?” Dim, and in tears, he ſtood and
+ ſtretched his pale hand over the hero. Faintly he raiſed his feeble voice, like the gale of the
+ reedy Lego !
+
“My ſpirit, Connal, is on my hills: my corſe on the ſands of Erin. Thou
+ ſhalt never talk with Crugal, nor find his lone ſteps in the heath. I am light as the blaſt of
+ Cromla. I move like the ſhadow of miſt ! Connal, ſon of Colgar, I ſee a cloud of death: it hovers
+ dark over the plains of Lena. The ſons of green Erin muſt fall. Remove from the field of ghoſts.”
+ Like the darkened moon he retired, in the midſt of the whiſtling blaſt. “Stay,” ſaid the mighty
+ Connal, “ſtay my dark-red friend. Lay by that beam of heaven, ſon of the windy Cromla! What cave
+ is thy lonely houſe ? What green-headed hill the place of thy repoſe ? Shall we not hear thee in
+ the ſtorm ? In the noiſe of the mountain-ſtream? When the feeble ſons of the wind come forth, and
+ ſcarcely ſeen, paſs over the deſart ?”
+
+
+ The ſoft-voiced Connal rofe, in the midſt
+ of his ſounding arms. He ſtruck his ſhield above Cuthullin. The ſon of battle waked. “Why,” ſaid
+ the ruler of the car, “comes Connal through my night? My ſpear might turn againſt the ſound; and
+ Cuthullin mourn the death of his friend. Speak, Connal; ſon of Colgar, ſpeak, thy counſel is the
+ ſun of heaven!” “Son of Semo!” replied the chief, “the ghoſt of Crugal came from his cave. The
+ ſtars dim-twinkled through his form. His voice was like the ſound of a diſtant ſtream. He is a
+ meſſenger of death ! He ſpeaks of the dark and narrow houſe ! Sue for peace, O chief of Erin ! or
+ fly over the heath of Lena.”
+
“He ſpoke to Connal,” replied the hero, “though ſtars dim-twinkled through
+ his form ! Son of Colgar, it was the wind that murmured acroſs thy ear. Or if it was the form
+
The poet teaches us the opinions that prevailed in his time concerning the fate of ſeparate
+ ſouls. From Connal's expreſſion, “That the ſtars dim-twinkled through the form of Crugal,” and
+ Cuthullin's reply, we may gather that they both thought the ſoul was material, ſomething like
+ the εἰδωλον of the ancient Greeks.
+ of Crugal, why didſt thou not force him to my ſight ? Haſt thou enquired where is his
+ cave? The houſe of that ſon of wind ? My ſword might find that voice, and force his knowlege from
+ Crugal.
+
+ But ſmall is his knowlege, Connal; he was here to-day. He could not
+ have gone beyond our hills! who could tell him there of our fall?” “Ghoſts fly on clouds and ride
+ on winds,” ſaid Connal's voice of wiſdom. “They reſt together in their caves, and talk of mortal
+ men.”
+
“Then let them talk of mortal men; of every man but Erin's chief. Let me be
+ forgot in their cave, I will not fly from Swaran! If fall I muſt, my tomb ſhall riſe, amid the
+ fame of future times. The hunter ſhall ſhed a tear on my ſtone; ſorrow ſhall dwell round the
+ high-boſomed Bragéla. I fear not death, to fly I fear ! Fingal has ſeen me victorious ! Thou dim
+ phantom of the hill, ſhew thyſelf to me ! come on thy beam of heaven, ſhew me my death in thine
+ hand; yet I will not fly, thou feeble ſon of the wind! Go, ſon of Colgar, ſtrike the ſhield. It
+ hangs between the ſpears. Let my warriors riſe to the ſound, in the midſt of the battles of Erin.
+ Though Fingal delays his coming with the race of his ſtormy iſles; we ſhall fight, O Colgar's
+ ſon, and die in the battle of heroes !”
+
The ſound ſpreads wide. The heroes riſe, like the breaking of a blue-rolling
+ wave. They ſtood on the heath, like oaks with all their
+
+ branches round them; when they eccho to the ſtream of froſt,
+ and their withered leaves are ruſtling to the wind! High Cromla's head of clouds is grey. Morning
+ trembles on the half-enlightened ocean. The blue miſt ſwims ſlowly by, and hides the ſons of
+ Inis-fail !
+
“Rise ye,” ſaid the king of the dark-brown ſhields, “ye that came from
+ Lochlin's waves. The ſons of Erin have fled from our arms; purſue them over the plains of Lena!
+ Morla, go to Cormac's hall. Bid them yield to Swaran before his people ſink to the tomb ; and
+ ſilence ſpread over his iſle.” They roſe ruſtling like a flock of ſea-fowl, when the waves expel
+ them from the ſhore. Their ſound was like a thouſand ſtreams that meet in Cona's vale, when after
+ a ſtormy night, they turn their dark eddies, beneath the pale light of the morn.
+
As the dark ſhades of autumn fly over the hills of graſs: ſo gloomy, dark,
+ ſucceſſive came the chiefs of Lochlin's ecchoing woods. Tall as the ſtag of Morven moved ſtately
+ before them, the king. His ſhining ſhield is on his ſide, like a flame on the heath at night.
+ When the world is ſilent and dark, and the traveller ſees ſome ghoſt ſporting in the beam! Dimly
+ gleam the hills around, and ſhew indiſtinctly their oaks! A blaſt from the troubled ocean removed
+ the
+
+ ſettled miſt. The ſons of Erin appear, like a ridge of rocks on
+ the coaſt; when mariners, on ſhores unknown, are trembling at veering winds !
+
“Go, Morla, go,” ſaid the king of Lochlin, “offer peace to theſe! Offer the
+ terms we give to kings, when nations bow down to our ſwords. When the valiant are dead in war;
+ when virgins weep on the field !” Tall Morla came, the ſon of Swarth, and ſtately ſtrode the
+ youth along ! He ſpoke to Erin's blue-eyed chief, among the leſſer heroes. “Take Swaran's peace,”
+ the warrior ſpoke, “the peace he gives to kings, when nations bow to his ſword. Leave Erin's
+ ſtreamy plains to us, and give thy ſpouſe and dog. Thy ſpouſe high-boſom'd, heaving fair ! Thy
+ dog that overtakes the wind ! Give theſe to prove the weakneſs of thine arm ; live then beneath
+ our power ! ”
+
“Tell Swaran, tell that heart of pride, Cuthullin never yields. I give him
+ the dark rolling ſea; I give his people graves in Erin. But never ſhall a ſtranger have the
+ pleaſing ſun-beam of my love. No deer ſhall fly on Lochlin's hills, before ſwift-footed Luäth.”
+ “Vain ruler of the car,” ſaid Morla,“wilt thou then fight the king ? The king whoſe ſhips of many
+ groves could carry off thine ile ? So little is thy green-hilled Erin to him who rules
+
+
+ the ſtormy waves!” “In words I yield to many, Morla. My ſword
+ ſhall yield to none. Erin ſhall own the ſway of Cormac, while Connal and Cuthullin live! O
+ Connal, firſt of mighty men, thou hear'ft the words of Morla. Shall thy thoughts then be of
+ peace, thou breaker of the ſhields? Spirit of fallen Crugal ! why didſt thou threaten us with
+ death? The narrow houſe ſhall receive me, in the midſt of the light of renown. Exalt, ye ſons of
+ Erin, exalt the ſpear and bend the bow : ruſh on the foe in darkneſs, as the ſpirits of ſtormy
+ nights !”
+
Then diſmal, roaring, fierce, and deep the gloom of battle poured along; as
+ miſt that is rolled on a valley, when ſtorms invade the ſilent ſun-ſhine of heaven! Cuthullin
+ moves before in arms, like an angry ghoſt before a cloud ; when meteors incloſe him with fire;
+ when the dark winds are in his hand. Carril, far on the heath, bids the horn of battle ſound. He
+ raiſes the voice of ſong, and pours his ſoul into the minds of the brave.
+
“Where,” ſaid the mouth of the ſong, “where is the fallen Crugal ? He lies
+ forgot on earth; the hall of ſhells
+
The ancient Scots, as well as the preſent Highlanders, drank in ſhells: ; hence it is that we
+ ſo often meet, in the old poetry, with the chief of ſhells, and the halls of
+ ſhells.
+ is ſilent. Sad is the
+
+ ſpouſe of Crugal! She is a ſtranger
+
Crugal had married Degrena but a little time before the battle, conſequently ſhe may with
+ propriety be called a ſtranger in the hall of her grief.
+ in the hall of her grief. But who is ſhe, that, like a ſunbeam, flies before the ranks of
+ the foe? It is Degrena
+
Deo-gréna ſignifies a ſun bean.
+ , lovely fair, the ſpouſe of fallen Crugal. Her hair is on the wind behind. Her eye is red
+ ; her voice is ſhrill, Pale, empty is thy Crugal now ! His form is in the cave of the hill. He
+ comes to the ear of reſt; he raiſes his feeble voice ; like the humming of the mountain-bee ;
+ like the collected flies of the eve ! But Degrena falls like a cloud of the morn; the ſword of
+ Lochlin is in her ſide. Cairbar, ſhe is fallen, the riſing thought of thy youth. She is fallen, O
+ Cairbar, the thought of thy youthful hours !”
+
Fierce Cairbar heard the mournful ſound. He ruſhed along like ocean's whale.
+ He ſaw the death of his daughter: He roared in the midſt of thouſands. His ſpear met a ſon of
+ Lochlin ; battle ſpreads from wing to wing ! As a hundred winds in Lochlin's groves ; as fire in
+ the pines of a hundred hills; ſo loud, ſo ruinous, ſo vaſt the ranks of men are hewn down.
+ Cuthullin cut off heroes like thiſtle ; Swaran waſted Erin. Curach fell by his hand, Cairbar
+
+
+ of the boſſy ſhield ! Morglan lies in laſting reſt! Ca-olt
+ trembles as he dies! His white breaſt is ſtained with blood ; his yellow hair ſtretched in the
+ duſt of his native land ! He often had ſpread the feaſt where he fell. He often there had raiſed
+ the voice of the harp: when his dogs leapt around for joy ; and the youths of the chace prepared
+ the bow !
+
Still Swaran advanced, as a ſtream, that burſts from the deſart. The little
+ hills are rolled in its courſe ; the rocks are half-ſunk by its ſide! But Cuthullin ſtood before
+ him, like a hill, that catches the clouds of heaven. The winds contend on its head of pines; the
+ hail rattles on its rocks. But, firm in its ſtrength, it ſtands, and ſhades the ſilent vale of
+ Cona ! So Cuthullin ſhaded the ſons of Erin, and ſtood in the midſt of thouſands. Blood riſes
+ like the fount of a rock, from panting heroes around. But Erin falls on either wing, like ſnow in
+ the day of the ſun.
+
“O sons of Erin,” ſaid Grumal, “Lochlin conquers on the field. Why ſtrive we
+ as reeds againſt the wind? Fly to the hill of dark-brown hinds.” He fled like the flag of Morven;
+ his ſpear is a trembling beam of light behind him. Few fled with Grumal, chief of the little ſoul
+ ; they fell in the battle of heroes, on Lena's
+
+ ecchoing heath. High on his car, of many gems, the chief of Erin
+ ſtood. He ſlew a mighty ſon of Lochlin, and ſpoke, in haſte, to Connal. “O Connal, firſt of
+ mortal men, thou haſt taught this arm of death ! Though Erin's ſons have fled, ſhall we not fight
+ the foe? Carril, ſon of other times, carry my friends to that buſhy hill. Here, Connal, let us
+ ſtand, like rocks, and ſave our flying friends.”
+
Connal mounts the car of gems. They ſtretch their ſhields, like the darkened
+ moon, the daughter of the ſtarry ſkies, when ſhe moves, a dun circle, thro' heaven; and dreadful
+ change is expected by men. Sithfadda panted up the hill, and Sronnal haughty ſteed. Like waves
+ behind a whale behind them ruſhed the foe. Now on the riſing ſide of Cromla ſtood Erin's few ſad
+ ſons; . like a grove through which the flame had ruſhed, hurried on by the winds of the ſtormy
+ night; diſtant, withered, dark they ſtand, with not a leaf to ſhake in the gale.
+
Cuthullin ſtood beſide an oak. He rolled his red eye in ſilence, and heard
+ the wind in his buſhy hair ; the ſcout of ocean came, Moran the ſon of Fithil. “The ſhips,” he
+ cried,“the ſhips of the lonely iſles. Fingal comes the firſt of men, the breaker of the ſhields!
+ The waves foam before his black prows ! His maſts with
+
+ ſails are like groves in clouds !” “Blow,” ſaid Cuthullin,
+ “blow ye winds that ruſh along my iſle of miſt. Come to the death of thouſands, O king of
+ reſounding Selma ! Thy ſails, my friend, are to me the clouds of the morning; thy ſhips the light
+ of heaven ; and thou thyſelf a pillar of fire that beams on the world by night. O Connal, firſt
+ of men, how pleaſing, in grief, are our friends! But the night is gathering around ! Where now
+ are the ſhips of Fingal ? Here let us paſs the hours of darkneſs; here wiſh for the moon of
+ heaven.”
+
The winds come down on the woods. The torrents ruſh from the rocks. Rain
+ gathers round the head of Cromla, The red ſtars tremble between the flying clouds. Sad, by the
+ ſide of a ſtream whoſe ſound is ecchoed by a tree, ſad by the ſide of a ſtream the chief of Erin
+ ſits. Connal ſon of Colgar is there, and Carril of other times. “Unhappy is the hand of
+ Cuthullin,” ſaid the ſon of Semo, “unhappy is the hand of Cuthullin, ſince he ſlew his friend !
+ Ferda, ſon of Damman, I loved thee as myſelf !”
+
“How, Cuthullin, ſon of Semo ! how fell the breaker of the ſhields? Well I
+ remember,” ſaid Connal, “the ſon of the noble Damman. Tall and fair he was like the rain-bow of
+
+
+ heaven.” Ferda from Albion came, the chief of a hundred hills. In Muri's
+
A place in Ulſter.
+ hall he learned the ſword, and won the friendſhip of Cuthullin. We moved to the chace
+ together : one was our bed in the heath !
+
Deugala was the ſpouſe of Cairbar, chief of the plains of Ullin. She was
+ covered with the light of beauty, but her heart was the houſe of pride. She loved that ſun-beam
+ of youth, the ſon of noble Damman. Cairbar, ſaid the whitearmed Deugala, give me half of the
+ herd. No more I will remain in your halls. Divide the herd, dark Cairbar! “Let Cuthullin,” ſaid
+ Cairbar, “divide my herd on the hill. His breaſt is the ſeat of juſtice, Depart, thou light of
+ beauty !” I went and divided the herd. One ſnow-white bull remained. I gave that bull to Cairbar.
+ The wrath of Deugala roſe !
+
“Son of Damman,” begun the fair, “Cuthullin hath pained my ſoul. I muſt hear
+ of his death, or Lubar's ſtream ſhall roll over me. My pale ghoſt ſhall wander near thee, and
+ mourn the wound of my pride. Pour out the blood of Cuthullin or pierce this heaving breaſt.”
+ “Deugala,” ſaid the fair-haired youth, “how ſhall I ſlay the ſon of Semo ? He is the friend of my
+
+
+ ſecret thoughts. Shall I then lift the ſword ?” She wept
+ three days before the chief, on the fourth he ſaid he would fight. “I will fight my friend,
+ Deugala ! but may I fall by his ſword ! Could I wander on the hill alone ? Could I behold the
+ grave of Cuthullin ?” We fought on the plain of Muri. Our ſwords avoid a wound. They ſlide on the
+ helmets of ſteel ; or ſound on the ſlippery ſhields. Deugala was near with a ſmile, and ſaid to
+ the ſon of Damman : “Thine arm is feeble, ſun-beam of youth ! Thy years are not ſtrong for ſteel.
+ Yield to the ſon of Semo. He is a rock on Malmor.”
+
“The tear is in the eye of youth. He faultering ſaid to me: “Cuthullin,
+ raiſe thy boſſy ſhield. Defend thee from the hand of thy friend. My ſoul is laden with grief: for
+ I muſt ſlay the chief of men !” I ſighed as the wind in the cleft of a rock. I lifted high the
+ edge of my ſteel. The ſun-beam of battle fell : the firſt of Cuthullin's friends ! Unhappy is the
+ hand of Cuthullin ſince the hero fell !
+
“Mournful is thy tale, ſon of the car,” ſaid Carril of other times. “It
+ ſends my ſoul back to the ages of old, to the days of other years. Often have I heard of Comal,
+ who ſlew the friend he loved ; yet victory attended his ſteel: the battle was conſumed in his
+ preſence !
+
+
+
Comal was a ſon of Albion ; the chief of an hundred hills! His deer drunk of
+ a thouſand ſtreams. A thouſand rocks replied to the voice of his dogs. His face was the mildneſs
+ of youth. His hand the death of heroes. One was his love, and fair was ſhe ! the daughter of
+ mighty Conloch. She appeared like a ſun-beam among women. Her hair was the wing of the raven. Her
+ dogs were taught to the chace. Her bowſtring ſounded on the winds. Her ſoul was fixed on Comal.
+ Often met their eyes of love. Their courſe in the chace was one. Happy were their words in
+ ſecret. But Grumal loved the maid, the dark chief of the gloomy Ardven. He watched her lone ſteps
+ in the heath; the foe of unhappy Comal !
+
One day, tired of the chace, when the miſt had concealed their friends,
+ Comal and the daughter of Conloch met, in the cave of Ronan. It was the wonted haunt of Comal.
+ Its ſides were hung with his arms. A hundred ſhields of thongs were there; a hundred helms of
+ ſounding ſteel. “Reſt here,” he ſaid, “my love Galbina : thou light of the cave of Ronan! A deer
+ appears on Mora's brow. I go; but I will ſoon return.” “I fear,” ſhe ſaid, “dark Grumal my foe:
+ he haunts the cave of Ronan !
+
+ I will reſt among the arms ; but ſoon return, my love !”
+
He went to the deer of Mora. The daughter of Conloch would try his love. She
+ cloathed her fair ſides with his armour ; ſhe ſtrode from the cave of Ronan! He thought it was
+ his foe. His heart beat high. His colour changed, and darkneſs dimmed his eyes. He drew the bow.
+ The arrow flew. Galbina fell in blood ! He run with wildneſs in his ſteps : he called the
+ daughter of Conloch. No anſwer in the lonely rock. Where art thou, O my love? He ſaw, at length,
+ her heaving heart, beating around the arrow he threw. “O Conloch's daughter, is it thou? He ſunk
+ upon her breaſt! The hunters ſound the hapleſs pair; he afterwards walked the hill. But many and
+ ſilent were his ſteps round the dark dwelling of his love. The fleet of the ocean came. He
+ fought, the ſtrangers fled. He ſearched for death along the field. But who could ſlay the mighty
+ Comhal ! He threw away his dark-brown ſhield. An arrow ſound his manly breaſt. He ſleeps with his
+ loved Galbina at the noiſe of the ſounding ſurge ! Their green tombs are ſeen by the mariner,
+ when he bounds on the waves of the north.
+
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. BOOK III.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book III.
+
Cuthullin, pleaſed with the ſtory of Carril, inſiſts with that bard for more of his ſongs. He
+ relates the actions of Fingal in Lochlin, and death of Agandecca the beautiful ſiſter of Swaran.
+ He had ſcarce finiſhed when Calmar the ſon of Matha, who had adviſed the firſt battle, came
+ wounded from the field, and told them of Swaran's deſign to ſurpriſe the remains of the Iriſh
+ army. He himſelf propoſes to withſtand ſingly the whole force of the enemy, in a narrow paſs,
+ till the Iriſh ſhould make good their retreat, Cuthullin, touched with the gallant propoſal of
+ Calmar, reſolves to accompany him, and orders Carril to carry off the few that remained of the
+ Iriſh. Morning comes, Calmar dies of his wounds ; and, the ſhips of the Caledonians appearing,
+ Swaran gives over the purſuit of the Iriſh, and returns to oppoſe Fingal's landing. Cuthullin
+ aſhamed, after his defeat, to appear before Fingal, retires to the cave of Tura. Fingal engages
+ the enemy, puts them to flight; but the coming on of night makes the victory not deciſive, The
+ King, who had obſerved the gallant behaviour of his grandſon Oſcar, gives him advices concerning
+ his conduct in peace and war. He recommends to him to place the example of his fathers before his
+ eyes, as the beſt model for his conduct ; which introduces the epiſode concerning Fainaſollis,
+ the daughter of the king of Craca, whom Fingal had taken under his protection, in his youth.
+ Fillan and Oſcar are diſpatched to obſerve the motions of the enemy by night ; Gaul the ſon of
+ Morni deſires the command of the army, in the next battle; which Fingal promiſes to give him.
+ Some general reflections of the poet cloſe the third day.
+
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS. BOOK III.
+
+
The ſecond night, ſince the opening of the poem, continues ; and Cuthullin, Connal, and
+ Carril ſtill ſit in the place deſcribed in the preceding book. The ſtory of Agandecca is
+ introduced here with propriety, as great uſe is made of it in the courſe of the poem, and as
+ it, in ſome meaſure, brings about the cataſtrophe.
+
“Pleasant are the words of the ſong,” ſaid Cuthullin ! “lovely the tales of
+ other times! They are, like the calm dew of the morning on the hill of roes; when the ſun is
+ faint on its ſide, and the lake is ſettled and blue in the vale. O Carril, raiſe again thy voice
+ ; let me hear the ſong of Selma : which was ſung in my halls of joy, when Fingal king of ſhields
+ was there, and glowed at the deeds of his fathers.”
+
“Fingal! thou dweller of battle,” ſaid Carril, “early were thy deeds in
+ arms. Lochlin
+
+ was conſumed in thy wrath, when thy youth ſtrove with the
+ beauty of maids. They ſmiled at the fair-blooming face of the hero; but death was in his hands.
+ He was ſtrong as the waters of Lora. His followers were the roar of a thouſand ſtreams. They took
+ the king of Lochlin in war; they reſtored him to his ſhips. His big heart ſwelled with pride ;
+ the death of the youth was dark in his ſoul. For none ever, but Fingal, had overcome the ſtrength
+ of the mighty Starno
+
Starno was the father of Swaran as well as Agandecca. His fierce and cruel character is well
+ marked in other poems concerning the times.
+ . He ſat in the hall of his ſhells in Lochlin's woody land. He called the grey-haired
+ Snivan, that often ſung round the circle
+
This paſſage moſt certainly alludes to the religion of Lochlin, and the ſtone of
+ power here mentioned is the image of one of the deities of Scandinavia.
+ of Loda : when the ſtone of power heard his voice, and battle turned in the field of the
+ valiant!
+
“Go; grey-haired Snivan,” Starno ſaid, “go to Ardven's ſea-ſurrounded rocks.
+ Tell to the king of Selma; he the faireſt among his thouſands, tell him I give him my daughter,
+ the lovelieſt maid, that ever heaved a breaſt of ſnow. Her arms are white as the foam of my
+ waves. Her ſoul is generous and mild. Let him come with his braveſt heroes, to the daughter of
+ the
+
+ ſecret hall!” Snivan came to Selma's hall : Fair-haired
+ Fingal attended his ſteps. His kindled ſoul flew to the maid, as he bounded on the waves of the
+ north. “Welcome,” ſaid the dark-brown Starno, “welcome, king of rocky Morven : Welcome his heroes
+ of might ; ſons of the diftant iſle! Three days within my halls ſhall ye feaſt; three days purſue
+ my boars; that your fame may reach the maid who dwells in the ſecret hall.”
+
Starno deſigned their death. He gave the feaſt of ſhells. Fingal, who
+ doubted the foe, kept on his arms of ſteel. The ſons of death were afraid : They fled from the
+ eyes of the king. The voice of ſprightly mirth aroſe. The trembling harps of joy were ſtrung.
+ Bards ſung the battle of heroes: They ſung the heaving breaſt of love. Ullin, Fingal's bard, was
+ there : the ſweet voice of reſounding Cona. He praiſed the daughter of Lochlin; and Morven's
+
All the North-weſt coaſt of Scotland probably went of old under the name of Morven, which
+ ſignifies a ridge of very high hills.
+ high-deſcended chief. The daughter of Lochlin overheard. She left the hall of her ſecret
+ ſigh ! She came in all her beauty, like the moon from the cloud of the eaſt. Lovelineſs was
+ around her as light. Her ſteps were the muſic of ſongs. She
+
+ ſaw the youth and loved him. He was the ſtolen ſigh of her
+ ſoul. Her blue eye rolled on him in ſecret : ſhe bleſt the chief of reſounding Morven.
+
The third day with all its beams, ſhone bright on the wood of boars. Forth
+ moved the dark-browed Starno; and Fingal, king of ſhields. Half the day they ſpent in the chace ;
+ the ſpear of Selma was red in blood. It was then the daughter of Starno, with blue eyes rolling
+ in tears; it was then ſhe came with her voice of love and ſpoke to the king of Norven. “Fingal,
+ high deſcended chief, truſt not Starno's heart of pride. Within that wood he has placed his
+ chiefs. Beware of the wood of death. But, remember, ſon of the iſle, remember Agandecca : ſave me
+ from the wrath of my father, king of the windy Morven !”
+
The youth, with unconcern, went on ; his heroes by his ſide. The ſons of
+ death fell by his hand; and Gormal ecchoed around ! Before the halls of Starno the ſons of the
+ chace convened. The king's dark brows were like clouds. His eyes like meteors of night. “Bring
+ hither,” he ſaid, “Agandecca to her lovely king of Morven ! His hand is ſtained with the blood of
+ my people ; her words have not been in vain !” She came with the red eye of tears. She came
+
+
+ with looſely flowing locks. Her white breaſt heaved with
+ broken ſighs, like the foam of the ſtreamy Lubar. Starno pierced her ſide with ſteel. She fell,
+ like a wreath of ſnow, which ſlides from the rocks of Ronan ; when the woods are ſtill, and eccho
+ deepens in the vale ! Then Fingal eyed his valiant chiefs, his valiant Chiefs took arms. The
+ gloom of battle roared ; Lochlin fled or died. Pale, in his bounding ſhip he cloſed the maid of
+ the ſofteſt ſoul. Her tomb aſcends on Ardven; the ſea roars round her narrow dwelling.
+
“Blessed be her ſoul,” ſaid Cuthullin ; “bleſſed be the mouth of the ſong!
+ Strong was the youth of Fingal; ſtrong is his arm of age. Lochlin ſhall fall again before the
+ king of ecchoing Morven. Shew thy face from a cloud, O moon; light his white ſails on the wave:
+ And if any ſtrong ſpirit
+
This is the only paſſage in the poem that has the appearance of religion. But Cuthullin's
+ apoſtrophe to this ſpirit is accompanied with a doubt, ſo that it is not eaſy to determine
+ whether the hero meant a ſuperior being, or the ghoſts of deceaſed warriors, who were ſuppoſed
+ in thoſe times to rule the ſtorms, and to tranſport themſelves in a guſt of wind from one
+ country to another.
+ of heaven ſits on that low-hung cloud; turn his dark ſhips from the rock, thou rider of
+ the ſtorm !
+
+
+
Such were the words of Cuthullin at the ſound of the mountain-ſtream ; when
+ Calmar aſcended the hill, the wounded ſon of Matha. From the field he came in his blood. He
+ leaned on his bending ſpear. Feeble is the arm of battle ! but ſtrong the ſoul of the hero
+ “Welcome! O ſon of Matha,” ſaid Connal, “welcome art thou to thy friends ! Why burſts that broken
+ ſigh, from the breaſt of him who never feared before? And never, Connal, will he fear, chief of
+ the pointed ſteel! My ſoul brightens in danger: in the noiſe of arms. I am of the race of battle.
+ My fathers never feared.”
+
“Cormar was the firſt of my race. He ſported through the ſtorms of waves.
+ His black ſkiff bounded on ocean; he travelled on the wings of the wind. A ſpirit once embroiled
+ the night. Seas ſwell and rocks reſound. Winds drive along the clouds. The lightning flies on
+ wings of fire. He feared and came to land: then bluſhed that he feared at all. He ruſhed again
+ among the waves to find the ſon of the wind. Three youths guide the bounding bark ; he ſtood with
+ ſword unſheathed. When the low-hung vapour paſſed, he took it by the curling head. He ſearched
+ its dark womb with
+
+ his ſteel. The ſon of the wind forſook the air. The moon and
+ ſtars returned ! Such was the boldneſs of my race. Calmar is like his fathers. Danger flies from
+ the lifted ſword. They beſt ſucceed who dare !”
+
But now, ye ſons of green Erin, retire from Lena's bloody heath. Collect the
+ ſad remnant of our friends, and join the ſword of Fingal. I heard the ſound of Lochlin's
+ advancing arms ! Calmar will remain and fight. My voice ſhall be ſuch, my friends, as if
+ thouſands were behind me. But, ſon of Semo, remember me. Remember Calmar's lifeleſs corſe. When
+ Fingal ſhall have waſted the field, place me by ſome ſtone of remembrance, that future times may
+ hear my fame ; that the mother of Calmar may rejoice in my renown.”
+
“No: ſon of Matha,” ſaid Cuthullin, “I will never leave thee here. My joy is
+ in unequal fight: my ſoul increaſes in danger. Connal, and Carril of other times, carry off the
+ ſad ſons of Erin. When the battle is over, ſearch for us in this narrow way. For near this oak we
+ ſhall fall, in the ſtream of the battle of thouſands !” O Fithil's ſon, with flying ſpeed ruſh
+ over the heath of Lena. Tell to Fingal that Erin is fallen. Bid the king of Morven come. O let
+
+
+ him come, like the ſun in a ſtorm, to lighten, to reſtore the
+ iſle !
+
Morning is grey on Cromla. The ſons of the ſea aſcend. Calmar ſtood forth to
+ meet them in the pride of his kindling ſoul. But pale was the face of the chief. He leaned on his
+ father's ſpear. That ſpear which he brought from Lara, when the ſoul of his mother was ſad ; the
+ ſoul of the lonely Alcletha, waining in the ſorrow of years. But ſlowly now the hero falls, like
+ a tree on the plain. Dark Cuthullin ſtands alone like a rock in a ſandy vale. The ſea comes with
+ its waves, and roars on its hardened ſides. Its head is covered with foam ; the hills are
+ ecchoing around.
+
Now from the grey miſt of the ocean, the white-ſailed ſhips of Fingal
+ appear. High is the grove of their maſts, as they nod, by turns, on the rolling wave. Swaran ſaw
+ them from the hill. He returned from the ſons of Erin. As ebbs the reſounding ſea, through the
+ hundred iſles of Iniſtore; ſo loud, ſo vaſt, ſo immenſe returned the ſons of Lochlin againſt the
+ king. But bending, weeping, ſad, and ſlow, and dragging his long ſpear behind, Cuthullin ſunk in
+ Cromla's wood, and mourned his fallen friends. He feared the face of Fingal, who was wont to
+ greet him from the fields of renown !
+
+ “How many lie there of my heroes! the
+ chiefs of Erin's race! they that were chearful in the hall, when the ſound of the ſhells aroſe !
+ No more ſhall I find their ſteps in the heath. No more ſhall I hear their voice in the chace.
+ Pale, ſilent, low on bloody beds, are they who were my friends! O ſpirits of the lately dead,
+ meet Cuthullin on his heath. Speak to him on the wind, when the ruſtling tree of Tura's cave
+ reſounds. There, far remote, I ſhall lie unknown. No bard ſhall hear of me. No grey tone ſhall
+ riſe to my renown. Mourn me with the dead, O Bragela ! departed is my fame.” Such were the words
+ of Cuthullin, when he ſunk in the woods of Cromla !
+
Fingal, tall in his ſhip, ſtretched his bright lance before him. Terrible
+ was the gleam of the ſteel : it was like the green meteor of death, ſetting in the heath of
+ Malmor, when the traveller is alone, and the broad moon is darkened in heaven.
+
“The battle is paſt,” ſaid the king, “I behold the blood of my friends. Sad
+ is the heath of Lena! mournful the oaks of Cromla. The hunters have fallen in their ſtrength :
+ the ſon of Semo is no more. Ryno and Fillan, my ſons, ſound the horn of Fingal. Aſcend that hill
+ on the ſhore; call the children of the foe.
+
+ Call them from the grave of Lamdarg, the chief of other
+ times. Be your voice like that of your father, when he enters the battles of his ſtrength. I wait
+ for the mighty ſtranger. I wait on Lena's ſhore for Swaran. Let him come with all his race;
+ ſtrong in battle are the friends of the dead !”
+
Fair Ryno as lightning gleamed along : Dark Fillan ruſhed like the ſhade of
+ autumn. On Lena's heath their voice is heard. The ſons of ocean heard the horn of Fingal. As the
+ roaring eddy of ocean returning from the kingdom of ſnows; ſo ſtrong, ſo dark, ſo ſudden came
+ down the ſons of Lochlin. The king in their front appears, in the diſmal pride of his arms !
+ Wrath burns on his dark-brown face : his eyes roll in the fire of his valour. Fingal beheld the
+ ſon of Starno: he remembered Agandecca. For Swaran with the tears of youth had mourned his
+ white-boſomed ſiſter. He ſent Ullin of ſongs to bid him to the feaſt of ſhells : For pleaſant on
+ Fingal's ſoul returned the memory of the firſt of his loves !
+
Ullin came with aged ſteps, and ſpoke to Starno's ſon. “O thou that dwelleſt
+ afar, ſurrounded, like a rock, with thy waves ! come to the feaſt of the King, and paſs the day
+ in reſt. To-morrow let us fight, O Swaran, and break
+
+ the ecchoing ſhields.” “To-day,” ſaid Starno's wrathful ſon,
+ “we break the ecchoing ſhields: to-morrow my feaſt ſhall be ſpread ; but Fingal ſhall lie on
+ earth,” “To-morrow let his feaſt be ſpread,” ſaid Fingal with a ſmile. “To-day, O my ſons, we
+ ſhall break the ecchoing ſhields. Oſſian, ſtand thou near my arm. Gaul, lift thy terrible ſword.
+ Fergus, bend thy crooked yew. Throw, Fillan, thy lance through heaven. Lift your ſhields, like
+ the darkened moon. Be your ſpears the meteors of death. Follow me in the path of my fame. Equal
+ my deeds in battle.”
+
As a hundred winds on Morven; as the ſtreams of a hundred hills; as clouds
+ fly ſucceſſive over heaven; as the dark ocean aſſails the ſhore of the deſart: ſo roaring, ſo
+ vaſt, ſo terrible the armies mixed on Lena's ecchoing heath. The groan of the people ſpread over
+ the hills: it was like the thunder of night, when the cloud burſts on Cona ; and a thouſand
+ ghoſts ſhriek at once on the hollow wind. Fingal ruſhed on in his ſtrength, terrible as the
+ ſpirit of Trenmor; when, in a whirlwind, he comes to Morven, to ſee the children of his pride.
+ The oaks reſound on their mountains, and the rocks fall down before him. Dimly ſeen, as
+
+
+ lightens the night, he ſtrides largely from hill to hill.
+ Bloody was the hand of my father, when he whirled the gleam of his ſword. He remembers the
+ battles of his youth. The field is waſted in his courſe !
+
Ryno went on like a pillar of fire. Dark is the brow of Gaul. Fergus ruſhed
+ forward with feet of wind. Fillan like the miſt of the hill. Oſſian, like a rock, came down. I
+ exulted in the ſtrength of the king. Many were the deaths of my arm ! diſmal the gleam of my
+ ſword! My locks were not then ſo grey ; nor trembled my hands with age. My eyes were not cloſed
+ in darkneſs; my feet failed not in the race !
+
Who can relate the deaths of the people ? Who the deeds of mighty heroes ?
+ when Fingal, burning in his wrath, conſumed the ſons of Lochlin? groans ſwelled on groans from
+ hill to hill, till night had covered all. Pale, ſtaring like a herd of deer, the ſons of Lochlin
+ convene on Lena. We ſat and heard the ſprightly harp, at Lubar's gentle ſtream. Fingal himſelf
+ was next to the foe. He liſtened to the tales of his bards. His godlike race were in the ſong,
+ the chiefs of other times. Attentive, leaning on his ſhield, the king of Morven ſat. The wind
+ whiſtled through his locks; his thoughts are of
+
+ the days of other years. Near him on his bending ſpear, my
+ young, my valiant Oſcar ſtood. He admired the king of Morven: his deeds were ſwelling in his
+ ſoul!
+
“Son of my ſon,” begun the king, “O Oſcar, pride of youth ! I ſaw the
+ ſhining of thy ſword. I gloried in my race. Purſue the fame of our fathers; be thou what they
+ have been, when Trenmor lived, the firſt of men, and Trathal the father of heroes! They fought
+ the battle in their youth. They are the ſong of bards. O Oſcar ! bend the ſtrong in arm : but
+ ſpare the feeble hand. Be thou a ſtream of many tides againſt the foes of thy people ; but like
+ the gale, that moves the graſs, to thoſe who aſk thine aid. So Trenmor lived; ſuch Trathal was ;
+ and ſuch has Fingal been. My arm was the ſupport of the injured ; the weak reſted behind the
+ lightning of my ſteel.”
+
“Oscar! I was young like thee, when lovely Fainaſóllis came : that ſun-beam!
+ that mild light of love! the daughter of Craca's
+
What the Craca here mentioned was, is not, at this diſtance of time, eaſy to determine. The
+ moſt probable opinion is, that it was one of the Shetland iſles. There is a ſtory concerning a
+ daughter of the king of Craca in the ſixth book.
+ king! I then returned from Cona's heath, and
+
+ few were in my train: A white-ſailed boat appeared far off;
+ we ſaw it like a miſt, that rode on ocean's wind. It ſoon approached. We ſaw the fair. Her white
+ breaſt heaved with ſighs, The wind was in her looſe dark hair : her roſy cheek had tears.
+ “Daughter of beauty,” calm I ſaid, “what ſigh is in thy breaſt? Can I, young as I am, defend
+ thee, daughter of the ſea? My ſword is not unmatched in war, but dauntleſs is my heart.”
+
“To thee I fly,” with ſighs ſhe ſaid, “O prince of mighty men! To thee I
+ fly, chief of the generous ſhells, ſupporter of the feeble hand ! The king of Craca's ecchoing
+ iſle owned me the ſunbeam of his race. Cromala's hills have heard the ſighs of love for unhappy
+ Fainaſóllis ! Sora's chief beheld me fair; he loved the daughter of Craca. His ſword is a beam of
+ light upon the warrior's ſide. But dark is his brow ; and tempeſts are in his ſoul. I ſhun him,
+ on the roaring ſea ; but Sora's chief purſues.”
+
“Rest thou,” I ſaid, “behind my ſhield; reſt in peace, thou beam of light!
+ The gloomy chief of Sora will fly, if Fingal's arm is like his ſoul. In ſome lone cave I might
+ conceal thee, daughter of the ſea! But Fingal never flies. Where the danger threatens, I rejoice
+ in the ſtorm of ſpears.” I ſaw the tears upon her
+
+ cheek. I pitied Craca's fair. Now, like a dreadful wave
+ afar, appeared the ſhip of ſtormy Borbar. His maſts high-bended over the ſea behind their ſheets
+ of ſnow. White roll the waters on either ſide. The ſtrength of ocean ſounds. “Come thou,” I ſaid,
+ “from the roar of ocean, thou rider of the ſtorm ! Partake the feaſt within my hall. It is the
+ houſe of ſtrangers.”
+
The maid ſtood trembling by my ſide. He drew the bow. She fell. “Unerring is
+ thy hand,” I ſaid, “but feeble was the foe!” We fought, nor weak the ſtrife of death! He ſank
+ beneath my ſword. We laid them in two tombs of ſtone; the hapleſs lovers of youth! Such have I
+ been in my youth, O Oſcar; be thou like the age of Fingal. Never ſearch thou for battle ; nor
+ ſhun it when it comes.
+
“Fillan and Oſcar of the dark-brown hair ! ye, that are ſwift in the race !
+ fly over the heath in my preſence. View the ſons of Lochlin. Far off I hear the noiſe of their
+ fear, like diſtant ſounds in woods. Go: that they may not fly from my ſword, along the waves of
+ the north. For many chiefs of Erin's race, lie here on the dark bed of death. The children of war
+ are low ; the ſons of ecchoing Cromla.”
+
+
+
The heroes flew like two dark clouds: two dark clouds that are the chariots
+ of ghoſts; when air's dark children come forth to frighten hapleſs men. It was then that Gaul
+
Gaul, the ſon of Morni, was chief of a tribe that diſputed long, the pre-eminence, with
+ Fingal himſelf. They were reduced at laſt to obedience, and Gaul, from an enemy, turned Fingal's
+ beſt friend and greateſt hero, His character is ſomething like that of Ajax in the Iliad ; a
+ hero of more ſtrength than conduct in battle. He was very fond of military fame, and here he
+ demands the next battle to himſelf. The poet, by an artifice, removes Fingal, that his return
+ may be the more magnificent.
+ , the ſon of Morni, ſtood like a rock in night. His ſpear is glittering to the ſtars; his
+ voice like many ſtreams.
+
“Son of battle,” cried the chief, “O Fingal, king of ſhells! let the bards
+ of many ſongs ſooth Erin's friends to reſt. Fingal, ſheath thou thy ſword of death; and let thy
+ people fight, We wither away without our fame ; our king is the only breaker of ſhields! When
+ morning riſes on our hills, behold, at a diſtance, our deeds. Let Lochlin feel the ſword of
+ Morni's ſon ; that bards may ſing of me. Such was the cuſtom heretofore of Fingal's noble race.
+ Such was thine own, thou king of ſwords, in battles of the ſpear.”
+
“O son of Morni,” Fingal replied, “I glory in thy fame. Fight; but my ſpear
+ ſhall
+
+ be near, to aid thee in the midſt of danger. Raiſe, raiſe
+ the voice, ye ſons of ſong, and lull me into reſt. Here will Fingal lie, amidſt the wind of
+ night. And if thou, Agandecca, art near, among the children of thy land ; if thou ſitteſt on a
+ blaſt of wind, among the high-ſhrowded maſts of Lochlin; come to my dreams
+
The poet prepares us for the dream of Fingal in the next book.
+ , my fair one. Shew thy bright face to my ſoul.”
+
Many a voice and many a harp, in tuneful ſounds aroſe. Of Fingal's noble
+ deeds they ſung ; of Fingal's noble race: And ſometimes, on the lovely ſound, was heard the name
+ of Oſſian. I often fought, and often won, in battles of the ſpear. But blind, and tearful, and
+ forlorn I walk with little men! O Fingal, with thy race of war I now behold thee not! The wild
+ roes feed on the green tomb of the mighty king of Morven! Bleſt be thy ſoul, thou king of ſwords,
+ thou moſt renowned on the hills of Cona !
+
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. BOOK IV.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book IV.
+
The action of the poem being ſuſpended by night, Oſſian takes that opportunity to relate his
+ own actions at the lake of Lego, and his courtſhip of Evirallin, who was the mother of Oſcar, and
+ had died ſome time before the expedition of Fingal into Ireland. Her ghoſt appears to him, and
+ tells him that Oſcar, who had been ſent, the beginning of the night, to obſerve the enemy, was
+ engaged with an advanced party, and almoſt overpowered. Oſſian relieves his ſon; and an alarm is
+ given to Fingal of the approach of Swaran. The king riſes, calls his army together, and, as he
+ had promiſed the preceding night, devolves the command on Gaul the ſon of Morni, while he
+ himſelf, after charging his ſons to behave gallantly and defend his people, retires to a hill,
+ from whence he could have a view of the battle. The battle joins; the poet relates Oſcar's great
+ actions. But when Oſcar, in conjunction with his father, conquered in one wing, Gaul, who was
+ attacked by Swaran in perſon, was on the point of retreating in the other. Fingal ſends Ullin his
+ bard to encourage him with a war ſong, but notwithſtanding Swaran prevails; and Gaul and his army
+ are obliged to give way. Fingal, deſcending from the hill, rallies them again: Swaran deſiſts
+ from the purſuit, poſſeſſes himſelf of a riſing ground, reſtores the ranks, and waits the
+ approach of Fingal. The king, having encouraged his men, gives the neceſſary orders, and renews
+ the battle. Cuthullin, who, with his friend Connal, and Carril his bard, had retired to the cave
+ of Tura, hearing the noiſe, came to the brow of the hill, which overlooked the field of battle,
+ where he ſaw Fingal engaged with the enemy. He, being hindered by Connal from joining Fingal, who
+ was himſelf upon the point of obtaining a complete victory, ſends Carril to congratulate that
+ hero on his ſucceſs.
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS, BOOK IV.
+
+
Fingal being aſleep, and the action ſuſpended by night, the poet introduces the ſtory of his
+ courtſhip of Evirallin the daughter of Branno, The epiſode is neceſſary to clear up ſeveral
+ paſſages that follow in the poem; at the ſame time that it naturally brings on the action of the
+ book, which may be ſuppoſed to begin about the middle of the third night from the opening of the
+ poem. This book, as many of Oſſian's other compoſitions, is addreſſed to the beautiful Malvina
+ the daughter of Toſcar. She appears to have been in love with Oſcar, and to have affected the
+ company of the father after the death of the ſon.
+ Who comes with her ſongs from the hill, like the bow of the ſhowery
+ Lena? It is the maid of the voice of love ! The white-armed daughter of Toſcar ! Often haſt thou
+ heard my ſong; often given the tear of beauty. Doſt thou come to the wars of thy people? to hear
+
+
+ the actions of Oſcar ? When ſhall I ceaſe to mourn, by the
+ ſtreams of reſounding Cona ? My years have paſſed away in battle. My age is darkened with
+ grief!
+
“Daughter of the hand of ſnow! I was not ſo mournful and blind. I was not ſo
+ dark and forlorn, when Everallin loved me ! Everallin with the dark-brown hair, the white-boſomed
+ daughter of Branno! A thouſand heroes ſought the maid, ſhe refuſed her love to a thouſand. The
+ ſons of the ſword were deſpiſed : for graceful in her eyes was Oſſian! I went, in ſuit of the
+ maid, to Lego's ſable ſurge. Twelve of my people were there, the ſons of ſtreamy Morven ! We came
+ to Branno, friend of ſtrangers! Branno of the ſounding mail! “From whence,” he ſaid, “are the
+ arms of ſteel? Not eaſy to win is the maid, who has denied the blue-eyed ſons of Erin ! But bleſt
+ be thou, O ſon of Fingal! Happy is the maid that waits thee! Tho' twelve daughters of beauty were
+ mine, thine were the choice, thou ſon of fame !”
+
He opened the hall of the maid, the dark-haired Everallin. Joy kindled in
+ our manly breaſts. We bleſt the maid of Branno. “Above us on the hill appeared the people of
+ ſtately Cormac. Eight were the heroes of the chief. The heath flamed wide with their arms. There
+
+
+ Colla ; there Durra of wounds, there mighty Toſcar, and Tago,
+ there Freſtal the victorious ſtood ; Dairo of the happy deeds: Dala the battle's bulwark in the
+ narrow way ! The ſword flamed in the hand of Cormac. Graceful was the look of the hero! Eight
+ were the heroes of Oſſian. Ullin ſtormy ſon of-war. Mullo of the generous deeds. The noble, the
+ graceful Scelacha, Oglan, and Cerdal the wrathful. Dumariccan's brows of death! And why ſhould
+ Ogar be the laſt; ſo wide renowned on the hills of Ardven ?”
+
“Ogar met Dala the ſtrong, face to face, on the field of heroes. The battle
+ of the chiefs was, like wind, on ocean's foamy waves. The dagger is remembered by Ogar ; the
+ weapon which he loved. Nine times he drowned it in Dela's ſide. The ſtormy battle turned. Three
+ times I broke on Cormac's ſhield : three times he broke his ſpear. But, unhappy youth of love! I
+ cut his head away. Five times I ſhook it by the lock. The friends of Cormac fled. Whoever would
+ have told me, lovely maid, when then I ſtrove in battle; that blind, forſaken, and forlorn I now
+ ſhould paſs the night; firm ought his mail to have been; unmatched his arm in war !”
+
+
+
On
+
The poet returns to his ſubject. If one could fix the time of the year in which the action of
+ the poem happened, from the ſcene deſcribed here, I ſhould be tempted to place it in autumn. The
+ trees ſhed their leaves, and the winds are variable, both which circumſtances agree with that
+ ſeaſon of the year.
+ Lena's gloomy heath, the voice of muſic died away. The unconſtant blaſt blew hard. The
+ high oak ſhook its leaves around. Of Everallin were my thoughts, when in all the light of beauty
+ ſhe came. Her blue eyes rolling in tears. She ſtood on a cloud before my ſight, and ſpoke with
+ feeble voice ! “Riſe, Oſſian, riſe and ſave my ſon; ſave Oſcar prince of men. Near the red oak of
+ Luba's ſtream, he fights with Lochlin's ſons.” She ſunk into her cloud again, I covered me with
+ ſteel. My ſpear ſupported my ſteps; my rattling armour rung. I hummed, as I was wont in danger,
+ the ſongs of heroes of old. Like diſtant thunder Lochlin heard. They fled ; my ſon purſued.”
+
“I called him like a diſtant ſtream. Oſcar return over Lena. “No further
+ purſue the foe,” I ſaid, “though Oſſian is behind thee.” He came ; and pleaſant to my ear was
+ Oſcar's ſounding ſteel. “Why didſt thou ſtop my hand,” he ſaid, “till death had covered all ? For
+ dark and dreadful by the ſtream they met
+
+ thy ſon and Fillan ! They watched the terrors of the night.
+ Our ſwords have conquered ſome. But as the winds of night pour the ocean, over the white ſands of
+ Mora, ſo dark advance the ſons of Lochlin, over Lena's ruſtling heath ! The ghoſts of night
+ ſhriek afar: I have ſeen the meteors of death. Let me awake the king of Morven, he that ſmiles in
+ danger ! He that is like the ſun of heaven, riſing in a ſtorm !”
+
Fingal had ſtarted from a dream, and leaned on Trenmor's ſhield ; the
+ dark-brown ſhield of his fathers ; which they had lifted of old in war. The hero had ſeen, in his
+ reſt, the mournful form of Agandecca. She came from the way of the ocean. She ſlowly, lonely,
+ moved over Lena. Her face was pale like the miſt of Cromla. Dark were the tears of her cheek. She
+ often raiſed her dim hand from her robe: her robe which was of the clouds of the deſart: ſhe
+ raiſed her dim hand over Fingal, and turned away her ſilent eyes! “Why weeps the daughter of
+ Starno ?” ſaid Fingal, with a ſigh; “why is thy face ſo pale, fair wanderer of the clouds ?” She
+ departed: on the wind of Lena. She left him in the midſt of the night. She mourned the ſons of
+ her people, that were to fall by the hand of Fingal.
+
+
+
+ The hero ſtarted from reſt. Still he beheld
+ her in his ſoul. The ſound of Oſcar's ſteps approached. The king ſaw the grey ſhield on his ſide
+ : For the faint beam of the morning came over the waters of Ullin. “What do the foes in their
+ fear ?” ſaid the riſing king of Morven ; “or fly they through ocean's foam, or wait they the
+ battle of ſteel? But why ſhould Fingal aſk ? I hear their voice on the early wind ! Fly over
+ Lena's heath : O Oſcar, awake our friends !”
+
The king ſtood by the ſtone of Lubar. Thrice he reared his terrible voice.
+ The deer ſtarted from the fountains of Cromla. The rocks ſhook on all their hills. Like the noiſe
+ of a hundred mountain-ſtreams, that burſt, and roar, and foam ! like the clouds, that gather to a
+ tempeſt on the blue face of the ſky ! ſo met the ſons of the deſart, round the terrible voice of
+ Fingal. Pleaſant was the voice of the king of Morven to the warriors of his land. Often had he
+ led them to battle ; often returned with the ſpoils of the foe !
+
“Come to battle,” ſaid the king, “ye children of ecchoing Selma ! Come to
+ the death of thouſands. Comhal's ſon will ſee the fight. My ſword ſhall wave on the hill the
+ defence of my people in war. But never may you need it,
+
+ warriors : while the ſon of Morni fights, the chief of mighty
+ men ! He ſhall lead my battle; that his fame may riſe in ſong! O ye ghoſts of heroes dead ! ye
+ riders of the ſtorm of Cromla ! receive my falling people with joy, and bear them to four hills.
+ And may the blaſt of Lena carry them over my ſeas, that they may come to my ſilent dreams, and
+ delight my ſoul in reſt! Fillan and Oſcar, of the dark-brown hair ! fair Ryno, with the pointed
+ ſteel! advance with valour to the fight. Behold the ſon of Morni ! Let your ſwords be like his in
+ ſtrife ; behold the deeds of his hands. Protect the friends of your father. Remember the chiefs
+ of old. My children, I will ſee you yet, though here ye ſhould fall in Erin. Soon ſhall our cold,
+ pale ghoſts meet in a cloud on Cona's eddying winds.”
+
Now like a dark and ſtormy cloud, edged round with the red lightning of
+ heaven ; flying weſtward from the morning's beam, the king of Selma removed. Terrible is the
+ light of his armour ; two ſpears are in his hand. His grey hair falls on the wind. He often looks
+ back on the war. Three bards attend the ſon of fame, to bear his words to the chiefs. High on
+ Cromla's ſide he ſat, waving the lightning of his ſword, and as he waved we moved.
+
+
+
+
Joy riſes in Oſcar's face. His cheek is red. His eye ſheds tears. The ſword
+ is a beam of fire in his hand. He came, and ſmiling, ſpoke to Oſſian. “O ruler of the ſight of
+ ſteel! my father, hear thy ſon! Retire with Morven's mighty chief. Give me the fame of Oſſian. If
+ here I fall : O chief, remember that breaſt of ſnow, the lonely ſun-beam of my love, the
+ white-handed daughter of Toſcar ! For, with red cheek from the rock, bending over the ſtream, her
+ ſoft hair flies about her boſom, as ſhe pours the ſigh for Oſcar. Tell her I am on my hills, a
+ lightly-bounding ſon of the wind; tell her, that in a cloud, I may meet the lovely maid of
+ Toſcar.” Raiſe, Oſcar, rather raiſe my tomb. I will not yield the war to thee. The firſt and
+ bloodieſt in the ſtrife, my arm ſhall teach thee how to fight. But, remember, my ſon, to place
+ this ſword, this bow, the horn of my deer, within that dark and narrow houſe, whoſe mark is one
+ grey ſtone ! Oſcar, I have no love to leave to the care of my ſon. Evirallin is no more, the
+ lovely daughter of Branno !
+
Such were our words, when Gaul's loud voice came growing on the wind. He
+ waved on high the ſword of his father. We ruſhed to death and wounds. As waves, white-bubbling
+
+
+ over the deep, come ſwelling, roaring on; as rocks of ooze
+ meet roaring waves : ſo foes attacked and fought. Man met with man, and ſteel with ſteel. Shields
+ ſound, and warriors fall. As a hundred hammers on the red ſon of the furnace, ſo roſe, ſo rung
+ their ſwords !
+
Gaul ruſhed on, like a whirlwind in Ardven. The deſtruction of heroes is on
+ his ſword. Swaran was like the fire of the deſart in the ecchoing heath of Gormal! How can I give
+ to the ſong the death of many ſpears? My ſword roſe high, and flamed in the ſtrife of blood.
+ Oſcar, terrible wert thou, my beſt, my greateſt ſon! I rejoiced in my ſecret ſoul, when his ſword
+ flamed over the ſlain. They fled amain through Lena's heath. We purſued and ſlew. As ſtones that
+ bound from rock to rock ; as axes in ecchoing woods ; as thunder ro!ls from hill to hill, in
+ diſmal broken peals; ſo blow ſucceeded to blow, and death to death, from the hand of Oſcar and
+ mine.
+
But Swaran cloſed round Morni's ſon, as the ſtrength of the tide of
+ Iniſtore. The king half-roſe from his hill at the ſight. He half-aſſumed the ſpear. “Go, Ullin,
+ go, my aged bard,” begun the king of Morven. “Remind the mighty Gaul of war. Remind him of his
+ fathers. Support the yielding fight with ſong;
+
+ for ſong enlivens war.” Tall Ullin went, with ſtep of age, and
+ ſpoke to the king of ſwords. “Son
+
The cuſtom of encouraging men in battle with extempore rhyme, has been carried down almoſt to
+ our own times. Several of theſe war ſongs are extant, but the moſt of them are only a group of
+ epithets, without either beauty or harmony, utterly deſtitute of poetical merit.
+ of the chief of generous ſteeds ! high-bounding king of ſpears. Strong arm in every
+ perilous toil. Hard heart that never yields. Chief of the pointed arms of death. Cut down the
+ foe; let no white ſail bound round dark Iniſtore. Be thine arm like thunder. Thine eyes like
+ fire, thy heart of ſolid rock. Whirl round thy ſword as a meteor at night; lift thy ſhield like
+ the flame of death. Son of the chief of generous ſteeds, cut down the foe. Deſtroy !” The hero's
+ heart beat high. But Swaran came with battle. He cleft the ſhield of Gaul in twain. The ſons of
+ Selma fled.
+
Fingal at once aroſe in arms. Thrice he reared his dreadful voice. Cromla
+ anſwered around. The ſons of the deſart ſtood ſtill. They bent their bluſhing faces to earth,
+ aſhamed at the preſence of the king. He came, like a cloud of rain in the day of the ſun, when
+ ſlow it rolls on the hill, and fields expect the ſhower. Silence attends its ſlow progreſs aloft
+ ; but the tempeſt is ſoon to ariſe. Swaran beheld the
+
+ terrible king of Morven. He ſtopped in the midſt of his
+ courſe. Dark he leaned on his ſpear, rolling his red eyes around. Silent and tall he ſeemed as an
+ oak on the banks of Lubar, which had its branches blaſted of old by the lightning of heaven. It
+ bends over the ſtream : the grey moſs whiſtles in the wind: ſo ſtood the king. Then ſlowly he
+ retired to the riſing heath of Lena. His thouſands pour around the hero. Darkneſs gathers on the
+ hill !
+
Fingal, like a beam from heaven, ſhone in the midſt of his people. His
+ heroes gather around him. He ſends forth the voice of his power. “Raiſe my ſtandards on high ;
+ ſpread them on Lena's wind, like the flames of an hundred hills! Let them ſound on the winds of
+ Erin, and remind us of the fight. Ye ſons of the roaring ſtreams, that pour from a thouſand
+ hills, be near the king of Morven ! attend to the words of his power ! Gaul ſtrongeſt arm of
+ death ! O Oſcar, of the future fights! Connal, ſon of the blue ſhields of Sora ! Dermid of the
+ dark-brown hair ! Oſſian king of many ſongs, be near your father's arm !” We reared the ſunbeam
+
Fingal's ſtandard was diſtinguiſhed by the name of ſunbeam ; probably on account of
+ its bright colour, and its being ſtudded with gold. To begin a battle is expreſſed, in old
+ compoſition, by lifting of the ſun beam.
+ of battle; the ſtandard of the king!
+
+ Each hero exulted with joy, as, waving, it flew on the wind. It
+ was ſtudded with gold above, as the blue wide ſhell of the nightly ſky. Each hero had his
+ ſtandard too; and each his gloomy men !
+
“Behold,” ſaid the king of generous ſhells, “how Lochlin divides on Lena!
+ They ſtand like broken clouds on a hill; or an half conſumed grove of oaks; when we ſee the ſky
+ through its branches, and the meteor paſſing behind ! Let every chief among the friends of Fingal
+ take a dark troop of thoſe that frown ſo high: Nor let a ſon of the ecchoing groves, bound on the
+ waves of Iniſtore !
+
“Mine,” ſaid Gaul, “be the ſeven chiefs, that came from Lano's lake.” “Let
+ Iniſtore's dark king,” ſaid Oſcar, “come to the ſword of Oſſian's ſon. To mine the king of
+ Iniſcon,” ſaid Connal, “heart of ſteel!” “Or Mudan's chief or I,” ſaid brown-haired Dermid,
+ “ſhall ſleep on clay-cold earth,” “My choice, though now ſo weak and dark, was Terman's battling
+ king; I promiſed with my hand to win the hero's dark-brown ſhield.” “Bleſt and victorious be my
+ chiefs,” ſaid Fingal of the mildeſt look. “Swaran, king of roaring waves, thou art the choice of
+ Fingal !”
+
Now, like an hundred different winds, that pour through many vales; divided,
+ dark the
+
+ ſons of Selma advanced, Cromla ecchoed around! How can I
+ relate the deaths, when we cloſed in the ſtrife of arms! O daughter of Toſcar ! bloody were our
+ hands! The gloomy ranks of Lochlin fell, like the banks of the roaring Cona! Our arms were
+ victorious on Lena : each chief fulfilled his promiſe ! Beſide the murmur of Branno thou didſt
+ often ſit, O maid ! thy white boſom roſe frequent, like the down of the ſwan when ſlow ſhe ſwims
+ on the lake, and ſidelong winds blow on her ruffled wing. Thou haſt ſeen the ſun retire, red and
+ ſlow behind his cloud : night gathering round on the mountain, while the unfrequent blaſt roared
+ in the narrow vales. At length the rain beats hard: thunder rolls in peals. Lightning glances on
+ the rocks! Spirits ride on beams of fire ! The ſtrength of the mountain-ſtreams comes roaring
+ down the hills. Such was the noiſe of battle, maid of the arms of ſnow ! Why, daughter of Toſcar,
+ why that tear? The maids of Lochlin have cauſe to weep ! The people of their country fell. Bloody
+ were the blue ſwords of the race of my heroes ! But I am ſad, forlorn, and blind: no more the
+ companion of heroes. Give, lovely maid, to me thy tears. I have ſeen the tombs of all my friends
+ !
+
+
+
+
It was then, by Fingal's hand, a hero fell, to his grief! Grey-haired he
+ rolled in the duſt. He lifted his faint eyes to the king : “And is it by me thou haſt fallen,”
+ ſaid the ſon of Comhal, “thou friend of Agandecca ! I have ſeen thy tears for the maid of my love
+ in the halls of the bloody Starno ! Thou haſt been the foe of the foes of my love, and haſt thou
+ fallen by my hand? Raiſe, Ullin, raiſe the grave of Mathon; and give his name to Agandecca's
+ ſong. Dear to my ſoul haſt thou been, thou darkly-dwelling maid of Ardven !”
+
Cuthullin, from the cave of Cromla, heard the noiſe of the troubled war. He
+ called to Connal chief of ſwords; to Carril of other times. The grey-haired heroes heard his
+ voice, They took their pointed ſpears. They came, and ſaw the tide of battle, like ocean's
+ crowded waves : when the dark wind blows from the deep, and rolls the billows through the ſandy
+ vale! Cuthullin kindled at the ſight. Darkneſs gathered on his brow. His hand is on the ſword of
+ his fathers: his red-rolling eyes on the foe. He thrice attempted to ruſh to battle. He thrice
+ was ſtopt by Connal. “Chief of the iſle of miſt,” he ſaid, “Fingal ſubdues the foe. Seek not a
+ part of the fame of the king ; himſelf is like the ſtorm!”
+
+
“Then, Carril, go,” replied the chief,
+ “go greet the king of Morven. When Lochlin falls away like a ſtream after rain: when the noiſe of
+ the battle is paſt. Then be thy voice ſweet in his ear to praiſe the king of Selma ! Give him the
+ ſword of Caithbat. Cuthullin is not worthy to lift the arms of his fathers ! Come, O ye ghoſts of
+ the lonely Cromla ! ye ſouls of chiefs that are no more ! be near the ſteps of Cuthullin; talk to
+ him in the cave of his grief. Never more ſhall I be renowned, among the mighty in the land. I am
+ a beam that has ſhone ; a miſt that has fled away : when the blaſt of the morning came, and
+ brightened the ſhaggy ſide of the hill! Connal ! talk of arms no more : departed is my fame. My
+ ſighs ſhall be on Cromla's wind ; till my footſteps ceaſe to be ſeen. And thou, white-boſom'd
+ Bragela, mourn over the fall of my fame: vanquiſhed, I will never return to thee, thou ſun-beam
+ of my ſoul !”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. BOOK V.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book V
+
Cuthullin and Connal ſtill remain on the hill. Fingal and Swaran meet; the combat is
+ deſcribed. Swaran is overcome, bound and delivered over as a priſoner to the care of Oſſian and
+ Gaul the ſon of Morni ; Fingal, his younger ſons, and Oſcar, ſtill purſue the enemy. The epiſode
+ of Orla a Chief of Lochlin, who was mortally wounded in the battle, is introduced. Fingal,
+ touched with the death of Orla, orders the purſuit to be diſcontinued; and calling his ſons
+ together, he is informed that Ryno, the youngeſt of them, was ſlain. He laments his death, hears
+ the ſtory of Lamdarg and Gelchoſſa, and returns towards the place where he had left Swaran.
+ Carril, who had been ſent by Cuthullin to congratulate Fingal on his victory, comes in the mean
+ time to Oſſian. The converſation of the two poets cloſes the action of the fourth day.
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. in SIX BOOKS. BOOK V.
+
On Cromla's reſounding ſide, Connal ſpoke to the chief of the noble car.
+ Why that gloom, ſon of Semo? Our friends are the mighty in fight. Renowned art thou, O warrior !
+ many were the deaths of thy ſteel. Often has Bragela met, with blue-rolling eyes of joy : often
+ has ſhe met her hero, returning in the midſt of the valiant; when his ſword was red with
+ ſlaughter ; when his foes were ſilent in the fields of the tomb. Pleaſant to her ears were thy
+ bards, when thy deeds aroſe in ſong.
+
But behold the king of Morven! He moves, below, like a pillar of fire. His
+ ſtrength is like the ſtream of Lubar, or the wind of the ecchoing Cromla ; when the branchy
+ foreſts of night are
+
+ torn from all their rocks! Happy are thy people, O Fingal!
+ thine arm ſhall finiſh their wars. Thou art the firſt in their dangers : the wiſeſt in the days
+ of their peace. Thou ſpeakeſt and thy thouſands obey : armies tremble at the ſound of thy ſteel.
+ Happy are thy people, O Fingal, king of reſounding Selma ! Who is that ſo dark and terrible
+ coming in the thunder of his courſe? who but Starno's ſon to meet the king of Morven? Behold the
+ battle of the chiefs ! it is the ſtorm of the ocean, when two ſpirits meet far diſtant, and
+ contend for the rolling of waves. The hunter hears the noiſe on his hill. He ſees the high
+ billows advancing to Ardven's ſhore !
+
Such were the words of Connal, when the heroes met, in fight. There was the
+ clang of arms ! there every blow, like the hundred hammers of the furnace ! Terrible is the
+ battle of the Kings; dreadful the look of their eyes. Their dark-brown ſhields are cleft in
+ twain. Their ſteel flies, broken, from their helms. They fling their weapons down. Each ruſhes to
+ his hero's graſp: Their ſinewy arms bend round each other: they turn from ſide to ſide, and train
+ and ſtretch their large ſpreading limbs below. But when the pride of their ſtrength aroſe, they
+ ſhook the hill with their heels.
+
+ Rocks tumble from their places on high; the green-headed
+ buſhes are overturned. At length the ſtrength of Swaran fell: the king of the groves is bound.
+ Thus have I ſeen on Cona ; but Cona I behold no more ! thus have I ſeen two dark hills, removed
+ from their place, by the ſtrength of the burſting ſtream. They turn from ſide to ſide in their
+ fall; their tall oaks meet one another on high. Then they tumble together with all their rocks
+ and trees. The ſtreams are turned by their ſide. The red ruin is ſeen afar.
+
“Sons of diſtant Morven,” ſaid Fingal : “guard the king of Lochlin. He is
+ ſtrong as his thouſand waves. His hand is taught to war. His race is of the times of old. Gaul,
+ thou firſt of my heroes; Oſſian king of ſongs, attend. He is the friend of Agandecca ; raiſe to
+ joy his grief. But, Oſcar, Fillan, and Ryno, ye children of the race ! purſue Lochlin over Lena;
+ that no veſſel may hereafter bound, on the dark-rolling waves of Iniſtore !
+
They flew ſudden acroſs the heath. He ſlowly moved, like a cloud of thunder,
+ when the ſultry plain of ſummer is ſilent and dark! His ſword is before him as a ſun-beam ;
+ terrible as the ſtreaming meteor of night. He came toward a chief of Lochlin. He ſpoke to the
+
+
+ ſon of the wave. “Who is that ſo dark and ſad, at the rock of
+ the roaring ſtream ? He cannot bound over its courſe: How ſtately is the chief! His boſſy ſhield
+ is on his ſide; his ſpear, like the tree of the deſart! Youth of the dark-red hair, art thou of
+ the foes of Fingal ?”
+
I am a ſon of Lochlin,” he cries, “ſtrong is my arm in war. My ſpouſe is
+ weeping at home. Orla ſhall never return !” “Or fights or yields the hero,” ſaid Fingal of the
+ noble deeds? “foes do not conquer in my preſence : my friends are renowned in the hall. Son of
+ the wave, follow me, partake the feaſt of my ſhells: purſue the deer of my deſart: be thou the
+ friend of Fingal.” “No:” ſaid the hero, “I aſſiſt the feeble. My ſtrength is with the weak in
+ arms. My ſword has been always unmatched, O warrior : let the king of Morven yield!” “I never
+ yielded, Orla, Fingal never yielded to man. Draw thy ſword aud chuſe thy foe. Many are my heroes
+ !”
+
“Does then the king refuſe the fight,” ſaid Orla of the dark-brown ſhield ?
+ “Fingal is a match for Orla : and he alone of all his race !” “But, king of Morven, if I ſhall
+ fall; as one time the warrior muſt die ; raiſe my tomb in the midſt : let it be the greateſt on
+ Lena. Send, over the dark-blue wave, the ſword of Orla to
+
+ the ſpouſe of his love; that ſhe may ſhew it to her ſon, with
+ tears, to kindle his ſoul to war.” “Son of the mournful tale,” ſaid Fingal, “why doſt thou awaken
+ my tears? One day the warriors muſt die, and the children ſee their uſeleſs arms in the hall.
+ But, Orla, thy tomb ſhall riſe. Thy white-boſomed ſpouſe ſhall weep over thy ſword.”
+
They fought on the heath of Lena. Feeble was the arm of Orla. The ſword of
+ Fingal deſcended, and cleft his ſhield in twain. It fell and glittered on the ground, as the moon
+ on the ruffled ſtream. “King of Morven,” ſaid the hero, “lift thy ſword and pierce my breaſt,
+ Wounded and faint from battle, my friends have left me here. The mournful tale ſhall come to my
+ love, on the banks of the ſtreamy Lota ; when ſhe is alone in the wood; and the ruſtling blaſt in
+ the leaves !”
+
“No;” ſaid the king of Morven, “I will never wound thee, Orla. On the banks
+ of Lota let her ſee thee, eſcaped from the hands of war. Let thy grey-haired father, who,
+ perhaps, is blind with age. Let him hear the ſound of thy voice, and brighten within his hall.
+ With joy let the hero riſe, and ſearch for his ſon with his hands !” “But never will he find him,
+ Fingal;” ſaid the youth of the ſtreamy Lota. “On
+
+ Lena's heath I muſt die : foreign bards ſhall talk of me. My
+ broad belt covers my wound of death. I give it to the wind!”
+
The dark blood poured from his ſide, he fell pale on the heath of Lena.
+ Fingal bent over him as he dies, and called his younger chiefs. “Oſcar and Fillan, my ſons, raiſe
+ high the memory of Orla. Here let the dark-haired hero reſt, far from the ſpouſe of his love.
+ Here let him reſt in his narrow houſe far from the ſound of Lota. The feeble will find his bow at
+ home; but will not be able to bend it. His faithful dogs howl on his hills ; his boars, which he
+ uſed to purſue, rejoice. Fallen is the arm of battle ! the mighty among the valiant is low !”
+ “Exalt the voice, and blow the horn, ye ſons of the king of Morven ! Let us go back to Swaran, to
+ ſend the night away on ſong. Fillan, Oſcar, and Ryno, fly over the heath of Lena. Where, Ryno,
+ art thou, young ſon of fame? Thou art not wont to be the laſt to anſwer thy father's voice !”
+
“Ryno,” ſaid Ullin firſt of bards, “is with the awful forms of his fathers.
+ With Trathal king of ſhields; with Trenumor of mighty deeds. The youth is low, the youth is pale,
+ he lies on Lena's heath !” “Fell the ſwifteſt in the race,” ſaid the king, “the firſt to bend the
+ bow ?
+
+ Thou ſcarce haſt been known to me? why did young Ryno fall?
+ But ſleep thou ſoftly on Lena, Fingal ſhall ſoon behold thee. Soon ſhall my voice be heard no
+ more, and my footſteps ceaſe to be ſeen. The bards will tell of Fingal's name. The ſtones will
+ talk of me. But, Ryno, thou art low indeed ! thou haſt not received thy fame. Ullin, ſtrike the
+ harp for Ryno; tell what the chief would have been. Farewel, thou firſt in every field ! No more
+ ſhall I direct thy dart ! Thou that haſt been ſo fair ! I behold thee not. Farewel.” The tear is
+ on the cheek of the king, for terrible was his ſon in war. His ſon! that was like a beam of fire
+ by night on a hill; when the foreſts ſink down in its courſe, and the traveller trembles at the
+ ſound! But the winds drive it beyond the ſteep. It ſinks from ſight, and darkneſs prevails,
+
“Whose fame is in that dark-green tomb,” begun the king of generous ſhells ?
+ “four ſtones with their heads of moſs ſtand there! They mark the narrow houſe of death. Near it
+ let Ryno reſt. A neighbour to the brave let him lie. Some chief of fame is here, to fly, with my
+ ſon, on clouds. O Ullin, raiſe the ſongs of old. Awake their memory in their tomb. If in the
+ field, they never fled, my ſon ſhall reſt by their
+
+ ſide. He ſhall reſt, far-diſtant from Morven, on Lena's
+ reſounding plains !”
+
“Here,” ſaid the bard of ſong, “here reſt the firſt of heroes. Silent is Lamderg
+
Lamh-dhearg ſignifies bloody hand. Gelchoſſa, white legged. Tuathal,
+ ſurly. Ulfadda, long beard. Ferchios, the conqueror of men.
+ in this place: dumb is Ullin, king of ſwords: And who, ſoft ſmiling from her cloud, ſhews
+ me her face of love? Why, daughter, why ſo pale art thou, firſt of the maids of Cromla ? Doſt
+ thou ſleep with the foes in battle, white-boſomed daughter of Tuathal? Thou haſt been the love of
+ thouſands, but Lamderg was thy love. He came to Tura's moſſy towers, and, ſtriking his dark
+ buckler, ſpoke :” “Where is Gelchoſſa, my love, the daughter of the noble Tuathal? I left her in
+ the hall of Tura, when I fought with great Ulfada. Return ſoon, O Lamderg, ſhe ſaid, for here I
+ fit in grief. Her white breaſt roſe with ſighs. Her cheek was wet with tears. But I ſee her not
+ coming to meet me; to ſooth my ſoul after war. Silent is the hall of my joy ! I hear not the
+ voice of the bard. Bran
+
Bran is a common name of grey-hounds to this day. It is a cuſtom in the north of Scotland, to
+ give the names of the heroes mentioned in this poem, to their dogs; a proof that they are
+ familiar to the ear, and their fame generally known.
+ does
+
+ not ſhake his chains at the gate, glad at the coming of
+ Lamderg. Where is Gelchoſſa, my love, the mild daughter of the generous Tuathal ?”
+
“Lamderg!” ſays Ferchios ſon of Aidon, “Gelchoſſa moves ſtately on Cromla.
+ She and the maids of the bow purſue the flying deer !” « Ferchios !” replied the chief of Cromla,
+ “no noiſe meets the ear of Lamderg ! No ſound is in the woods of Lena. No deer fly in my ſight.
+ No panting dog purſues. I ſee not Gelchoſſa my love, fair as the full moon ſetting on the hills.
+ Go, Ferchios, go to Allad
+
Allad is a druid: he is called the ſon of the rock, from his dwelling in a cave; and the
+ circle of ſtones here mentioned is the pale of the druidical temple. He is here conſulted as one
+ who had a ſupernatural knowlege of things ; from the druids, no doubt, came the ridiculous
+ notion of the ſecond ſight, which prevailed in the highlands and iſles.
+ the greyhaired ſon of the rock. His dwelling is in the circle of ſtones. He may know of
+ the bright Gelchoſſa !”
+
“The ſon of Aidon went. He ſpoke to the ear of age. Allad ! dweller of rocks
+ : thou that trembleſt alone ! what ſaw thine eyes of age ?” «« I ſaw,” anſwered Allad the old,
+ “Ullin the ſon of Cairbar. He came, in darkneſs, from Cromla. He hummed a ſurly ſong, like a
+ blaſt
+
+ in a leafleſs wood. He entered the hall of Tura. “Lamderg,” he
+ ſaid, “moſt dreadful of men, fight or yield to Ullin.” “Lamderg,” replied Gelchoſſa, “the ſon of
+ battle, is not here. He fights Ulfada mighty chief. He is not here, thou firſt of men! But
+ Lamderg never yields. He will fight the ſon of Cairbar!” “Lovely art thou,” ſaid terrible
+ Ullin,“daughter of the generous Tuathal. I carry thee to Cairbar's halls. The valiant ſhall have
+ Gelchoſſa. Three days I remain on Cramla, to wait that ſon of battle, Lamderg. On the fourth
+ Gelchoſſa is mine; if the mighty Lamderg flies.”
+
“Allad !” ſaid the chief of Cromla, “peace to thy dreams in the cave.
+ Ferchios, ſound the horn of Lamderg, that Ullin may hear in his halls. Lamderg, like a roaring
+ ſtorm, aſcended the hill from Tura. He hummed a ſurly ſong as he went, like the noiſe of a
+ falling ſtream, He darkly ſtood upon the hill, like a cloud varying its form to the wind, He
+ rolled a ſtone, the ſign of war. Ullin heard in Cairbar's hall. The hero heard, with joy, his
+ foe. He took his father's ſpear. A ſmile brightens his dark-brown cheek, as he places his ſword
+ by his ſide. The dagger glittered in his hand. He whiſtled as he went.
+
+
+
Gelchossa ſaw the ſilent chief, as a wreath of miſt aſcending the hill. She
+ ſtruck her white and heaving breaſt; and ſilent, tearful, feared for Lamderg. “Cairbar, hoary chief of ſhells,” ſaid the maid of the tender hand.“I muſt bend the bow on
+ Cromla. I ſee the darkbrown hinds!” She haſted up the hill. In vain! the gloomy heroes fought.
+ Why ſhould I tell to Selma's king, how wrathful heroes fight? Fierce Ullin fell. Young Lamderg
+ came, all pale to the daughter of generous Tuathal ! “What blood, my love, she trembling ſaid ?
+ what blood runs down my warrior's ſide ?” “It is Ullin's blood, the chief replied, thou fairer
+ than the ſnow ! Gelchoſſa, let me reſt here a little while. The mighty Lamderg died !” “And
+ ſleepeſt thou ſo ſoon on earth, O chief of ſhady Tura ? three days ſhe mourned beſide her love.
+ The hunters found her cold. They raiſed this tomb above the three. Thy ſon, O king of Morven, may
+ reſt here with heroes !”
+
And here my ſon ſhall reſt, ſaid Fingal. The voice of their fame is in mine
+ ears. Fillan, and Fergus ! bring hither Orla ; the pale youth of the ſtream of Lota! Not
+ unequalled ſhall Ryno lie in earth, when Orla is by his ſide. Weep, ye daughters of Morven! ye
+ maids of the ſtreamy Lota weep ! Like a tree they grew on
+
+ the hills. They have fallen like the oak of the deſart ; when it
+ lies acroſs a ſtream, and withers in the wind. Oſcar ! chief of every youth! thou ſeeſt how they
+ have fallen. Be thou like them, on earth renowned. Like them the ſong of bards. Terrible were
+ their forms in battle ; but calm was Ryno in the days of peace. He was like the bow of the ſhower
+ ſeen far diſtant on the ſtream ; when the ſun is ſetting on Mora; when ſilence dwells on the hill
+ of deer. Reſt, youngeſt of my ſons! reſt, O Ryno, on Lena. We too ſhall be no more. Warriors one
+ day muſt fall!” !
+
Such was thy grief, thou king of ſwords, when Ryno lay on earth. What muſt
+ the grief of Oſſian be, for thou thyſelf art gone ! I hear not thy diſtant voice on Cona. My eyes
+ perceive thee not. Often forlorn and dark I ſit at thy tomb; and feel it with my hands. When I
+ think I hear thy voice, it is but the paſſing blaſt. Fingal has long ſince fallen aſleep, the
+ ruler of the war !
+
Then Gaul and Oſſian ſat with Swaran, on the ſoft green banks of Lubar. I
+ touched the harp to pleaſe the king. But gloomy was his brow. He rolled his red eyes towards
+ Lena. The hero mourned his hoſt. I raiſed mine eyes to Cromla's brow, I ſaw the ſon of generous
+
+
+ Semo. Sad and ſlow he retired, from his hill, towards the
+ lonely cave of Tura. He ſaw Fingal victorious, and mixed his joy with grief. The ſun is bright on
+ his armour. Connal ſlowly ſtrode behind. They ſunk behind the hill, like two pillars of the fire
+ of night: when winds purſue them over the mountain, and the flaming heath reſounds ! Beſide a
+ ſtream of roaring foam his cave is in a rock. One tree bends above it. The ruſhing winds eccho
+ againſt its ſides. Here reſts the chief of Erin, the ſon of generous Semo. His thoughts are on
+ the battles he loſt. The tear is on his cheek. He mourned the departure of his fame, that fled
+ like the miſt of Cona. O Bragela, thou art too far remote, to cheer the ſoul of the hero. But let
+ him ſee thy bright form in his mind : that his thoughts may return to the lonely ſun-beam of his
+ love !
+
Who comes with the locks of age? It is the ſon of ſongs. “Hail, Carril of
+ other times ! Thy voice is like the harp in the halls of Tura. Thy words are pleaſant as the
+ ſhower, which falls on the ſunny field. Carril of the times of old, why comeſt thou from the ſon
+ of the generous Semo ?”
+
“Oſſian, king of ſwords,” replied the bard, “thou beſt can raiſe the ſong.
+ Long haſt thou been known to Carril, thou ruler of war! Often
+
+ have I touched the harp to lovely Evirallin. Thou too haſt often
+ joined my voice, in Branno's hall of generous ſhells. And often, amidſt our voices, was heard the
+ mildeſt Evirallin. One day ſhe ſung of Cormac's fall, the youth, who died for her love. I ſaw the
+ tears on her cheek, and on thine, thou chief of men ! Her ſoul was touched for the unhappy,
+ though ſhe loved him not. How fair among a thouſand maids, was the daughter of generous Branno
+ !”
+
“Bring not, Carril,” I replied, “bring not her memory to my mind. My ſoul
+ muſt melt at the remembrance. My eyes muſt have their tears. Pale in the earth is ſhe, the
+ ſoftly-bluſhing fair of my love ! But ſit thou on the heath, O bard, and let us hear thy voice.
+ It is pleaſant as the gale of ſpring, that ſighs on the hunter's ear; when he awakens from dreams
+ of joy, and has heard the muſic of the ſpirits of the hill !”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. BOOK VI.
+
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book VI.
+
Night comes on. Fingal gives a feaſt to his army, at which Swaran is preſent. The king
+ commands Ullin his bard to give the ſong of peace; a cuſtom always obſerved at the end
+ of a war. Ullin relates the actions of Trenmor, great grandfather to Fingal, in Scandinavia, and
+ his marriage with Inibaca, the daughter of a king of Lochlin who was anceſtor to Swaran ; which
+ conſideration, together with his being brother to Agandecca, with whom Fingal was in love in his
+ youth, induced the king to releaſe him, and permit him to return, with the remains of his army,
+ into Lochlin, upon his promiſe of never returning to Ireland, in a hoſtile manner. The night is
+ ſpent in ſettling Swaran's departure, in ſongs of bards, and in a converſation in which the ſtory
+ of Grumal is introduced by Fingal. Morning comes. Swaran departs; Fingal goes on a hunting party,
+ and finding Cuthullin in the cave of Tura, comforts him, and ſets ſail, the next day, for
+ Scotland; which concludes the poem.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ FINGAL, AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM. In SIX BOOKS. BOOK VI.
+
The clouds of night come rolling down. Darkneſs reſts on the ſteeps of
+ Cromla. The ſtars of the north ariſe over the rolling of Erin's waves: they ſhew their heads of
+ fire, through the flying miſt of heaven. A diſtant wind roars in the wood. Silent and dark is the
+ plain of death ! Still on the duſky Lena aroſe in my ears the voice of Carril. He ſung of the
+ friends of our youth; the days of former years ! when we met on the banks of Lego: when we ſent
+ round the joy of the ſhell. Cromla, anſwered to his voice. The ghoſts of thoſe he ſung came in
+ their ruſtling winds. They were ſeen to bend with joy, towards the ſound of their praiſe !
+
+
+
+ Be thy ſoul bleſt, O Carril, in the midſt
+ of thy eddying winds. O that thou wouldſt come to my hall, when I am alone by night! And thou
+ doſt come, my friend, I hear often thy light hand on my harp ; when it hangs, on the diſtant
+ wall, and the feeble ſound touches my ear. Why doſt thou not ſpeak to me in my grief, and tell
+ when I ſhall behold my friends ? But thou paſſeſt away in thy murmuring blaſt ; the wind whiſtles
+ thro' the grey hair of Oſſian !
+
Now, on the ſide of Mora, the heroes gathered to the feaſt. A thouſand aged oaks are burning to
+ the wind. The ſtrength
+
The ancient Celtæ brewed beer, and they were no ſtrangers to mead. Several ancient poems
+ mention wax lights and wine as common in the halls of Fingal. The Caledonians in their frequent
+ incurſions to the province might become acquainted with thoſe conveniencies of life, and
+ introduce them into their own country, among the booty which they carried from South Britain.
+
+ of the ſhells goes round. The ſouls of warriors brighten with joy. But the king of
+ Lochlin is ſilent. Sorrow reddens in the eyes of his pride. He often turned toward Lena. He
+ remembered that he fell. Fingal leaned on the ſhield of his fathers. His grey locks ſlowly waved
+ on the wind, and glittered to the beam of night, He ſaw the grief of Swaran, and ſpoke to the
+ firſt of bards.
+
+
+
“Raise, Ullin, raiſe the ſong of peace. O ſooth my ſoul from war. Let mine
+ ear forget, in the ſound, the diſmal noiſe of arms. Let a hundred harps be near to gladden the
+ king of Lochlin. He muſt depart from us with joy. None ever went ſad from Fingal. Oſcar ! the
+ lightning of my ſword is againſt the ſtrong in fight. Peaceful it lies by my ſide when warriors
+ yield in war.”
+
“Trenmor
+
Trenmor was great grandfather to Fingal. The ſtory is introduced to facilitate the diſmiſſion
+ of Swaran.
+ ,” ſaid the mouth of ſongs, “lived in the days of other years. He bounded over the waves
+ of the north : companion of the ſtorm ! The high rocks of the land of Lochlin; its groves of
+ murmuring ſounds appeared to the hero through miſt : he bound his white-boſomed ſails. Trenmor
+ purſued the boar, that roared through the woods of Gormal. Many had fled from its preſence: but
+ it rolled in death on the ſpear of Trenmor. Three chiefs, who beheld the deed, told of the mighty
+ ſtranger. They told that he ſtood, like a pillar of fire, in the bright arms of his valour. The
+ king of Lochlin prepared the feaſt. He called the blooming Trenmor. Three days he feaſted at
+ Gormal's windy towers; and received his choice in the combat. The land of Lochlin had no hero,
+ that
+
+ yielded not to Trenmor. The ſhell of joy went round with
+ ſongs, in praiſe of the king of Morven. He that came over the waves, the firſt of mighty men
+ !”
+
Now when the fourth gray morn aroſe, the hero launched his ſhip. He walked
+ along the ſilent ſhore, and called for the ruſhing wind: For loud and diſtant he heard the blaſt
+ murmuring behind the groves. Covered over with arms of ſteel, a ſon of the woody Gormal appeared.
+ Red was his cheek and fair his hair. His ſkin like the ſnow of Morven. Mild rolled his blue and
+ ſmiling eye, when he ſpoke to the king of ſwords.
+
“Stay, Trenmor, ſtay thou firſt of men, thou haſt not conquered Lonval's
+ ſon. My ſword has often met the brave. The wiſe ſhun the ſtrength of my bow.” “Thou fair-haired
+ youth,” Trenmor replied, “I will not fight with Lonval's ſon. Thine arm is feeble, ſunbeam of
+ youth. Retire to Gormal's dark-brown hinds.” “But I will retire,” replied the youth, “with the
+ ſword of Trenmor ; and exult in the ſound of my fame. The virgins ſhall gather with ſmiles,
+ around him who conquered mighty Trenmor. They ſhall ſigh with the ſighs of love, and admire the
+ length of thy ſpear ; when
+
+ I ſhall carry it among thouſands ; when I lift the glittering
+ point to the ſun.”
+
“Thou ſhalt never carry my ſpear,” ſaid the angry king of Morven. “Thy
+ mother ſhall find thee pale on the ſhore; and, looking over the dark-blue deep, ſee the ſails of
+ him that ſlew her ſon!” “I will not lift the ſpear,” replied the youth,“my arm is not ſtrong with
+ years. But, with the feathered dart, I have learned to pierce a diſtant foe. Throw down that
+ heavy mail of ſteel. Trenmor is covered from death. I firſt, will lay my mail on earth. Throw now
+ thy dart, thou king of Morven !'” He ſaw the heaving of her breaſt. It was the ſiſter of the
+ king. She had ſeen him in the hall; and loved his face of youth. The ſpear dropt from the hand of
+ Trenmor : he bent his red cheek to the ground. She was to him a beam of light that meets the ſons
+ of the cave; when they reviſit the fields of the ſun, and bend their aching eyes !
+
“Chief of the windy Morven,” begun the maid of the arms of ſnow. “Let me
+ reſt in thy bounding ſhip, far from the love of Corlo. For he, like the thunder of the deſart, is
+ terrible to Inibaca. He loves me in the gloom of pride. He ſhakes ten thouſand ſpears !” “Reſt
+ thou in peace,” ſaid the mighty Trenmor. “Reſt behind the ſhield of my fathers. I will not fly
+ from the chief, though he ſhakes ten
+
+ thouſand ſpears!” Three days he waited on the ſhore. He ſent
+ his horn abroad. He called Corlo to battle, from all his ecchoing hills. But Corlo came not to
+ battle, The king of Lochlin deſcends from his hall. He feaſted on the roaring ſhore. He gave the
+ maid to Trenmor !
+
“King of Lochlin,” ſaid Fingal, “thy blood flows in the veins of thy foe.
+ Our fathers met in battle, becauſe they loved the ſtrife of ſpears. But often did they feaſt in
+ the hall: and ſend round the joy of the ſhell. Let thy face brighten with gladneſs, and thine ear
+ delight in the harp. Dreadful as the ſtorm of thine ocean, thou haſt poured thy valour forth; thy
+ voice has been like the voice of thouſands when they engage in war. Raiſe, to-morrow, raiſe thy
+ white ſails to the wind, thou brother of Agandecca ! Bright as the beam of noon, ſhe comes on my
+ mournful ſoul. I have ſeen thy tears for the fair one. I ſpared thee in the halls of Starno ;
+ when my ſword was red with ſlaughter ; when my eye was full of tears for the maid. Or doſt thou
+ chuſe the fight ? The combat which thy fathers gave to Trenmor is thine ! that thou mayeſt depart
+ renowned, like the ſun ſetting in the weſt!”
+
“King of the race of Morven,” ſaid the chief of reſounding Lochlin! “never
+ will Swaran fight with thee, firſt of a thouſand heroes! I have ſeen thee in the halls of Starno
+ : few were
+
+ thy years beyond my own. When ſhall I, I ſaid to my ſoul,
+ lift the ſpear like the noble Fingal? We have fought heretofore, O warrior, on the ſide of the
+ ſhaggy Malmor ; after my waves had carried me to thy halls, and the feaſt of a thouſand ſhells
+ was ſpread. Let the bards ſend his name who overcame to future years, for noble was the ſtrife of
+ Malmor! But many of the ſhips of Lochlin have loſt their youths on Lena. Take theſe, thou king of
+ Morven, and be the friend of Swaran ! When thy ſons ſhall come to Gormal, the feaſt of ſhells
+ ſhall be ſpread, and the combat offered on the vale.”
+
“Nor ſhip,” replied the king, “ſhall Fingal take, nor land of many hills.
+ The deſart is enough to me, with all its deer and woods. Riſe on thy waves again, thou noble
+ friend of Agandecca. Spread thy white ſails to the beam of the morning; return to the ecchoing
+ hills of Gormal.” “Bleſt be thy ſoul, thou king of ſhells, ſaid Swaran of the dark-brown ſhield.
+ “In peace thou art the gale of ſpring. In war the mountain-ſtorm. Take now my hand in friendſhip,
+ king of ecchoing Selma! Let thy bards mourn thoſe who fell. Let Erin give the ſons of Lochlin to
+ earth. Raiſe high the moſſy ſtones of their fame : that the children of the north hereafter may
+ behold the place, where their fathers fought. The hunter may ſay, when he leans on a moſſy
+
+
+ tomb, here Fingal and Swaran fought, the heroes of other years.
+ Thus hereafter ſhall he ſay, and our fame ſhall laſt for ever!”
+
“Swaran, ſaid the king of hills,“to-day our fame is greateſt. We ſhall paſs
+ away like a dream. No ſound will remain in our fields of war. Our tombs will be loſt in the
+ heath. The hunter ſhall not know the place of our reſt. Our names may be heard in ſong. What
+ avails it, when our ſtrength hath ceaſed? O Oſſian, Carril, and Ullin, you know of heroes that
+ are no more. Give us the ſong of other years. Let the night paſs away on the ſound, and morning
+ return with joy.”
+
We gave the ſong to the kings. An hundred harps mixed their ſound with our
+ voice. The face of Swaran brightened, like the full moon of heaven ; when the clouds vaniſh away,
+ and leave her calm and broad, in the midſt of the ſky !
+
“Where, Carril,” ſaid the great Fingal, « Carril of other times! Where is
+ the ſon of Semo ? the king of the iſle of miſt? has he retired, like the meteor of death, to the
+ dreary cave of Tura ?” “Cuthullin,” ſaid Carril of other times, “lies in the dreary cave of Tura.
+ His hand is on the ſword of his ſtrength. His thoughts on the battles he loſt. Mournful is the
+ king of ſpears; till now unconquered in war. He ſends his ſword to reſt on the ſide of Fingal :
+
+
+ For, like the ſtorm of the deſart, thou haſt ſcattered all
+ his foes. Take, O Fingal, the ſword of the hero. His fame is departed like miſt, when it flies,
+ before the ruſtling wind, along the brightening vale.
+
“No:” replied the king, “Fingal ſhall never take his ſword. His arm is
+ mighty in war : his fame ſhall never fail. Many have been overcome in battle; whoſe renown aroſe
+ from their fall. O Swaran, king of reſounding woods, give all thy grief away, The vanquiſhed, if
+ brave, are renowned. They are like the ſun in a cloud, when he hides his face in the ſouth, but
+ looks again on the hills of graſs !
+
“Grumal was a Chief of Cona, He ſought the battle on every coaſt. His ſoul
+ rejoiced in blood. His ear in the din of arms. He poured his warriors on Craca; Craca's king met
+ him from his grove: for then, within the circle of Brumo
+
This paſſage alludes to the religion of the king of Craca.
+ , he ſpoke to the ſtone of power. Fierce was the battle of the heroes, for the maid of the
+ breaſt of ſnow. The fame of the daughter of Craca had reached Grumal at the ſtream of Cona : he
+ vowed to have the white-boſomed maid, or die on ecchoing Craca. Three days they ſtrove together,
+ and Grumal on the fourth
+
+ was bound. Far from his friends they placed him, in the horrid
+ circle of Brumo ; where often, they ſaid, the ghoſts of the dead howled round the ſtone of their
+ fear. But he afterwards ſhone, like a pillar of the light of heaven. They fell by his mighty
+ hand. Grumal had all his fame !”
+
“Raise, ye bards of other times,” continued the great Fingal, “raiſe high
+ the praiſe of heroes : that my ſoul may ſettle on their fame; that the mind of Swaran may ceaſe
+ to be ſad.” They lay in the heath of Mora. The dark winds ruſtled over the chiefs. A hundred
+ voices, at once, aroſe : a hundred harps were ſtrung. They ſung of other times ; the mighty
+ chiefs of former years! When now ſhall I hear the bard? When rejoice at the fame of my fathers?
+ The harp is not ſtrung on Morven. The voice of muſic aſcends not on Cona. Dead, with the mighty,
+ is the bard. Fame is in the deſart no more.
+
Morning trembles with the beam of the eaſt; it glimmers on Comla's ſide.
+ Over Lena is heard the horn of Swaran. The ſons of the ocean gather around. Silent and ſad they
+ riſe on the wave. The blaſt of Erin is behind their ſails. White, as the miſt of Morven, they
+ float along the ſea. “Call,” ſaid Fingal, “call my
+
+ dogs, the long-bounding ſons of the chace. Call
+ white-breaſted Bran and the ſurly ſtrength of Luath! Fillan, and Ryno; but he is not here ! My
+ ſon reſts on the bed of death. Fillan and Fergus ! blow the horn, that the joy of the chace may
+ ariſe : that the deer of Cromla may hear and ſtart at the lake of roes.”
+
The ſhrill ſound ſpreads along the wood. The ſons of heathy Cromla ariſe. A
+ thouſand dogs fly off at once, grey-bounding through the heath. A deer fell by every dog ; three
+ by the white-breaſted Bran. He brought them, in their flight, to Fingal, that the joy of the king
+ might be great ! One deer fell at the tomb of Ryno. The grief of Fingal returned. He ſaw how
+ peaceful lay the ſtone of him, who was the firſt at the chace ! “No more ſhalt thou riſe, O my
+ ſon, to partake of the feaſt of Cromla. Soon will thy tomb be hid, and the graſs grow rank on thy
+ grave. The ſons of the feeble ſhall paſs along. They ſhall not know where the mighty lie.
+
“Ossian and Fillan, ſons of my ſtrength. Gaul, chief of the blue ſteel of
+ war! let us aſcend the hill to the cave of Tura. Let us find the chief of the battles of Erin.
+ Are theſe the walls of Tura ? grey and lonely they riſe on the heath. The chief of ſhells is ſad,
+ and the halls
+
+ are ſilent and lonely. Come, let us find Cuthullin, and give
+ him all our joy. But is that Cuthullin, O Fillan, or a pillar of ſmoke on the heath? The wind of
+ Cromla is on my eyes. I diſtinguiſh not my friend.”
+
“Fingal !” replied the youth, “it is the ſon of Semo ! Gloomy and ſad is the
+ hero! his hand is on his ſword. Hail to the ſon of battle, breaker of the ſhields?” “Hail to
+ thee,” replied Cuthullin, “hail to all the ſons of Morven ! Delightful is thy preſence, O Fingal,
+ it is the ſun on Cromla ; when the hunter mourns his abſence for a ſeaſon, and ſees him between
+ the clouds. Thy ſons are like ſtars that attend thy courſe. They give light in the night. It is
+ not thus thou haſt ſeen me, O Fingal, returning from the wars of thy land : when the kings of the world
+
This is the only paſſage in the poem, wherein the wars of Fingal againſt the Romans are
+ alluded to: the Roman emperor is diſtinguiſhed in old compoſition by the title of king of
+ the world.
+ had fled, and joy returned to the hill of hinds!” “Many are thy words, Cuthullin,” ſaid Connan
+
Connan was of the family of Morni. He is mentioned in ſeveral other poems, and always
+ appears, with the ſame character. The poet paſſed him over in ſilence till now, and his
+ behaviour here deſerves no better uſage.
+ of ſmall renown. “Thy words are many, ſon of Semo, but where are thy deeds in arms? Why
+ did we come, over
+
+ ocean, to aid thy feeble ſword ? Thou flyeſt to thy cave of
+ grief, and Connan fights thy battles. Reſign to me theſe arms of light. Yield them, thou chief of
+ Erin!” “No hero,” replied the chief,“ever ſought the arms of Cuthullin ; and had a thouſand
+ heroes ſought them, it were in vain, thou gloomy youth! I fled not to the cave of grief, till
+ Erin failed at her ſtreams.”
+
“Youth of the feeble arm,” ſaid Fingal, “Connan ceaſe thy words! Cuthullin is renowned in
+ battle ; terrible over the world. Often have I heard thy fame, thou ſtormy chief of Inis-fail.
+ Spread now thy white ſails for the iſle of miſt, See Bragela leaning on her rock. Her tender eye
+ is in tears; the winds lift her long hair from her heaving breaſt. She liſtens to the breeze of
+ night, to hear the voice of thy rowers
+
The practice of ſinging when they row is univerſal among the inhabitants of the northweſt
+ coaſt of Scotland and the iſles. It deceives time, and inſpirits the rowers.
+ ; to hear the ſong of the ſea ! the ſound of thy diſtant harp!
+
Long ſhall ſhe liſten in vain. Cuthullin ſhall never return! How can I
+ behold Bragela, to raiſe the ſigh of her breaſt? Fingal, I was always victorious, in battles of
+ other ſpears !” “And hereafter thou ſhalt be victorious,” ſaid Fingal of generous ſhells. “The
+ fame
+
+ of Cuthullin ſhall grow, like the branchy tree of Cromla. Many
+ battles await thee, O chief! Many ſhall be the wounds of thy hand ! Bring hither, Oſcar, the
+ deer! Prepare the feaſt of ſhells. Let our ſouls rejoice after danger, and our friends delight in
+ our preſence !”
+
We ſat. We feaſted, We ſung. The ſoul of Cuthullin roſe. The ſtrength of his
+ arm returned. Gladneſs brightened along his face. Ullin gave the ſong ; Carril raiſed the voice.
+ I joined the bards, and ſung of battles of the ſpear. Battles! where I often fought. Now I fight
+ no more ! The fame of my former deeds is ceaſed. I ſit forlorn at the tombs of my friends !
+
Thus the night paſſed away in ſong. We brought back the morning with joy.
+ Fingal aroſe on the heath, and ſhook his glittering ſpear. He moved firſt toward the plains of
+ Lena. We followed in all our arms.
+
“Spread the ſail,” ſaid the king, “ſeize the winds as they pour from Lena.”
+ We roſe on the wave with ſongs. We ruſhed, with joy, through the foam of the deep.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ LATHMON: A POEM.
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Lathmon, a Britiſh prince, taking advantage of Fingal's abſence on an expedition in Ireland,
+ made a deſcent on Morven, and advanced within ſight of Selma, the royal reſidence. Fingal
+ arrived in the mean time, and Lathmon retreated to a hill, where his army was ſurprized by
+ night, and himſelf taken priſoner by Oſſian and Gaul the ſon of Morni. The poem opens, with the
+ firſt appearance of Fingal on the coaſt of Morven, and ends, it may be ſuppoſed, about noon the
+ next day.
+
+
+
+
+
+ LATHMON: A POEM.
+
Selma, thy halls are ſilent. There is no ſound in the woods of Morven. The
+ wave tumbles alone on the coaſt. The ſilent beam of the ſun is on the field. The daughters of
+ Morven come forth, like the bow of the ſhower; they look towards green Erin for the white ſails
+ of the king. He had promiſed to return, but the winds of the north aroſe !
+
Who pours from the eaſtern hill, like a ſtream of darkneſs? It is the hoſt
+ of Lathmon. He has heard of the abſence of Fingal. He truſts in the wind of the north. His ſoul
+ brightens with joy. Why doſt thou come, O Lathmon ? The mighty are not in Selma. Why comeſt thou
+ with thy forward ſpear ? Will the daughters of Morven fight? But ſtop, O mighty ſtream, in thy
+ courſe! Does not Lathmon behold theſe ſails? Why doſt thou vaniſh, Lathmon, like the miſt of the
+ lake? But the ſqually ſtorm is behind thee; Fingal purſues thy ſteps !
+
+
+ The king of Morven had ſtarted from ſleep, as we rolled
+ on the dark-blue wave. He ſtretched his hand to his ſpear, his heroes roſe around. We knew that
+ he had ſeen his fathers, for they often deſcended to his dreams, when the ſword of the foe roſe
+ over the land; and the battle darkened before us. “Whither haſt thou fled, O wind?” ſaid the king
+ of Morven. “Doſt thou ruſtle in the chambers of the ſouth, purſueſt thou the ſhower in other
+ lands ? Why doſt thou not come to my ſails? to the blue face of my ſeas? The foe is in the land
+ of Morven, and the king is abſent far. But let each bind on his mail, and each aſſume his ſhield.
+ Stretch every ſpear over the wave; let every ſword be unſheathed. Lathmon
+
It is ſaid by tradition, that it was the intelligence of Lathmon's invaſion, that occaſioned
+ Fingal's return from Ireland; though Oſſian, more poetically, aſcribes the cauſe of Fingal's
+ knowlege to his dream.
+ is before us with his hoſt ; he that fled
+
He alludes to a battle wherein Fingal had defeated Lathmon.
+ from Fingal on the plains of Lona. But he returns, like a collected ſtream, and his roar
+ is between our hills.”
+
Such were the words of Fingal. We ruſhed into Carmona's bay. Oſſian aſcended
+ the hill : He thrice ſtruck his boſſy ſhield. The rock of
+
+ Morven replied ; the bounding roes came forth. The foe was troubled in my
+ preſence ; he collected his darkened hoſt. I ſtood, like a cloud on the hill, rejoicing in the
+ arms of my youth.
+
Morni
+
Morni was chief of a numerous tribe, in the days of Fingal, and his father Comhal. The laſt
+ mentioned hero was killed in battle againſt Morni's tribe; but the valour and conduct of Fingal
+ reduced them, at laſt, to obedience. We find the two heroes perfectly reconciled in this poem.
+
+ ſat beneath a tree, at the roaring waters of Strumon
+
Stru'-moné, ſtream of the hill. Here the proper name of a rivulet in the
+ neighbourhood of Selma.
+ : his locks of age are grey : he leans forward on his ſtaff; young Gaul is near the hero,
+ hearing the battles of his father. Often did he riſe, in the fire of his ſoul, at the mighty
+ deeds of Morni. The aged heard the ſound of Oſſian's ſhield : he knew the ſign of war. He ſtarted
+ at once from his place. His grey hair parted on his back. He remembered the deeds of other
+ years.
+
“My ſon,” he ſaid to fair-haired Gaul, “I hear the ſound of war. The king of
+ Morven is returned, his ſignals are ſpread on the wind. Go to the halls of Strumon ; bring his
+ arms to Morni. Bring the ſhield of my father's latter years, for my arm begins to fail. Take thou
+ thy armour, O Gaul; and ruſh to the firſt of
+
+ thy battles. Let thine arm reach to the renown of thy fathers. Be thy
+ courſe in the field, like the eagle's wing. Why ſhouldſt thou fear death, my ſon ? the valiant
+ fall with fame; their ſhields turn the dark ſtream of danger away ; renown dwells on their aged
+ hairs. Doſt thou not ſee, O Gaul, how the ſteps of my age are honoured ? Morni moves forth, and
+ the young meet him, with awe, and turn their eyes, with ſilent joy, on his courſe. But I never
+ fled from danger, my ſon! my ſword lightened through the darkneſs of war. The ſtranger melted
+ before me; the mighty were blaſted in my preſence.”
+
Gaul brought the arms to Morni: the aged warrior is covered with ſteel. He
+ took the ſpear in his hand, which was ſtained with the blood of the valiant. He came towards
+ Fingal, his ſon attended his ſteps. The ſon of Comhal aroſe before him with joy, when he came in
+ his locks of age.
+
Chief of roaring Strumon! ſaid the riſing ſoul of Fingal ; do I behold thee
+ in arms, after thy ſtrength has failed ? Often has Morni ſhone in fight, like the beam of the
+ aſcending ſun ; when he diſperſes the ſtorms of the hill, and brings peace to the glittering
+ fields. But why didſt thou not reſt in thine age? Thy renown
+
+ is in the ſong. The people behold thee, and bleſs the departure of mighty
+ Morni. Why didſt thou not reſt in thine age? The foe will vaniſh before Fingal !
+
Son of Comhal, replied the chief, the ſtrength of Morni's arm has failed. I
+ attempt to draw the ſword of my youth, but it remains in its place. I throw the ſpear, but it
+ falls ſhort of the mark. I feel the weight of my ſhield. We decay like the graſs of the hill :
+ our ſtrength returns no more. I have a ſon, O Fingal, his ſoul has delighted in Morni's deeds;
+ but his ſword has not been lifted againſt a foe, neither has his fame begun. I come with him to
+ war; to direct his arm in fight. His renown will be a light to my ſoul, in the dark hour of my
+ departure. O that the name of Morni were forgot among the people! that the heroes would only ſay,
+ “Behold the father of Gaul !”
+
King of Strumon, Fingal replied, Gaul ſhall lift the ſword in fight. But he
+ ſhall lift it before Fingal; my arm ſhall defend his youth. But reſt thou in the halls of Selma ;
+ and hear of our renown. Bid the harp to be ſtrung ; and the voice of the bard to ariſe, that
+ thoſe who fall may rejoice in their fame; and the ſoul of Morni brighten with joy. Oſſian ! thou
+ haſt fought in
+
+ battles: the blood of ſtrangers is on thy ſpear : thy courſe be with
+ Gaul, in the ſtrife; but depart not from the ſide of Fingal! leſt the foe ſhould find you alone,
+ and your fame fail in my preſence.
+
I saw
+
Oſſian ſpeaks. The contraſt between the old and young heroes is ſtrongly marked. The
+ circumſtance of the latter's drawing their ſwords is well imagined, and agrees with the
+ impatience of young ſoldiers, juſt entered upon action.
+ Gaul in his arms; my ſoul was mixed with his. The fire of the battle was in his eyes! he
+ looked to the foe with joy. We ſpoke the words of friendſhip in ſecret; the lightning of our
+ ſwords poured together ; for we drew them behind the wood, and tried the ſtrength of our arms on
+ the empty air.
+
Night came down on Morven. Fingal ſat at the beam of the oak. Morni ſat by
+ his ſide with all his grey waving locks. Their words were of other times, of the mighty deeds of
+ their fathers. Three bards, at times, touched the harp: Ullin was near with his ſong. He ſung of
+ the mighty Comhal ; but darkneſs gathered
+
Ullin had choſen ill the ſubject of his ſong. The darkneſs which gathered on Morni's
+ brow, did not proceed from any diſlike he had to Comhal's name, though they were foes, but
+ from his fear that the ſong would awaken Fingal to a remembrance of the feuds which had
+ ſubſiſted of old between the families. Fingal's ſpeech on this occaſion abounds with generoſity
+ and good ſenſe.
+
+
+
+ on Morni's brow. He rolled his red eye on Ullin : at once ceaſed the ſong of
+ the bard. Fingal obſerved the aged hero, and he mildly ſpoke. “Chief of Strumon, why that
+ darkneſs ? Let the days of other years be forgot. Our fathers contended in war ; but we meet
+ together, at the feaſt. Our ſwords are turned on the foe of our land : he melts before us in the
+ field. Let the days of our fathers be forgot, hero of moſſy Strumon !”
+
“King of Morven, replied the chief, “I remember thy father with joy. He was
+ terrible in battle; the rage of the chief was deadly. My eyes were full of tears, when the king
+ of heroes fell. The valiant fall, O Fingal! the feeble remain on the hills! How many heroes have
+ paſſed away, in the days of Morni! Yet I did not ſhun the battle; neither did I fly from the
+ ſtrife of the valiant. Now let the friends of Fingal reſt ; for the night is around ; that they
+ may riſe, with ſtrength, to battle againſt car-borne Lathmon. I hear the ſound of his hoſt, like
+ thunder moving on the hills. Oſſian ! and fair-haired Gaul! ye are young and ſwift in the race.
+ Obſerve the foes of Fingal from that woody hill. But approach them not, your fathers are not near
+ to ſhield you. Let not
+
+ your fame fall at once. The valour of youth may fail !”
+
We heard the words of the chief with joy. We moved in the clang of our arms.
+ Our ſteps are on the woody hill. Heaven burns with all its ſtars. The meteors of death fly over
+ the field. The diſtant noiſe of the foe reached our ears. It was then Gaul ſpoke, in his valour :
+ his hand half-unſheathed the ſword.
+
“Son of Fingal,” he ſaid, “why burns the ſoul of Gaul? My heart beats high. My ſteps are
+ diſordered ; my hand trembles on my ſword. When I look towards the foe, my ſoul lightens before
+ me. I ſee their ſleeping hoſt. Tremble thus the ſouls of the valiant in battles of the ſpear? How
+ would the ſoul of Morni riſe if we ſhould ruſh on the foe! Our renown would grow in ſong : Our
+ ſteps would be ſtately in the eyes of the brave.”
+
“Son of Morni,” I replied, “my ſoul delights in war. I delight to ſhine in
+ battle alone, to give my name to the bards. But what if the foe ſhould prevail; can I behold the
+ eyes of the king ? They are terrible in his diſpleaſure, and like the flames of death. But I will
+ not behold them in his wrath ! Oſſian ſhall prevail or fall. But ſhall the fame of the vanquiſhed
+ riſe ?
+
+ They paſs like a ſhade away. But the fame of Oſſian ſhall riſe! His deeds
+ ſhall be like his fathers. Let us ruſh in our arms; ſon of Morni, let us ruſh to fight. Gaul! if
+ thou ſhouldſt return, go to Selma's lofty Hall. Tell to Evirallin that I fell with fame; carry
+ this ſword to Pranno's daughter. Let her give it to Oſcar, when the years of his youth ſhall
+ ariſe,”
+
“Son of Fingal,” Gaul replied with a ſigh “ſhall I return after Oſſian is
+ low ? What would my father ſay, what Fingal the king of men ? The feeble would turn their eyes
+ and ſay, “Behold Gaul who left his friend in his blood !” Ye ſhall not behold me, ye feeble, but
+ in the midſt of my renown. Oſſian! I have heard from my father the mighty deeds of heroes ; their
+ mighty deeds when alone; for the ſoul increaſes in danger.”
+
“Son of Morni,” I replied and ſtrode before him on the heath, “our fathers ſhall praiſe our
+ valour, when they mourn our fall. A beam of gladneſs ſhall riſe on their ſouls, when their eyes
+ are full of tears. They will ſay, “Our ſons have not fallen unknown : they ſpread death around
+ them.” But why ſhould we think of the narrow houſe ? The ſword defends the brave.
+
+
+ But death purſues the flight of the feeble ; their renown is never
+ heard.”
+
We ruſhed forward through night ; we came to the roar of a ſtream, which
+ bent its blue courſe round the foe, through trees that ecchoed to its ſound. We came to the bank
+ of the ſtream, and ſaw the ſleeping hoſt. Their fires were decayed on the plain; the lonely ſteps
+ of their ſcouts were diſtant far. I ſtretched my ſpear before me to ſupport my ſteps over the
+ ſtream. But Gaul took my hand, and ſpoke the words of the brave. “Shall the ſon of Fingal ruſh on
+ the ſleeping foe ? Shall he come like a blaſt by night, when it overturns the young trees in
+ ſecret ? Fingal did not thus receive his fame, nor dwells renown on the grey hairs of Morni, for
+ actions like theſe. Strike, Oſſian, ſtrike the ſhield, and let their thouſands riſe. Let them
+ meet Gaul in his firſt battle, that he may try the ſtrength of his arm.”
+
My ſoul rejoiced over the warrior: my burſting tears came down. “And the foe
+ ſhall meet thee, Gaul!” I ſaid : “the fame of Morni's ſon ſhall ariſe. But ruſh not too far, my
+ hero : let the gleam of thy ſteel be near to Oſſian. Let our hands join in ſlaughter. Gaul ! doſt
+ thou not behold that rock? Its grey ſide dimly
+
+ gleams to the ſtars. Should the foe prevail, let our back be towards the
+ rock. Then ſhall they fear to approach our ſpears; for death is in our hands !”
+
I struck thrice my ecchoing ſhield. The ſtarting foe aroſe. We ruſhed on in
+ the ſound of our arms. Their crouded ſteps fly over the heath. They thought that the mighty
+ Fingal was come. The ſtrength of their arms withered away. The ſound of their flight was like
+ that of flame, when it ruſhes thro' the blaſted groves. It was then the ſpear of Gaul flew in its
+ ſtrength; it was then his ſword aroſe. Cremor fell; and mighty Leth. Dunthormo ſtruggled in his
+ blood. The ſteel ruſhed through Crotho's ſide, as bent, he roſe on his ſpear ; the black ſtream
+ poured from the wound, and hiſſed on the half-extinguiſhed oak. Cathmin ſaw the ſteps of the hero
+ behind him, he aſcended a blaſted tree but the ſpear pierced him from behind. Shrieking, panting,
+ he fell. Moſs and withered branches purſue his fall, and ſtrew the blue arms of Gaul.
+
Such were thy deeds, ſon of Morni, in the firſt of thy battles. Nor ſlept
+ the ſword by thy ſide, thou laſt of Fingal's race ! Oſſian ruſhed forward in his ſtrength ; the
+ people fell before
+
+ him ; as the graſs by the ſtaff of the boy, when he whiſtles along the
+ field, and the grey beard of the thiſtle falls. But careleſs the youth moves on; his ſteps are
+ towards the deſart. Gray morning roſe around us, the winding ſtreams are bright along the heath.
+ The foe gathered on a hill; and the rage of Lathmon roſe. He bent the red eye of his wrath : he
+ is ſilent in his riſing grief. He often ſtruck his boſſy ſhield ; and his ſteps are unequal on
+ the heath. I ſaw the diſtant darkneſs of the hero, and I ſpoke to Morni's ſon.
+
Car-borne chief of Strumon, doſt thou behold the foe ? They gather on the
+ hill in their wrath. Let our ſteps be towards the king
+
Fingal,
+ . He ſhall riſe in his ſtrength, and the hoſt of Lathmon vaniſh. Our fame is around us,
+ warrior, the eyes of the aged
+
Fingal and Morni,
+ will rejoice. But let us fly, ſon of Morni, Lathmon deſcends the hill. “Then let our
+ ſteps be ſlow,” replied the fair-haired Gaul ; “leſt the foe ſay, with a ſmile, “Behold the
+ warriors of night. They are, like ghoſts, terrible in darkneſs; they melt away before the beam of
+ the eaſt.” Oſſian, take the
+
+ ſhield of Gormar who fell beneath thy ſpear. The aged heroes will rejoice
+ beholding the deeds of their ſons.”
+
Such were our words on the plain, when Sulmath
+
Suil-mhath, a man of good eye ſight.,
+ came to car-borne Lathmon : Sulmath chief of Dutha at the dark-rolling ſtream of Duvranna
+
Dubh-bhranna, dark mountain-ſtream. A river in Scotland, which falls into the ſea at
+ Banff, ſtill retains the name of Duvran. If that is meant in this paſſage, Lathmon muſt have
+ been a prince of the Pictiſh nation, or thoſe Caledonians who inhabited of old the eaſtern coaſt
+ of Scotland.
+ . “Why doſt thou not ruſh, ſon of Nuäth, with a thouſand of thy heroes? Why doſt thou not
+ deſcend with thy hoſt, before the warriors fly ? Their blue arms are beaming to the riſing light,
+ and their ſteps are before us on the heath !”
+
“Son of the feeble hand,” ſaid Lathmon, “ſhall my hoſt deſcend ! They are
+ but two, ſon of Dutha; ſhall a thouſand lift their ſteel ! Nuäth would mourn, in his hall, for
+ the departure of his fame. His eyes would turn from Lathmon, when the tread of his feet
+ approached. Go thou to the heroes, chief of Dutha. I behold the ſtately ſteps of Oſſian. His fame
+ is worthy of my ſteel! let us contend in fight.”
+
+
+ The noble Sulmath came. I rejoiced in the words of
+ the king. I raiſed the ſhield on my arm ; Gaul placed in my hand the ſword of Morni. We returned
+ to the murmuring ſtream ; Lathmon came down in his ſtrength. His dark hoſt rolled, like clouds,
+ behind him : but the ſon of Nuäth was bright in his ſteel !
+
“Son of Fingal,” ſaid the hero, “thy fame has grown on our fall. How many
+ lie there of my people by thy hand, thou king of men ! Lift now thy ſpear againſt Lathmon ; lay
+ the ſon of Nuäth low! Lay him low among his warriors, or thou thyſelf muſt fall ! It ſhall never
+ be told in my halls that my people fell in my preſence ; that they fell in the preſence of
+ Lathmon when his ſword reſted by his ſide : the blue eyes of Cutha would roll in tears ; her
+ ſteps be lonely in the vales of Dunlathmon !
+
“Neither ſhall it be told,” I replied, “that the ſon of Fingal fled. Were
+ his ſteps covered with darkneſs, yet would not Oſſian fly! his ſoul would meet him and ſay, “Does
+ the bard of Selma fear the foe?” “No: he does not fear the foe. His joy is in the midſt of battle
+ !”
+
Lathmon came on with his ſpear. He pierced the ſhield of Oſſian. I felt the
+ cold ſteel
+
+ by my ſide. I drew the ſword of Morni. I cut the ſpear in twain. The bright
+ point fell glittering on earth. The ſon of Nuäth burnt in his wrath. He lifted high his ſounding
+ ſhield. His dark eyes rolled above it, as bending forward, it ſhone like a gate of braſs! But
+ Oſſian's ſpear pierced the brightneſs of its boſſes, and ſunk in a tree that roſe behind. The
+ ſhield hung on the quivering lance ! but Lathmon ſtill advanced ! Gaul foreſaw the fall of the
+ chief. He ſtretched his buckler before my ſword ; when it deſcended, in a ſtream of light, over
+ the king of Dunlathmon !
+
Lathmon beheld the ſon of Morni. The tear ſtarted from his eye. He threw the
+ ſword of his fathers on earth, and ſpoke the words of the brave. “Why ſhould Lathmon fight
+ againſt the firſt of men ? Your ſouls are beams from heaven; your ſwords the flames of death! Who
+ can equal the renown of the heroes, whoſe deeds are ſo great in youth ? O that ye were in the
+ halls of Nuäth, in the green dwelling of Lathmon ! then would my father ſay, that his ſon did not
+ yield to the weak! But who comes, a mighty ſtream, along the ecchoing heath? the little hills are
+ troubled before him ; a thouſand ghoſts are on the beams of his ſteel; the ghoſts
+
+ of thoſe who are to fall
+
It was thought, in Oſſian's time, that each perſon had his attending ſpirit. The traditions
+ concerning this opinion are dark and unſatisfactory.
+ , by the arm of the king of reſounding Morven. Happy art thou, O Fingal, thy ſons ſhall
+ fight thy wars. They go forth before thee ; they return with the ſteps of their renown !”
+
Fingal came, in his mildneſs, rejoicing in ſecret over the deeds of his ſon.
+ Morni's face brightened with gladneſs; his aged eyes look faintly through tears of joy. We came
+ to the halls of Selma. We ſat around the feaſt of ſhells. The maids of ſong came into our
+ preſence, and the mildly bluſhing Evirallin ! Her hair ſpreads on her neck of ſnow, her eye rolls
+ in ſecret on Oſſian. She touched the harp of muſic; we bleſſed the daughter of Branno ?
+
Fingal roſe in his place, and ſpoke to Lathmon king of ſpears. The ſword of
+ Trenmor ſhook by his ſide, as high he raiſed his mighty arm. “Son of Nuäth,” he ſaid, “why doſt
+ thou ſearch for fame in Morven? We are not of the race of the feeble; our ſwords gleam not over
+ the weak. When did we rouſe thee, O Lathmon, with the ſound of war? Fingal does not delight in
+ battle, though his arm is ſtrong ! My
+
+ renown grows on the fall of the haughty. The light of my ſteel pours on
+ the proud in arms. The battle comes; and the tombs of the valiant riſe; the tombs of my people
+ riſe, O my fathers ! I at laſt muſt remain alone ! But I will remain renowned ; the departure of
+ my ſoul ſhall be a ſtream of light. Lathmon ! retire to thy place! Turn thy battles to other
+ lands! The race of Morven are renowned ; their foes are the ſons of the unhappy !”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ DAR-THULA: A POEM.
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
It may not be improper here, to give the ſtory which is the foundation of this poem, as it is
+ handed down by tradition. Uſnoth lord of Etha, which is probably that part of Argyleſhire which
+ is near Loch Eta, an arm of the ſea in Lorn, had three ſons, Nathos, Althos, and Ardan by
+ Sliſſáma, the daughter of Semo and ſiſter to the celebrated Cuthullin. The three brothers, when
+ very young, were ſent over to Ireland, by their father, to learn the uſe of arms, under their
+ uncle, Cuthullin, who made a great figure in that kingdom. They were juſt landed in Ulſter when
+ the news of Cuthullin's death arrived. Nathos, though very young, took the command of
+ Cuthullin's army, made head againſt Cairbar the uſurper, and defeated him in ſeveral battles.
+ Cairbar at laſt having found means to murder Cormac the lawful king, the army of Nathos ſhifted
+ ſides, and he himſelf was obliged to return into Ulſter, in order to paſs over into
+ Scotland.
+
Dar-thula, the daughter of Colia, with whom Cairbar was in love, reſided, at that time, in
+ Selama, a caſtle in Ulſter : ſhe ſaw, fell in love, and fled with Nathos; but a ſtorm riſing at
+ ſea, they were unfortunately driven back on that part of the coaſt of Ulſter, where Cairbar was
+ encamped with his army. The three brothers, after having defended themſelves, for ſome time,
+ with great bravery, were overpowered and ſlain, and the unfortunate Dar-thula killed herſelf
+ upon the body of her beloved Nathos.
+
The poem opens, on the night preceding the death of the ſons of Uſnoth, and brings in, by way
+ of epiſode, what paſſed before. It relates the death of Dar-thula differently from the common
+ tradition ; this account is the moſt probable, as ſuicide ſeems to have been unknown in thoſe
+ early times: for no traces of it are found in the old poetry.
+
+
+
+
+
+ DAR-THULA: A P O E M.
+
Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! the ſilence of thy face is pleaſant!
+ Thou comeſt forth in lovelineſs. The ſtars attend thy blue courſe in the eaſt. The clouds rejoice
+ in thy preſence, O moon: They brighten their dark-brown ſides. Who is like thee in heaven, light
+ of the ſilent night? The ſtars are aſhamed in thy preſence. They turn away, their ſparkling eyes.
+ Whither doſt thou retire from thy courſe, when the darkneſs of thy countenance grows? Haſt thou
+ thy hall, like Oſſian ? Dwelleſt thou in the ſhadow of grief? Have thy ſiſters fallen from
+ heaven? Are they who rejoiced with thee, at night, no more? Yes! they have fallen, fair light!
+ and thou doſt often retire to mourn. But thou thyſelf ſhalt fail, one night; and leave thy blue
+ path in heaven. The ſtars will then lift their heads: they, who were aſhamed in thy preſence,
+ will rejoice. Thou art now clothed
+
+
+ with thy brightneſs. Look from thy gates in the ſky. Burſt the cloud, O
+ wind, that the daughter of night may look forth! that the ſhaggy mountains may brighten, and the
+ ocean roll its white waves, in light.
+ is on the deep, and Althos, that beam of youth. Ardan is near his brothers. They move in
+ the gloom of their courſe. The ſons of Uſnoth move in darkneſs, from the wrath of Cairbar
+
Cairbar, who murdered Cormac king of Ireland, and uſurped the throne. He was afterwards
+ killed by Oſcar the ſon of Oſſian in a ſingle combat. The poet, upon other occaſions, gives him
+ the epithet of red-haired,
+ of Erin. Who is that dim, by their ſide ? the night has covered her beauty ! Her hair
+ ſighs on ocean's wind. Her robe ſtreams in duſky wreaths. She is, like the fair ſpirit of heaven,
+ in the midſt of his ſhadowy miſt. Who is it but Dar-thula
+
Dar-thúla, or Dart-'huile, a woman with fine eyes. She was the moſt famous beauty of
+ antiquity. To this day, when a woman is praiſed for her beauty, the common phraſe is, that
+ ſhe is as lovely as Dar-thula.
+ , the firſt of Erin's maids ? She has fled from the love of Cairbar, with blue-ſhielded
+ Nathos. But the winds deceive thee, O Dar-thula. They deny the woody Etha, to thy ſails. Theſe
+ are not the mountains of
+
+ Nathos; nor is that the roar of his climbing waves. The halls of Cairbar
+ are near: the towers of the foe lift their heads ! Erin ſtretches its green head into the ſea.
+ Tura's bay receives the ſhip. Where have ye been, ye ſouthern winds! when the ſons of my love
+ were deceived? But ye have been ſporting on plains, purſuing the thiſtle's beard. O that ye had
+ been ruſtling, in the ſails of Nathos, till the hills of Etha aroſe! till they aroſe in their
+ clouds, and ſaw their returning chief! Long haſt thou been abſent, Nathos! The day of thy return
+ is paſt !
+
But the land of ſtrangers ſaw thee, lovely : thou waſt lovely in the eyes of
+ Dar-thula. Thy face was like the light of the morning. Thy hair like the raven's wing. Thy ſoul
+ was generous and mild, like the hour of the ſetting ſun. Thy words were the gale of the reeds ;
+ the gliding ſtream of Lora! But when the rage of battle roſe, thou waſt a ſea in a ſtorm. The
+ clang of thy arms was terrible : the hoſt vaniſhed at the ſound of thy courſe. It was then
+ Dar-thula beheld thee, from the top of her moſſy tower: from the tower of Seláma
+
The word ſignifies either beautiful to behold, or a place with a pleaſant or
+ wide proſpect. In early time, they built their houſes upon eminences, to command a view of
+ the country, and to prevent their being ſurprized: many of them, on that account, were called
+ Seláma. The famous Selma of Fingal is derived from the ſame root.
+ , where her fathers dwelt.
+
+
+
+
+ “Lovely art thou, O ſtranger!” ſhe ſaid, “for her
+ trembling ſoul aroſe. Fair art thou in thy battles, friend of the fallen Cormac
+
Cormac the young king of Ireland, who was privately murdered by Cairbar.
+ ! Why doſt thou ruſh on, in thy valour, youth of the ruddy look ? Few are thy hands, in
+ fight, againſt the dark-browed Cair-bar ! O that I might be freed from his love
+
That is, of the love of Cairbar.
+ ! that I might rejoice in the preſence of Nathos ! Bleſt are the rocks of Etha ! they will
+ behold his ſteps at the chace ! they will ſee his white boſom, when the winds lift his flowing
+ hair !” Such were thy words, Dar-thula, in Seláma's moſſy towers. But, now, the night is around
+ thee. The winds have deceived thy ſails. The winds have deceived thy ſails, Dar-thula! Their
+ bluſtering ſound is high. Ceaſe a little while, O north wind. Let me hear the voice of the
+ lovely. Thy voice is lovely, Dar-thula, between the ruſtling blaſts !
+
“Are theſe the rocks of Nathos?” ſhe ſaid, “This the roar of his
+ mountain-ſtreams ? Comes that beam of light from Uſnoth's nightly hall ?
+
+ The miſt ſpreads around; the beam is feeble and diſtant far. But the
+ light of Dar-thula's ſoul dwells in the chief of Etha! Son of the generous Uſnoth, why that
+ broken ſigh? Are we in the land of ſtrangers, chief of ecchoing Etha !”
+
“These are not the rocks of Nathos,” he replied, “nor this the roar of his
+ ſtreams. No light comes from Etha's halls, for they are diſtant far. We are in the land of
+ ſtrangers, in the land of cruel Cairbar. The winds have deceived us, Dar-thula. Erin lifts here
+ her hills. Go towards the north, Althos : be thy ſteps, Ardan, along the coaſt ; that the foe may
+ not come in darkneſs, and our hopes of Etha fail,” “I will go towards that moſſy tower, to ſee
+ who dwells about the beam. Reſt, Dar-thula, on the ſhore ! reſt in peace, thou lovely light! the
+ ſword of Nathos is around thee, like the lightning of heaven!”
+
He went. She ſat alone; ſhe heard the rolling of the wave. The big tear is
+ in her eye. She looks for returning Nathos. Her ſoul trembles at the blaſt. She turns her ear
+ towards the tread of his feet. The tread of his feet is not heard. “Where art thou, ſon of my
+ love ! The roar of the blaſt is around me. Dark is the cloudy
+
+ night. But Nathos does not return. What detains thee, chief of Etha? Have
+ the foes met the hero in the ſtrife of the night ?”
+
He returned, but his face was dark. He had ſeen his departed friend ! It was
+ the wall of Tura. The ghoſt of Cuthullin ſtalked there alone : The ſighing of his breaſt was
+ frequent. The decayed flame of his eyes was terrible ! His ſpear was a column of miſt. The ſtars
+ looked dim through his form. His voice was like hollow wind in a cave : his eye a light ſeen
+ afar. He told the tale of grief. The ſoul of Nathos was ſad, like the ſun in the day of miſt,
+ when his face is watry and dim.
+
“Why art thou ſad, O Nathos ?” ſaid the lovely daughter of Colla. “Thou art
+ a pillar of light to Dar-thula. The joy of her eyes is in Etha's chief. Where is my friend, but
+ Nathos ? My father, my brother is fallen ! Silence dwells on Seláma. Sadneſs ſpreads on the blue
+ ſtreams of my land. My friends have fallen, with Cormac. The mighty were ſlain in the battles of
+ Erin. Hear, ſon of Uſnoth ! hear, O Nathos, my tale of grief.”
+
“Evening darkened on the plain. The blue ſtreams ſailed before mine eyes.
+ The unfrequent blaſt came ruſtling, in the tops of
+
+ Seláma's groves. My ſeat was beneath a tree, on the walls of my fathers.
+ Truthil paſt before my ſoul : the brother of my love : He that was abſent in battle, againſt the
+ haughty Cairbar! Bending on his ſpear, the grey-haired Colla came. His downcaſt face is dark, and
+ ſorrow dwells in his ſoul. His ſword is on the ſide of the hero : the helmet of his fathers on
+ his head. The battle grows in his breaſt. He ſtrives to hide the tear.”
+
“Dar-thula, my daughter,” he ſaid, “thou art the laſt of Colla's race!
+ Truthil is fallen in battle. The chief of Seláma is no more ! Cairbar comes, with his thouſands,
+ towards Selama's walls. Colla will meet his pride, and revenge his ſon. But where ſhall I find
+ thy ſafety, Dar-thula with the dark-brown hair ! thou art lovely as the ſun-beam of heaven, and
+ thy friends are low ! “Is the ſon of battle fallen,” I ſaid, with a burſting ſigh? Ceaſed the
+ generous ſoul of Truthil to lighten through the field? My ſafety, Colla, is in that bow. I have
+ learned to pierce the deer. Is not Cairbar, like the hart of the deſart, father of fallen
+ Truthil?”
+
“The face of age brightened with joy. The crouded tears of his eyes poured
+ down. The lips
+
+ of Colla trembled. His grey beard whiſtled in the blaſt. “Thou art the
+ ſiſter of Truthil,” he ſaid; “thou burneſt in the fire of his ſoul. Take, Dar-thula, take that
+ ſpear, that brazen ſhield, that burniſhed helm: they are the ſpoils of a warrior, a ſon of early
+ youth! When the light riſes on Seláma, we go to meet the car-borne Cairbar. But keep thou near
+ the arm of Colla, beneath the ſhadow of my ſhield. Thy father, Darthula, could once defend thee;
+ but age is trembling on his hand. The ſtrength of his arm has failed. His ſoul is darkened with
+ grief.”
+
We paſſed the night in ſorrow. The light of morning roſe. I ſhone in the
+ arms of battle. The grey-haired hero moved before. The ſons of Seláma convened, around the
+ ſounding ſhield of Colla. But few were they in the plain, and their locks were grey. The youths
+ had fallen with Truthil, in the battle of car-borne Cormac. “Friends of my youth !” ſaid Colla,
+ “it was not thus you have ſeen me in arms. It was not thus I ſtrode to battle, when the great
+ Confadan fell. But ye are laden with grief. The darkneſs of age comes like the miſt of the
+ deſart. My ſhield is worn with years! my
+
+ ſword is fixed
+
It was the cuſtom of ancient times, that every warrior at a certain age, or when he became
+ unfit for the field, fixed his arms, in the great hall, where the tribe feaſted, upon joyful
+ occaſions. He was afterwards never to appear in battle; and this ſtage of life was called the
+ time of fixing of the arms.
+ in its place! I ſaid to my ſoul, thy evening ſhall be calm : Thy departure like a fading
+ light. But the ſtorm has returned. I bend like an aged oak. My boughs are fallen on Seláma. I
+ tremble in my place. Where art thou, with thy fallen heroes, O my beloved Truthil ! Thou
+ anſwereſt not from thy ruſhing blaſt. The ſoul of thy father is ſad. But I will be ſad no more,
+ Cairbar or Colla muſt fall! I feel the returning ſtrength of my arm. My heart leaps at the ſound
+ of war,
+
The hero drew his ſword. The gleaming blades of his people roſe. They moved
+ along the plain. Their grey hair ſtreamed in the wind. Cairbar ſat at the feaſt, in the ſilent
+ plain of Lona
+
Lona, a marſhy plain. Cairbar had juſt provided an entertainment for his army, upon
+ the defeat of Truthil the ſon of Colla, and the reſt of the party of Cormac, when Colla and his
+ aged warriors arrived to give him battle.
+ . He ſaw the coming of the heroes. He called his chiefs to war.
+ Why
+
The poet, by an artifice, avoids the deſcription of the battle of Lona, as it would be
+ improper in the mouth of a woman, and could have nothing new, after the numerous deſcriptions,
+ of that kind, in the reſt of the poems. He, at the ſame time, gives an opportunity to Dar-thula
+ to paſs a fine compliment on her lover.
+ ſhould I
+
+
+ tell to Nathos, how the ſtrife of battle grew ? I have ſeen thee, in the
+ midſt of thouſands, like the beam of heaven's fire: it is beautiful, but terrible; the people
+ fall in its dreadful courſe. The ſpear of Colla flew. He remembered the battles of his youth. An
+ arrow came with its ſound. It pierced the hero's ſide. He fell on his ecchoing ſhield. My ſoul
+ ſtarted with fear. I ſtretched my buckler over him; but my heaving breaſt was ſeen! Cairbar came,
+ with his ſpear. He beheld Seláma's maid. Joy roſe on his dark-brown face. He ſtayed the lifted
+ ſteel. He raiſed the tomb of Colla. He brought me weeping to Seláma. He ſpoke the words of love,
+ but my ſoul was ſad. I ſaw the ſhields of my fathers ; the ſword of car-borne Truthil. I ſaw the
+ arms of the dead ; the tear was on my cheek ! Then thou didſt come, O Nathos : and gloomy Cairbar
+ fled. He fled like the ghoſt of the deſart before the morning's beam. His hoſt was not near ; and
+ feeble was his arm againſt thy ſteel! Why art thou ſad, O Nathos! ſaid the lovely daughter of
+ Colla ?
+
+
+ “I have met,” replied the hero, “the battle in my
+ youth. My arm could not lift the ſpear, when danger firſt aroſe. My ſoul brightened in the
+ preſence of war, as the green narrow vale, when the ſun pours his ſtreamy beams, before he hides
+ his head in a ſtorm. The lonely traveller feels a mournful joy. He ſees the darkneſs, that lowly
+ comes. My ſoul brightened in danger before I ſaw Seláma's fair; before I ſaw thee, like a ſtar,
+ that ſhines on the hill, at night: the cloud advances, and threatens the lovely light! We are in
+ the land of foes. The winds have deceived us, Dar-thula ! The ſtrength of our friends is not
+ near, nor the mountains of Etha. Where ſhall I find thy peace, daughter of mighty Colla! The
+ brothers of Nathos are brave! and his own ſword has ſhone in fight. But what are the ſons of
+ Uſnoth to the hoſt of dark-browed Cairbar ! O that the winds had brought thy ſails, Oſcar
+
Oſcar, the ſon of Oſſian, had long reſolved on the expedition, into Ireland, againſt Cairbar,
+ who had aſſaſſinated his friend Cathal, the ſon of Moran, an Iriſhman of noble extraction, and
+ in the intereſt of the family of Cormac.
+ king of men! Thou didſt promiſe to come to the battles of fallen Cormac! Then would my
+ hand be ſtrong, as the flaming arm of death. Cairbar
+
+ would tremble in his halls, and peace dwell round the lovely Dar-thula.
+ But why doſt thou fall, my ſoul? The ſons of Uſnoth may prevail!”
+
“And they will prevail, O Nathos!” ſaid the riſing ſoul of the maid. “Never
+ ſhall Darthula behold the halls of gloomy Cairbar. Give me thoſe arms of braſs, that glitter to
+ the paſſing meteor. I ſee them dimly in the dark-boſomed ſhip. Dar-thula will enter the battle of
+ ſteel. Ghoſt of the noble Colla ! do I behold thee on that cloud? Who is that dim beſide thee? Is
+ it the car-borne Truthil ? Shall I behold the halls of him that ſlew Seláma's chief ? No: I will
+ not behold them, ſpirits of my love !”
+
Joy roſe in the face of Nathos, when he heard the white-boſomed maid. “Daughter of Seláma !
+ thou ſhineſt along my ſoul. Come, with thy thouſands, Cairbar ! the ſtrength of Nathos is
+ returned ! Thou, O aged Uſnoth, ſhalt not hear that thy ſon has fled. I remember thy words on
+ Etha; when my ſails began to riſe : when I ſpread them towards Erin, towards the moſſy walls of
+ Tura! “Thou goeſt,” he ſaid, “O Nathos, to the king of ſhields! Thou goeſt to Cuthullin, chief of
+ men, who never fled from
+
+ danger. Let not thine arm be feeble : neither be thy thoughts of flight ;
+ leſt the ſon of Semo ſhould ſay, that Etha's race are weak. His words may come to Uſnoth, and
+ ſadden his ſoul in the hall. The tear was on my father's cheek. He gave this ſhining ſword !”
+
“I came to Tura's bay : but the halls of Tura were ſilent. I looked around, and there was none
+ to tell of the ſon of generous Semo. I went to the hall of ſhells, where the arms of his fathers
+ hung. But the arms were gone, and aged Lamhor
+
Lamh-mhor, mighty hand.
+ ſat in tears. Whence are the arms of ſteel, ſaid the riſing Lamhor ? The light of the
+ ſpear has long been abſent from Tura's duſky walls. Come ye from the rolling ſea ? Or from Temora's
+
Temora was the reſidence of the ſupreme kings of Ireland. It is here called mournful, on
+ account of the death of Cormac, who was murdered there by Cairbar who uſurped his throne.
+ mournful halls ?
+
“We come from the ſea,” I ſaid, “from Uſnoth's riſing towers. We are the
+ ſons of Slis-sáma
+
Slis ſeamha, ſoft boſom. She was the wife of Uſtoth and daughter of Semo the chief of
+ the iſle of miſt.
+ , the daughter of car-borne Semo. Where is Tura's chief, ſon of the ſilent hall ? But why
+ ſhould Nathos aſk ? for I behold thy tears. How did the mighty fall, ſon of the
+
+ lonely Tura?” “He fell not,” Lamhor replied, “like the ſilent ſtar of
+ night, when it flies through darkneſs and is no more. But he was like a meteor that ſhoots into a
+ diſtant land. Death attends its dreary courſe. Itſelf is the ſign of wars. Mournful are the banks
+ of Lego; and the roar of ſtreamy Lara ! There the hero fell, ſon of the noble Uſnoth.” “The hero
+ fell in the midſt of ſlaughter,” I ſaid with a burſting ſigh. “His hand was ſtrong in war. Death
+ dimly ſat behind his ſword.”
+
We came to Lego's ſounding banks. We found his riſing tomb. His friends in
+ battle are there : his bards of many ſongs. Three days we mourned over the hero: on the fourth, I
+ ſtruck the ſhield of Caithbat. The heroes gathered around with joy, and ſhook their beamy ſpears.
+ Corlath was near with his hoſt, the friend of car-borne Cairbar. We came like a ſtream by night.
+ His heroes fell before us. When the people of the valley roſe, they ſaw their blood with
+ morning's light. But we rolled away, like wreaths of miſt, to Cormac's ecchoing hall. Our ſwords
+ roſe to defend the king. But Temora's halls were empty. Cormac had fallen in his youth. The king
+ of Erin was no more !
+
+
+ Sadness ſeized the ſons of Erin. They ſlowly, gloomily
+ retired : like clouds that, long having threatened rain, vaniſh behind the hills. The ſons of
+ Uſnoth moved, in their grief, towards Tura's ſounding bay. We paſſed by Seláma. Cairbar retired
+ like Lano's miſt, when driven before the winds. It was then I beheld thee, O Dar-thula, like the
+ light of Etha's ſun. “Lovely is that beam!” I ſaid. The crowded ſigh of my boſom roſe. “Thou
+ cameſt in thy beauty, Dar-thula, to Etha's mournful chief. But the winds have deceived us,
+ daughter of Colla, and the foe is near !”
+
“Yes! the foe is near,” ſaid the ruſhing ſtrength of Althos
+
Althos had juſt returned from viewing the coaſt of Lena, whither he had been ſent by Nathos,
+ the beginning of the night.
+ . I heard their clanging arms on the coaſt. I ſaw the dark wreaths of Erin's ſtandard.
+ Diſtinct is the voice of Cairbar
+
Cairbar had gathered an army, to the coaſt of Ulſter, in order to oppoſe Fingal, who prepared
+ for an expedition to Ireland to re-eſtabliſh the houſe of Cormac on the throne, which Cairbar
+ had uſurped. Between the wings of Cairbar's army was the bay of Tura, into which the ſhip of the
+ ſons of Uſnoth was driven: ſo that there was no poſſibility of their eſcaping.
+ . Loud as Cromla's falling ſtream. He had ſeen the dark ſhip on the ſea, before the
+
+
+ duſky night came down. His people watch on Lena's plain. They lift ten
+ thouſand ſwords.” “And let them lift ten thouſand ſwords,” ſaid Nathos with a ſmile. “The ſons of
+ car-borne Uſnoth will never tremble in danger ! Why doſt thou roll with all thy foam, thou
+ roaring ſea of Erin? Why do ye ruſtle, on your dark wings, ye whiſtling ſtorms of the ſky? Do ye
+ think, ye ſtorms, that ye keep Nathos on the coaſt ? No : his ſoul detains him, children of the
+ night! Althos! bring my father's arms : thou ſeeſt them beaming to the ſtars. Bring the ſpear of Semo
+
Semo was grandfather to Nathos by the mother's ſide, The ſpear mentioned here was given to
+ Uſnoth on his marriage, it being the cuſtom then for the father of the lady to give his arms to
+ his ſon-in-law,
+ . It ſtands in the dark-boſomed ſhip !”
+
He brought the arms. Nathos covered his limbs, in all their ſhining ſteel.
+ The ſtride of the chief is lovely. The joy of his eyes was terrible. He looks towards the coming
+ of Cairbar. The wind is ruſtling in his hair. Darthula is ſilent at his ſide. Her look is fixed
+ on the chief. She ſtrives to hide the riſing ſigh. Two tears ſwell in her radiant eyes !
+
+
+ “Althos!” ſaid the chief of Etha, “I ſee a cave in that
+ rock. Place Dar-thula there. Let thy arm, my brother, be ſtrong. Ardan! we meet the foe ; call to
+ battle gloomy Cairbar. O that he came in his ſounding ſteel, to meet the ſon of Uſnoth! Dar-thula
+ ! if thou ſhalt eſcape, look not on the fallen Nathos! Lift thy ſails, O Althos, towards the
+ ecchoing groves of my land.”
+
“Tell the chief
+
Uſnoth.
+ , that his ſon fell with fame; that my ſword did not ſhun the fight. Tell him I fell in
+ the midſt of thouſands. Let the joy of his grief be great. Daughter of Colla ! call the maids to
+ Etha's ecchoing hall ! Let their ſongs ariſe for Nathos, when ſhadowy autumn returns. O that the
+ voice of Cona, that Oſſian, might be heard in my praiſe! then would my ſpirit rejoice in the
+ midſt of the ruſhing winds.” “And my voice ſhall praiſe thee, Nathos, chief of the woody Etha !
+ The voice of Oſſian ſhall riſe in thy praiſe, ſon of the generous Uſnoth ! Why was I not on Lena,
+ when the battle roſe? Then would the ſword of Oſſian defend thee ; or himſelf fall low !”
+
We ſat, that night, in Selma round the ſtrength of the ſhell. The wind was
+ abroad, in
+
+ the oaks. The ſpirit of the mountain
+
By the ſpirit of the mountain is meant that deep and melancholy ſound which precedes a ſtorm;
+ well known to thoſe who live in a high country.
+ roared. The blaſt came ruſtling through the hall, and gently touched my harp. The ſound
+ was mournful and low, like the ſong of the tomb. Fingal heard it the firſt. The crouded ſighs of
+ his boſom roſe. “Some of my heroes are low,” ſaid the grey-haired king of Morven. “I hear the
+ ſound of death on the harp. Oſſian, touch the trembling ſtring. Bid the ſorrow riſe ; that their
+ ſpirits may fly with joy, to Morven's woody hills !” I touched the harp before the king, the
+ ſound was mournful and low. “Bend forward from your clouds,” I ſaid, “ghoſts of my fathers! bend.
+ Lay by the red terror of your courſe. Receive the falling chief ; whether he comes from a diſtant
+ land, or riſes from the rolling ſea. Let his robe of miſt be near; his ſpear that is formed of a
+ cloud. Place an half-extinguiſhed meteor by his ſide, in the form of the hero's ſword. And, oh !
+ let his countenance be lovely, that his friends may delight in his preſence. Bend from your
+ clouds,” I ſaid, “ghoſts of my fathers! bend!”
+
Such was my ſong, in Selma, to the lightly-trembling harp. But Nathos was on
+ Erin's
+
+ ſhore, ſurrounded by the night. He heard the voice of the foe, amidſt the
+ roar of tumbling waves. Silent he heard their voice, and reſted on his ſpear ! Morning roſe, with
+ its beams. The ſons of Erin appear, like grey rocks, with all their trees, they ſpread along the
+ coaſt. Cairbar ſtood, in the midſt. He grimly ſmiled when he ſaw the foe. Nathos ruſhed forward,
+ in his ſtrength : nor could Dar-thula ſtay behind. She came with the hero, lifting her ſhining
+ ſpear. “And who are theſe, in their armour, in the pride of youth ? Who but the ſons of Uſnoth,
+ Althos and dark-haired Ardan ?”
+
“Come,” ſaid Nathos, “come! chief of high Temora ! Let our battle be on the
+ coaſt, for the white-boſomed maid. His people are not with Nathos; they are behind theſe rolling
+ ſeas. Why doſt thou bring thy thouſands againſt the chief of Etha ? Thou didſt fly
+
He alludes to the flight of Cairbar from Selima,
+ from him, in battle, when his friends were around his ſpear.” “Youth of the heart of
+ pride, ſhall Erin's king fight with thee? Thy fathers were not among the renowned, nor of the
+ kings of men. Are the arms of foes in their halls? Or the ſhields of other times? Cairbar is
+ renowned in Temora, nor does he fight with feeble men !”
+
+
+
The tear ſtarted from car-borne Nathos. He turned his eyes to his brothers.
+ Their ſpears flew, at once. Three heroes lay on earth. Then the light of their ſwords gleamed on
+ high. The ranks of Erin yield; as a ridge of dark clouds before a blaſt of wind! Then Cairbar
+ ordered his people, and they drew a thouſand bows. A thouſand arrows flew. The ſons of Uſnoth
+ fell in blood. They fell like three young oaks, which ſtood alone on the hill : The traveller ſaw
+ the lovely trees and wondered how they grew ſo lonely : the blaſt of the deſart came, by night,
+ and laid their green heads low ; next day he returned, but they were withered, and the heath was
+ bare !
+
Dar-thula ſtood in ſilent grief, and beheld their fall! No tear is in her
+ eye. But her look is wildly ſad. Pale was her cheek. Her trembling lips broke ſhort an
+ half-formed word. Her dark hair flew on wind. The gloomy Cairbar came. “Where is thy lover now ?
+ the car-borne chief of Etha ? Haſt thou beheld the halls of Uſnoth ? Or the dark-brown hills of
+ Fingal ? My battle would have roared on Morven, had not the winds met Dar-thula. Fingal himſelf
+ would have been low and ſorrow dwelling in Selma!” Her ſhield fell from Darthula's arm. Her
+ breaſt of ſnow appeared. It
+
+ appeared ; but it was ſtained with blood. An arrow was fixed in her ſide.
+ She fell on the fallen Nathos, like a wreath of ſnow ! Her hair ſpreads wide on his face. Their
+ blood is mixing round !”
+
“Daughter of Colla! thou art low !” ſaid Cairbar's hundred bards. “Silence
+ is at the blue ſtreams of Seláma. Truthil's
+
Truthil was the ſounder of Dar-thula's family.
+ race have failed. When wilt thou riſe in thy beauty, firſt of Erin's maids? Thy ſleep is
+ long in the tomb. The morning diſtant far. The ſun ſhall not come to thy bed and ſay, “Awake
+ Dar-thula ! awake, thou firſt of women! the wind of ſpring is abroad ! The flowers ſhake their
+ heads on the green hills. The woods wave their growing leaves. Retire, O ſun, the daughter of
+ Colla is aſleep. She will not come forth in her beauty. She will not move, in the ſteps of her
+ lovelineſs !”
+
Such was the ſong of the bards, when they raiſed the tomb. I ſung over the
+ grave, when the king of Morven came; when he came to green Erin to fight with car-borne Cairbar !
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE DEATH of CUTHULLIN. A POEM.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Cuthullin, after the arms of Fingal had expelled Swaran from Ireland, continued to manage the
+ affairs of that kingdom as the guardian of Cormac, the young king. In the third year of
+ Cuthullin's adminiſtration, Torlath, the ſon of Cantela, rebelled in Connaught; and advanced to
+ Temora to dethrone Cormac. Cuthullin marched againſt him, came up with him at the lake of Lego,
+ and totally defeated his forces. Torlath fell in battle by Cuthullin's hand ; but as he
+ too-eagerly preſſed on the enemy, he was mortally wounded. The affairs of Cormac, though, for
+ ſometime, ſupported by Nathos, as mentioned in the preceding poem, fell into confuſion at the
+ death of Cuthullin. Cormac himſelf was ſlain by the rebel Cairbar; and the re-eſtabliſhment of
+ the royal family of Ireland by Fingal, furniſhes the ſubject of the epic poem of Temora.
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE DEATH of CUTHULLIN: A POEM.
+
Is the wind on the ſhield of Fingal? Or is the voice of paſt times in my
+ hall? Sing on, ſweet voice, for thou art pleaſant. Thou carrieſt away my night with joy. Sing on,
+ O Bragela, daughter of car-borne Sorglan !
+
“It is the white wave of the rock, and not Cuthullin's ſails. Often do the
+ miſts deceive me, for the ſhip of my love! when they riſe round ſome ghoſt, and ſpread their grey
+ ſkirts on the wind. Why doſt thou delay thy coming, ſon of the generous Semo? Four times has
+ autumn returned with its winds, and raiſed the ſeas of Togorma
+
Togorma, i. e. the iſland of blue waves, one of the Hebrides, was ſubject to Connal,
+ the ſon of Caithbat, Cuthullin's friend. He is ſometimes called the ſon of Colgar, from one of
+ that name who was the founder of the family. Connal, a few days before the news of Torlath's
+ revolt, came to Temora, had ſailed to Togorma, his native iſle ; where he was detained by
+ contrary winds during the war in which Cuthullin was killed.
+ , ſince thou haſt been in the roar of
+
+ battles, and Bragéla diſtant far! Hills of the iſle of miſt!
+ when will ye anſwer to his hounds ? But ye are dark in your clouds. Sad Bragéla calls in vain!
+ Night comes rolling down. The face of ocean fails. The heath-cock's head is beneath his wing. The
+ hind ſleeps, with the hart of the deſart. They ſhall riſe with morning's light, and feed by the
+ moſſy ſtream. But my tears return with the ſun. My ſighs come on with the night. When wilt thou
+ come in thine arms, O chief of Erin's wars ?”
+
Pleasant is thy voice in Oſſian's ear, daughter of car-borne Sorglan ! But
+ retire to the hall of ſhells; to the beam of the burning oak. Attend to the murmur of the ſea :
+ it rolls at Dunſcai's walls: let ſleep deſcend on thy blue eyes. Let the hero ariſe in thy dreams
+ !
+
Cuthullin ſits at Lego's lake, at the dark rolling of waters. Night is
+ around the hero. His thouſands ſpread on the heath. A hundred oaks burn, in the midſt. The feaſt
+ of ſhells is ſmoaking wide. Carril ſtrikes the harp, beneath a tree. His grey locks glitter in
+ the beam. The ruſtling blaſt of night is near, and lifts his aged hair. His ſong is of the blue
+ Togorma, and of its chief, Cuthullin's friend ! “Why art thou abſent, Connal, in the day of the
+ gloomy ſtorm ? The chiefs of the ſouth have convened, againſt
+
+ the car-borne Cormac. “The winds detain thy ſails. Thy blue waters roll
+ around thee. But Cormac is not alone. The ſon of Semo fights his wars! Semo's ſon his battles
+ fights ! the terror of the ſtranger ! He that is like the vapour of death, ſlowly borne by ſultry
+ winds. The ſun reddens in its preſence: The people fall around.”
+
Such was the ſong of Carril, when a ſon of the foe appeared. He threw down
+ his pointleſs ſpear. He ſpoke the words of Torlath ! Torlath, chief of heroes, from Lego's ſable
+ ſurge! He that led his thouſands to battle, againſt carborne Cormac. Cormac who was diſtant far,
+ in Temora's
+
The royal palace of the Iriſh kings; Teamhrath, according to ſome of the bards.
+ ecchoing halls: he learned to bend the bow of his fathers; and to lift the ſpear. Nor
+ long didſt thou lift the ſpear, mildly-ſhining beam of youth! death ſtands dim behind thee, like
+ the darkened half of the moon, behind its growing light ! Cuthullin roſe before the bard
+
The bards were the heralds of ancient times; and their perſons were ſacred on account of
+ their office. In later times they abuſed that privilege ; and as their perſons were inviolable,
+ they ſatyriſed and lampooned ſo freely thoſe who were not liked by their patrons, that they
+ became a public nuiſance. Screened under the character of heralds, they groſly abuſed the enemy
+ when he would not accept the terms they offered.
+ , that came from generous Torlath. He offered
+
+ him the ſhell of joy. He honoured the ſon of ſongs. “Sweet
+ voice of Lego!” he ſaid, “what are the words of Torlath ? Comes he to our feaſt or battle, the
+ car-borne ſon of Cantéla
+
Cean-teola', head of a family.
+ ?”
+
“He comes to thy battle,” replied the bard, “to the ſounding ſtrife of
+ ſpears. When morning is grey on Lego, Torlath will fight on the plain. Wilt thou meet him, in
+ thine arms, king of the iſle of miſt ? Terrible is the ſpear of Torlath ! it is a meteor of
+ night. He lifts it, and the people fall ! death ſits in the lightning of his ſword!” “Do I fear,”
+ replied Cuthullin, “the ſpear of car-borne Torlath ? He is brave as a thouſand heroes: but my
+ ſoul delights in war! The ſword reſts not by the ſide of Cuthullin, bard of the times of old !
+ Morning ſhall meet me on the plain, and gleam on the blue arms of Semo's ſon. But ſit thou, on
+ the heath, O bard ! and let us hear thy voice. Partake of the joyful ſhell; and hear the ſongs of
+ Temora !”
+
“This is no time,” replied the bard, “to hear the ſong of joy : when the
+ mighty are to meet in battle, like the ſtrength of the waves of Lego. Why art thou ſo dark, Slimora
+
Slia'mór, great hill.
+ with all thy ſilent woods? No ſtar trembles on thy
+
+ top. No moon-beam on thy ſide. But the meteors of death are there : the
+ grey watry forms of ghoſts. Why art thou dark, Slimora! with thy ſilent woods?” He retired, in
+ the ſound of his ſong. Carril joined his voice. The muſic was like the memory of joys that are
+ paſt, pleaſant and mournful to the ſoul. The ghoſts of departed bards heard on Slimora's ſide.
+ Soft ſounds ſpread along the wood. The ſilent valleys of night rejoice. So, when he ſits in the
+ ſilence of the day, in the valley of his breeze, the humming of the mountain bee comes to
+ Oſſian's ear : the gale drowns it in its courſe ; but the pleaſant ſound returns again ! Slant
+ looks the ſun on the field; gradual grows the ſhade of the hill !
+
“Raise,” ſaid Cuthullin, to his hundred bards, “the ſong of the noble
+ Fingal: that ſong which he hears at night, when the dreams of his reſt deſcend : when the bards
+ ſtrike the diſtant harp, and the faint light gleams on Selma's walls. Or let the grief of Lara
+ riſe : the ſighs of the mother of Calmar
+
Calmar, the ſon of Matha. His death is related at large in the third book of Fingal. He was
+ the only ſon of Matha ; and the family was extinct in him. The ſeat of the family was on the
+ banks of the river Lara, in the neighbourhood of Lego, and probably near the place where
+ Cuthullin lay ; which circumſtance ſuggeſted to him, the lamentation of Alclétha over her ſon.
+
+ , when he was
+
+ ſought, in vain, on his hills; when ſhe beheld his bow in
+ the hall. Carril, place the ſhield of Caithbat on that branch. Let the ſpear of Cuthullin be near
+ ; that the ſound of my battle may riſe, with the grey beam of the eaſt.” The hero leaned on his
+ father's ſhield : the ſong of Lara roſe ! The hundred bards were diſtant far : Carril alone is
+ near the chief. The words of the ſong were his: the ſound of his harp was mournful.
+
“Alcletha
+
Ald-cla'tha, decaying beauty : probably a poetical name given the mother of Calmar,
+ by the bard himſelf.
+ with the aged locks! mother of car-borne Calmar ! why doſt thou look toward the deſart,
+ to behold the return of thy ſon? Theſe are not his heroes, dark on the heath : nor is that the
+ voice of Calmar. It is but the diſtant grove, Alcletha ! but the roar of the mountain wind!” “Who
+
Alcletha ſpeaks. Calmar had promiſed to return, by a certain day, and his mother and his
+ ſiſter Alona are repreſented as looking, with impatience, towards that quarter where they
+ expected Calmar ſhould make his firſt appearance.
+ bounds over Lara's ſtream, ſiſter of the noble Calmar ? Does not Alcletha behold his
+ ſpear ? But her eyes are dim ! Is it not the ſon of Matha, daughter of my love ?”
+
“It is but an aged oak, Alcletha!” replied the lovely weeping Alona
+
Alùine, exquiſitely beautiful.
+ . “It is but an oak,
+
+ Alclétha, bent over Lara's ſtream. But who comes along the plain? ſorrow is
+ in his ſpeed. He lifts high the ſpear of Calmar. Alcletha, it is covered with blood!” “But it is
+ covered with the blood of foes
+
Alcletha ſpeaks.
+ , ſiſter of car-borne Calmar ! His ſpear never returned unſtained with blood: nor his bow
+ from the ſtrife of the mighty. The battle is conſumed in his preſence : he is a flame of death,
+ Alona! Youth
+
She addreſſes herſelf to Larnir, Calmar's friend, who had returned with the news of his
+ death.
+ of the mournful ſpeed! where is the ſon of Alcletha? Does he return with his fame, in the
+ midſt of his ecchoing ſhields? Thou art dark and ſilent! Calmar is then no more. Tell me not,
+ warrior, how he fell. I muſt not hear of his wound !” Why doſt thou look towards the deſart,
+ mother of low-laid Calmar ?
+
“Such was the ſong of Carril, when Cuthullin lay on his ſhield. The bards
+ reſted on their harps. Sleep fell ſoftly around. The ſon of Semo was awake alone. His ſoul was
+ fixed on war. The burning oaks began to decay. Faint red light is ſpread around. A feeble voice
+ is heard! The ghoſt of Calmar came! He ſtalked dimly along the beam. Dark is the wound in
+
+
+ his ſide. His hair is diſordered and looſe. Joy ſits pale on
+ his face. He ſeems to invite Cuthullin to his cave.
+
“Son of the cloudy night !” ſaid the riſing chief of Erin. “Why doſt thou
+ bend thy dark eyes on me, ghoſt of the noble Calmar ? Wouldeſt thou frighten me, O Matha's ſon !
+ from the battles of Cormac ? Thy hand was not feeble in war: neither was thy voice for peace. How
+ art thou changed, chief of Lara! if thou now doſt adviſe to fly! But, Calmar, I never fled. I
+ never feared the ghoſts of night. Small is their knowlege, weak their hands; their dwelling is in
+ the wind. But my ſoul grows in danger, and rejoices in the noiſe of ſteel. Retire thou to thy
+ cave. Thou art not Calmar's ghoſt. He delighted in battle. His arm was like the thunder of
+ heaven!” He retired in his blaſt with joy, for he had heard the voice of his praiſe.
+
The faint beam of the morning roſe. The ſound of Caithbat's buckler ſpread.
+ Green Erin's warriors convened, like the roar of many ſtreams. The horn of war is heard over
+ Lego. The mighty Torlath came? “Why doſt thou come with thy thouſands, Cuthullin,” ſaid the chief
+ of Lego. I know the ſtrength of thy arm.
+
+ Thy ſoul is an unextinguiſhed fire. Why fight we not on the plain, and
+ let our hoſts behold our deeds? Let them behold us like roaring waves, that tumble round a rock :
+ the mariners haſten away, and look on their ſtrife with fear.
+
“Thou riſeſt, like the ſun, on my ſoul,” replied the ſon of Semo. “Thine arm
+ is mighty, O Torlath ! and worthy of my wrath. Retire, ye men of Ullin, to Slimora's ſhady ſide.
+ Behold the chief of Erin, in the day of his fame. Carril! tell to mighty Connal, if Cuthullin
+ muſt fall, tell him I accuſed the winds, which roar on Togorma's waves. Never was he abſent in
+ battle, when the ſtrife of my fame aroſe. Let his ſword be before Cormac, like the beam of
+ heaven. Let his counſel ſound in Temora, in the day of danger !
+
He ruſhed, in the ſound of his arms, like the terrible ſpirit of Loda
+
Loda, in the third book of Fingal, is mentioned as a place of worſhip in Scandinavia : by the
+ ſpirit of Loda, the poet probably means Odin, the great deity of the northern nations.
+ He is deſcribed here with all his terrors.
+ , when he comes, in the roar of a thouſand ſtorms, and ſcatters battles from his eyes. He
+ ſits on a cloud over Lochlin's ſeas. His mighty hand is on his ſword. Winds
+
+
+ lift his flaming locks! The waining moon half-lights his
+ dreadful face. His features blended in darkneſs ariſe to view. So terrible was Cuthullin in the
+ day of his fame. Torlath fell by his hand. Lego's heroes mourned. They gather around the chief,
+ like the clouds of the deſart. A thouſand ſwords roſe at once; a thouſand arrows flew; but he
+ ſtood like a rock in the midſt of a roaring ſea. They fell around. He ſtrode in blood. Dark
+ Slimora ecchoed wide. The ſons of Ullin came. The battle ſpread over Lego. The chief of Erin
+ overcame. He returned over the field with his fame. But pale he returned ! The joy of his face
+ was dark. He rolled his eyes in ſilence. The ſword hung, unſheathed, in his hand. His ſpear bent
+ at every ſtep!
+
“Carril,” ſaid the chief in ſecret, “the ſtrength of Cuthullin fails. My
+ days are with the years that are paſt. No morning of mine ſhall ariſe. They ſhall ſeek me at
+ Temora, but I ſhall not be found. Cormac will weep in his hall, and ſay, “Where is Erin's chief?”
+ But my name is renowned ! my fame in the ſong of bards. The youth will ſay in ſecret, O let me
+ die as Cuthullin died. Renown cloathed him like a robe. The light of his fame is great.
+
+
+ Draw the arrow from my ſide. Lay Cuthullin beneath that oak. Place the
+ ſhield of Caithbat near, that they may behold me amidſt the arms of my fathers !”
+
“And is the ſon of Semo fallen?” ſaid Carril with a ſigh. “Mournful are
+ Tura's walls. Sorrow dwells at Dunſcäi. Thy ſpouſe is left alone in her youth. The ſon
+
Conloch, who was afterwards very famous for his great exploits in Ireland. He was ſo
+ remarkable for his dexterity in handling the javelin, that when a good markſman is deſcribed, it
+ has paſſed into a proverb, in the north of Scotland, He is unerring as the arm of
+ Conloch.
+ of thy love is alone! He ſhall come to Bragela, and aſk her why ſhe weeps. He ſhall lift
+ his eyes to the wall, and ſee his father's ſword. “Whoſe ſword is that ?” he will ſay. The ſoul
+ of his mother is ſad. Who is that, like the hart of the deſart, in the murmur of his courſe? His
+ eyes look wildly round in ſearch of his friend. Connal, ſon of Colgar, where haſt thou been, when
+ the mighty fell? Did the ſeas of Cogorma roll around thee ? Was the wind of the ſouth in thy
+ ſails? The mighty have fallen in battle, and thou waſt not there. Let none tell it in Selma, nor
+ in Morven's woody land. Fingal will be ſad, and the ſons of the deſart mourn !”
+
+
+
By the dark rolling waves of Lego they raiſed the hero's tomb. Luäth
+
It was of old, the cuſtom to bury the favourite dog near the maſter. This was not peculiar to
+ the ancient Scots, for we find it practiſed by many other nations in their ages of heroiſm.
+ There is a ſtone ſhewn ſtill at Dunſcai in the iſle of Sky, to which Cuthullin commonly bound
+ his dog Luath. The ſtone goes by his name to this day.
+ , at a diſtance, lies. The ſong of bards roſe over the dead.
+
“Blest
+
This is the ſong of the bards over Cuthullin's tomb. Every ſtanza cloſes with ſome remarkable
+ title of the hero, which was always the cuſtom in funeral elegies.
+ be thy ſoul, ſon of Semo. Thou wert mighty in battle. Thy ſtrength was like the ſtrength
+ of a ſtream : thy ſpeed like the eagle's wing. Thy path in battle was terrible : the ſteps of
+ death were behind thy ſword. Bleſt be thy ſoul, ſon of Semo, car-borne chief of Dunfcäi. Thou
+ haſt not fallen by the ſword of the mighty, neither was thy blood on the ſpear of the brave. The
+ arrow came, like the ſting of death in a blaſt: nor did the feeble hand, which drew the bow,
+ perceive it. Peace to thy ſoul, in thy cave, chief of the iſle of miſt !”
+
“The mighty are diſperſed at Temora : there is none in Cormac's hall. The
+ king mourns in his youth. He does not behold thy return. The ſound of thy ſhield is ceaſed : his
+ foes are gathering round. Soft be thy reſt in thy cave,
+
+ chief of Erin's wars! Bragéla will not hope for thy return, or ſee thy
+ ſails in ocean's foam. Her ſteps are not on the ſhore : nor her ear open to the voice of thy
+ rowers. She ſits in the hall of ſhells. She ſees the arms of him that is no more. Thine eyes are
+ full of tears, daughter of car-borne Sorglan ! Bleſt be thy ſoul in death, O chief of ſhady Tura
+ !”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE BATTLE of LORA: A POEM.
+
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Fingal, on his return from Ireland, after he had expelled Swaran from that kingdom, made a
+ feaſt to all his heroes : he forgot to invite Ma-ronnan and Aldo, two chiefs, who had not been
+ along with him in his expedition. They reſented his neglect; and went over to Erragon king of
+ Sora, a country of Scandinavia, the declared enemy of Fingal. The valour of Aldo ſoon gained him
+ a great reputation in Sora: and Lorma the beautiful wife of Erragon fell in love with him. He
+ found means to eſcape with her, and to come to Fingal, who reſided then in Selma on the weſtern
+ coaſt. Erragon invaded Scotland, and was ſlain in battle by Gaul the ſon of Morni, after he had
+ rejected terms of peace offered him by Fingal. In this war Aldo fell, in a ſingle combat, by the
+ hands of his rival Erragon; and the unfortunate Lorma afterwards died of grief.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE BATTLE of LORA: A POEM.
+
Son of the diſtant land, who dwelleſt in the ſecret cell! do I hear the
+ ſound of thy grove? Or is it thy voice of ſongs ? The torrent was loud in my ear; but I heard a
+ tuneful voice. Doſt thou praiſe the chiefs of thy land: or the ſpirits
+
Alluding to the religious hymns of the Culdees.
+ of the wind? But, lonely dweller of rocks ! look thou on that heathy plain. Thou ſeeſt
+ green tombs, with their rank, whiſtling graſs : With their ſtones of moſſy heads. Thou ſeeſt
+ them, ſon of the rock, but Oſſian's eyes have failed.
+
A mountain-stream comes roaring down and ſends its waters round a green
+ hill. Four moſſy ſtones, in the midſt of withered graſs, rear their heads on the top. Two trees,
+ which the ſtorms have bent, ſpread their whiſtling branches
+
+ around. This is thy dwelling, Erragon
+
Erragon, or Ferg-thonn, ſignifies the rage of the waves ; probably a poetical name
+ given him by Oſſian himſelf ; for he goes by the name of Annir in tradition.
+ ; this thy narrow houſe: the ſound of thy ſhells have been long forgot in Sora. Thy
+ ſhield is become dark in thy hall. Erragon, king of ſhips ! chief of diſtant Sora! how haſt thou
+ fallen on our mountains? How is the mighty low? Son of the ſecret cell ! doſt thou delight in
+ ſongs ? Hear the battle of Lora. The ſound of its ſteel is long ſince paſt. So thunder on the
+ darkened hill roars and is no more. The ſun returns with his ſilent beams. The glittering rocks,
+ and green heads of the mountains ſmile !
+
The bay of Cona received our ſhips
+
This was at Fingal's return from his war againſt Swaran.
+ from Erin's rolling waves. Our white ſheets hung looſe to the maſts. The boiſterous winds
+ roared behind the groves of Morven. The horn of the king is ſounded ; the deer ſtart from their
+ rocks. Our arrows flew in the woods. The feaſt of the hill is ſpread. Our joy was great on our
+ rocks, for the fall of the terrible Swaran. Two heroes were forgot at our feaſt, The rage of
+ their boſoms burned. They rolled their red eyes in ſecret. The ſigh burſts from their breaſts.
+ They were ſeen to talk together, and to throw their ſpears on earth. They were two dark clouds,
+ in the midſt of our joy ; like pillars of
+
+ miſt on the ſettled ſea. They glitter to the ſun, but the mariners fear a
+ ſtorm.
+
“Raise my white ſails,” ſaid Ma-ronnan, “raiſe them to the winds of the
+ weſt. Let us ruſh, O Aldo, through the foam of the northern wave. We are forgot at the feaſt: but
+ our arms have been red in blood. Let us leave the hills of Fingal, and ſerve the king of Sora.
+ His countenance is fierce. War darkens around his ſpear. Let us be renowned, O Aldo, in the
+ battles of other lands!”
+
They took their ſwords, their ſhields of thongs. They ruſhed to Lumar's
+ reſounding bay. They came to Sora's haughty king, the chief of bounding ſteeds. Erragon had
+ returned from the chace. His ſpear was red in blood. He bent his dark face to the ground: and
+ whiſtled as he went. He took the ſtrangers to his feaſts: they fought and conquered in his
+ wars.
+
Aldo returned with his fame towards Sora's lofty walls. From her tower
+ looked the ſpouſe of Erragon, the humid, rolling eyes of Lorma. Her yellow hair flies on the wind
+ of ocean. Her white breaſt heaves, like ſnow on heath; when the gentle winds ariſe, and ſlowly
+ move it in the light. She ſaw young Aldo, like the beam of Sora's ſetting ſun. Her ſoft heart
+
+
+
+ ſighed. Tears filled her eyes. Her white arm ſupported her head.
+ Three days ſhe ſat within the hall, and covered her grief with joy. On the fourth ſhe fled with
+ the hero, along the troubled ſea. They came to Cona's moſſy towers, to Fingal king of ſpears.
+
“Aldo of the heart of pride!” ſaid Fingal riſing in wrath : “ſhall I defend
+ thee from the rage of Sora's injured king? who will now receive my people into their halls? who
+ will give the feaſt of ſtrangers, ſince Aldo, of the little ſoul, has diſhonoured my name in Sora
+ ? Go to thy hills, thou feeble hand. Go: hide thee in thy caves. Mournful is the battle we muſt
+ fight, with Sora's gloomy king. Spirit of the noble Trenmor ! When will Fingal ceaſe to fight? I
+ was born in the midſt of battles
+
Comhal the father of Fingal was ſlain in battle, againſt the tribe of Morni, the very day
+ that Fingal was born; ſo that he may, with propriety, be ſaid to have been born in the midſt
+ of battles.
+ , and my ſteps muſt move in blood to the tomb. But my hand did not injure the weak, my
+ ſteel did not touch the feeble in arms. I behold thy tempeſts, O Morven, which will overturn my
+ halls; when my children are dead in battle, and none remains to dwell in Selma. Then will the
+ feeble come, but they will not know my tomb, My
+
+ renown is only in ſong. My deeds ſhall be as a dream to future times
+ !”
+
His people gathered around Erragon, as the ſtorms round the ghoſt of night;
+ when he calls them, from the top of Morven, and prepares to pour them on the land of the
+ ſtranger. He came to the ſhore of Cona. He ſent his bard to the king; to demand the combat of
+ thouſands ; or the land of many hills! Fingal ſat in his hall with the friends of his youth
+ around him. The young heroes were at the chace, far diſtant in the deſart. The grey-haired chiefs
+ talked of other times; of the actions of their youth; when the aged Nartmor
+
Neart-mór, great ſtrength. Lora, noiſy.
+ came, the chief of ſtreamy Lora.
+
“This is no time,” ſaid Nartmor,” to hear the ſongs of other years : Erragon
+ frowns on the coaſt, and lifts ten thouſand ſwords. Gloomy is the king among his chiefs! he is
+ like the darkened moon, amidſt the meteors of night; when they ſail along her ſkirts, and give
+ the light that has ſailed o'er her orb.” “Come,” ſaid Fingal, “from thy hall, come daughter of my
+ love: come from thy hall, Boſmina
+
Boſ-mhina, ſoft and tender hand. She was the youngeſt of Fingal's children.
+ , maid of ſtreamy Morven ! Nartmor, take the ſteeds of the ſtrangers. Attend the
+
+
+ daughter of Fingal! Let her bid the king of Sora to our feaſt,
+ to Selma's ſhaded wall. Offer him, O Boſmina, the peace of heroes, and the wealth of generous
+ Aldo. Our youths are far diſtant. Age is on our trembling hands !”
+
She came to the hoſt of Erragon, like a beam of light to a cloud. In her
+ right hand was ſeen a ſparkling ſhell. In her left an arrow of gold. The firſt, the joyful mark
+ of peace! The latter, the ſign of war. Erragon brightened in her preſence as a rock, before the
+ ſudden beams of the ſun; when they iſſue from a broken cloud, divided by the roaring wind !
+
“Son of the diſtant Sora,” began the mildly bluſhing maid. “Come to the
+ feaſt of Morven's king, to Selma's ſhaded walls. Take the peace of heroes, O warrior ! Let the
+ dark ſword reſt by thy ſide. Chuſeſt thou the wealth of Kings ? Then hear the words of generous
+ Aldo. He gives to Erragon an hundred ſteeds, the children of the rein: an hundred maids from
+ diſtant lands; an hundred hawks with fluttering wing, that fly acroſs the ſky. An hundred girdles
+
Sanctified girdles, till very lately, were kept in many families in the north of Scotland;
+ they were bound about women in labour, and were ſuppoſed to alleviate their pains, and to
+ accelerate the birth. They were impreſſed with ſeveral myſtical figures, and the ceremony of
+ binding them about the woman's waiſt, was accompanied with words and geſtures which ſhewed the
+ cuſtom to have come originally from the druids.
+
+
+
+ ſhall alſo be thine, to bind high-boſomed maids. The friends of the births
+ of heroes. The cure of the ſons of toil. Ten ſhells ſtudded with gems ſhall ſhine in Sora's
+ towers: the bright water trembles on their ſtars, and ſeems to be ſparkling wine. They gladdened
+ once the kings of the world
+
The Roman emperors,
+ , in the midſt of their ecchoing halls. Theſe, O hero, ſhall be thine; or thy
+ white-boſomed ſpouſe. Lorma ſhall roll her bright eyes in thy halls; though Fingal loves the
+ generous Aldo : Fingal ! who never injured a hero, though his arm is ſtrong !”
+
“Soft voice of Cona !” replied the king, “tell him, he ſpreads his feaſt in
+ vain. Let Fingal pour his ſpoils around me. Let him bend beneath my power. Let him give me the
+ ſwords of his fathers : the ſhields of other times ; that my children may behold them in my
+ halls, and ſay, “Theſe are the arms of Fingal.” “Never ſhall they behold them in thy halls !”
+ ſaid the riſing pride of the maid. “They are in the hands of heroes, who never yielded in war.
+ King of ecchoing Sora ! the ſtorm is gathering on our hills. Doſt thou not foreſee the fall of
+ thy people, ſon of the diſtant land?”
+
+
+
She came to Selma's ſilent halls. The king beheld her down-caſt eyes. He
+ roſe from his place, in his ſtrength. He ſhook his aged locks. He took the ſounding mail of
+ Trenmor. The dark-brown ſhield of his fathers. Darkneſs filled Selma's hall, when he ſtretched
+ his hand to his ſpear : the ghoſts of thouſands were near, and foreſaw the death of the people.
+ Terrible joy roſe in the face of the aged heroes. They ruſhed to meet the foe. Their thoughts are
+ on the deeds of other years: and on the fame that riſes from death!
+
Now at Trathal's ancient tomb the dogs of the chace appeared. Fingal knew
+ that his young heroes followed. He ſtopt in the midſt of his courſe. Oſcar appeared the firſt;
+ then Morni's ſon, and Némi's race. Fercuth
+
Fear-cuth, the ſame with Fergus, the man of the ſword,
+ or a commander of an army.
+ ſhewed his gloomy form. Dermid ſpread his dark hair on wind. Oſſian came the laſt. I
+ hummed the ſong of other times. My ſpear ſupported my ſteps over the little ſtreams. My thoughts
+ were of mighty men. Fingal ſtruck his boſſy ſhield ; and gave the diſmal ſign of war. A thouſand
+ ſwords at once unſheathed, gleam on the waving heath. Three grey-haired ſons of ſong, raiſe the
+ tuneful, mournful yoice. Deep and dark with
+
+ ſounding ſteps, we ruſh, a gloomy ridge, along: like the ſhower of a
+ ſtorm, when it pours on a narrow vale.
+
The king of Morven ſat on his hill. The ſun-beam of battle flew on the wind.
+ The friends of his youth are near, with all their waving locks of age. Joy roſe in the hero's
+ eyes when he beheld his ſons in war: when he ſaw us amidſt the lightning of ſwords, mindful of
+ the deeds of our fathers. Erragon came on, in his ſtrength, like the roar of a winter ſtream. The
+ battle falls around his ſteps: death dimly ſtalks along by his ſide!
+
“Who comes,” ſaid Fingal, “like the bounding roe, like the hart of ecchoing
+ Cona? His ſhield glitters on his ſide. The clang of his armour is mournful. He meets with Erragon
+ in the ſtrife ! Behold the battle of the chiefs! It is like the contending of ghoſts in a gloomy
+ ſtorm. But falleſt thou, ſon of the hill, and is thy white boſom ſtained with blood? Weep,
+ unhappy Lorma, Aldo is no more !” The king took the ſpear of his ſtrength. He was ſad for the
+ fall of Aldo. He bent his deathful eyes on the foe : but Gaul met the King of Sora. Who can
+ relate the fight of the chiefs? The mighty ſtranger fell !
+
+
+ “Sons of Cona!” Fingal cried aloud, “ſtop the
+ hand of death. Mighty was he that is low. Much is he mourned in Sora! The ſtranger will come
+ towards his hall, and wonder why it is ſo ſilent. The king is fallen, O ſtranger. The joy of his
+ houſe is ceaſed. Liſten to the ſound of his woods. Perhaps his ghoſt is murmuring there ! But he
+ is far diſtant, on Morven, beneath the ſword of a foreign foe.” Such were the words of Fingal,
+ when the bard raiſed the ſong of peace. We ſtopped our uplifted ſwords. We ſpared the feeble foe.
+ We laid Erragon in a tomb. I raiſed the voice of grief. The clouds of night came rolling down.
+ The ghoſt of Erragon appeared to ſome. His face was cloudy and dark ; an half-formed ſigh is in
+ his breaſt. “Bleſt be thy ſoul, O king of Sora ! thine arm was terrible in war!”
+
Lorma ſat, in Aldo's hall. She ſat at the light of a flaming oak. The night
+ came down, but he did not return. The ſoul of Lorma is ſad! “What detains thee, hunter of Cona ?
+ Thou didſt promiſe to return. Has the deer been diſtant far? do the dark winds ſigh, round thee,
+ on the heath? I am in the land of ſtrangers, where is my friend, but Aldo? Come from thy ſounding
+ hills, O my beſt beloved !”
+
+
+
Her eyes are turned toward the gate. She liſtens to the ruſtling blaſt. She
+ thinks it is Aldo's tread. Joy riſes in her face! But ſorrow returns again, like a thin cloud on
+ the moon. “Wilt thou not return, my love? Let me behold the face of the hill. The moon is in the
+ eaſt. Calm and bright is the breaſt of the lake ! When ſhall I behold his dogs, returning from
+ the chace ? When ſhall I hear his voice, loud and diſtant on the wind ? Come from thy ſounding
+ hills, hunter of woody Cona !” His thin ghoſt appeared, on a rock, like a watry beam of feeble
+ light : When the moon ruſhes ſudden from between two clouds, and the midnight ſhower is on the
+ field ! She followed the empty form over the heath. She knew that her hero fell. I heard her
+ approaching cries on the wind, like the mournful voice of the breeze, when it ſighs on the graſs
+ of the cave !
+
She came. She found her hero ! Her voice was heard no more. Silent ſhe
+ rolled her eyes. She was pale, and wildly ſad! Few were her days on Cona. She ſunk into the tomb.
+ Fingal commanded his bards; they ſung over the death of Lorma. The daughters of Morven mourned
+ her, for one day in the year, when the dark winds of autumn returned !
+
+
+
+ Son of the diſtant land
+
The poet addreſſes himſelf to the Culdee.
+ ! Thou dwelleſt in the field of fame ! O let thy ſong ariſe, at times, in praiſe of thoſe
+ who fell. Let their thin ghoſts rejoice around thee ; and the ſoul of Lorma come on a feeble beam
+
Be thou on a moon-beam, O Morna, near the window of my reſt ; when my thoughts are of peace;
+ and the din of arms is paſt. Fingal, B.I.
+ : when thou lieſt down to reſt, and the moon looks into thy cave. Then ſhalt thou ſee her
+ lovely; but the tear is ſtill on her cheek !
+ END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
+
+
+
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+ Works of Ossian - First Edition
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By T. BECKET, Corner of the Adelphi Buildings in the STRAND,
+
Bookſeller to their Royal Highneſſes the Prince of Wales and Biſhop of Osnaburgh,
+
FABLES de La FONTAINE,
+
Printed at Paris, in Four Volumes Folio.
+
This very magnificent Work is propoſed to the Publick at only Eight Guineas in Sheets,
+ being but Half the original Price.
+
This Edition, which coſt the Artiſts near twenty Years Labour, and the Proprietors upwards of
+ Fourteen thouſand Pounds Sterling, is undoubtedly one of the moſt ſuperb Monuments ever
+ erected to the Memory of an Author.
+
It is printed with a new Letter, on a fine Paper, manufactured expreſsly for the Work ; every
+ Fable being ornamented by a Head and Tail-piece, deſigned in a new Taſte, by M. Bachelier, and executed by M. T. Papillon and Le
+ Sueur,
+
To the Beauty this Work derives from the Printing-preſs, is alſo added the capital
+ Embelliſhment of no leſs than Two Hundred and Seventy-six
+ Copper-plates; the Deſigns applicable to the Subjects, drawn after Nature, by Oudry, one of the moſt celebrated Painters France ever produced for delineating the Animal
+ Creation. The Engravings by the moſt expert Artiſts in their ſeveral Departments, under the
+ Direction of the celebrated M. Cochin ; who reviſed and ſuperintended the
+ Whole.
+
La Fontaine's Life is prefixed, containing many Anecdotes of that exquiſite
+ Fabuliſt, not to be met with elſewhere.
+
* * Such Ladies and Gentlemen who are deſirous of being poſſeſſed of this magnificent Work,
+ are requeſted to ſavour the Proprietors with their Commands.
+
Cairbar, the ſon of Borbar-duthul, lord of Atha in Connaught the moſt potent chief of the
+ race of the Firbolg, having murdered, at Temora the royal palace, Cormac the ſon of Artho, the
+ young king of Ireland, uſurped the throne. Cormac was lineally deſcended from Conar the ſon of
+ Trenmor, the great grandfather of Fingal, king of thoſe Caledonians who inhabited the weſtern
+ coaſt of Scotland. Fingal reſented the behaviour of Cairbar, and reſolved to paſs over into
+ Ireland, with an army, to re-eſtabliſh the royal family on the Iriſh throne. Early intelligence
+ of his deſigns coming to Cairbar, he aſſembled ſome of his tribes in Ulſter, and at the ſame time
+ ordered his brother Cathmor to follow him ſpeedily with an army, from Temora. Such was the
+ ſituation of affairs when the Caledonian invaders appeared on the coaſt of Ulſter.
+
The poem opens in the morning. Cairbar is repreſented as retired from the reſt of the army,
+ when one of his ſcouts brought him news of the landing of Fingal. He aſſembles a council of his
+ chiefs. Foldath the chief of Morna haughtily deſpiſes the enemy ; and is reprimanded warmly by
+ Malthos. Cairbar, after hearing their debate, orders a feaſt to be prepared, to which, by his
+ bard Olla, he invites Oſcar the ſon of Oſſian ; reſolving to pick a quarrel with that hero, and
+ ſo have ſome pretext for killing him. Oſcar came to the feaſt; the quarrel happened ; the
+ followers of both fought, and Cairbar and Oſcar fell by mutual wounds. The noiſe of the battle
+ reached Fingal's army. The king came on, to the relief of Oſcar, and the Iriſh fell back to the
+ army of Cathmor, who was advanced to the banks of the river Lubar, on the heath of Moilena.
+ Fingal, after mourning over his grandſon, ordered Ullin the chief of his bards to carry his body
+ to Morven, to be there interred. Night coming on, Althan, the ſon of Conachar, relates to the
+ king the particulars of the murder of Cormac. Fillan, the ſon of Fingal, is ſent to obſerve the
+ motions of Cathmar by night, which concludes the action of the firſt day. The ſcene of this book
+ is a plain, near the hill of Mora, which roſe on the borders of the heath of Moilena, in Ulſter.
The blue waves of Erin roll in light. The mountains are covered with day.
+ Trees ſhake their duſky heads, in the breeze. Grey torrents pour their noiſy ſtreams. Two green
+ hills, with aged oaks, ſurround a narrow plain. The blue courſe of a ſtream is there. On its
+ banks ſtood CairbarDisplay note of Atha. His ſpear ſupports the king : the red eye of his fear is ſad. Cormac riſes in
+ his ſoul, with all his ghaſtly wounds.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The grey form of the youth appears in darkneſs. Blood pours from
+ his airy ſide. Cairbar thrice threw his ſpear on earth. Thrice he ſtroaked his beard. His ſteps
+ are ſhort. He often ſtops. He toſſes his ſinewy arms. He is like a cloud in the deſart, varying
+ its form to every blaſt. The valleys are ſad around, and fear, by turns, the ſhower ! The king,
+ at length, reſumed his ſoul. He took his pointed ſpear, He turned his eye to Moi-lena, The ſcouts
+ of blue ocean came. They came with ſteps of fear, and often looked behind. Cairbar knew that the
+ mighty were near ! He called his gloomy chiefs.
+
The ſounding ſteps of his warriors came. They drew, at once, their ſwords.
+ There MorlathDisplay note ſtood with darkened face. Hidalla's long hair ſighs in wind. Red-haired Cormar bends on
+ his ſpear, and rolls his ſide-long-looking eyes. Wild is the look of Malthos from beneath too
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhaggy brows. Foldath ſtands, like an oozy rock, that covers its
+ dark ſides with foam. His ſpear is like Slimora's fir, that meets the wind of heaven. His ſhield
+ is marked with the ſtrokes of battle. His red eye deſpiſes danger. Theſe and a thouſand other
+ chiefs ſurrounded the king of Erin, when the ſcout of ocean came, MorannalDisplay note, from ſtreamy Moi-lena. His eyes hang forward from his face. His lips are trembling,
+ pale!
+
“Do the chiefs of Erin ſtand,” he ſaid, “ſilent as the grove of evening?
+ Stand they, like a ſilent wood, and Fingal on the coaſt ? Fingal, who is terrible in battle, the
+ king of ſtreamy Morven ! “Haſt thou ſeen the warrior?” ſaid Cairbar with a ſigh. “Are his heroes
+ many on the coaſt ? Lifts he the ſpear of battle? Or comes the king in peace?” In peace he comes
+ not, king of Erin. I have ſeen his forward ſpearDisplay note. It is a meteor of death. The blood of thouſands
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ is on its ſteel. He came firſt to the ſhore, ſtrong in the grey
+ hair of age. Full roſe his ſinewy limbs, as he ſtrode in his might. That ſword is by his ſide,
+ which gives no ſecondDisplay note wound. His ſhield is terrible, like the bloody moon, aſcending through a ſtorm. Then came
+ Oſſian king of ſongs. Then Morni's ſon, the firſt of men. Connal leaps forward on his ſpear.
+ Dermid ſpreads his dark-brown locks. Fillan bends his bow, the young hunter of ſtreamy Moruth.
+ But who is that before them, like the terrible courſe of a ſtream ! It is the ſon of Oſſian,
+ bright between his locks! His long hair falls on his back. His dark brows are half-incloſed in
+ ſteel. His ſword hangs looſe on his ſide. His ſpear glitters as he moves. I fled from his
+ terrible eyes, king of high Temora !”
+
“Then fly, thou feeble man,” ſaid Foldath's gloomy wrath. “Fly to the grey
+ ſtreams of thy land, ſon of the little ſoul ! Have not I ſeen that Oſcar? I beheld the chief in
+ war. He is of the mighty in danger : but there are others who lift the ſpear. Erin has many ſons
+ as brave, king
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Temora of Groves ! Let Foldath meet him in his ſtrength. Let
+ me ſtop this mighty ſtream. My ſpear is covered with blood. My ſhield is like the wall of
+ Tura!”
+
“Shall FoldathDisplay note alone meet the foe?” replied the dark-browed Malthos. “Are they not on our coaft, like
+ the waters of many ſtreams? Are not theſe the chiefs, who vanquiſhed Swaran, when the ſons of
+ green Erin fled ? Shall Foldath meet their braveſt hero ? Foldath of the heart of pride ! take
+ the ſtrength of the people! and let Malthos come. My ſword is red with ſlaughter, but who has
+ heard my wordsDisplay note ?”
+
“Sons of green Erin,” ſaid HidallaDisplay note, “let not Fingal hear your words. The foe might rejoice, and his arm be ſtrong in the
+ land. Ye are brave, O warriors! Ye are tempeſts in war. Ye are, like ſtorms, which meet the rocks
+ without fear, and overturn the woods. But let us move
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in our ſtrength, ſlow as a gathered cloud ! Then ſhall the mighty
+ tremble ; the ſpear ſhall fall from the hand of the valiant. We ſee the cloud of death, they will
+ ſay, while ſhadows fly over their face. Fingal will mourn in his age. He ſhall behold his flying
+ fame. The ſteps of his chiefs will ceaſe in Morven. The moſs of years ſhall grow in Selma.”
+
Cairbar heard their words, in ſilence, like the cloud of a ſhower : it
+ ſtands dark on Cromla, till the lightning burſts its ſide. The valley gleams with heaven's flame
+ ; the ſpirits of the ſtorm rejoice. So ſtood the ſilent king of Temora; at length his words broke
+ forth. “Spread the feaſt on Moi-lena. Let my hundred bards attend. Thou, red-hair'd Olla, take
+ the harp of the king. Go to Oſcar chief of ſwords. Bid Oſcar to our joy. To-day we feaſt and hear
+ the ſong : to-morrow break the ſpears! Tell him that I have raiſed the tomb of CatholDisplay note ; that bards gave his friend to the winds. Tell him that Cairbar has heard of his fame,
+ at the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtream of reſounding CarunDisplay note. CathmorDisplay note my brother is not here. He is not here with his thouſands, and our arms are weak. Cathmor
+ is a foe to ſtrife at the feaſt! His ſoul is bright as that ſun! But Cairbar muſt fight with
+ Oſcar, chiefs of woody Temora! His words for Cathol were many : the wrath of Cairbar burns. He
+ ſhall fall on Moi-lena. My fame ſhall riſe in blood.”
+
Their faces brightened round with joy. They ſpread over Moilena. The feaſt
+ of ſhells is prepared. The ſongs of bards ariſe. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ chiefs of Selma heard their joyDisplay note. We thought that mighty Cathmor came. Cathmor the friend of ſtrangers! the brother of
+ red-haired Cairbar. Their ſouls were not the ſame. The light of heaven was in the boſom of
+ Cathmor. His towers roſe on the banks of Atha : ſeven paths led to his halls. Seven chiefs ſtood
+ on the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ paths, and called the ſtranger to the feaſt! But Cathmor dwelt
+ in the wood, to ſhun the voice of praiſe !
+
Olla came with his ſongs. Oſcar went to Cairbar's feaſt. Three hundred
+ warriors ſtrode, along Moi-lena of the ſtreams. The grey dogs bounded on the heath : Their
+ howling reached afar. Fingal ſaw the departing hero. The ſoul of the king was ſad. He dreaded
+ Cairbar's gloomy thoughts, amid the feaſt of ſhells. My ſon raiſed high the ſpear of Cormac. An
+ hundred bards met him with ſongs. Cairbar concealed with ſmiles the death, that was dark in his
+ ſoul. The feaſt is ſpread. The ſhells reſound. Joy brightens the face of the hoſt. But it was
+ like the parting beam of the ſun, when he is to hide his red head, in a ſtorm !
+
Cairbar riſes in his arms. Darkneſs gathers on his brow. The hundred harps
+ ceaſe at once. The clangDisplay note of ſhields is heard. Far diſtant on the heath Olla raiſed a ſong of woe. My ſon knew the
+ ſign of death; and riſing ſeized his ſpear. “Oſcar,” ſaid the dark-red
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Cairbar, “I behold the ſpearDisplay note of Erin. The ſpear of TemoraDisplay note glitters in thy hand, ſon of woody Morven! It was the pride of an hundredDisplay note kings. The death of heroes of old. Yield it, ſon of Oſſian, yield it to car-borne Cairbar
+ !”
+
“Shall I yield,” Oſcar replied, “the gift of Erin's injured king: the gift
+ of fair-haired Cormac, when Oſcar ſcattered his foes? I came to Cormac's halls of joy, when
+ Swaran fled from Fingal. Gladneſs roſe in the face of youth. He gave the ſpear of Temora. Nor did
+ he give it to the feeble : neither to the weak in ſoul. The darkneſs of thy face is no ſtorm to
+ me: nor are thine eyes the flame of death. Do I fear thy clanging ſhield? Tremble I at Olla's
+ ſong ? No : Cairbar, frighten the feeble : Oſcar is a rock!”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“Wilt thou not yield the ſpear ?” replied the rifing pride of Cairbar. “Are
+ thy words ſo mighty, becauſe Fingal is near ? Fingal with aged locks, from Morven's hundred
+ groves ! He has fought with little men. But he muſt vaniſh before Cairbar, like a thin pillar of
+ miſt before the winds of AthaDisplay note!” “Were he who fought with little men, near Atha's haughty chief: Atha's chief would
+ yield green Erin to avoid his rage ! Speak not of the mighty, O Cairbar! Turn thy ſword on me.
+ Our ſtrength is equal : but Fingal is renowned ! the firſt of mortal men!”
+
Their people ſaw the darkening chiefs. Their crowding ſteps are heard
+ around. Their eyes roll in fire. A thouſand ſwords are half unſheathed. Red-haired Olla raiſed
+ the ſong of battle. The trembling joy of Oſcar's ſoul aroſe : the wonted joy of his ſoul when
+ Fingal's horn was heard. Dark as the ſwelling wave of ocean before the rifing winds, when it
+ bends its head near the coaſt, came on the hoſt of Cairbar !
+
Daughter of ToſcarDisplay note ! why that tear? He is not fallen yet. Many were the deaths of his arm before my hero
+ fell !
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Behold they fall before my ſon, like groves
+ in the deſart; when an angry ghoſt ruſhes through night, and takes their green heads in his hand
+ ! Morlath falls. Maronnan dies. Conachar trembles in his blood! Cairbar ſhrinks before Oſcar's
+ ſword! He creeps in darkneſs behind a ſtone. He lifts the ſpear in ſecret ; he pierces my Oſcar's
+ ſide ! He falls forward on his ſhield : his knee ſuſtains the chief. But ſtill his ſpear is in
+ his hand. See gloomy CairbarDisplay note falls! The ſteel pierced his forehead, and
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ divided his red hair behind. He lay, like a ſhattered rock,
+ which Cromla ſhakes from its ſhaggy ſide; when the green-vallied Erin ſhakes its mountains, from
+ ſea to ſea!
+
But never more ſhall Oſcar riſe! He leans on his boſſy ſhield. His ſpear is
+ in his terrible hand. Brin's ſons ſtand diſtant and dark. Their ſhouts ariſe, like crouded
+ ſtreams. Moi-lena ecchoes wide. Fingal heard the ſound. He took the ſpear of Selma. His ſteps are
+ before us on the heath. He ſpoke the words of woe.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “I hear the noiſe of war. Young Oſcar is alone. Riſe, ſons of
+ Morven : join the hero's ſword!”
+
Ossian ruſhed along the heath. Fillan bounded over Moi-lena. Fingal ſtrode
+ in his ſtrength. The light of his ſhield is terrible. The ſons of Erin ſaw it far diſtant. They
+ trembled in their ſouls. They knew that the wrath of the king aroſe : and they foreſaw their
+ death. We firſt arrived. We fought. Erin's chiefs withſtood our rage. But when the king came, in
+ the ſound of his courſe, what heart of ſteel could ſtand! Erin fled over Moi-lena. Death purſued
+ their flight. We ſaw Oſcar on his ſhield. We ſaw his blood around. Silence darkened every face.
+ Each turned his back and wept. The king ſtrove to hide his tears. His grey beard whiſtled in the
+ wind. He bends his head above the chief. His words are mixed with ſighs.
+
“Art thou fallen, O Oſcar, in the midſt of thy courſe? the heart of the aged
+ beats over thee! He ſees thy coming wars! The wars which ought to come he ſees ! They are cut off
+ from thy fame! When ſhall joy dwell at Selma? When ſhall grief depart from Morven? My ſons fall
+ by degrees: Fingal is the laſt of his race. My fame begins to paſs away. Mine
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ age will be without friends. I ſhall ſit a grey cloud in my
+ hall. I ſhall not hear the return of a ſon, in his ſounding arms. Weep, ye heroes of Morven !
+ never more ſhall Oſcar rife !”
+
And they did weep, O Fingal ! Dear was the hero to their ſouls. He went out
+ to battle, and the foes vaniſhed. He returned, in peace, amidſt their joy. No father mourned his
+ ſon ſlain in youth : no brother his brother of love. They fell, without tears, for the chief of
+ the people is low! BranDisplay note is howling at his feet : gloomy Luäth is ſad, for he had often led them to the chace; to
+ the bounding roe of the deſart !
+
When Oſcar ſaw his friends around, his heaving breaſt aroſe. “The groans,”
+ he ſaid, “of aged chiefs: The howling of my dogs: The ſudden burſts of the ſong of grief, have
+ melted Oſcar's ſoul. My ſoul, that never melted before. It was like the ſteel of my ſword.
+ Oſſian, carry me to my hills! Raiſe the ſtones of my renown. Place the horn of a deer : place my
+ ſword by my ſide. The torrent hereafter may raiſe the earth : the hunter may find the ſteel and
+ ſay, “This has been Oſcar's ſword, the pride of other years!” “Falleſt thou, ſon of my fame !
+ Shall I never ſee thee, Oſcar ! When
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ others hear of their ſons; ſhall I not hear of thee? The moſs is
+ on thy four grey ſtones. The mournful wind is there. The battle ſhall be fought without thee.
+ Thou ſhalt not purſue the dark-brown hinds. When the warrior returns from battles, and tells of
+ other lands; “I have ſeen a tomb,” he will ſay, “by the roaring ſtream, the dark dwelling of a
+ chief. He fell by car-borne Oſcar, the firſt of mortal men,” I, perhaps, ſhall hear his voice. A
+ beam of joy will riſe in my ſoul.”
+
Night would have deſcended in ſorrow, and morning returned in the ſhadow of
+ grief. Our chiefs would have ſtood, like cold dropping rocks on Moi-lena, and have forgot the war
+ ; did not the king diſperſe his grief, and raiſe his mighty voice. The chiefs, as new-wakened
+ from dreams, lift up their heads around.
+
“How long on Moi-lena ſhall we weep? How long pour in Erin our tears? The mighty will not
+ return. Oſcar ſhall not rife in his ſtrength. The valiant muſt fall in their day, and be no more
+ known on their hills. Where are our fathers, O warriors ! the chiefs of the times of old ? They
+ have ſet like ſtars that have ſhone. We only hear the ſound of their praiſe. But they were
+ renowned in their years: the terror of other times. Thus ſhall we paſs away, in the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ day of our fall. Then let us be renowned when we may ; and
+ leave our fame behind us, like the laſt beams of the ſun, when he hides his red head in the weſt.
+ The traveller mourns his abſence, thinking of the flame of his beams. Ullin my aged bard! take
+ thou the ſhip of the king. Carry Oſcar to Selma of harps. Let the daughters of Morven weep. We
+ muſt fight in Erin, for the race of fallen Cormac. The days of my years begin to fail. I feel the
+ weakneſs of my arm. My fathers bend from their clouds, to receive their grey-hair'd ſon. But,
+ before I go hence, one beam of fame ſhall rife. My days ſhall end, as my years begun, in fame. My
+ life ſhall be one ſtream of light to bards of other times!”
+
Ullin rais'd his white ſails. The wind of the ſouth came forth. He bounded
+ on the waves toward Selma. I remained in my grief, but my words were not heard. The feaſt is
+ ſpread on Moi-lena. An hundred heroes reared the tomb of Cairbar. No ſong is raiſed over the
+ chief. His ſoul had been dark and bloody. The bards remembered the fall of Cormac ! what could
+ they ſay in Cairbar's praiſe ?
+
Night came rolling down. The light of an hundred oaks aroſe, Fingal ſat
+ beneath a tree.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Old AlthanDisplay note ſtood in the midſt. He told the tale of fallen Cormac. Althan the ſon of Conachar, the
+ friend of car-borne Cuthullin. He dwelt with Cormac in windy Temora, when Semo's ſon fell at
+ Lego's ſtream. The tale of Althan was mournful. The tear was in his eye, when he ſpoke.
+
Display note“The ſetting ſon was yellow on DoraDisplay note. Grey evening began to deſcend. Temora's woods ſhook with the blaſt of the unconſtant
+ wind. A cloud gathered in the weſt. A red ſtar looked from behind its edge. I ſtood in the wood
+ alone. I ſaw a ghoſt on the darkening air! His ſtride extended from hill to hill. His ſhield was
+ dim on his ſide. It was the ſon of Semo. I knew the warrior's face. But he paſſed away in his
+ blaſt; and all was dark around ! My ſoul was ſad. I went to the hall of ſhells. A thouſand lights
+ aroſe. The hundred bards had ſtrung the harp. Cormac ſtood in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the midſt, like the morning ſtar, when it rejoices on the
+ eaſtern hill, and its young beams are bathed in ſhowers. Bright and ſilent is its progreſs aloft,
+ but the cloud, that ſhall hide it, is near! The ſword of ArthoDisplay note was in the hand of the king. He looked with joy on its poliſhed ſtuds: thrice he
+ attempted to draw it, and thrice he failed; his yellow locks are ſpread on his ſhoulders : his
+ cheeks of youth are red. I mourned over the beam of youth, for he was ſoon to ſet!”
+
“Althan!” he ſaid, with a ſmile, “didſt thou behold my father? Heavy is the
+ ſword of the king; ſurely his arm was ſtrong. O that I were like him in battle, when the rage of
+ his wrath aroſe! then would I have met, with Cuthullin, the car-borne ſon of Cantéla! But years
+ may come on, O Althan ! and my arm be ſtrong. Haſt thou heard of Semo's ſon, the ruler of high
+ Temora? He might have returned with his fame. He promiſed to return to-night. My bards wait him
+ with ſongs. My feaſt is ſpread in the hall of kings.”
+
I heard Cormac in ſilence, My tears began to flow. I hid them with my aged
+ locks., The king perceived my grief. “Son of Conachar !”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ he ſaid, “is the ſon of SemoDisplay note low? Why burſts the ſigh in ſecret ? Why deſcends the tear? Comes the car-borne Torlath?
+ Comes the ſound of red-haired Cairbar? They come ! for I behold thy grief. Moſſy Tura's chief is
+ low ! Shall I not ruſh to battle ? But I cannot lift the ſpear ! O had mine arm the ſtrength of
+ Cuthullin, ſoon would Cairbar fly ; the fame of my fathers would be renewed; and the deeds of
+ other times!”
+
He took his bow. The tears flow down, from both his ſparkling eyes. Grief
+ ſaddens round. The bards bend forward, from their hundred harps. The lone blaſt touched their
+ trembling ſtrings. The ſoundDisplay note is ſad and low ! A voice is heard at a diſtance, as of one in grief. It was Carril of
+ other times, who came from dark SlimoraDisplay note. He told of the fall of Cuthullin. He told of his mighty deeds. The people were ſcattered
+ round his tomb. Their arms lay on
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the ground. They had forgot the war, for he, their fire, was
+ ſeen no more
+
“But who,” ſaid the ſoft-voiced Carril, “who come like bounding roes? Their
+ ſtature is like young trees in the valley, growing in a ſhower ! Soft and ruddy are their cheeks
+ ! Fearleſs ſouls look forth from their eyes! Who but the ſons of UſnothDisplay note, chief of ſtreamy Etha ? The people riſe on every ſide, like the ſtrength of an
+ half-extinguiſhed fire, when the winds come, ſudden, from the deſart, on their ruſtling wings.
+ Sudden glows the dark brow of the hill; the paſſing mariner lags, on his winds. The ſound of Caithbat'sDisplay note ſhield was heard.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The warriors ſaw CuthullinDisplay note in Nathos. So rolled his ſparkling eyes! his ſteps were ſuch on heath ! Battles are
+ fought at Lego. The ſword of Nathos prevails. Soon ſhalt thou behold him in thy halls, king of
+ Temora of groves !”
+
“Soon may I behold the chief!” replied the blue-eyed king. “But my ſoul is
+ ſad for Cuthullin. His voice was pleaſant in mine ear. Often have we moved, on Dora, to the chace
+ of the dark-brown hinds. His bow was unerring on the hills. He ſpoke of mighty men. He told of
+ the deeds of my fathers. I felt my riſing joy. But ſit thou at the feaſt, O Carril, I have often
+ heard thy voice. Sing in praiſe of Cuthullin. Sing of Nathos of EthaDisplay note!
+
Day roſe on Temora, with all the beams of the eaſt. Crathin came to the hall, the ſon of old GellámaDisplay note. “I behold,” he ſaid, “a cloud in the deſart, king of Erin! a cloud it ſeemed at firſt,
+ but now a croud of men! One ſtrides before them in his ſtrength. His red hair flies in wind. His
+ ſhield glitters to the beam of the eaſt. His ſpear is in his hand.” “Call him to the feaſt
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Temora,” replied the brightening king. “My hall is the houſe
+ of ſtrangers, ſon of generous Gelláma ! It is perhaps the chief of Etha, coming in all his
+ renown, Hail, mightyDisplay note ſtranger! art thou of the friends of Cormac? But Carril, he is dark, and unlovely. He
+ draws his ſword. Is that the ſon of Uſnoth, bard of the times of old?”
+
“It is not the ſon of Uſnoth !” ſaid Carril. “It is Cairbar thy foe. Why
+ comeſt thou in thy arms to Temora ? chief of the gloomy brow. Let not thy ſword riſe againſt
+ Cormac! Whither doſt thou turn thy ſpeed ?” He paſſed on in darkneſs. He ſeized the hand of the
+ king. Cormac foreſaw his death ; the rage of his eyes aroſe. “Retire, thou chief of Atha ! Nathos
+ comes with war. Thou art bold in Cormac's hall, for his arm is weak.” The ſword entered the ſide
+ of the king. He fell in the halls of his fathers. His fair hair is in the duſt. His blood is
+ ſmoaking round.
+
Art thou fallen in thy hallsDisplay note?” ſaid Carril. “O ſon of noble Artho. The ſhield of Cuthullin was not near. Nor the ſpear
+ of thy father. Mournful are the mountains of Erin, for the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ chief of the people is low ! Bleſt be thy ſoul, O Cormac ! Thou
+ art darkened in thy youth.”
+
His words came to the ears of Cairbar. He cloſedDisplay note us in the midſt of darkneſs. He feared to ſtretch his ſword to the bardsDisplay note, though his ſoul was dark. Long we pined alone! At length, the noble CathmorDisplay note came. He heard our voice from the cave. He turned the eye of his wrath on Cairbar.
+
“Brother of Cathmor,” he ſaid, “how long wilt thou pain my ſoul? Thy heart
+ is a rock. Thy thoughts are dark and bloody ! But thou art the brother of Cathmor ; and Cathmor
+ ſhall ſhine in thy war. But my ſoul is not like thine : thou feeble hand in fight! The light of
+ my boſom is ſtained with thy deeds. Bards will not ſing of my renown : They may ſay, “Cathmor was
+ brave, but he fought for gloomy Cairbar.” They will paſs over my tomb in ſilence. My fame ſhall
+ not be heard. Cairbar ! looſe
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ the bards. They are the ſons of future times. Their voice ſhall
+ be heard in other years ; after the kings of Temora have failed.” We came forth at the words of
+ the chief. We ſaw him in his ſtrength. He was like thy youth, O Fingal, when thou firſt did lift
+ the ſpear. His face was like the plain of the ſun, when it is bright. No darkneſs travelled over
+ his brow. But he came with his thouſands to aid the red-haired Cairbar. Now he comes to revenge
+ his death, O king of woody Morven.”
+
“Let Cathmor come,” replied the king. “I love a foe ſo great. His ſoul is
+ bright. His arm is ſtrong. His battles are full of fame. But the little ſoul is a vapour that
+ hovers round the marſhy lake. It never riſes on the green hill, leſt the winds ſhould meet it
+ there. Its dwelling is in the cave, it ſends forth the dart of death ! Our young heroes, O
+ warriors, are like the renown of our fathers. They fight in youth. They fall. Their names are in
+ ſong. Fingal is amid his darkening years. He muſt not fall, as an aged oak, acroſs a ſecret
+ ſtream. Near it are the ſteps of the hunter, as it lies beneath the wind, “How has that tree
+ fallen?” he ſays, and, whiſtling, ſtrides along. Raiſe the ſong of joy, ye bards of Morven. Let
+ our ſouls forget the paſt. The red ſtars look on us from
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ clouds, and ſilently deſcend. Soon ſhall the grey beam of the
+ morning riſe, and ſhew us the foes of Cormac. Fillan ! my ſon, take thou the ſpear of the king.
+ Go to Mora's dark-brown ſide. Let thine eyes travel over the heath. Obſerve the foes of Fingal :
+ Obſerve the courſe of generous Cathmor. I hear a diſtant ſound, like falling rocks in the deſart.
+ But ſtrike thou thy ſhield, at times, that they may not come thro' night, and the fame of Morven
+ ceaſe. I begin to be alone, my fon. I dread the fall of my renown!”
+
The voice of bards aroſe. The King leaned on the ſhield of Trenmor. Sleep
+ deſcended on his eyes. His future battles aroſe in his dreams. The hoſt are ſleeping around.
+ Dark-haired Fillan obſerves the foe. His ſteps are on a diſtant hill. We hear, at times, his
+ clanging ſhield.
This book opens, we may ſuppoſe, about midnight, with a ſoliloquy of Oſſian, who had retired,
+ from the reſt of the army, to mourn for his ſon Oſcar. Upon hearing the noiſe of Cathmor's army
+ approaching, he went to find out his brother Fillan, who kept the watch, on the hill of Mora, in
+ the front of Fingal's army. In the converſation of the brothers, the epiſode of Conar, the ſon of
+ Trenmor, who was the firſt king of Ireland, is introduced, which lays open the origin of the
+ conteſts between the Cael and Firbolg, the two nations who firſt poſſeſſed themſelves of that
+ iſland. Oſſian kindles a fire on Mora ; upon which Cathmor deſiſted from the deſign he had formed
+ of ſurpriſing the army of the Caledonians. He calls a council of his chiefs; reprimands Foldath
+ for adviſing a night-attack, as the Iriſh army were ſo much ſuperior in number to the enemy. The
+ bard Fonar introduces the ſtory of Crothar, the anceſtor of the king, which throws further light
+ on the hiſtory of Ireland, and the original pretenſions of the family of Atha, to the throne of
+ that kingdom. The Iriſh chiefs lie down to reſt, and Cathmor himſelf undertakes the watch. In his
+ circuit, round the army, he is met by Oſſian. The interview of the two heroes is deſcribed.
+ Cathmor obtains a promiſe from Oſſian, to order a funeral elegy to be ſung over the grave of
+ Cairbar; it being the opinion of the times, that the ſouls of the dead could not be happy, till
+ their elegies were ſung by a bard. Morning comes. Cathmor and Oſſian part; and the latter,
+ caſually meeting with Carril the ſon of Kinſena, ſends that bard, with a funeral ſong, to the
+ tomb of Cairbar.
Display noteFather of heroes! O Trenmor ! High dweller of eddying winds! where the
+ dark-red thunder marks the troubled clouds ! Open thou thy ſtormy halls. Let the bards of old be
+ near. Let them draw near, with ſongs and their half-viewleſs harps. No dweller of miſty valley
+ comes ! No hunter unknown at his ſtreams ! It is the carborne Oſcar, from the fields of
+ war.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Sudden is thy change, my ſon, from what thou wert on dark
+ Moilena! The blaſt folds thee in its ſkirt, and ruffles through the ſky ! Doſt thou not behold
+ thy father, at the ſtream of night? The chiefs of Morven ſleep far-diſtant. They have loſt no ſon
+ : But ye have loſt a hero, chiefs of reſounding Morven! Who could equal his ſtrength, when battle
+ rolled againſt his ſide, like the darkneſs of crowded waters? Why this cloud on Oſſian's ſoul ?
+ It ought to burn in danger. Erin is near with her hoſt. The king of Selma is alone. Alone thou
+ ſhalt not be, my father, while I can lift the ſpear !
+
I rose, in all my arms. I roſe and liſtened to the wind. The ſhield of FillanDisplay note is
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ not heard. I tremble for the ſon of Fingal. “Why ſhould the
+ foe come by night? Why ſhould the dark-haired warrior fail ?” Diſtant, ſullen murmurs riſe : like
+ the noiſe of the lake of Lego, when its waters ſhrink, in the days of froſt, and all its burſting
+ ice reſounds. The people of Lara look to heaven, and foreſee the ſtorm! My ſteps are forward on
+ the heath. The ſpear of Oſcar in my hand! Red ſtars looked from high. I gleamed, along the
+ night.
+
I saw Fillan ſilent before me, bending forward from Mora's rock. He heard
+ the ſhout of the foe. The joy of his ſoul aroſe. He heard my ſounding tread, and turned his
+ lifted ſpear. “Comeſt thou, ſon of night, in peace ? Or doſt thou meet my wrath? The foes of
+ Fingal are mine. Speak, or fear my ſteel. I ſtand not, in vain, the ſhield of Morven's race.”
+ “Never mayſt thou ſtand in vain, ſon of blue eyed Clatho! Fingal begins to be alone. Darkneſs
+ gathers on the laſt of his days. Yet he has twoDisplay note ſons who ought to ſhine in war. Who
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ought to be two beams of light, near the ſteps of his
+ departure.”
+
“Son of Fingal,” replied the youth, “it is not long ſince I raiſed the
+ ſpear. Few are the marks of my ſword in war. But Fillan's ſoul is fire! The chiefs of BolgaDisplay note crowd around the ſhield of generous Cathmor. Their gathering is on that heath. Shall my
+ ſteps approach their hoſt? I yielded to Oſcar alone, in the ſtrife of the race, on Cona !”
+
“Fillan, thou ſhalt not approach their hoſt; nor fall before thy fame is
+ known. My name is heard in ſong : when needful I advance. From the ſkirts of night I ſhall view
+ them over all their gleaming tribes. Why, Fillan, didſt thou ſpeak of Oſcar! Why awake my ſigh? I
+ muſt forgetDisplay note the warrior, till the ſtorm is rolled
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ away. Sadneſs ought not to dwell in danger, nor the tear in
+ the eye of war. Our fathers forgot their fallen ſons, till the noiſe of arms was paſt. Then
+ ſorrow returned to the tomb, and the ſong of bards aroſe.” The memory of thoſe, who fell, quickly
+ followed the departure of war: When the tumult of battle is paſt, the ſoul, in ſilence, melts
+ away, for the dead.
+
ConarDisplay note was the brother of Trathal, firſt of mortal men. His battles were on every coaſt. A
+ thouſand ſtreams rolled down the blood of his foes. His fame filled green Erin, like a pleaſant
+ gale.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The nations gathered in Ullin, and they bleſſed the king; the
+ king of the race of their fathers, from the land of Selma.
+
The chiefsDisplay note of the ſouth were gathered, in the darkneſs of their pride. In the horrid cave of Muma,
+ they mixed their ſecret words. Thither often, they ſaid, the ſpirits of their fathers came;
+ ſhewing their pale forms from the chinky rocks : reminding them of the honor of Bolga. “Why
+ ſhould Conar reign,” they ſaid, “the ſon of reſounding Morven ?”
+
They came forth, like the ſtreams of the deſart, with the roar of their
+ hundred tribes. Conar was a rock before them : broken they rolled on every ſide. But often they
+ returned, and the ſons of Selma fell. The king ſtood, among the tombs of his warriors. He darkly
+ bent his mournful face. His ſoul was rolled into itſelf ; and he had marked the place, where he
+ was to fall ; when Trathal came, in his ſtrength, his brother from cloudy Morven. Nor did he come
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ alone, ColgarDisplay note was at his ſide; Colgar the ſon of the King and of white-boſomed Solin-corma.
+
As Trenmor, cloathed with meteors, deſcends from the halls of thunder,
+ pouring the dark ſtorm before him over the troubled ſea ; ſo Colgar deſcended to battle, and
+ waſted the ecchoing field. His father rejoiced over the hero : but an arrow came! His tomb was
+ raiſed, without a tear. The King was to revenge his ſon. He lightened forward in battle, till
+ Bolga yielded at her ſtreams !
+
When peace returned to the land : When his blue waves bore the king to
+ Morven : then he remembered his ſon, and poured the ſilent tear. Thrice did the bards, at the
+ cave of Furmono, call the ſoul of Colgar. They called him to the hills of his land. He heard them
+ in his miſt, Trathal placed his ſword in the cave, that the ſpirit of his ſon might rejoice.
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “ColgarDisplay note, ſon of Trathal!” ſaid Fillan, “thou wert renowned in youth! But the king hath not marked
+ my ſword, bright-ſtreaming on the field. I go forth with the crowd. I return, without my fame.
+ But the foe approaches, Oſſian ! I hear their murmur on the heath. The ſound of their ſteps is
+ like thunder, in the boſom of the ground, when the rocking hills ſhake their groves, and not a
+ blaſt pours from the darkened ſky !”
+
Ossian turned ſudden on his ſpear. He raiſed the flame of an oak on high. I
+ ſpread it large, on Mora's wind. Cathmor ſtopt in his courſe. Gleaming he ſtood, like a rock, on
+ whoſe ſides are the wandering of blaſts; which ſeize its ecchoing ſtreams and clothe them over
+ with ice. So ſtood the friendDisplay note of ſtrangers ! The winds lift his heavy locks. Thou art the talleſt of the race of Erin,
+ king of ſtreamy Atha !
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “First of bards,” ſaid Cathmor, “FonarDisplay note, call the chiefs of Erin. Call red-hair'd Cormar : dark-browed Malthos: the
+ ſide-long-looking gloom of Maronan. Let the pride of Foldath appear. The red-rolling eye of
+ Turlotho. Nor let Hidalla be forgot ; his voice, in danger, is the ſound of a ſhower, when it
+ falls in the blaſted vale, near Atha's falling ſtream.” Pleaſant is its ſound, on the plain,
+ whilſt broken thunder travels over the ſky !”
+
They came, in their clanging arms. They bent forward to his voice, as if a
+ fpirit of their fathers ſpoke from a cloud of night. Dreadful ſhone they to the light; like the
+ fall of the ſtream of BrumoDisplay note, when the meteor lights it, before the nightly ſtranger. Shuddering, he ſtops in his
+ journey, and looks up for the beam of the morn !
“WhyDisplay note delights Foldath,” ſaid the king, “to pour the blood of foes, by night ? Fails his arm in
+ battle, in the beams of day ? Few are the foes before us, why ſhould we clothe us in ſhades? The
+ valiant delight to ſhine, in the battles of their land! Thy counſel was in vain, chief of Morna !
+ The eyes of Morven do not ſleep. They are watchful, as eagles, on their moſſy rocks. Let each
+ collect, beneath his cloud, the ſtrength of his roaring tribe. To-morrow I move, in light, to
+ meet the foes of Bolga? MightyDisplay notewas he, that is low, the race of Borbar-Duthul !”
+
“Not unmarked !” ſaid Foldath, “were my ſteps before thy race. In light, I
+ met the foes of Cairbar. The warrior praiſed my deeds. But his ſtone was raiſed without a tear?
+ No bard ſungDisplay note over Erin's king. Shall his foes rejoice along their moſſy hills? No: they muſt not
+ rejoice ! He was the friend of Foldath ! Our words were mixed, in ſecret, in Morna's ſilent cave;
+ whilſt
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ thou, a boy in the field, purſuedſt the thiſtle's beard. With
+ Morna's ſons I ſhall ruſh abroad, and find the foe, on his duſky hills. Fingal ſhall lie, without
+ his ſong, the grey-haired king of Selma.”
+
“Dost thou think, thou feeble man,” replied Cathmor, half-enraged : “Doſt
+ thou think Fingal can fall, without his fame, in Erin? Could the bards be ſilent, at the tomb of
+ Selma's king ? The ſong would burſt in ſecret ! the ſpirit of the king would rejoice! It is when
+ thou ſhalt fall, that the bard ſhall forget the ſong. Thou art dark, chief of Morna, though thine
+ arm is a tempeſt in war. Do I forget the king of Erin, in his narrow houſe? My ſoul is not loſt
+ to Cairbar, the brother of my love! I marked the bright beams of joy, which travelled over his
+ cloudy mind, when I returned, with fame, to Atha of the ſtreams.”
+
Tall they removed, beneath the words of the king. Each to his own dark tribe
+ ; where, humming, they rolled on the heath, faint-glittering to the ſtars: like waves, in a rocky
+ bay, before the nightly wind. Beneath an oak, lay the chief of Atha. His ſhield, a duſky round,
+ hung high. Near him, againſt a rock, leaned
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the fair ſtrangerDisplay note of Inis-huna: that beam of light, with wandering locks, from Lumon of the roes. At
+ diſtance roſe the voice of Fonar, with the deeds of the days of old. The ſong fails, at times, in
+ Lubar's growing roar !
+
“CrotharDisplay note,” begun the bard,“firſt dwelt at Atha's moſſy ſtream! A thouſandDisplay note oaks, from the mountains, formed his ecchoing hall. The gathering of the people was
+ there, around the feaſt of the blue-eyed king. But who, among his chiefs, was like the ſtately
+ Crothar ? Warriors kindled in his preſence. The young
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſigh of the virgins roſe. In AlnecmaDisplay note was the warrior honoured: the firſt of the race of Bolga.”
+
“He purſued the chace in Ullin : on the moſs covered top of Drumardo. From
+ the wood looked the daughter of Cathmin, the blue-rolling eye of Con-lama. Her ſigh roſe in
+ ſecret. She bent her head, midſt her wandering locks. The moon looked in, at night, and ſaw the
+ white-toſſing of her arms ; for ſhe thought of the mighty Crothar, in the ſeaſon of dreams.”
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Three days feaſted Crothar with Cathmin. On
+ the fourth they awaked the hinds. Con-lama moved to the chace, with all her lovely ſteps. She met
+ Crothar in the narrow path. The bow fell, at once, from her hand. She turned her face away, and
+ half-hid it with her locks. The love of Crothar roſe. He brought the white-boſomed maid to Atha.
+ Bards raiſed the ſong in her preſence. Joy dwelt round the daughter of Cathmin.”
+
The pride of Turloch roſe, a youth who loved the white-handed Con-láma. He
+ came, with battle, to Alnecma; to Atha of the roes. Cormul went forth to the ſtrife, the brother
+ of car-borne Crothar. He went forth, but he fell. The ſigh of his people roſe. Silent and tall,
+ acroſs the ſtream, came the darkening ſtrength of Crothar : he rolled the foe from Alnecoma. He
+ returned, mid the joy of Con-lama.”
+
“Battle on battle comes. Blood is poured on blood. The tombs of the valiant
+ riſe. Erin's clouds are hung round with ghoſts. The chiefs of the ſouth gathered round the
+ ecchoing ſhield of Crothar. He came, with death, to the paths of the foe. The virgins wept, by
+ the ſtreams of Ullin. They looked to the miſt of the hill ; No hunter deſcended from its folds.
+ Silence
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ darkened in the land. Blaſts ſighed lonely on graſſy
+ tombs.”
+
“Descending like the eagle of heaven, with all his ruſtling wings, when he
+ forſakes the blaſt, with joy, the ſon of Trenmor came; Conar, arm of death, from Morven of the
+ groves. He poured his might along green Erin. Death dimly ſtrode behind his ſword. The ſons of
+ Bolga fled, from his courſe, as from a ſtream, that burſting from the ſtormy deſart, rolls the
+ fields together, with all their ecchoing woods. CrotharDisplay note met him in battle: but Alnecma's warriors fled. The king of Atha ſlowly retired, in the
+ grief of his ſoul. He, afterwards, ſhone in the ſouth; but dim as the ſun of Autumn, when he
+ viſits, in his robes of miſt, Lara of
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ dark ſtreams. The withered graſs is covered with dew : the
+ field, tho' bright, is ſad !”
+
“Why wakes the bard before me,” ſaid Cathmor, “the memory of thoſe who fled?
+ Has ſome ghoſt, from his duſky cloud, bent forward to thine ear; to frighten Cathmor from the
+ field, with the tales of old ? Dwellers of the ſkirts of night, your voice is but a blaſt to me;
+ which takes the grey thiſtle's head, and ſtrews its beard on ſtreams. Within my boſom is a voice.
+ Others hear it not. His ſoul forbids the king of Erin to ſhrink back from war.”
+
Abashed the bard ſinks back in night : retired he bends above a ſtream. His
+ thoughts are on the days of Atha, when Cathmor heard his ſong with joy. His tears come rolling
+ down. The winds are in his beard. Erin ſleeps around. No ſleep comes down on
+ Cathmor's eyes. Dark, in his ſoul, he ſaw the ſpirit of low-laid Cairbar. He ſaw him, without his
+ ſong, rolled in a blaſt of night. He roſe. His ſteps were round the hoſt. He ſtruck, at times,
+ his ecchoing ſhield. The ſound reached Oſſian's ear, on Mora's moſſy brow.
+
“Fillan,” I ſaid, “the foes advance. I hear the ſhield of war. Stand thou in
+ the narrow path, Oſſian ſhall mark their courſe, If
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ over my fall the hoſt ſhould pour ; then be thy buckler heard.
+ Awake the king on his heath, leſt his fame ſhould fly away.” I ſtrode in all my rattling arms;
+ wide-bounding over a ſtream that darkly-winded, in the field, before the king of Atha. Green
+ Atha's king, with lifted ſpear, came forward on my courſe. Now would we have mixed in horrid
+ fray, like two contending ghoſts, that bending forward, from two clouds, ſend forth the roaring
+ winds; did not Oſſian behold, on high, the helmet of Erin's kings. The Eagle's wing ſpread above
+ it, ruſtling in the breeze. A red ſtar looked thro' the plumes. I ſtopt the lifted ſpear.
+
“The helmet of kings is before me! Who art thou ſon of night? Shall Oſſian's
+ ſpear be renowned, when thou art lowly-laid ?” At once he dropt the gleaming lance. Growing
+ before me ſeemed the form. He ſtretched his hand in night. He ſpoke the words of kings.
+
“Friend of the ſpirits of heroes, do I meet thee thus in ſhades? I have
+ wiſhed for thy ſtately ſteps in Atha, in the days of joy. Why ſhould my ſpear now ariſe ? The ſun
+ muſt behold us, Oſſian; when we bend, gleaming, in the ſtrife. Future warriors ſhall mark the
+ place : and, ſhuddering, think of other years, They
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhall mark it, like the haunt of ghoſts, pleaſant and dreadful
+ to the ſoul.”
+
“Shall it then be forgot,” I ſaid, “where we meet in peace? Is the
+ remembrance of battles always pleaſant to the ſoul? Do not we behold, with joy, the place where
+ our fathers feaſted ? But our eyes are full of tears, on the fields of their war. This ſtone
+ ſhall riſe, with all its moſs, and ſpeak to other years. “Here Cathmor and Oſſian met! the
+ warriors met in peace !” When thou, O ſtone, ſhalt fail. When Lubar's ſtream ſhall roll away !
+ then ſhall the traveller come, and bend here, perhaps, in reſt. When the darkened moon is rolled
+ over his head, our ſhadowy forms may come, and, mixing with his dreams, remind him of this place.
+ But why turneſt thou ſo dark away, ſon of Borbar-duthulDisplay note ?”
+
“Not forgot, ſon of Fingal, ſhall we aſcend theſe winds. Our deeds are
+ ſtreams of light, before the eyes of bards. But darkneſs is rolled on Atha : the king is low,
+ without his
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſong: ſtill there was a beam towards Cathmor from his ſtormy
+ ſoul; like the moon, in a cloud, amidſt the dark-red courſe of thunder.”
+
“Son of Erin,” I replied, “my wrath dwells not, in his earthDisplay note. My hatred flies, on eagle-wing, from the foe that is low. He ſhall hear the ſong of
+ bards. Cairbar ſhall rejoice on his winds,”
+
Cathmor's ſwelling ſoul aroſe. He took the dagger from his ſide; and placed
+ it gleaming in my hand. He placed it, in my hand, with ſighs, and, ſilent, ſtrode away, Mine eyes
+ followed his departure. He dimly gleamed, like the form of a ghoſt, which meets a traveller, by
+ night, on the dark-ſkirted heath. His words are dark like ſongs of old : with morning ſtrides the
+ unfiniſhed ſhade away !Display note
+
Who comes from Lubar's vale? From the ſkirts of the morning miſt ? The drops
+ of
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ heaven are on his head. His ſteps are in the paths of
+ the ſad. It is Carril of other times. He comes from Tura's ſilent cave. I behold it dark in the
+ rock, thro' the thin folds of miſt. There, perhaps, Cuthullin ſits, on the blaſt which bends its
+ trees. Pleaſant is the ſong of the morning from the bard of Erin!
+
“The waves crowd away,” ſaid Carril. “They crowd away for fear. They hear
+ the ſound of thy coming forth, O ſun! Terrible is thy beauty, ſon of heaven, when death is
+ deſcending on thy locks: when thou rolleſt thy vapors before thee, over the blaſted hoſt. But
+ pleaſant is thy beam to the hunter, ſitting by the rock in a ſtorm, when thou ſheweſt thyſelf
+ from the parted cloud, and brighteneſt his dewy locks: he looks down on the ſtreamy vale, and
+ beholds the deſcent of roes! How long ſhalt thou riſe on war, and roll, a bloody ſhield, thro'
+ heaven ? I ſee the deaths of heroes, dark-wandering over thy face!”
+
“Why wander the words of Carril?” I ſaid. “Does the ſon of heaven mourn ? He
+ is unſtained in his courſe, ever rejoicing in his fire.
+
+
+ [
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+ Roll on, thou careleſs light. Thou too, perhaps, muſt fall.
+ Thy darkening hour may ſeize thee, ſtruggling, as thou rolleſt through thy ſky. But pleaſant is
+ the voice of the bard: pleaſant to Oſſian's ſoul! It is like the ſhower of the morning, when it
+ comes through the ruſtling vale, on which the ſun looks thro miſt, juſt riſing from his rocks.
+ But this is no time, O bard, to ſit down, at the ſtrife of ſong. Fingal is in arms on the vale.
+ Thou ſeeft the flaming ſhield of the king. His face darkens between his locks. He beholds the
+ wide rolling of Erin. Does not Carril behold that tomb, beſide the roaring ſtream ? Three ſtones
+ lift their grey heads, beneath a bending oak. A king is lowly laid ! Give thou his ſoul to the
+ wind. He is the brother of Cathmor ! Open his airy hall! Let thy ſong be a ſtream of joy to
+ Cairbar's darkened ghoſt.”
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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Morning coming on, Fingal, after a ſpeech to his people, devolves the
+ command on Gaul, the ſon of Morni ; it being the cuſtom of the times, that the king ſhould not
+ engage, till the neceſſity of affairs required his ſuperior valour and conduct. The king and
+ Oſſian retire to the rock of Cormul, which overlooked the field of battle. The bards ſing the
+ war-ſong. The general conflict is deſcribed. Gaul, the ſon of Morni, diſtinguiſhes himſelf ;
+ kills Tur-lathon, chief of Moruth, and other chiefs of leſſer name. On the other hand, Foldath,
+ who commanded the Iriſh army (for Cathmor, after the example of Fingal, kept himſelf from battle)
+ fights gallantly ; kills Connal, chief of Dun-lora, and advances to engage Gaul himſelf. Gaul, in
+ the mean time, being wounded in the hand, by a random arrow, is covered by Fillan, the ſon of
+ Fingal, who performs prodigies of valour. Night comes on. The horn of Fingal recalls his army.
+ The bards meet them, with a congratulatory ſong, in which the praiſes of Gaul and Fillan are
+ particularly celebrated. The chiefs ſit down at a feaſt; Fingal miſſes Connal. The epiſode of
+ Connal and Duthcaron is introduced ; which throws further light on the ancient hiſtory of
+ Ireland. Carril is diſpatched to raiſe the tomb of Connal. The action of this book takes up the
+ ſecond day, from the opening of the poem.
Who is that, at blue-ſtreaming Lubar ? Who, by the bending hill of roes ?
+ Tall, he leans on an oak torn from high, by nightly winds. Who but Comhal's ſon, brightening in
+ the laſt of his fields? His grey hair is on the breeze. He half unſheaths the ſword of Luno. His
+ eyes are turned to Moi-lena, to the dark moving of foes. Doſt thou hear the voice of the king? It
+ is like the burſting of a ſtream, in the deſart, when it comes, between its ecchoing rocks, to
+ the blaſted field of the ſun !
+
“Wide-skirted comes down the foe! Sons of woody Selma, ariſe. Be ye like the
+ rocks of our land, on whoſe brown ſides are the rolling of ſtreams. A beam of joy comes on my
+ ſoul. I ſee the foe mighty before me. It is
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ when he is feeble, that the ſighs of Fingal
+ are heard : leſt death ſhould come, without renown, and darkneſs dwell on his tomb. Who ſhall
+ lead the war, againſt the hoſt of Alnecma ? It is, only when danger grows, that my ſword ſhall
+ ſhine. Such was the cuſtom, heretofore, of Trenmor the ruler of winds! and thus deſcended to
+ battle the blue-ſhielded Trathal !”
+
The Chiefs bend toward the king. Each darkly ſeems to claim the war. They
+ tell, by halves, their mighty deeds. They turn their eyes on Erin. But far before the reſt the
+ ſon of Morni ſtands. Silent he ſtands, for who had not heard of the battles of Gaul? They roſe
+ within his ſoul. His hand, in ſecret, ſeized the ſword. The ſword which he brought from Strumon,
+ when the ſtrength of Morni failedDisplay note.
+
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ On his ſpear leans Fillan of SelmaDisplay note, in the wandering of his locks. Thrice he raiſes his eyes
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to Fingal: his voice thrice fails him, as he ſpeaks. My
+ brother could not boaſt of battles: at once he ſtrides away. Bent over a diſtant ſtream he
+ ſtands: the tear hangs in his eye. He ſtrikes, at times, the thiſtle's head, with his inverted
+ ſpear. Nor is he unſeen of Fingal. Sidelong he beholds his ſon. He beholds him, with burſting joy
+ ; and turns, amid his crowded ſoul. In ſilence turns the king toward Mora of woods. He hides the
+ big tear with his locks. At length his voice is heard.
+
“First of the ſons of Morni! Thou rock that defieſt the ſtorm! Lead thou my
+ battle, for the race of low-laid Cormac. No boy's ſtaff is thy ſpear : no harmleſs beam of light
+ thy ſword. Son of Morni of ſteeds, behold the foe ! Deſtroy ! Fillan, obſerve the chief! He is
+ not calm in ſtrife : nor burns he, heedleſs, in battle. My ſon, obſerve the chief! He is ſtrong
+ as Lubar's ſtream, but never foams and roars. High on cloudy Mora, Fingal ſhall behold the war.
+ Stand, OſſianDisplay note, near thy father, by the falling
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ ſtream. Raiſe the voice, O bards! Selma, move beneath the
+ ſound. It is my latter field. Clothe it over with light.”
+
As the ſudden riſing of winds; or diſtant rolling of troubled ſeas, when ſome dark ghoſt, in
+ wrath, heaves the billows over an iſle: an iſle, the ſeat of miſt, on the deep, for many
+ dark-brown years ! So terrible is the ſound of the hoſt, wide-moving over the field. Gaul is tall
+ before them. The ſtreams glitter within his ſtrides. The bards raiſe the ſong by his ſide. He
+ ſtrikes his ſhield between. On the ſkirts of the blaſt, the tuneful voices riſe.
+
“On Crona,” ſaid the bards, “there burſts a ſtream by night. It ſwells in
+ its own dark courſe, till morning's early beam. Then comes it white from the hill, with the rocks
+ and their hundred groves. Far be my ſteps from Crona. Death is tumbling there. Be ye a ſtream
+ from Mora, ſons of cloudy Morven !”
+
“Who riſes, from his car, on Clutha ? The hills are troubled before the king
+ ! The dark woods eccho round, and lighten at his ſteel. See him, amidſt the foe, like Colgach'sDisplay note ſportful
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ghoſt; when he ſcatters the clouds, and rides the eddying
+ winds! It is MorniDisplay note of bounding ſteeds Be like thy father, O Gaul!”
+
“Selma is opened wide. Bards take the trembling harps. Ten youths bear the
+ oak of the feaſt. A diſtant ſun-beam marks the hill. The duſty waves of the blaſt fly over the
+ fields of graſs. Why art thou ſilent, O Selma? The king returns with all his fame. Did not the
+ battle roar ; yet peaceful is his brow ? It roared, and Fingal overcame. Be like thy father, O
+ Fillan !”
+
They move beneath the ſong. High wave their arms, as ruſhy fields, beneath
+ autumnal
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ winds. On Mora ſtands the king in arms. Miſt flies round his
+ buckler abroad; as, aloft, it hung on a bough, on Cormul's moſſy rock. In ſilence I ſtood by
+ Fingal, and turned my eyes on Cromla'sDisplay note wood; leſt I ſhould behold the hoſt, and ruſh amid my ſwelling ſoul. My foot is forward
+ on the heath. I glittered, tall, in ſteel : like the falling ſtream of Tromo, which nightly winds
+ bind over with ice. The boy ſees it, on high, gleaming to the early beam : toward it he turns his
+ ear, and wonders why it is ſo ſilent !
+
Nor bent over a ſtream is Cathmor, like a youth in a peaceful field. Wide he
+ drew forward the war, a dark and troubled wave. But when he beheld Fingal on Mora ; his generous
+ pride aroſe, “Shall the chief of Atha fight, and no king in the field? Foldath lead my people
+ forth. Thou art a beam of fire.”
+
Forth-issues Foldath of Morna, like a cloud, the robe of ghoſts. He drew his
+ ſword, a flame, from his ſide. He bade the battle move. The tribes, like ridgy waves, dark pour
+ their ſtrength around. Haughty is his ſtride before
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ them. His red eye rolls in wrath. He calls Cormul chief of DunrathoDisplay note; and his words were heard.
+
“Cormul, thou beholdeſt that path. It winds green behind the foe. Place thy
+ people there; leſt Selma ſhould eſcape from my ſword. Bards of green-valleyed Erin, let no voice
+ of yours ariſe. The ſons of Morven muſt fall without ſong. They are the foes of Cairbar.
+ Hereafter ſhall the traveller meet their dark, thick miſt on Lena, where it wanders, with their
+ ghoſts, beſide the reedy lake. Never ſhall they riſe, without ſong, to the dwelling of
+ winds.”
+
Cormul darkened, as he went. Behind him ruſhed his tribe. They ſunk beyond
+ the rock. Gaul ſpoke to Fillan of Selma ; as his eye purſued the courſe of the dark-eyed chief of
+ Dunratho. “Thou beholdeft the ſteps of Cormul! Let thine arm be ſtrong! When he is low, ſon
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Fingal, remember Gaul in war. Here I fall forward into
+ battle, amid the ridge of ſhields.”
+
The ſign of death aſcends: the dreadful ſound of Morni's ſhield, Gaul pours
+ his voice between. Fingal riſes on Mora. He ſaw them, from wing to wing, bending at once in
+ ſtrife. Gleaming, on his own dark hill, ſtood Cathmor of ſtreamy Atha. The kings were like two
+ ſpirits of heaven, ſtanding each on his gloomy cloud; when they pour abroad the winds, and lift
+ the roaring ſeas. The blue-tumbling of waves is before them, marked with the paths of whales.
+ They themſelves are calm and bright. The gale lifts ſlowly their locks of miſt!
+
What beam of light hangs high in air! What beam, but Morni's dreadful ſword
+ ! Death is ſtrewed on thy paths, O Gaul! Thou foldeſt them together in thy rage. Like a young oak
+ falls Tur-lathonDisplay note, with his branches round him. His high-boſomed ſpouſe ſtretches her white arms, in
+ dreams, to the returning chief, as ſhe ſleeps by gurgling Moruth, in her diſordered locks. It is
+ his ghoſt, Oichoma. The
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ chief is lowly laid. Hearken not to the winds for Turlathon's
+ ecchoing ſhield. It is pierced, by his ſtreams. Its ſound is paſt away.
+
Not peaceful is the hand of Foldath. He winds his courſe in blood. Connal
+ met him in fight. They mixed their clanging ſteel. Why ſhould mine eyes behold them! Connal, thy
+ locks are grey ! Thou wert the friend of ſtrangers, at the moſs-covered rock of Dun-lora. When
+ the ſkies were rolled together : then thy feaſt was ſpread. The ſtranger heard the winds without;
+ and rejoiced at thy burning oak. Why, ſon of Duth-caron, art thou laid in blood ! The blaſted
+ tree bends above thee. Thy ſhield lies broken near. Thy blood mixes with the ſtream ; thou
+ breaker of the ſhields!
+
Ossian took the ſpear, in his wrath. But Gaul ruſhed forward on Foldath. The
+ feeble paſs by his ſide: his rage is turned on Morna's Chief. Now they had raiſed their deathful
+ ſpears : unſeen an arrow came. It pierced the hand of Gaul. His ſteel fell ſounding to earth.
+ Young Fillan cameDisplay note, with Cormul's ſhield ! He
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtretched it large before the chief. Foldath ſent his ſhouts
+ abroad, and kindled all the field : as a blaſt that lifts the wide-winged flame, over Lumon's
+ ecchoing grovesDisplay note.
+
“Son of blue-eyed Clatho,” ſaid Gaul, “O Fillan, thou art a beam from
+ heaven; that, coming on the troubled deep, binds up the tempeſt's wing. Cormul is fallen before
+ thee. Early art thou in the fame of thy fathers. Ruſh not too far, my hero. I cannot lift the
+ ſpear to aid. I ſtand harmleſs in battle: but my voice ſhall be poured abroad. The ſons of Selma
+ ſhall hear, and remember my former deeds.”
+
His terrible voice roſe on the wind. The hoſt bends forward in fight. Often
+ had they heard him, at Strumon, when he called them to the chace of the hinds. He ſtands tall,
+ amid the war, as an oak in the ſkirts of a ſtorm, which now is clothed on high, in miſt : then
+ ſhews its broad, waving head. The muſing hunter lifts his eye, from his own ruſhy field !
+
My ſoul purſues thee, O Fillan, through the path of thy fame. Thou rolledſt
+ the foe before thee. Now Foldath, perhaps, may fly : but night comes down with its clouds.
+ Cathmor's horn is heard on high. The ſons of Selma hear
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the voice of Fingal, from Mora's gathered miſt. The bards pour
+ their ſong, like dew, on the returning war.
+
“Who comes from Strumon,” they ſaid, “amid her wandering locks? She is
+ mournful in her ſteps, and lifts her blue eyes toward Erin. Why art thou ſad, Evir-chomaDisplay note? Who is like thy chief in renown? He deſcended dreadful to battle; he returns, like a
+ light from a cloud. He raiſed the ſword in wrath : they ſhrunk before blue-ſhielded Gaul !”
+
“Joy, like the ruſtling gale, comes on the ſoul of the king. He remembers
+ the battles of old ; the days, wherein his fathers fought. The days of old return on Fingal's
+ mind, as he beholds the renown of his ſon. As the ſun rejoices, from his cloud, over the tree his
+ beams have raiſed, as it ſhakes its lonely head on the heath ; ſo joyful is the king over Fillan
+ !”
+
“As the rolling of thunder on hills, when Lara's fields are ſtill and dark,
+ ſuch are the ſteps of Selma pleaſant and dreadful to the ear. They return with their ſound, like
+ eagles to their darkbrowed rock, after the prey is torn on the field, the dun ſons of the
+ bounding hind, Your
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ fathers rejoice from their clouds, ſons of ſtreamy
+ Selma !”
+
Such was the nightly voice of bards, on Mora of the hinds. A flame roſe,
+ from an hundred oaks, which winds had torn from Cormul's ſteep. The feaſt is ſpread in the midſt
+ : around ſat the gleaming chiefs. Fingal is there in his ſtrength. The eagle-wingDisplay note of his helmet ſounds. The ruſtling blaſts of the weſt, unequal ruſh through night. Long
+ looks the king in ſilence round : at length, his words are heard.
+
“My ſoul feels a want in our joy. I behold a breach among my friends. The
+ head of one tree is low. The ſqually wind pours in on Selma. Where is the chief of Dun-lora ?
+ Ought Connal to be forgot at the feaſt? When did he forget the ſtranger, in the midſt of his
+ ecchoing hall? Ye are ſilent in my preſence! Connal is then no more. Joy meet thee, O warrior,
+ like a ſtream of light. Swift be thy courſe to thy fathers, along the roaring winds. Oſſian, thy
+ ſoul is fire: kindle the memory of the king. Awake the battles of Connal, when firſt he ſhone in
+ war. The locks of Connal were grey. His days
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of youthDisplay note were mixed with mine. In one day Duthcaron firſt ſtrung our bows, againſt the roes of
+ Dun-lora.”
+
“Many,” I ſaid, “are our paths to battle, in green vallied Erin. Often did
+ our ſails ariſe, over the blue-tumbling waves ; when we came, in other days, to aid the race of
+ Conar. The ſtrife roared once in Alnecma, at the foam-covered ſtreams of Duth-úlaDisplay note. With Cormac deſcended to battle Duthcaron from cloudy Selma. Nor deſcended Duthcaron
+ alone, his ſon was by his ſide, the long-haired youth of Connal lifting the firſt of his ſpears.
+ Thou didſt command them, O Fingal, to aid the king of Erin.”
+
“Like the burſting ſtrength of ocean, the ſons of Bolga ruſhed to war. Colc-ullaDisplay note was before
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ them, the chief of blue-ſtreaming Atha. The battle was mixed
+ on the plain. CormacDisplay note ſhone in his own ſtrife, bright as the forms of his fathers. But, far before the reſt,
+ Duthcaron hewed down the foe. Nor ſlept the arm of Connal, by his father's ſide. Colc-ulla
+ prevailed on the plain : like ſcattered miſt, fled the people of CormacDisplay note.”
+
“Then roſe the ſword of Duthcaron, and the ſteel of broad-ſhielded Connal.
+ They ſhaded
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ their flying friends, like two rocks with their heads of pine.
+ Night came down on Duth-ula: ſilent ſtrode the chiefs over the field. A mountain-ſtream roared
+ acroſs the path, nor could Duthcaron bound over its courſe. Why ſtands my father? ſaid Connal. I
+ hear the ruſhing foe.”
+
“Fly, Connal,” he ſaid. “Thy father's ſtrength begins to fail. I come
+ wounded from battle. Here let me reſt in night. “But thou ſhalt not remain alone,” ſaid Connal's
+ burſting ſigh. “My ſhield is an eagle's wing to cover the king of Dun-lora.” He bends dark above
+ his father. The mighty Duthcaron dies.”
+
Day roſe, and night returned. No lonely bard appeared, deep-muſing on the
+ heath: and could Connal leave the tomb of his father, till he ſhould receive his fame? He bent
+ the bow againſt the roſe of Duth-ula. He ſpread the lonely feaſt. Seven nights he laid his head
+ on the tomb, and ſaw his father in his dreams. He ſaw him rolled, dark, in a blaſt, like the
+ vapor of reedy Lego. At length the ſteps of ColganDisplay note came, the bard of high Temora. Duthcaron
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ received his fame, and brightened, as he roſe on the wind.”
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Pleasant to the ear,” ſaid Fingal, “is the
+ praiſe of the kings of men ; when their bows are ſtrong in battle; when they ſoften at the ſight
+ of the ſad. Thus let my name be renowned, when bards ſhall lighten my riſing ſoul. Carril, ſon of
+ Kinfena ! take the bards and raiſe a tomb. Tonight let Connal dwell, within his narrow houſe. Let
+ not the ſoul of the valiant wander on the winds. Faint glimmers the moon on Moi-lena, through the
+ broad-headed groves of the hill! Raiſe ſtones, beneath its beam, to all the fallen in war. Though
+ no chiefs were they, yet their hands were ſtrong in fight. They were my rock in danger. The
+ mountain from which I ſpread my eagle-wings. Thence am I renowned. Carril forget not the low
+ !”
+
Loud, at once, from the hundred bards, roſe the ſong of the tomb. Carril
+ ſtrode before them, they are the murmur of ſtreams behind his ſteps. Silence dwells in the vales
+ of Moi-lena, where each, with its own dark rill, is winding between the hills. I heard the voice
+ of the bards, leſſening, as they moved along. I leaned forward from my ſhield ; and felt the
+ kindling of my ſoul. Half-formed the words of my ſong, burſt forth upon the wind. So hears a
+ tree, on the vale, the voice of ſpring around. It pours its green leaves to the ſun. It ſhakes:
+ its lonely
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ head. The hum of the mountain bee is near it; the hunter ſees
+ it, with joy, from the blaſted heath.
+
Young Fillan, at a diſtance ſtood. His helmet lay glittering on the ground.
+ His dark hair is looſe to the blaſt. A beam of light is Clatho's ſon ! He heard the words of the
+ king, with joy. He leaned forward on his ſpear.
+
“My ſon,” ſaid car-borne Fingal; “I ſaw thy deeds, and my ſoul was glad. The
+ fame of our fathers, I ſaid, burſts from its gathering cloud. Thou art brave, ſon of Clatho : but
+ headlong in the ſtrife. So did not Fingal advance, though he never feared a foe. Let thy people
+ be a ridge behind. They are thy ſtrength in the field. Then ſhalt thou be long renowned, and
+ behold the tombs of the old. The memory of the paſt returns, my deeds in other years : when firſt
+ I deſcended from ocean on the green-valleyed iſle.”
+
We bend towards the voice of the king. The moon looks abroad from her cloud.
+ The grey-ſkirted miſt is near : the dwelling of the ghoſts!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
The ſecond night continues. Fingal relates, at the feaſt, his own firſt
+ expedition into Ireland, and his marriage with Ros-crána, the daughter of Cormac, king of that
+ iſland. The Iriſh chiefs convene in the preſence of Cathmor. The ſituation of the king deſcribed.
+ The ſtory of Sul-mala, the daughter of Conmor, king of Inis-huna, who, in the diſguiſe of a young
+ warrior, had followed Cathmor to the war. The ſullen behaviour of Foldath, who had commanded in
+ the battle of the preceding day, renews the difference between him and Malthos; but Cathmor,
+ interpoſing, ends it. The chiefs feaſt, and hear the ſong of Fonar the bard. Cathmor returns to
+ reſt, at a diſtance from the army. The ghoſt of his brother Cairbar appears to him in a dream;
+ and obſcurely foretels the iſſue of the war. The ſoliloquy of the king. He diſcovers Sul-malla.
+ Morning comes. Her ſoliloquy cloſes the book.
Display note“Beneath an oak,” ſaid the king, “I ſat on Selma's ſtreamy rock, when
+ Connal roſe, from the ſea, with the broken ſpear of Duth-caron. Far-diſtant ſtood the youth. He
+ turned away his eyes. He remembered the ſteps of his father, on his own green hills. I darkened
+ in my place. Duſky thoughts flew over my ſoul. The kings of Erin roſe before me. I
+ half-unſheathed the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſword. Slowly approached the chiefs. They lifted up their
+ ſilent eyes. Like a ridge of clouds, they wait for the burſting forth of my voice. My voice was,
+ to them, a wind from heaven to roll the miſt away.”
+
“I bade my white ſails to riſe, before the roar of Cona's wind. Three
+ hundred youths looked, from their waves, on Fingal's boſſy ſhield. High on the maſt it hung, and
+ marked the dark-blue ſea. But when night came down, I ſtruck, at times, the warning boſs : I
+ ſtruck, and looked on high, for fiery-haired Ul-erinDisplay note. Nor abſent was the ſtar of heaven. It travelled red between the clouds. I purſued the
+ lovely beam, on the faint-gleaming deep. With morning, Erin roſe in miſt. We came into the bay of
+ Moi-lena, where its blue waters tumbled, in the boſom of ecchoing woods. Here Cormac, in his
+ ſecret hall, avoids the ſtrength of Colc-ulla. Nor he alone avoids the foe. The blue eye of
+ Ros-crana is there : Ros-cranaDisplay note, white-handed maid, the daughter of the king!”
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Grey, on his pointleſs ſpear, came forth
+ the aged ſteps of Cormac. He ſmiled, from his waving locks, but grief was in his ſoul. He ſaw us
+ few before him, and his ſigh aroſe. “I ſee the arms of Trenmor, he ſaid; and theſe are the ſteps
+ of the king ! Fingal! thou art a beam of light to Cormac's darkened ſoul. Early is thy fame, my
+ ſon: but ſtrong are the foes of Erin. They are like the roar of ſtreams in the land, ſon of
+ car-borne Comhal !” “Yet they may be rolledDisplay note away,” I ſaid in my riſing ſoul. “We are not of the race of the feeble, king of
+ blue-ſhielded hoſts! Why ſhould fear come amongſt us, like a ghoſt of night? The ſoul of the
+ valiant grows, when foes increaſe in the field. Roll no darkneſs, king of Erin, on the young in
+ war!”
+
“The burſting tears of the king came down. He ſeized my hand in ſilence.
+ “Race of the daring Trenmor!” at length he ſaid, “I roll no cloud before thee. Thou burneſt in
+ the fire
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of thy fathers. I behold thy fame. It marks thy courſe in
+ battle, like a ſtream of light. But wait the coming of CairbarDisplay note, my ſon muſt join thy ſword. He calls the ſons of Erin, from all their diſtant
+ ſtreams.”
+
“We came to the hall of the king, where it roſe in the midſt of rocks, on
+ whoſe dark ſides, were the marks of ſtreams of old. Broad oaks bend around with their moſs. The
+ thick birch is waving near. Half-hid, in her ſhady grove, Ros-crana raiſes the ſong. Her white
+ hands move on the harp. I beheld her blue-rolling eyes. She was like a ſpiritDisplay note of heaven half-folded in the ſkirt of a cloud !”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“Three days we feaſt at Moi-lena. She riſes bright in my troubled ſoul.
+ Cormac beheld me dark. He gave the white-boſomed maid. She comes with bending eye, amid the
+ wandering of her heavy locks. She came! Straight the battle roared. Colc-ulla appeared : I took
+ my ſpear. My ſword roſe, with my people, againſt the ridgy foe. Alnecma fled, Colc-ulla fell.
+ Fingal returned with fame.”
+
Renowned is he, O Fillan, who fights, in the ſtrength of his hoſt. The bard
+ purſues his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſteps, thro' the land of the foe. But he who fights alone, few
+ are his deeds to other times! He ſhines, to-day, a mighty light. To-morrow, he is low. One ſong contains his fame. His name is on One dark field. He
+ is forgot ; but where his tomb ſends forth the tufted graſs.”
+
Such are the words of Fingal, on Mora of the roes. Three bards, from the
+ rock of Cormul, pour down the pleaſing ſong. Sleep deſcends, in the ſound, on the broad-ſkirted
+ hoſt. Carril returned, with the bards, from the tomb of Dun-lora's chief. The voice of morning
+ ſhall not come, to the duſky bed of Duth-caron. No more ſhalt thou hear the tread of roes, around
+ thy narrow houſe!
+
As roll the troubled clouds, round a meteor of night, when they brighten
+ their ſides, with its light, along the heaving ſea: ſo gathers Erin, around the gleaming form of
+ Cathmor. He, tall in the midſt, careleſs lifts, at times, his ſpear : as
+ ſwells or falls the ſound of Fonar's diſtant harp.Display note Near him leaned, againſt a
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ rock, Sul-mallaDisplay note of blue eyes, the white-boſomed daughter of Conmor, king of Inis-huna. To his aid came
+ blue-ſhielded Cathmor, and rolled his foes away. Sul-malla beheld him ſtately in the hall of
+ feaſts. Nor careleſs rolled the eyes of Cathmor on the long-haired maid!
+
The third day aroſe, when FithilDisplay note came, from Erin of the ſtreams. He told of the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ lifting up of the ſhieldDisplay note in Selma : He told of the danger of Cairbar. Cathmor raiſed the ſail at Cluba : but the
+ winds were in other lands. Three days he remained on the coaft, and turned his eyes on Conmor's
+ halls, He remembered the daughter of ſtrangers, and his ſigh aroſe. Now when the winds awaked the
+ wave: from the hill came a youth in arms; to lift the ſword with Cathmor, in his ecchoing fields.
+ It was the white-armed Sul-malla. Secret ſhe dwelt
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ beneath her helmet. Her ſteps were in the path of the king :
+ on him her blue eyes rolled with joy, when he lay by his roaring ſtreams! But Cathmor thought,
+ that, on Lumon, ſhe ſtill purſued the roes. He thought, that fair on a rock, ſhe ſtretched her
+ white hand to the wind ; to feel its courſe from Erin, the green dwelling of her love. He had
+ promiſed to return, with his white-boſomed ſails. The maid is near thee, O Cathmor ! leaning on
+ her rock.
+
The tall forms of the chiefs ſtand around ; all but dark-browed FoldathDisplay note. He leaned againſt a diſtant tree, rolled into his haughty ſoul. His buſhy hair whiſtles
+ in wind. At times, burſts the hum of a ſong. He ſtruck the tree, at length, in wrath ; and ruſhed
+ before the king ! Calm and ſtately, to the beam of the oak, aroſe the form of young Hidalla. His
+ hair falls round his bluſhing cheek, in wreaths of waving light. Soft was his voice in Clon-raDisplay note, in the valley of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ his fathers, Soft was his voice when he touched the harp, in
+ the hall, near his roaring ſtreams !
+
“King of Erin,” ſaid Hidalla, “now is the time to feaſt. Bid the voice of
+ bards ariſe. Bid them roll the night away. The ſoul returns, from ſong, more terrible to war.
+ Darkneſs ſettles on Erin. From hill to hill bend the ſkirted clouds. Far and grey, on the heath,
+ the dreadful ſtrides of ghoſts are ſeen : the ghoſts of thoſe who fell bend forward to their
+ ſong. Bid, O Cathmor, the harps to riſe, to brighten the dead, on their wandering blaſts.”
+
“Be all the dead forgot,” ſaid Foldath's burſting wrath. “Did not I fail in
+ the field? Shall I then hear the ſong? Yet was not my courſe harmleſs in war. Blood was a ſtream
+ around my ſteps. But the feeble were behind me. The foe has eſcaped from my ſword. In Clonra's
+ vale touch thou the harp. Let Dura anſwer to the voice of Hidalla, Let ſome maid look, from the
+ wood, on thy long, yellow locks. Fly from Lubar's ecchoing plain. This is the field of heroes
+ !”
+
“King of ErinDisplay note,” Malthos ſaid, “it is Thine to lead in war. Thou
+ art a fire to our eyes, on the dark-brown field. Like a blaſt
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ thou haſt paſt over hoſts. Thou haſt laid them low in blood. But who has heard thy words returning
+ from the field ? The wrathful delight in death : Their remembrance reſts on the wounds of their
+ ſpear. Strife is folded in their thoughts: their words are
+ ever heard. Thy courſe, chief of Morna, was like a troubled ſtream. The dead were rolled on thy
+ path ; but others alſo lift the ſpear. We were not feeble behind thee ; but the foe was
+ ſtrong.”
+
Cathmor beheld the riſing rage, and bending forward of either chief: for,
+ half-unſheathed, they held their ſwords, and rolled their ſilent eyes. Now would they have mixed
+ in horrid fray, had not the wrath of Cathmor burned. He drew his ſword: it gleamed thro' night,
+ to the high-flaming oak ! “Sons of pride,” ſaid the king, “allay your ſwelling ſouls. Retire in
+ night. Why ſhould my rage ariſe? Should I contend with both in arms? It is no
+ time for ſtrife ! Retire, ye clouds, at my feaſt. Awake my ſoul no more.”
+
They ſunk from the King on either ſide ; likeDisplay note two columns of morning miſt, when the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſun riſes, between them, on his glittering rocks. Dark is their
+ rolling on either ſide; each toward its reedy pool !
+
Silent ſat the chiefs at the feaſt. They look, at times, on Atha's king,
+ where he ſtrode, on his rock, amid his ſettling ſoul. The hoſt lie, along the field. Sleep
+ deſcends on Moi-lena. The voice of Fonar aſcends alone, beneath his diſtant tree. It aſcends in
+ the praiſe of Cathmor, ſon of LarthonDisplay note of Lumon. But Cathmor did not hear his praiſe. He lay at the roar
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of a ſtream. The ruſtling breeze of night flew over his
+ whiſtling locks,
+
His brother came to his dreams, half-ſeen from his low-hung cloud. Joy roſe
+ darkly in his face. He had heard the ſong of CarrilDisplay note. A blaſt ſuſtained his dark-ſkirted cloud ; which he ſeized in the boſom of night, as he
+ roſe, with his fame, towards his airy hall. Half-mixed with the noiſe of the ſtream, he poured
+ his feeble words.
+
“Joy meet the ſoul of Cathmor. His voice was heard on Moi-lena. The bard
+ gave his ſong to Cairbar. He travels on the wind. My form is in my father's hall, like the
+ gliding of a terrible light, which darts acroſs the deſart, in a ſtormy night. No bard ſhall be
+ wanting at thy tomb, when thou art lowly laid. The ſons of ſong love the valiant. Cathmor, thy
+ name
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ is a pleaſant gale. The mournful ſounds ariſe ! On Lubar's field
+ there is a voice ! Louder ſtill, ye ſhadowy ghoſts ! The dead were full of fame! Shrilly ſwells
+ the feeble ſound. The rougher blaſt alone is heard ! Ah, ſoon is Cathmor low!” Rolled into
+ himſelf he flew, wide on the boſom of winds. The old oak felt his departure, and ſhook its
+ whiſtling head. Cathmor ſtarts from reſt. He takes his deathful ſpear. He lifts his eyes around.
+ He ſees but dark-ſkirted night.
+
“ItDisplay note was the voice of the king,” he ſaid. “But now his form is gone. Unmarked is your path in
+ the air, ye children of the night. Often like a reflected beam, are ye ſeen in the deſart wild :
+ but ye retire in your blaſts, before our ſteps approach. Go then, ye feeble race! Knowledge with
+ you there is none ! Your joys are weak, and like the dreams of our reſt, or the light-winged
+ thought, that flies acroſs the ſoul. Shall Cathmor ſoon be low ? Darkly laid in his narrow houſe
+ ? Where no morning comes, with her half-opened eyes? Away, thou ſhade!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to fight is mine! All further thought away! I ruſh forth, on
+ eagle wings, to ſeize my beam of fame. In the lonely vale of ſtreams, abides the narrowDisplay note ſoul. Years roll on. ſeaſons return, but he is ſtill unknown. In a blaſt comes cloudy
+ death, and lays his grey head low. His ghoſt is folded in the vapour of the fenny field. Its
+ courſe is never on hills, nor moſſy vales of wind. So ſhall not Cathmor depart. No boy in the
+ field was he, who only marks the bed of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ roes, upon the ecchoing hills. My iſſuing forth was with kings.
+ My joy in dreadful plains : where broken hoſts are rolled away, like ſeas before the wind.”
+
So ſpoke the king of Alnecma, brightening in his rifing ſoul. Valour, like a
+ pleaſant flame, is gleaming within his breaſt. Stately is his ſtride on the heath! The beam of
+ eaſt is poured around. He ſaw his grey hoſt on the field, wide-ſpreading their ridges in light.
+ He rejoiced, like a ſpirit of heaven, whoſe ſteps come forth on the ſeas, when he beholds them
+ peaceful round, and all the winds are laid. But ſoon he awakes the waves, and rolls them large to
+ ſome ecchoing ſhore.
+
On the ruſhy bank of a ſtream, ſlept the daughter of Inis-huna. The helmet
+ had fallen from her head. Her dreams were in the lands of her fathers. There
+ morning is on the field. Grey ſtreams leap down from the rocks. The breezes, in ſhadowy waves,
+ fly over the ruſhy fields. There is the ſound that prepares for the chace. There the moving of warriors from the hall. But tall above the reſt is ſeen the
+ hero of ſtreamy Atha. He bends his eye of love on Sul-malla, from his ſtately ſteps. She turns, with pride, her face away, and careleſs bends the bow.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Such were the dreams of the maid, when Cathmor of Atha came. He ſaw her fair
+ face before him, in the midſt of her wandering locks. He knew the maid of Lumon. What ſhould
+ Cathmor do? His ſighs ariſe. His tears come down. But ſtraight he turns away. “This is no time,
+ king of Atha, to awake thy ſecret ſoul. The battle is rolled before thee, like a troubled
+ ſtream.”
+
He ſtruck that warning boſsDisplay note, wherein dwelt the voice of war. Erin roſe around him, like the ſound of eagle-wing.
+ Sul-malla ſtarted from ſleep, in her diſordered locks. She ſeized the helmet from earth. She
+ trembled in her place. “Why ſhould they know in Erin of the daughter of Inis-huna ?” She
+ remembered the race of kings. The pride of her ſoul aroſe! Her ſteps are behind a rock, by the
+ blue-winding ſtreamDisplay note of a vale : where dwelt the dark-brown hind ere yet the war aroſe. Thither came the voice
+ of Cathmor, at times, to Sul-malla's ear. Her
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſoul is darkly ſad. She pours her words on wind.
+
“The dreams of Inis-huna departed. They are diſperſed from my ſoul. I hear
+ not the chace in my land. I am concealed in the ſkirt of war. I look forth from my cloud. No beam
+ appears to light my path. I behold my warrior low ; for the broad-ſhielded king is near, he that
+ overcomes in danger, Fingal from Selma of ſpears ! Spirit of departed Conmor ! are thy ſteps on
+ the boſom of winds? Comeſt thou, at times, to other lands, father of ſad Sul-malla ? Thou doſt
+ come ! I have heard thy voice at night; while yet I roſe on the wave to Erin of the ſtreams. The
+ ghoſt of fathers, they ſayDisplay note, call away the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſouls of their race, while they behold them lonely in the
+ midſt of woe. Call me, my father, away ! When Cathmor is low on earth. Then ſhall Sul-malla be
+ lonely in the midſt of woe !”
The poet, after a ſhort addreſs to the harp of Cona, deſcribes the arrangement of both armies
+ on either ſide of the river Lubar. Fingal gives the command to Fillan ; but, at the ſame time,
+ orders Gaul, the ſon of Morni, who had been wounded in the hand in the preceding battle, to
+ aſſiſt him with his counſel. The army of the Fir-bolg is commanded by Foldath. The general onſet
+ is deſcribed. The great actions of Fillan. He kills Rothmar and Culmin. But when Fillan conquers,
+ in one wing, Foldath preſſes hard on the other. He wounds Dermid, the ſon of Duthno, and puts the
+ whole wing to flight. Dermid deliberates with himſelf, and, at laſt, reſolves to put a ſtop to
+ the progreſs of Foldath, by engaging him in ſingle combat. When the two chiefs were approaching
+ towards one another, Fillan came ſuddenly to the relief of Dermid ; engaged Foldath, and killed
+ him. The behaviour of Malthos towards the fallen Foldath. Fillan puts the whole army of the
+ Fir-bolg to flight. The book cloſes with an addreſs to Clatho, the mother of that hero.
Thou dweller between the ſhields, that hang, on high, in Oſſian's hall!
+ Deſcend from thy place, O harp, and let me hear thy voice! Son of Alpin, ſtrike the ſtring. Thou
+ muſt awake the ſoul of the bard. The murmur of Lora'sDisplay note ſtream has rolled the tale away. I ſtand in the cloud of years. Few are its openings
+ toward the paſt; and when the viſion comes, it is but dim and dark. I hear thee, harp of Selma !
+ my ſoul returns, like a breeze, which the ſun brings back to the vale, where dwelt the lazy miſt
+ !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ LubarDisplay note is bright before me in the windings of its vale. On either ſide, on their hills, riſe the
+ tall forms of the kings. Their people are poured around them, bending forward to their words: as
+ if their fathers ſpoke, deſcending from the winds. But they themſelves are like two rocks in the
+ midſt; each with its dark head of pines, when they are ſeen in the deſart, above low-failing
+ miſt. High on their face are ſtreams, which ſpread their foam on blaſts of wind!
+
Beneath the voice of Cathmor pours Erin, like the ſound of flame. Wide they
+ come down to Lubar. Before them is the ſtride of Foldath. But Cathmor retires to his hill,
+ beneath his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ bending oak. The tumbling of a ſtream is near the king. He
+ lifts, at times, his gleaming ſpear. It is a flame to his people, in the midſt of war. Near him
+ ſtands the daughter of Con-mor, leaning on a rock. She did not rejoice at the ſtrife. Her ſoul
+ delighted not in blood. A valleyDisplay note ſpreads green behind the hill, with its three blue ſtreams. The ſun is there in ſilence.
+ The dun mountain-roes come down. On theſe are turned the eyes of Sul-malla in her thoughtful
+ mood.
+
Fingal beholds Cathmor, on high, the ſon of Borbar-duthul ! he beholds the
+ deep-rolling of Erin, on the darkened plain. He ſtrikes that warning boſs, which bids the people
+ to obey ; when he ſends his chiefs before them, to the field of renown. Wide riſe their ſpears to
+ the ſun. Their ecchoing ſhields reply around. Fear, like a vapour, winds not among the hoſt: for
+ he, the king, is near, the ſtrength of ſtreamy Selma. Gladneſs brightens the
+ hero. We hear his words with joy.
+
“Like the coming forth of winds, is the ſound of Selma's ſons! They are
+ mountain waters, determined in their courſe. Hence is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Fingal renowned. Hence is his name in other lands. He was not a
+ lonely beam in danger ; for your ſteps were always near! But never was Fingal a dreadful form, in
+ your preſence, darkened into wrath. My voice was no thunder to your ears. Mine eyes ſent forth no
+ death. When the haughty appeared, I beheld them not. They were forgot at my feaſts. Like miſt
+ they melted away. A young beam is before you! Few are his paths to war ! They are few, but he is
+ valiant. Defend my dark-haired ſon. Bring Fillan back with joy. Hereafter he may ſtand alone, His
+ form is like his fathers. His ſoul is a flame of their fire. Son of car-borne Morni, move behind
+ the youth. Let thy voice reach his ear, from the ſkirts of war. Not unobſerved rolls battle,
+ before thee, breaker of the ſhields!”
+
The king ſtrode, at once, away to Cormul's lofty rock. Intermitting, darts
+ the light, from his ſhield, as, ſlow the king of heroes moves. Sidelong rolls his eye o'er the
+ heath, as forming advance the lines. Graceful, fly his halfgrey locks, round his kingly features,
+ now lightened with dreadful joy. Wholly mighty is the chief! Behind him dark and flow I moved.
+ Straight came forward the ſtrength of Gaul. His ſhield hung looſe on its thong. He ſpoke, in
+ haſte,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to Oſſian. “BindDisplay note, ſon of Fingal, this ſhield ! Bind it high to the ſide of Gaul. The foe may behold it,
+ and think I lift the ſpear. If I ſhould fall, let my tomb be hid in the field ; for fall I muſt
+ without fame. Mine arm cannot lift the ſteel. Let not Evir-choma hear it, to bluſh between her
+ locks. Fillan, the mighty behold us ! Let us not forget the ſtrife. Why ſhould they come, from their hills, to aid our flying field ?”
+
He ſtrode onward, with the ſound of his ſhield. My voice purſued him, as he
+ went, “Can the ſon of Morni fall, without his fame in Erin? But the deeds of the mighty are
+ forgot by themſelves. They ruſh careleſs over the fields of renown. Their words are never heard
+ !” I rejoiced over the ſteps of the chief. I ſtrode to the rock of the king, where he ſat, in his
+ wandering locks, amid the mountain-wind !
+
In two dark ridges bend the hoſts, toward each other, at Lubar. Here Foldath
+ riſes a pillar of darkneſs : there brightens the youth of Fillan. Each, with his ſpear in the
+ ſtream, ſent forth the voice of war. Gaul ſtruck the ſhield of Selma. At once they plunge in
+ battle! Steel pours its gleam on ſteel : like the fall of ſtreams
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhone the field, when they mix their foam together, from two
+ dark-browed rocks ! Behold he comes the ſon of fame He lays the people low ! Deaths ſit on blaſts
+ around him ! Warriors ſtrew thy paths, O Fillan !
+
RothmarDisplay note, the ſhield of warriors, ſtood between two chinky rocks. Two oaks, which winds had bent
+ from high, ſpread their branches on either ſide. He rolls his darkening eyes on Fillan, and,
+ ſilent, ſhades his friends. Fingal ſaw the approaching fight. The hero's ſoul aroſe. But as the
+ ſtone of LodaDisplay note falls, ſhook,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ at once, from rocking Druman-ard, when ſpirits heave the earth
+ in their wrath ; ſo fell blue-ſhielded Rothmar.
+
Near are the ſteps of Culmin. The youth came, burſting into tears. Wrathful
+ he cut the wind, ere yet he mixed his ſtrokes with Fillan. He had firſt bent the bow with
+ Rothmar, at the rock of his own blue ſtreams. There they had marked the place of the roe, as the
+ ſun-beam flew over the fern. Why, ſon of Cul-allin! Why, Culmin, doſt thou ruſh on that beamDisplay note of light? It is a fire that conſumes. Son of Cul-allin retire. Your fathers were not
+ equal, in the glittering ſtrife of the field. The mother of Culmin remains in the hall. She looks
+ forth on blue-rolling Strutha. A whirlwind riſes, on the ſtream, dark-eddying round the ghoſt of
+ her ſon. His dogsDisplay note are howling
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in their place. His ſhield is bloody in the hall. “Art thou
+ fallen, my fair-haired ſon, in Erin's diſmal war ?”
+
As a roe, pierced in ſecret, lies panting, by her wonted ſtreams ; the
+ hunter ſurveys her feet of wind : He remembers her ſtately bounding before. So lay the ſon of
+ Cul-allin, beneath the eye of Fillan. His hair is rolled in a little ſtream. His blood wanders on
+ his ſhield. Still his hand holds the ſword, that failed him in the midſt of danger. “Thou art
+ fallen,” ſaid Fillan, “ere yet thy fame was heard. Thy father ſent thee to war. He expects to
+ hear of thy deeds. He is grey, perhaps, at his ſtreams, His eyes are toward Moi-lena. But thou
+ ſhalt not return, with the ſpoil of the fallen foe !”
+
Fillan pours the flight of Erin before him, over the reſounding heath. But,
+ man on man, fell Morven before the dark-red rage of Foldath : for, far on the field, he poured
+ the roar of half his tribes. Dermid ſtands before him in wrath. The ſons of Selma gathered
+ around.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ But his ſhield is cleft by Foldath. His people fly over the
+ heath.
+
Then ſaid the foe, in his pride, “They have fled. My fame begins! Go,
+ Malthos, go bid Cathmor guard the dark-rolling of ocean ; that Fingal may not eſcape from my
+ ſword. He muſt lie on earth. Beſide ſome fen ſhall his tomb be ſeen. It ſhall
+ riſe without a ſong. His ghoſt ſhall hover, in miſt, over the reedy pool.”
+
Malthos heard, with darkening doubt. He rolled his ſilent eyes. He knew the
+ pride of Foldath. He looked up to Fingal on his hills: then darkly turning, in doubtful mood, he
+ plunged his ſword in war.
+
In Clono'sDisplay note narrow vale, where bend two trees above the ſtream, dark, in his grief, ſtood
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Duthno's ſilent ſon. The blood pours from the ſide of Dermid.
+ His ſhield is broken near. His ſpear leans againſt a ſtone. Why, Dermid, why ſo ſad? “I hear the
+ roar of battle. My
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ people are alone. My ſteps are ſlow on the heath; and no
+ ſhield is mine. Shall he then prevail ? It is then after Dermid is ſlow! I will call thee forth,
+ O Foldath, and meet thee yet in fight.”
+
He took his ſpear, with dreadful joy. The ſon of Morni came. “Stay, ſon of
+ Duthno, ſtay thy ſpeed. Thy ſteps are marked with blood. No boſſy ſhield is thine. Why ſhouldſt
+ thou fall unarmed?” “Son of Morni! give thou thy ſhield. It has often rolled back the war. I
+ ſhall ſtop the chief, in his courſe. Son of Morni! behold that ſtone! It lifts its grey head
+ thro' graſs. There dwells a chief of the race of Dermid. Place me there in night.”
+
He ſlowly roſe againſt the hill. He ſaw the troubled field: The gleaming
+ ridges of battle, disjoined and broken round. As diſtant fires, on heath by night, now ſeem as
+ loſt in ſmoak; now rearing their red ſtreams on the hill, as blow or ceaſe the winds : ſo met the
+ intermitting war the eye of broad-ſhielded Dermid. Thro' the hoſt are the ſtrides of Foldath,
+ like ſome dark ſhip on wintry waves, when ſhe iſſues from between two iſles, to ſport on
+ reſounding ocean !
+
Dermid, with rage, beholds his courſe. He ſtrives to ruſh along. But he
+ fails amid his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſteps; and the big tear comes down. He ſounds his father's
+ horn. He thrice ſtrikes his boſſy ſhield. He calls thrice the name of Foldath, from his roaring
+ tribes. Foldath, with joy, beholds the chief. He lifts aloft his bloody ſpear. As a rock is
+ marked with ſtreams, that fell troubled down its ſide in a ſtorm; ſo, ſtreaked with wandering
+ blood, is the dark chief of Morna ! The hoſt, on either ſide, withdraw from the contending of
+ kings. They raiſe, at once, their gleaming points. Ruſhing comes Fillan of Selma. Three paces
+ back Foldath withdraws, dazzled with that beam of light, which came, as iſſuing from a cloud, to
+ ſave the wounded chief. Growing in his pride he ſtands. He calls forth all his ſteel.
+
As meet two broad-winged eagles, in their ſounding ſtrife, in winds : ſo
+ ruſh the two chiefs, on Moi-lena, into gloomy fight. By turns are the ſteps of the kingsDisplay note forward on their rocks above; for now the duſky war ſeems to deſcend on their ſwords.
+ Cathmor feels the joy of warriors, on his moſſy hill: their joy in ſecret, when dangers rife to
+ match their ſouls. His eye is not turned on Lubar, but on Selma's dreadful king. He beholds him,
+ on Mora, riſing in his arms.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
FoldathDisplay note falls on his ſhield. The ſpear of Fillan pierced the king. Nor looks the youth on the
+ fallen, but onward rolls the war. The hundred voices of death ariſe. “Stay, ſon of Fingal, ſtay
+ thy ſpeed. Beholdeſt thou not that gleaming form, - a dreadful ſign of death ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Awaken not the king of Erin. Return, ſon of blue-eyed
+ Clatho.”
+
MalthosDisplay note beholds Foldath low. He darkly ſtands above the chief. Hatred is rolled from his ſoul. He
+ ſeems a rock in a deſart, on whoſe dark ſide are the trickling of waters ; when the ſlow-ſailing
+ miſt has left it, and all its trees are blaſted with winds. He ſpoke to the dying hero, about the
+ narrow houſe. “Whether ſhall thy grey ſtone rife in Ullin, or in Morna'sDisplay note woody land ? where the ſun looks, in ſecret, on the blue ſtreams of DalruthoDisplay note ?
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ There are the ſteps of thy daughter, blue-eyed Dardu-lena
+ !”
+
“Rememberest thou her,” ſaid Foldath, “becauſe no ſon is mine: no youth to
+ roll the battle before him, in revenge of me ? Malthos, I am revenged. I was not peaceful in the
+ field. Raiſe the tombs of thoſe I have ſlain, around my narrow houſe. Often ſhall I forſake the
+ blaſt, to rejoice above their graves; when I behold them ſpread around, with their long-whiſtling
+ graſs.”
+
His ſoul ruſhed to the vale of Morna, to Dardu-lena's dreams, where ſhe
+ ſlept, by Dalrutho's ſtream, returning from the chace of the hinds. Her bow is near the maid,
+ unſtrung. The breezes fold her long hair on her breaſts. Cloathed in the beauty of youth, the
+ love of heroes lay. Dark-bending, from the ſkirts of the wood, her wounded father ſeemed to come.
+ He appeared, at times, then hid himſelf in miſt. Burfting into tears ſhe roſe. She knew that the
+ chief was low. To her came a beam from his ſoul, when folded in its ſtorms.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Thou wert the laſt of his race, O blue-eyed Dardu-lena !
+
Wide-spreading over ecchoing Lubar, the flight of Bolga is rolled along.
+ Fillan hangs forward on their ſteps. He ſtrews, with dead, the heath. Fingal rejoices over his
+ ſon. Blue-ſhielded Cathmor roſeDisplay note.
+
Son of Alpin, bring the harp. Give Fillan's praiſe to the wind. Raiſe high
+ his praiſe, in mine ear, while yet he ſhines in war.
+
“Leave, blue-eyed Clatho, leave thy hall ! Behold that early beam of thine!
+ The hoſt is withered in its courſe. No further look, it is dark. Light-trembling from the harp,
+ ſtrike, virgins, ſtrike the ſound. No hunter he deſcends, from the dewy haunt of the bounding
+ roe. He bends not his bow on the wind ; nor ſends his grey arrow abroad.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Deep-folded in red war! See battle roll
+ againſt his ſide. Striding amid the ridgy ſtrife, he pours the deaths of thouſands forth. Fillan
+ is like a ſpirit of heaven, that deſcends from the ſkirt of winds. The troubled ocean feels his
+ ſteps, as he ſtrides from wave to wave. His path kindles behind him. Iſlands ſhake their heads on
+ the heaving ſeas! Leave, blue-eyed Clatho, leave thy hall!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
This book opens with a ſpeech of Fingal, who ſees Cathmor deſcending to the
+ aſſiſtance of his flying army. The king diſpatches Oſſian to the relief of Fillan. He himſelf
+ retires behind the rock of Cormul, to avoid the ſight of the engagement between his ſon and
+ Cathmor. Oſſian advances. The deſcent of Cathmor deſcribed. He rallies the army, renews the
+ battle, and, before Oſſian could arrive, engages Fillan himſelf. Upon the approach of Oſſian, the
+ combat between the two heroes ceaſes. Oſſian and Cathmor prepare to fight, but night coming on
+ prevents them. Oſſian returns to the place where Cathmor and Fillan fought. He finds Fillan
+ mortally wounded, and leaning againſt a rock. Their diſcourſe. Fillan dies: his body is laid, by
+ Oſſian, in a neighbouring cave. The Caledonian army return to Fingal. He queſtions them about his
+ ſon, and, underſtanding that he was killed, retires, in ſilence, to the rock of Cormul. Upon the
+ retreat of the army of Fingal, the Fir-bolg advance. Cathmor finds Bran, one of the dogs of
+ Fingal, lying on the ſhield of Fillan, before the entrance of the cave, where the body of that
+ hero lay. His reflections thereupon. He returns, in a melancholy mood, to his army. Malthos
+ endeavours to comfort him, by the example of his father Borbar-duthal. Cathmor retires to reſt.
+ The ſong of Sul-malla concludes the book, which ends about the middle of the third night, from
+ the opening of the poem.
Display note“Cathmor riſes on his hill! Shall Fingal take the ſword of Luno? But
+ what ſhould become of thy fame, ſon of white-boſomed Clatho? Turn not thine eyes from Fingal,
+ fair daughter of Iniſtore. I ſhall not quench thy early beam. It ſhines along my ſoul. Riſe,
+ wood-ſkirted Mora, riſe between the war and me! Why ſhould Fingal behold the ſtrife, leſt his
+ dark-haired warrior ſhould fall ! Amidſt the ſong, O Carril, pour the ſound of the trembling
+ harp! Here are the voices of rocks! and there the bright tumbling of waters. Father of Oſcar lift
+ the ſpear ! Defend the young in arms. Conceal thy ſteps from Fillan. He
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ muſt not know that I doubt his ſteel. No cloud of mine ſhall
+ riſe, my ſon, upon thy ſoul of fire !”
+
He ſunk behind his rock, amid the ſound of Carril's ſong. Brightening, in my
+ growing ſoul, I took the ſpear of TemoraDisplay note. I ſaw, along Moi-lena, the wild tumbling of battle; the ſtrife of death, in gleaming
+ rows, disjoined and broken round. Fillan is a beam of fire. From wing to wing is his waſteful
+ courſe. The ridges of war melt before him. They are rolled, in ſmoak, from the fields !
+
Now is the coming forth of Cathmor, in the armour of kings! Dark-waves the
+ eagle's wing, above his helmet of fire. Unconcerned are his ſteps, as if they were to the chace
+ of Erin. He raiſes, at times, his terrible voice. Erin, abaſhed, gathers round. Their ſouls
+ return back, like a ſtream. They wonder at the ſteps of their fear. He roſe, like the beam of the
+ morning, on a haunted heath : the traveller looks back, with bending eye, on the field of
+ dreadful forms ! Sudden, from the rock of Moilena, are Sul malla's trembling ſteps. An oak
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ takes the ſpear from her hand. Half-bent ſhe looſes the
+ lance. But then are her eyes on the king, from amid her wandering locks! No friendly ſtrife is
+ before thee ! No light contending of bows, as when the youth of Inis-hunaDisplay note come forth beneath the eye of Conmor !
+
As the rock of Runo, which takes the paſſing clouds as they fly, ſeems
+ growing, in gathered darkneſs, over the ſtreamy heath ; ſo ſeems the chief of Atha taller, as
+ gather his people around. As different blaſts fly over the ſea, each behind its dark-blue wave,
+ ſo Cathmor's words, on every ſide, pour his warriors forth. Nor ſilent on his hill is Fillan. He
+ mixes his words with his ecchoing ſhield. An eagle he ſeemed, with ſounding wings, calling the
+ wind to his rock, when he ſees the coming forth of the roes, on Lutha'sDisplay note ruſhy field !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Now they bend forward in battle. Death's hundred voices ariſe.
+ The kings, on either ſide, were like fires on the ſouls of the hoſts. Oſſian bounded along. High
+ rocks and trees ruſh tall between the war and me. But I hear the noiſe of ſteel, between my
+ clanging arms. Rifing, gleaming, on the hill, I behold the backward ſteps of hoſts : their
+ backward ſteps, on either ſide, and wildly-looking eyes. The chiefs were met in dreadful fight!
+ The two blue-ſhielded kings! Tall and dark, through gleams of ſteel, are ſeen the ſtriving
+ heroes! I ruſh. My fears for Fillan fly, burning acroſs my ſoul.
+
I come. Nor Cathmor flies; nor yet comes on; he ſidelong ſtalks along. An
+ icy rock, cold, tall he ſeems. I call forth all my ſteel. Silent awhile we ſtride, on either ſide
+ of a ruſhing ſtream : then, ſudden turning, all at once, we raiſe our pointed ſpears! We raiſe
+ our ſpears, but night comes down. It is dark and ſilent round ; but where the diſtant ſteps of
+ hoſts are ſounding over the heath!
+
I come to the place where Fillan fought. Nor voice, nor ſound is there. A
+ broken helmet lies on earth, a buckler cleft in twain. Where, Fillan, where art thou, young chief
+ of ecchoing Morven ? He hears me leaning on a rock,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ which bends its grey head over the ſtream. He hears ; but
+ ſullen, dark he ſtands. At length I ſaw the hero !
+
“Why ſtandeſt thou, robed in darkneſs, ſon of woody Selma ? Bright is thy
+ path, my brother, in this dark-brown field ! Long has been thy ſtrife in battle! Now the horn of
+ Fingal is heard. Aſcend to the cloud of thy father, to his hill of feaſts. In the evening miſt he
+ ſits, and hears the ſound of Carril's harp. Carry joy to the aged, young breakers of the ſhields
+ !”
+
“Can the vanquiſhed carry joy ? Oſſian, no ſhield is mine ! It lies broken
+ on the field. The eagle-wing of my helmet is torn. It is when foes fly before them, that fathers
+ delight in their ſons. But their ſighs burſt forth, in ſecret, when their young warriors yield.
+ No : Fillan ſhall not behold the king! Why ſhould the hero mourn ?”
+
“Son of blue-eyed Clatho! O Fillan, awake not my ſoul ! Wert thou not a
+ burning fire before him ? Shall he not rejoice? Such fame belongs not to Oſſian ; yet is the king
+ ſtill a ſun to me. He looks on my ſteps, with joy. Shadows never riſe on his face. Aſcend, O
+ Fillan, to Mora ! His feaſt is ſpread in the folds of miſt.”
+
“Ossian! give me that broken ſhield : theſe feathers that are rolled in the
+ wind. Place them
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ near to Fillan, that leſs of his fame may fall. Oſſian, I
+ begin to fail. Lay me in that hollow rock. Raiſe no ſtone above, left one ſhould aſk about my
+ fame. I am fallen in the firſt of my fields; fallen without renown. Let thy voice alone ſend joy to my flying ſoul. Why ſhould the bard know where dwells the loſt beam of ClathoDisplay note !”
“Is thy ſpirit on the eddying winds, O Fillan, young breaker of ſhield !
+ Joy purſue my hero, through his folded clouds. The forms of thy fathers, O Fillan, bend to
+ receive their ſon. I behold the ſpreading of their fire on Mora : the blue-rolling of their miſty
+ wreaths. Joy meet thee my brother! But we are dark and ſad! I behold the foe round the aged. I
+ behold the waſting away of his fame. Thou art left alone in the field, O grey-haired king of
+ Selma !”
+
I laid him in the hollow rock, at the roar of the nightly ſtream. One red
+ ſtar looked in on the hero. Winds lift, at times, his locks. I liſten. No ſound is heard. The
+ warrior flept ! As lightening on a cloud, a thought came ruſhing along my ſoul. My eyes roll in
+ fire: my
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtride was in the clang of ſteel. “I will find thee, king of
+ Erin! in the gathering of thy thouſands find thee. Why ſhould that cloud eſcape, that quenched
+ our early beam? Kindle your meteors on your hills, my fathers. Light my daring ſteps. I will
+ conſume in wrathDisplay note. But ſhould not I return ! The king is without a ſon, grey-haired among his foes! His arm
+ is not as in the days of old. His fame grows dim in Erin. Let me not behold him, laid low in his
+ latter field. But can I return to the king ? Will he not aſk about his ſon ? “Thou oughteſt to
+ defend young Fillan.” Oſſian will meet the foe! Green Erin, thy ſounding tread is pleaſant
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to my ear. I ruſh on thy ridgy hoſt, to ſhun the eyes of
+ Fingal. I hear the voice of the king, on Mora's miſty top ! He calls his two ſons! I come, my
+ father, in my grief. I come like an eagle, which the flame of night met in the deſart, and
+ ſpoiled of half his wings !”
+
DistantDisplay note, round the king, on Mora, the broken ridges of Morven are rolled. They turned their eyes
+ : each darkly bends, on his own aſhen ſpear. Silent ſtood the king in the midſt. Thought on
+ thought rolled over his ſoul. As waves on a ſecret mountain-lake, each with its back of foam. He
+ looked ; no ſon appeared, with his long-beaming ſpear. The ſighs roſe, crowding, from his ſoul ;
+ but he concealed his grief. At length I ſtood beneath an oak. No voice of mine was heard. What
+ could I ſay to Fingal in his hour of woe? His
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ words roſe, at length, in the midſt : the people ſhrunk
+ backward as he ſpokeDisplay note.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“Where is the ſon of Selma, he who led in war? I behold not his ſteps, among
+ my people, returning from the field. Fell the young bounding roe, who was ſo ſtately on my hills?
+ He fell; for ye are ſilent. The ſhield of war is cleft in twain, Let his armour be near to Fingal
+ ; and the ſword of dark-brown Luno. I am waked on my hills; with morning I deſcend to war.”
+
HighDisplay note on Cormul's rock, an oak is flaming to the wind. The grey ſkirts of miſt are rolled
+ around ; thither ſtrode the King in his wrath.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Diſtant from the hoſt he always lay, when battle burnt within
+ his ſoul. On two ſpears hung his ſhield on high ; the gleaming ſign of death ; that ſhield, which
+ he was wont to ſtrike, by night, before he ruſhed to war. It was then his warriors knew, when the
+ king was to lead in ſtrife; for never was this buckler heard, till the wrath of Fingal aroſe.
+ Unequal were his ſteps on high, as he ſhone in the beam of the oak ; he was dreadful as the form
+ of the ſpirit of night, when he cloaths, on hills, his wild geſtures with miſt, and, iſſuing
+ forth, on the troubled ocean, mounts the car of winds.
+
Nor ſettled, from the ſtorm, is Erin's ſea of war! they glitter, beneath the
+ moon, and, low-humming, ſtill roll on the field. Alone are the ſteps of Cathmor, before them on
+ the heath ; he hangs forward, with all his arms, on Morven's flying hoſt. Now had he come to the
+ moſſy cave, where Fillan lay in night. One tree was bent above the ſtream, which glittered over
+ the rock. There ſhone to the moon the broken
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhield of Clatho's ſon; and near it, on graſs, lay
+ hairy-footed BranDisplay note. He had miſſed the chief on Mora, and ſearched him along the wind. He thought that the
+ blue-eyed hunter ſlept ; he lay upon his ſhield. No blaſt came over the heath, unknown to
+ bounding Bran.
+
Cathmor ſaw the white-breaſted dog; he ſaw the broken ſhield. Darkneſs is
+ blown back on his ſoul; he remembers the falling away of the people. They come, a ſtream ; are
+ rolled away ; another race ſucceeds, “But ſome mark the fields, as they paſs, with their own
+ mighty
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ names. The heath, through dark-brown years, is theirs; ſome
+ blue ſtream winds to their fame. Of theſe be the chief of Atha, when he lays him down on earth.
+ Often may the voice of future times meet Cathmor in the air : when he ſtrides from wind to wind,
+ or folds himſelf in the wing of a ſtorm.”
+
Green Erin gathered round the king, to hear the voice of his power. Their
+ joyful faces bend, unequal, forward, in the light of the oak. They who were terrible were removed
+ : LubarDisplay note winds again in their hoſt. Cathmor was that beam from heaven which ſhone when his people
+ were dark. He was honoured in the midſt. Their ſouls roſe with ardour around. The king alone no
+ gladneſs ſhewed ; no ſtranger he to war !
+
“Why is the king ſo fad,” ſaid Malthos eagle-eyed? “Remains there a foe at
+ Lubar? Lives
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ there among them, who can lift the ſpear ? Not ſo peaceful was
+ thy father, Borbar-duthulDisplay note, king of ſpears. His rage was a fire that always burned : his joy over fallen foes was
+ great. Three days feaſted the grey-haired hero, when he heard that Calmar fell : Calmar, who
+ aided the race of Ullin, from Lara of the ſtreams. Often did he feel, with his hands, the ſteel
+ which, they ſaid, had pierced his foe. He felt it, with his hands, for Borbar-duthul's eyes had
+ failed. Yet was the king a ſun to his friends; a gale to lift their branches round. Joy was
+ around him in his halls: he loved the ſons of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Bolga. His name remains in Atha, like the awful memory of
+ ghoſts, whoſe preſence was terrible, but they blew the ſtorm away. Now let the voicesDisplay note of Erin raiſe the ſoul of the king; he that ſhone when war was dark, and laid the mighty
+ low. Fonar, from that grey browed rock, pour the tale of other times : pour it on wide-ſkirted
+ Erin, as it ſettles round.”
+
“To me,” ſaid Cathmor, “no ſong ſhall riſe ; nor Fonar ſit on the rock of Lubar. The mighty
+ there are laid low. Difturb not their ruſhing ghoſts. Far, Malthos, far remove the ſound of
+ Erin's ſong. I rejoice not over the foe, when he ceaſes to lift the ſpear. With morning we pour
+ our ſtrength abroad. Fingal is wakened on his ecchoing hill.”
+
Like waves, blown back by ſudden winds, Erin retired, at the voice of the
+ king. Deep-rolled into the field of night, they ſpread their humming tribes. Beneath his own
+ tree, at intervals, eachDisplay note bard ſat down with his harp.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ They raiſed the ſong, and touched the ſtring : each to the
+ chief he loved. Before a burning oak Sul-malla touched, at times, the harp. She touched the harp,
+ and heard, between, the breezes in her hair. In darkneſs near, lay the king of Atha, beneath an
+ aged tree. The beam of the oak was turned from him ; he ſaw the maid, but was not ſeen. His ſoul
+ poured forth,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in ſecret, when he beheld her fearful eye, “But battle is
+ before thee, ſon of Borbar-duthul.”
+
Amidst the harp, at intervals, ſhe liſtened whether the warrior ſlept. Her
+ ſoul was up; ſhe longed, in ſecret, to pour her own ſad ſong. The field is ſilent. On their
+ wings, the blaſts of night retire. The bards had ceaſed; and meteors came, red-winding with their
+ ghoſts. The ſky grew dark ; the forms of the dead were blended with the clouds. But heedleſs
+ bends the daughter of Conmor, over the decaying flame. Thou wert alone in her ſoul, car-borne
+ chief of Atha. She raiſed the voice of the ſong, and touched the harp between.
+
“Clun-galoDisplay note came; ſhe miſſed the maid. Where art thou, beam of light ? Hunters, from the moſſy rock,
+ ſaw ye the blue-eyed fair? Are her ſteps on graſſy Lumon ; near the bed of roes? Ah me! I behold
+ her bow in the hall. Where art thou, beam of light ?”
+
“CeaseDisplay note, love of Conmor, ceaſe; I hear thee
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ not on the ridgy heath, My eye is turned to the king, whoſe
+ path is terrible in war. He for whom my ſoul is up, in the ſeaſon of my reſt. Deep-boſomed in war
+ he ſtands, he beholds me not from his cloud. Why, ſun of Sulmalla, doſt thou not look forth ? I
+ dwell in darkneſs here; wide over me flies the ſhadowy miſt. Filled with dew are my locks : look
+ thou from thy cloud, O ſun of Sul-malla's ſoul.”
+
+ [
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This book begins, about the middle of the third night from the opening of
+ the poem. The poet deſcribes a kind of miſt, which roſe, by night, from the lake of Lego, and was
+ the uſual reſidence of the ſouls of the dead, during the interval between their deceaſe and the
+ funeral ſong. The appearance of the ghoſt of Fillan above the cave where his body lay. His voice
+ comes to Fingal, on the rock of Cormul. The king ſtrikes the ſhield of Trenmor, which was an
+ infallible ſign of his appearing in arms himſelf. The extraordinary effect of the ſound of the
+ ſhield. Sul-malla, ſtarting from ſleep, awakes Cathmor. Their affecting diſcourſe, She inſiſts
+ with him, to ſue for peace ; he reſolves to continue the war, He directs her to retire to the
+ neighbouring valley of Lona which was the reſidence of an old Druid, until the battle of the next
+ day ſhould be over. He awakes his army with the ſound of his ſhield. The ſhield deſcribed. Fonar,
+ the bard, at the deſire of Cathmor, relates the firſt ſettlement of the Fir-bolg in Ireland,
+ under their leader Larthon. Morning comes. Sul-malla retires, to the valley of Lona. A Lyric ſong
+ concludes the book.
From the wood-ſkirted waters of Lego, aſcend at times, grey-boſomed miſts ;
+ when the gates of the weſt are cloſed, on the ſun's eagle-eye. Wide, over Lara's ſtream, is
+ poured the vapour dark and deep: the moon, like a dim ſhield, is ſwimming thro' its folds. With
+ this, clothe the ſpirits of old their ſudden geſtures on the wind, when they ſtride, from blaſt
+ to blaſt, along the duſky night. Often, blended with the gale, to ſome warrior's graveDisplay note, they
+
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+ [
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+ roll the miſt, a grey dwelling to his ghoſt, until the ſongs
+ ariſe.
+
A sound came from the deſart ; it was Conar, king of Inis-fail. He poured
+ his miſt on the grave of Fillan, at blue-winding Lubar. Dark and mournful ſat the ghoſt, in his
+ grey ridge of ſmoak. The blaſt, at times, rolled him together : but the form returned again. It
+ returned with bending eyes, and dark winding of locks of miſt.
+
It wasDisplay note dark. The ſleeping hoſt were ſtill, in the ſkirts of night. The flame decayed, on the
+ hill of Fingal; the king lay lonely on his ſhield. His eyes were half-cloſed in ſleep ; the voice
+ of Fillan came. “Sleeps the huſband of
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ Clatho ? Dwells the father of the fallen in reſt ? Am I
+ forgot in the folds of darkneſs; lonely in the ſeaſon of night ?”
+
“Why doſt thou mix, ſaid the king, with the dreams of thy father? Can I
+ forget thee, my ſon, or thy path of fire in the field ? Not ſuch come the deeds of the valiant on
+ the ſoul of Fingal. They are not there a beam of lightning, which is ſeen, and is then no more. I
+ remember thee, O Fillan, and my wrath begins to riſe.”
+
The king took his deathful ſpear, and ſtruck the deeply-ſounding ſhield :
+ his ſhield that hung high in night, the diſmal ſign of war ! Ghoſts fled on every ſide, and
+ rolled their gathered forms on the wind. Thrice from the winding vale aroſe the voice of deaths.
+ The harpsDisplay note of the bards, untouched, ſound mournful over the hill.
+
+
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+ ]
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+ He ſtruck again the ſhield; battles roſe in
+ the dreams of his hoſt. The wide-tumbling ſtrife is gleaming over their ſouls. Blue-ſhielded
+ kings deſcend to war. Backward-looking armies fly; and mighty deeds are half-hid, in the bright
+ gleams of ſteel.
+
But when the third ſound aroſe, deer ſtarted from the clefts of their rocks.
+ The ſcreams of fowl are heard, in the deſart, as each flew, frighted on his blaſt. The ſons of
+ Selma half-roſe, and half-aſſumed their ſpears. But ſilence rolled back on the hoſt: they knew
+ the ſhield of the king. Sleep returned to their eyes; the field was dark and ſtill.
+
No ſleep was thine in darkneſs, blue-eyed daughter of Conmor! Sul-malla heard the dreadful
+ ſhield, and roſe, amid the night. Her ſteps are towards the king of Atha. “Can danger ſhake his
+ daring ſoul !” In doubt, ſhe ſtands, with bending eyes. Heaven burns with all its ſtars.
+
Again the ſhield reſounds ! She ruſhed. She ſtopt. Her voice half-roſe. It
+ failed. She ſaw him, amidſt his arms, that gleamed to heaven's fire. She ſaw him dim in his
+ locks, that roſe to nightly wind. Away, for fear, ſhe turned her ſteps. “Why ſhould the king of
+ Erin
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ awake? Thou art not a dream to his reſt, daughter of
+ Inis-huna.”
+
More dreadful rings the ſhield. Sul-malla ſtarts. Her helmet falls.
+ Loud-ecchoes Lubar's rock, as over it rolls the ſteel. Burſting from the dreams of night, Cathmor
+ half-roſe, beneath his tree. He ſaw the form of the maid, above him, on the rock. A red ſtar,
+ with twinkling beam, looked thro' her floating hair.
+
“Who comes thro' night to Cathmor, in the ſeaſon of his dreams? Bring'ſt
+ thou ought of war? Who art thou, ſon of night? Stand'ſt thou before me, a form of the times of
+ old? A voice from the fold of a cloud, to warn me of the danger of Erin ?”
+
“Nor lonely ſcout am I, nor voice from folded cloud,” the ſaid ; “but I warn
+ thee of the danger of Erin. Doſt thou hear that ſound ? It is not the feeble, king of Atha, that
+ rolls his ſigns on night.”
+
“Let the warrior roll his ſigns,” he replied; “to Cathmor they are the
+ ſounds of harps. My joy is great, voice of night, and burns over all my thoughts. This is the
+ muſic of kings, on lonely hills, by night; when they light their daring ſouls, the ſons of mighty
+ deeds! The feeble dwell alone, in the valley of the breeze ; where miſts
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ lift their morning ſkirts, from the blue-winding ſtreams.”
+
“Not feeble, king of men, were they, the fathers of my race. They dwelt in
+ the folds of battle, in their diſtant lands. Yet delights not my ſoul, in the ſigns of death! HeDisplay note, who never yields, comes forth : O ſend the bard of peace !”
+
Like a dropping rock, in the deſart, ſtood Cathmor in his tears. Her voice
+ came, a breeze, on his ſoul, and waked the memory of her land ; where ſhe dwelt by her peaceful
+ ſtreams, before he came to the war of Conmor.
+
“Daughter of ſtrangers,” he ſaid ; (ſhe trembling turned away) “long have I
+ marked thee in thy ſteel, young pine of Inis-huna. But my ſoul, I ſaid, is folded in a ſtorm. Why
+ ſhould that beam ariſe, till my ſteps return in peace? Have I been pale in thy preſence, as thou
+ bidſt me to fear the king? The time of
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ danger, O maid, is the ſeaſon of my ſoul; for then it
+ ſwells, a mighty ſtream, and rolls me on the foe.”
+
“Beneath the moſs-covered rock of Lona, near his own loud ſtream ; grey in
+ his locks of age, dwells ClonmalDisplay note king of harps. Above him is his ecchoing tree, and the dun bounding of roes. The noiſe of
+ our ſtrife reaches his ear, as he bends in the thoughts of years. There let thy reſt be,
+ Sul-malla, until our battle ceaſe. Until I return, in my arms, from the ſkirts of the evening
+ miſt, that riſes, on Lona, round the dwelling of my love.”
+
A light fell on the ſoul of the maid ; it roſe kindled before the king. She
+ turned her face to Cathmor, from amidſt her waving locks.“Sooner ſhall the eagle of heaven be
+ torn, from the ſtream of his roaring wind, when he ſees the dun prey, before him, the young ſons
+ of the bounding roe, than thou, O Cathmor, be turned from the ſtrife of renown. Soon may I ſee
+ thee, warrior, from the ſkirts of the evening
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ miſt, when it is rolled around me, on Lona of the ſtreams.
+ While yet thou art diſtant far, ſtrike, Cathmor, ſtrike the ſhield, that joy may return to my
+ darkened ſoul, as I lean on the moſſy rock. But if thou ſhouldſt fall, I am in the land of
+ ſtrangers; O ſend thy voice, from thy cloud, to the maid of Inis-huna.”
+
“Young branch of green-headed Lumon, why doſt thou ſhake in the ſtorm? Often
+ has Cathmor returned, from darkly-rolling wars. The darts of death are but hail to me ; they have
+ often rattled along my ſhield. I have riſen brightened from battle, like a meteor from a ſtormy
+ cloud. Return not, fair beam, from thy vale, when the roar of battle grows. Then might the foe
+ eſcape, as from my fathers of old.”
+
“They told to Son-morDisplay note, of ClunarDisplay note, who was ſlain by Cormac in fight. Three days darkened Son-mor, over his brother's fall.
+ His ſpouſe beheld the ſilent king, and foreſaw his ſteps to war. She prepared the bow, in ſecret,
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ to attend her blue-ſhielded hero. To her dwelt darkneſs, at
+ Atha, when he was not there. From their hundred ſtreams, by night, poured down the ſons of
+ Alnecma. They had heard the ſhield of the king, and their rage aroſe. In clanging arms, they
+ moved along, towards Ullin of the groves. Son-mor ſtruck his ſhield, at times, the leader of the
+ war.”
+
“Far behind followed Sul-allinDisplay note, over the ſtreamy hills. She was a light on the mountain, when they croſſed the vale
+ below. Her ſteps were ſtately on the vale, when they roſe on the moſſy hill. She feared to
+ approach the king, who left her in ecchoing Atha. But when the roar of battle roſe; when hoſt was
+ rolled on hoſt; when Son-mor burnt, like the fire of heaven in clouds, with her ſpreading hair
+ came Sul-allin; for ſhe trembled for her king. He ſtopt the ruſhing ſtrife to ſave the love of
+ heroes. The foe fled by night ; Clunar ſlept without his blood ; the blood which ought to be
+ poured upon the warrior's tomb.”
+
“Nor roſe the rage of Son-mor, but his days were ſilent and dark. Sul-allin
+ wandered, by her grey ſtreams, with her tearful eyes. Often did ſhe look, on the hero, when he
+ was folded
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ in his thoughts. But ſhe ſhrunk from his eyes, and turned her
+ lone ſteps away. Battles roſe, like a tempeſt, and drove the miſt from his ſoul. He beheld, with
+ joy, her ſteps in the hall, and the white riſing of her hands on the harp.”Display noteIn his arms ſtrode the chief of Atha, to where his ſhield hung, high,
+ in night : high on a moſſy bough, over Lubar's ſtreamy roar. Seven boſſes roſe on the ſhield; the
+ ſeven voices of the king, which his warriors received, from the wind, and marked over all their
+ tribes.
+
On each boſs is placed a ſtar of night; Canmathon with beams unſhorn ;
+ Col-derna rifing from a cloud : Uloicho robed in miſt; and the ſoft beam of Caitlin glittering on
+ a rock. Smiling, on its own blue wave, Reldurath half-ſinks its weſtern light. The red eye of
+ Berthin looks, thro' a grove, on the hunter, as he returns, by night, with the ſpoils of the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ bounding roe. Wide, in the midſt, aroſe the cloudleſs beams
+ of Ton-thena, that ſtar which looked, by night, on the courſe of the ſea-toſſed Larthon :
+ Larthon, the firſt of Bolga's race, who travelled on the windsDisplay note. White-boſomed ſpread the ſails of the king, towards ſtreamy Inis-fail ; dun night was
+ rolled before him, with its ſkirts of miſt. Unconſtant blew the winds, and rolled him from wave
+ to wave. Then roſe the fiery-haired Ton-thena, and ſmiled from her parted cloud. LarthonDisplay note bleſſed the well-known beam, as it ſaint-gleamed on the deep.
+
+
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+ ]
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+ Beneath the ſpear of Cathmor, roſe that
+ voice which awakes the bards. They came, dark-winding, from every ſide; each with the ſound of
+ his harp. Before them rejoiced the king, as the traveller, in the day of the ſun; when he hears,
+ far-roiling around, the murmur of moſſy ſtreams ; ſtreams that burſt, in the deſart, from the
+ rock of roes.
+
“Why,” ſaid Fonar, “hear we the voice of the king, in the ſeaſon of his
+ reſt? Were the dim forms of thy fathers bending in thy dreams ? Perhaps they ſtand on that cloud,
+ and wait for Fonar's ſong; often they come to the fields where their ſons are to lift the ſpear.
+ Or ſhall our voice ariſe for him who lifts the ſpear no more; he that conſumed the field, from
+ Morna of the groves ?”
+
“Not forgot is that cloud in war, bard of other times. High ſhall his tomb
+ rife, on Moi-lena, the dwelling of renown. But, now,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ roll back my ſoul to the times of my fathers : to the years
+ when firſt they roſe, on Inis-huna's waves. Nor alone pleaſant to Cathmor is the remembrance of
+ wood-covered Lumon. Lumon of the ſtreams, the dwelling of white-boſomed maids.”Display noteLumon of the ſtreams, thou riſeſt on Fonar's ſoul ! Thy ſun is on thy
+ ſide, on the rocks of thy bending trees. The dun roe is ſeen from thy furze ; the deer lifts his
+ branchy head; for he ſees, at times, the hound, on the half-covered heath. Slow, on the vale, are
+ the ſteps of maids; the white-armed daughters of the bow : they lift their blue eyes to the hill,
+ from amidſt their wandering locks. Not there is the ſtride of Larthon, chief of Inis-huna. He
+ mounts the wave on his own dark oak, in Cluba's ridgy bay. That oak which he cut from Lumon, to
+ bound along the ſea. The maids turn their eyes away, leſt the king ſhould be lowly-laid ; for
+ never had they ſeen a ſhip, dark rider of the wave !”
+
“Now he dares to call the winds, and to mix with the miſt of ocean. Blue Inis-fail roſe, in
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ ſmoak; but dark-ſkirted night came down. The ſons of Bolga
+ feared. The fiery haired Ton-théna roſe. Culbin's bay received the ſhip, in the boſom of its
+ ecchoing woods. There, iſſued a ſtream, from Duthuma's horrid cave; where ſpirits gleamed, at
+ times, with their half-finiſhed forms.”
+
“Dreams deſcended on Larthon : he ſaw ſeven ſpirits of his fathers. He heard
+ their half-formed words, and dimly beheld the times to come. He beheld the kings of Atha, the
+ ſons of future days. They led their hoſts, along the field, like ridges of miſt, which winds
+ pour, in autumn, over Atha of the groves.”
+
“Larthon raiſed the hall of SamlaDisplay note, to the muſic of the harp. He went forth to the roes of Erin, to their wonted ſtreams.
+ Nor did he forget green-headed Lumon ; he often bounded over his ſeas, to where white-handed FlathalDisplay note looked from the hill of roes. Lumon of the foamy ſtreams, thou riſeſt on Fonar's ſoul
+ !”
+
Morning pours from the eaſt. The miſty heads of the mountains riſe. Valleys
+ ſhew, on
+
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+
+ ]
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+ every ſide, the grey-winding of their ſtreams. His hoſt
+ heard the ſhield of Cathmor : at once they roſe around ; like a crowded ſea, when firſt it feels
+ the wings of the wind. The waves know not whither to roll; they lift their troubled heads.
+
Sad and ſlow retired Sul-malla to Lona of the ſtreams. She went, and often
+ turned ; her blue eyes rolled in tears. But when ſhe came to the rock, that darkly-covered Lona's
+ vale : ſhe looked, from her burſting ſoul, on the king ; and ſunk, at once, behind,
+
Son of Alpin, ſtrike the ſtring. Is there aught of joy in the harp? Pour it
+ then on the ſoul of Oſſian : it is folded in miſt, I hear thee, O bard, in my night. But ceaſe
+ the lightly-trembling ſound. The joy of grief belongs to Oſſian, amidſt his dark-brown years.
+
Green thorn of the hill of ghoſts, that ſhakeſt thy head to nightly winds! I
+ hear no ſound in thee; is there no ſpirit's windy ſkirt now ruſtling in thy leaves ? Often are
+ the ſteps of the dead, in the dark-eddying blaſts; when the moon, a dun ſhield, from the eaſt, is
+ roiled along the ſky.
+
Ullin, Carril, and Ryno, voices of the days of old! Let me hear you, while
+ yet it is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ dark, to pleaſe and awake my ſoul. I hear you not, ye ſons
+ of ſong. in what hall of the clouds is your reſt? Do you touch the ſhadowy harp, robed with
+ morning miſt, where the ruſtling ſun comes forth from his green-headed waves ?
The fourth morning, from the opening of the poem, comes on. Fingal, ſtill continuing in the
+ place, to which he had retired on the preceding night, is ſeen, at intervals, thro' the miſt,
+ which covered the rock of Cormul. The deſcent of the king is deſcribed. He orders Gaul, Dermid,
+ and Carril the bard, to go to the valley of Cluna, and conduct, from thence, to the Caledonian
+ army, Ferad-artho, the ſon of Cairbre, the only perſon remaining of the family of Conar, the
+ firſt king of Ireland. The king takes the command of the army, and prepares for battle. Marching
+ towards the enemy, he comes to the cave of Lubar, where the body of Fillan lay. Upon ſeeing his
+ dog Bran, who lay at the entrance of the cave, his grief returns. Cathmor arranges the Iriſh army
+ in order of battle. The appearance of that hero. The general conflict is deſcribed. The actions
+ of Fingal and Cathmor. A ſtorm. The total rout of the Firbolg. The two kings engage, in a column
+ of miſt, on the banks of Lubar. Their attitude and conference after the combat. The death of
+ Cathmor. Fingal reſigns the ſpear of Trenmor to Oſſian. The ceremonies obſerved on that
+ occaſion. The ſpirit of Cathmor, in the mean time, appears to Sul-malla, in the valley of Lona.
+ Her ſorrow. Evening comes on. A feaſt is prepared. The coming of Ferad-artho is announced by the
+ ſongs of a hundred bards. The poem cloſes, with a ſpeech of Fingal.
As when the wintry winds have ſeized the waves of the mountain-lake, have
+ ſeized them, in ſtormy night, and cloathed them over with ice; white, to the hunter's early eye,
+ the billows ſtill ſeem to roll. He turns his ear to the ſound of each unequal ridge. But each is
+ ſilent, gleaming, ſtrewn with boughs and tufts of graſs, which ſhake and whiſtle to the wind,
+ over their grey ſeats of froſt. So ſilent ſhone to the morning the ridges of Morven's hoſt, as
+ each warrior looked up from his helmet towards the hill of the king; the cloud-covered hill of
+ Fingal, where he ſtrode, in the folds of miſt. At times is the hero ſeen, greatly dim in all his
+ arms.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ From thought to thought rolled the war, along his mighty
+ ſoul.
+
Now is the coming forth of the king. Firſt appeared the ſword of Luno; the
+ ſpear half iſſuing from a cloud, the ſhield ſtill dim in miſt. But when the ſtride of the king
+ came abroad, with all his grey, dewy locks in the wind ; then roſe the ſhouts of his hoſt over
+ every moving tribe. They gathered, gleaming, round, with all their ecchoing ſhields. So riſe the
+ green ſeas round a ſpirit, that comes down from the ſqually wind. The traveller hears the ſound
+ afar, and lifts his head over the rock. He looks on the troubled bay, and thinks he dimly ſees
+ the form. The waves ſport, unwieldy, round, with all their backs of foam.
+
Far-distant ſtood the ſon of Morni, Duthno's race, and Cona's bard. We ſtood
+ far-diſtant ; each beneath his tree. We ſhunned the eyes of the king; we had not conquered in the
+ field. A little ſtream rolled at my feet: I touched its light wave, with my ſpear. I touched it
+ with my ſpear; nor there was the ſoul of Oſſian. It darkly roſe, from thought to thought, and
+ ſent abroad the ſigh.
+
“Son of Morni,” ſaid the king, “Dermid, hunter of roes ! why are ye dark,
+ like two rocks, each with its trickling waters? No wrath gathers
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ on Fingal's ſoul, againſt the chiefs of men. Ye are my
+ ſtrength in battle; the kindling of my joy in peace. My early voice has been a pleaſant gale to
+ your ears, when Fillan prepared the bow. The ſon of Fingal is not here, nor yet the chace of the
+ bounding roes. But why ſhould the breakers of ſhields ſtand, darkened, far away ?”
+
Tall they ſtrode towards the king ; they ſaw him turned to Mora's wind. His
+ tears came down, for his blue-eyed ſon, who ſlept in the cave of ſtreams. But he brightened
+ before them, and ſpoke to the broad-ſhielded kings.
+
“Crommal, with woody rocks, and miſty top, the field of winds, pours forth,
+ to the fight, blue Lubar's ſtreamy roar. Behind it rolls clear-winding Lavath, in the ſtill vale
+ of deer. A cave is dark in a rock ; above it ſtrong-winged eagles dwell; broad-headed oaks,
+ before it, ſound in Cluna's wind. Within, in his locks of youth, is Ferad-arthoDisplay note, blue-eyed king, the ſon
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ of broad-ſhielded Cairbar, from Ullin of the roes. He liſtens
+ to the voice of Condan, as, grey, he bends in feeble light. He liſtens, for his foes dwell in the
+ ecchoing halls of Temora.
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ He comes, at times, abroad, in the ſkirts of miſt, to
+ pierce the bounding roes. When the ſun looks on the field, nor by the rock; nor ſtream, is he! He
+ ſhuns the race of Bolga, who dwell in his father's hall. Tell him, that Fingal lifts the ſpear,
+ and that his foes, perhaps, may fail.”
+
“Lift up, O Gaul, the ſhield before him. Stretch, Dermid, Temora's ſpear. Be
+ thy voice in his ear, O Carril, with the deeds of his fathers. Lead him to green Moi-lena, to the
+ duſky field of ghoſts; for there, I fall forward, in battle, in the folds of war. Before dun
+ night deſcends, come to high Dunmora's top. Look, from the grey ſkirts of miſt, on Lena of the
+ ſtreams. If there my ſtandard ſhall float on wind, over Lubar's gleaming ſtream, then has not
+ Fingal failed in the laſt of his fields.”
+
Such were his words; nor aught replied the ſilent, ſtriding kings. They
+ looked ſide-long, on Erin's hoſt, and darkened, as they went. Never before had they left the
+ king, in the midſt of the ſtormy field. Behind them, touching at
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ times his harp, the grey-haired Carril moved. He foreſaw the
+ fall of the people, and mournful was the ſound! It was like a breeze that comes, by fits, over
+ Lego's reedy lake ; when ſleep half-deſcends on the hunter, within his moſſy cave. “Why bends the bard of Cona,” ſaid Fingal, “over his ſecret ſtream ? Is this a time for
+ ſorrow, father of low-laid Oſcar? Be the warriorsDisplay note remembered in peace; when ecchoing ſhields are heard no more. Bend, then, in grief, over
+ the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ flood, where blows the mountain breeze. Let them paſs on
+ thy ſoul, the blue-eyed dwellers of the tomb. But Erin rolls to war ; wide-tumbling, rough, and
+ dark. Lift, Oſſian, lift the ſhield. I am alone, my ſon!”
+
As comes the ſudden voice of winds to the becalmed ſhip of Inis-huna, and
+ drives it large, along the deep, dark rider of the wave; ſo the voice of Fingal ſent Oſſian,
+ tall, along the heath. He lifted high his ſhining ſhield, in the duſky wing of war : like the
+ broad, blank moon, in the ſkirt of a cloud, before the ſtorms ariſe.
+
Loud, from moſs-covered Mora, poured down, at once, the broad-winged war.
+ Fingal led his people forth, king of Morven of ſtreams. On high ſpreads the eagle's wing. His
+ grey hair is poured on his ſhoulders broad. In thunder are his mighty ſtrides. He often ſtood,
+ and ſaw behind, the wide-gleaming rolling of armour. A rock he ſeemed, grey over with ice, whoſe
+ woods are high in wind. Bright ſtreams leap from its head, and ſpread their foam on blaſts.
+
Now he came to Lubar's cave, where Fillan darkly ſlept. Bran ſtill lay on
+ the broken ſhield : the eagle-wing is ſtrewed by the winds. Bright, from withered furze, looked
+ forth the hero's ſpear. Then grief ſtirred the ſoul of the king, like whirlwinds blackening on a
+ lake. He
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ turned his ſudden ſtep, and leaned on his bending ſpear.
+
White-breasted Bran came bounding with joy to the known path of Fingal. He
+ came, and looked towards the cave, where the blue-eyed hunter lay, for he was wont to ſtride,
+ with morning, to the dewy bed of the roe. It was then the tears of the king came dawn, and all
+ his ſoul was dark. But as the riſing wind rolls away the ſtorm of rain, and leaves the white
+ ſtreams to the ſun, and high hills with their heads of graſs : ſo the returning war brightened
+ the mind of Fingal. He boundedDisplay note, on his
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſpear, over Lubar, and ſtruck his ecchoing ſhield. His
+ ridgy hoſt bend forward, at once, with all their pointed ſteel.
+
Nor Erin heard, with fear, the ſound : wide they came rolling along. Dark
+ Malthos, in the wing of war, looks forward from ſhaggy brows. Next roſe that beam of light
+ Hidalla ; then the ſide-long-looking gloom of Maronnan. Blue-ſhielded Clonar lifts the ſpear ;
+ Cormar ſhakes his buſhy locks on the wind. Slowly, from behind a rock, roſe the bright form of
+ Atha. Firſt appeared his two pointed ſpears, then the half of his burniſhed ſhield ; like the
+ riſing of a nightly meteor, over the vale of ghoſts. But when he ſhone all abroad : the hoſts
+ plunged, at once, into ſtrife. The gleaming waves of ſteel are poured on either ſide.
+
As meet two troubled ſeas, with the rolling of all their waves, when they
+ feel the wings of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ contending winds, in the rock-ſided firth of Lumon; along the
+ ecchoing hills is the dim courſe of ghoſts : from the blaſt fall the torn groves on the deep,
+ amidſt the foamy path of whales. So mixed the hoſts! Now Fingal; now Cathmor came abroad. The
+ dark tumbling of death is before them : the gleam of broken ſteel is rolled on their ſteps, as,
+ loud, the high-bounding kings hewed down the ridge of ſhields.
+
Maronnan fell, by Fingal, laid large acroſs a ſtream. The waters gathered by
+ his ſide, and leapt grey over his boſſy ſhield. Clonar is pierced by Cathmor: nor yet lay the
+ chief on earth. An oak ſeized his hair in his fall. His helmet rolled on the ground. By its
+ thong, hung his broad ſhield; over it wandered his ſtreaming blood. Tla-minDisplay note ſhall weep, in the hall, and ſtrike her heaving breaſt.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Nor did Oſſian forget the ſpear, in the
+ wing of his war. He ſtrewed the field with dead. Young Hidalla came. “Soft voice of ſtreamy
+ Clonra ! Why doſt thou lift the ſteel? O that we met, in the ſtrife of ſong, in thy own ruſhy
+ vale !” Malthos beheld him low, and darkened as he ruſhed along. On either ſide of a ſtream, we
+ bend in the ecchoing ſtrife. Heaven comes rolling down : around burſt the voices of ſqually
+ winds. Hills are clothed, at times, in fire.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Thunder rolls in wreaths of miſt. In darkneſs ſhrunk the foe
+ : Morven's warriors ſtood aghaſt. Still I bent over the ſtream, amidſt my whiſtling locks.
+
Then roſe the voice of Fingal, and the ſound of the flying foe. I ſaw the
+ king, at times, in lightning, darkly-ſtriding in his might. I ſtruck my ecchoing ſhield, and hung
+ forward on the ſteps of Alnecma : the foe is rolled before me, like a wreath of ſmoak.
+
The ſun looked forth from his cloud. The hundred ſtreams of Moi-lena ſhone.
+ Slow roſe the blue columns of miſt, againſt the glittering hill. “Where are the mighty kings ?Display note Nor by that ſtream, nor wood, are they ! I hear the clang of arms! Their ſtrife is in the
+ boſom of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ that miſt. Such is the contending of ſpirits in a nightly
+ cloud, when they ſtrive for the wintry wings of winds, and the rolling of the foam-covered
+ waves.
+
I rushed along. The grey miſt roſe. Tall, gleaming, they ſtood at Lubar.
+ Cathmor leaned againſt a rock. His half-fallen ſhield received the ſtream, that leapt from the
+ moſs above. Towards him is the ſtride of Fingal : he ſaw the hero's blood. His ſword fell ſlowly
+ to his ſide. He ſpoke, midſt his darkening joy.
+
“Yields the race of Borbar-duthul ? Or ſtill does he lift the ſpear? Not
+ unheard is thy name, at Atha, in the green dwelling of ſtrangers. It has come, like the breeze of
+ his deſart, to the ear of Fingal. Come to my hill of feaſts: the mighty fail, at times. No fire
+ am I to low-laid foes ; I rejoice not over the fall of the brave. To cloſeDisplay note the wound is mine: I have known
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the herbs of the hills. I ſeized their fair heads, on high,
+ as they waved by their ſecret ſtreams. Thou art dark and ſilent, king of Atha of ſtrangers.”
+
“By Atha of the ſtream,” he ſaid, “there riſes a moſſy rock. On its head is
+ the wandering of boughs, within the courſe of winds. Dark, in its face, is a cave, with its own
+ loud rill. There have I heard the tread of ſtrangersDisplay note, when they paſſed to my hall of ſhells. Joy roſe, like a flame, on my ſoul: I bleſt the
+ ecchoing rock. Here be my dwelling, in darkneſs; in my graſſy vale. From this I ſhall mount the
+ breeze, that purſues my thiſtle's beard; or look down, on blue-winding Atha, from its wandering
+ miſt.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Why ſpeaks the king of the tomb ?
+ Oſſian! the warrior has failed ! Joy meet thy ſoul, like a ſtream, Cathmor, friend of ſtrangers!
+ My ſon, I hear the call of years; they take my ſpear as they paſs along. Why does not Fingal,
+ they ſeem to ſay, reſt within his hall? Doſt thou always delight in blood? In the tears of the
+ ſad? No: ye dark-rolling years, Fingal delights not in blood. Tears are wintry ſtreams that waſte
+ away my ſoul. But, when I lie down to reſt, then comes the mighty voice of war. It awakes me, in
+ my hall, and calls forth all my ſteel. It ſhall call it forth no more; Oſſian, take thou thy
+ father's ſpear. Lift it, in battle, when the proud ariſe.
+
My fathers, Oſſian, trace my ſteps; my deeds are pleaſant to their eyes. Wherever I come forth
+ to battle, on my field, are their columns of miſt. But mine arm reſcued the feeble; the haughty
+ found my rage was fire. Never over the fallen did mine eye rejoice. For thisDisplay note, my fathers ſhall meet me, at the gates
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of their airy halls, tall, with robes of light, with
+ mildly-kindled eyes. But, to the proud in arms, they are darkened moons in heaven, which ſend the
+ fire of night, red-wandering over their face.”
+
“Father of heroes, Trenmor, dweller of eddying winds! I give thy ſpear to
+ Oſſian, let thine eye rejoice. Thee have I ſeen, at times, bright from between thy clouds; ſo
+ appear to my ſon, when he is to lift the ſpear: then ſhall he remember thy mighty deeds, though
+ thou art now but a blaſt.”
+
He gave the ſpear to my hand, and raiſed; at once, a ſtone on high, to ſpeak
+ to future times, with its grey head of moſs. Beneath he placed a ſwordDisplay note in earth, and one bright boſs from his ſhield. Dark in thought, a-while, he bends : his
+ words, at length, came forth.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “When thou, O ſtone, ſhall moulder down,
+ and loſe thee, in the moſs of years, then ſhall the traveller come, and whiſtling paſs away. Thou
+ know'ft not, feeble man, that fame once ſhone on Moi-lena. Here Fingal reſigned his ſpear, after
+ the laſt of his fields. Paſs away, thou empty ſhade; in thy voice there is no renown. Thou
+ dwelleſt by ſome peaceful ſtream ; yet a few years, and thou art gone. No one remembers thee,
+ thou dweller of thick miſt ! But Fingal ſhall be clothed with fame, a beam of light to other
+ times; for he went forth, in ecchoing ſteel, to ſave the weak in arms.”
+
Brightening in his fame, the king ſtrode to Lubar's ſounding oak, where it
+ bent, from its rock, over the bright-tumbling ſtream. Beneath it is a narrow plain, and the ſound
+ of the fount of the rock. Here the ſtandardDisplay note of Morven poured its wreaths on the wind, to mark the way of Ferad-artho, from his ſecret
+ vale. Bright, from his parted weſt, the ſun of heaven looked abroad. The hero ſaw his people, and
+ heard
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ their ſhouts of joy. In broken ridges round, they glittered
+ to the beam. The king rejoiced, as a hunter in his own green vale, when, after the ſtorm is
+ rolled away, he ſees the gleaming ſides of the rocks. The green thorn ſhakes its head in their
+ face; from their top look forward the roes.Display noteGrey, at his moſſy cave, is bent the aged form of Clonmal. The eyes of
+ the bard had failed. He leaned forward, on his ſtaff. Bright, in her locks, before him, Sul-malla
+ liſtened to the tale; the tale of the kings of Atha, in the days of old. The noiſe of battle had
+ ceaſed in his ear: he ſtopt, and raiſed the ſecret ſigh. The ſpirits of the dead, they ſaid,
+ often lightened along his ſoul. He ſaw the king of Atha low, beneath his bending tree.
+
“Why art thou dark,” ſaid the maid? “The ſtrife of arms is paſt. SoonDisplay note ſhall he come to thy cave, over thy winding ſtreams. The ſun looks from the rocks of the
+ weſt. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ miſts of the lake ariſe. Grey, they ſpread on that hill,
+ the ruſhy dwelling of roes. From the miſt ſhall my king appear ! Behold, he comes in his arms.
+ Come to the cave of Clonmal, O my beſt beloved !”
+
It was the ſpirit of Cathmor, ſtalking, large, a gleaming form. He ſunk by
+ the hollow ſtream, that roared between the hills. “It was but the hunter,” ſhe ſaid,“who ſearches
+ for the bed of the roe. His ſteps are not forth to war; his ſpouſe expects him with night. He
+ ſhall, whiſtling, return, with the ſpoils of the dark-brown hinds.” Her eyes were turned to the
+ hill; again the ſtately form came down. She roſe, in the midſt of joy. He retired again in miſt.
+ Gradual vaniſh his limbs of ſmoak, and mix with the mountain-wind. Then ſhe knew that he fell!
+ “King of Erin art thou low!” Let Oſſian forget her grief; it waſtes the ſoul of ageDisplay note.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Evening came down on Moi-lena. Grey rolled the ſtreams of the land. Loud
+ came forth the voice of Fingal : the beam of oaks aroſe. The people gathered round with gladneſs
+ ; with gladneſs blended with ſhades. They ſidelong looked to the king, and beheld his unfiniſhed
+ joy. Pleaſant, from the way of the deſart, the voice of muſic came. It ſeemed, at firſt, the
+ noiſe of a ſtream, far-diſtant on its rocks. Slow it rolled along the hill, like the ruffled wing
+ of a breeze, when it takes the tufted beard of the rocks, in the ſtill ſeaſon of night. It was
+ the voice of Condan, mixed with Carril's trembling harp. They came, with blue-eyed Ferad-artho,
+ to Mora of the ſtreams.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Sudden burſts the ſong from our bards,
+ on Lena : the hoſt ſtruck their ſhields midſt the ſound. Gladneſs roſe brightening on the king,
+ like the beam of a cloudy day, when it riſes, on the green hill, before the roar of winds. He
+ ſtruck the boſſy ſhield of kings; at once they ceaſe around. The people lean forward, from their
+ ſpears, towards the voice of their landDisplay note.
+
“Sons of Morven, ſpread the feaſt ; ſend the night away in ſong. Ye have
+ ſhone around me; and the dark ſtorm is paſt. My people are the windy rocks, from which I ſpread
+ my eagle
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ wings, when I ruſh forth to renown, and ſeize it on its
+ field. Oſſian, thou haſt the ſpear of Fingal : it is not the ſtaff of a boy with which he ſtrews
+ the thiſtle round, young wanderer of the field. No: it is the lance of the mighty, with which
+ they ſtretched forth their hands to death. Look to thy fathers, my ſon; they are awful beams.
+ With morning lead Ferad-artho forth to the ecchoing halls of Temora. Remind him of the kings of
+ Erin; the ſtately forms of old. Let not the fallen be forgot, they were mighty in the field. Let
+ Carril pour his ſong, that the kings may rejoice in their miſt. To-morrow I ſpread my ſails to
+ Selma's ſhaded walls; where ſtreamy Duthula winds through the ſeats of roes.”
Conlath was the youngeſt of Morni's ſons, and brother to the celebrated Gaul. He was in love
+ with Cuthóna the daughter of Rumar, when Toſcar the ſon of Kinfena, accompanied by Fercuth his
+ friend, arrived, from Ireland, at Mora, where Conlath dwelt. He was hoſpitably received, and
+ according to the cuſtom of the times, feaſted, three days, with Conlath. On the fourth he ſet
+ ſail, and coaſting the iſland of waves, one of the Hebrides, he ſaw Cuthona hunting,
+ fell in love with her, and carried her away, by force, in his ſhip. He was forced, by ſtreſs of
+ weather, into I-thona a deſart iſle. In the mean-time Conlath, hearing of the rape, ſailed after
+ him, and found him on the point of ſailing for the coaſt of Ireland. They fought; and they and
+ their followers fell by mutual wounds. Cuthona did not long ſurvive: for ſhe died of grief the
+ third day after. Fingal, hearing of their unfortunate death, ſent Stormal the ſon of Moran to
+ bury them, but forgot to ſend a bard to ſing the funeral ſong over their tombs. The ghoſt of
+ Conlath comes, long after, to Oſſian, to intreat him to tranſmit, to poſterity, his and
+ Cuthona's fame. For it was the opinion of the times, that the ſouls of the deceaſed were not
+ happy, till their elegies were compoſed by a bard.
Did not Oſſian hear a voice? or is it the ſound of days that are no more?
+ Often does the memory of former times come, like the evening ſun, on my ſoul. The noiſe of the
+ chace is renewed. In thought, I lift the ſpear. But Oſſian did hear a voice ! Who art thou, ſon
+ of night ? The children of the feeble are aſleep. The midnight wind is in my hall. Perhaps it is
+ the ſhield of Fingal that ecchoes to the blaſt. It hangs in Oſſian's hall. He feels it ſometimes
+ with his hands. Yes! I hear thee, my friend ! Long has thy voice been abſent from mine ear ! What
+ brings thee, on thy cloud, to Oſſian, ſon of generous Morni? Are the friends of the aged near
+ thee? Where is Oſcar, ſon of fame? He was often near thee, O Conlath, when the ſound of battle
+ aroſe.
Sleeps the ſweet voice of Cona, in the midſt of his ruſtling hall ? Sleeps
+ Oſſian in his hall, and his friends without their fame? The ſea rolls round dark I-thona. Display note Our
+ tombs are not ſeen in our iſle. How long ſhall our fame be unheard, ſon of reſounding Selma
+ ?
+
+
+
+ Ossian.
+
O that mine eyes could behold thee ! Thou ſitteſt, dim, on thy cloud! Art
+ thou like the miſt of Lano? An half-extinguiſhed meteor of fire? Of what are the ſkirts of thy
+ robe? Of what is thine airy bow? He is gone on his blaſt like the ſhade of a wandering cloud.
+ Come from thy wall, O harp! Let me hear thy ſound. Let the light of memory riſe on I-thona. Let
+ me behold again my friends ! And Oſſian does behold his friends, on the dark-blue iſle. The cave
+ of Thona appears, with its moſſy rocks and bending trees. A ſtream roars at its mouth. Toſcar
+ bends over its courſe, Fercuth is ſad by his ſide. CuthónaDisplay note ſits at a
+ diſtance, and weeps. Does the wind of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the waves deceive me? Or do I hear them ſpeak ?
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
The night was ſtormy. From their hills the groaning oaks came down, The
+ ſea darkly-tumbled beneath the blaſt. The roaring waves climbed againſt our rocks. The lightning
+ came often and ſhewed the blaſted fern. Fercuth ! I ſaw the ghoſt who embroiled the nightDisplay note. Silent he ſtood, on that bank. His robe of miſt flew on the
+ wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man he ſeemed, and full of thought !
+
+
+
+ Fercuth.
+
It was thy father, O Toſcar. He foreſees ſome death among his race. Such was his appearance
+ on Cromla, before the great MaronnanDisplay note fell. Erin of hills of graſs! how pleaſant
+ are thy vales? Silence is near thy blue ſtreams. The ſun is on thy fields. Soft is the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſound of the harp in SelámaDisplay note. Lovely the cry of the hunter on Crómla. But we
+ are in dark I-thona, ſurrounded by the ſtorm. The billows lift their white heads above our
+ rocks. We tremble amidſt the night.
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
Whither is the ſoul of battle fled, Fercuth with locks of age? I have ſeen
+ thee undaunted in danger: thine eyes burning with joy in the fight. Whither is the ſoul of
+ battle fled? Our fathers never feared. Go: view the ſettling ſea : the ſtormy wind is laid. The
+ billows ſtill tremble on the deep. They ſeem to fear the blaſt. Go view the ſettling ſea.
+ Morning is grey on our rocks. The ſun will look ſoon from his eaſt; in all his pride of light! I
+ lifted up my ſails, with joy, before the halls of generous Conlath. My courſe was by a deſart
+ iſle : where Cuthona purſued the deer. I ſaw her, like that beam of the ſun that iſſues from the
+ cloud. Her hair was on her heaving breaſt. She, bending forward, drew the bow. Her white arm
+ ſeemed, behind her, like the ſnow of Cromla. Come to my ſoul, I ſaid, huntreſs
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of the deſart iſle! But ſhe waſtes her time in tears, She thinks of the
+ generous Conlath. Where can I find thy peace, Cuthona, lovely maid !
A distant ſteep bends over the ſea, with aged trees and moſſy rocks. The
+ billow rolls at its feet. On its ſide is the dwelling of roes. The people call it Mora. There
+ the towers of my love ariſe. There Conlath looks over the ſea for his only love. The daughters
+ of the chace returned. He beheld their downcaft eyes. “Where is the daughter of Rumar ?” But
+ they anſwered not. My peace dwells on Mora, ſon of the diſtant land !
+
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
Cuthona ſhall return to her peace : to the towers of generous Conlath. He
+ is the friend of Toſcar ! I have feaſted in his halls! Riſe, ye gentle breezes of Erin. Stretch
+ my ſails toward Mora's ſhores. Cuthona ſhall reſt on Mora : but the days of Toſcar muſt be ſad.
+ I ſhall ſit in my cave in the field of the ſun. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ blaſt will ruſtle in my trees. I ſhall think it is Cuthona's
+ voice. But ſhe is diſtant far, in the halls of the mighty Conlath !
+
+
+
+ Cuthona.
+
Ha ! what cloud is that ? It carries the ghoſts of my fathers. I ſee the
+ ſkirts of their robes, like grey and watry miſt. When ſhall I fall, O Rumar ? Sad Cuthona
+ foreſees her death. Will not Conlath behold me, before I enter the narrow houſeDisplay note ?
+
+
+
+ Ossian.
+
He ſhall behold thee, O maid. He comes along the heaving ſea. The death of
+ Toſcar is dark on his ſpear. A wound is in his ſide ! He is pale at the cave of Thona. He ſhews
+ his ghaſtly wound. Where art thou with thy tears, Cuthona ? The chief of Mora dies. The viſion
+ grows dim, on my mind. I behold the chiefs no more ! But, O ye bards of future times, remember
+ the fall of Conlath with tears. He fell before his day. Sadneſs darkened in his hall. His mother
+ looked to his ſhield on the wall, and it was bloodyDisplay note. She
+ knew that her hero fell.
+
+ [
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+ Her ſorrow was heard on Mora. Art thou pale on thy rock, Cuthona, beſide
+ the fallen chiefs ? Night comes, and day returns, but none appears to raiſe their tomb. Thou
+ frighteneſt the ſcreaming fowls away. Thy tears for ever flow. Thou art pale as a watry cloud,
+ that riſes from a lake !
+
The ſons of green Selma came. They found Cuthona cold. They raiſed a tomb
+ over the heroes. She reſts at the ſide of Conlath. Come not to my dreams, O Conlath ! Thou haſt
+ received thy fame. Be thy voice far diſtant from my hall; that ſleep may deſcend at night. O
+ that I could forget my friends : till my footſteps ſhould ceaſe to be ſeen! till I come among
+ them with joy! and lay my aged limbs in the narrow houſe !
Fingal in his voyage to Lochlin, whither he had been invited by Starno the father of
+ Agandecca, touched at Berrathon, an iſland of Scandinavia, where he was kindly entertained by
+ Larthmor the petty king of the place, who was a vaſſal of the ſupreme kings of Lochlin. The
+ hoſpitality of Larthmor gained him Fingal's friendſhip, which that hero manifeſted, after the
+ impriſonment of Larthmor by his own ſon, by ſending Oſſian and Toſcar, the father of Malvina ſo
+ often mentioned, to reſcue Larthmor, and to puniſh the unnatural behaviour of Uthal. Uthal was
+ handſome, and, by the ladies, much admired. Nina-thoma, the beautiful daughter of Torthoma, a
+ neighbouring prince, fell in love and fled with him. He proved unconſtant; for another lady,
+ whoſe name is not mentioned, gaining his affections, he confined Nina-thoma to a deſart iſland
+ near the coaſt of Berrathon. She was relieved by Oſſian, who, in company with Toſcar, landing on
+ Berrathon, defeated the forces of Uthal, and killed him in a ſingle combat. Nina-thoma, whoſe
+ love not all the bad behaviour of Uthal could eraſe, hearing of his death, died of grief. In the
+ mean time Larthmor is reſtored, and Oſſian and Toſcar return in triumph to Fingal,
+
The poem opens with an elegy on the death of Malvina the daughter of Toſcar, and cloſes with
+ preſages of Oſſian's death.
Bend thy blue courſe, O ſtream, round the narrow plain ofDisplay note Lutha. Let the green woods hang over it, from their hills: the ſun look on it at noon.
+ The thiſtle is there on its rock, and ſhakes its beard to the wind. The flower hangs its heavy
+ head, waving, at times, to the gale. “Why doſt thou awake me, O gale,” it ſeems to ſay, “I am
+ covered with the drops of heaven? The time of my fading is near, the blaſt that ſhall ſcatter my
+ leaves. Tomorrow ſhall the traveller come ; he that ſaw me in my beauty ſhall come. His eyes will
+ ſearch the field, but they will not find me?” So ſhall they ſearch in vain, for the voice of
+ Cona, after it has failed in the field. The hunter ſhall come forth in the morning, and the voice
+ of my harp
+
+ [
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+ ſhall not be heard. “Where is the ſon of car-borne Fingal ?” The tear
+ will be on his cheek ! Then come thou, O Malvina, with all thy muſic, come. Lay Oſſian in the
+ plain of Lutha : let his tomb riſe in the lovely field.
+
Malvina! where art thou, with thy ſongs, with the ſoft ſound of thy ſteps? SonDisplay note of Alpin art thou near ? where is the daughter of Toſcar? “I paſſed, O ſon of Fingal, by
+ Tor-lutha's moſſy walls. The ſmoke of the hall was ceaſed. Silence was among the trees of the
+ hill. The voice of the chace was over. I ſaw the daughters of the bow. I aſked about Malvina, but
+ they anſwered not. They turned their faces away : thin darkneſs covered their beauty. They were
+ like ſtars, on a rainy hill, by night, each looking faintly thro' her miſt.”
+
PleasantDisplay note be thy reſt, O lovely beam! ſoon haſt thou ſet on our hills ! The ſteps of thy departure
+ were ſtately, like the moon on the blue, trembling wave. But thou haſt left us in darkneſs, firſt
+ of the maids of Lutha ! We ſit, at the rock, and there is no voice; no light but
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ the meteor of fire ! Soon haſt thou ſet, O Malvina, daughter of generous
+ Toſcar ! But thou riſeſt like the beam of the eaſt, among the ſpirits of thy friends, where they
+ ſit, in their ſtormy halls, the chambers of the thunder ! A cloud hovers over Cona. Its blue
+ curling ſides are high. The winds are beneath it, with their wings. Within it is the dwellingDisplay note of Fingal. There the hero ſits in darkneſs. His airy ſpear is in his hand. His ſhield
+ half covered with clouds, is like the darkened moon ; when one half ſtill remains in the wave,
+ and the other looks ſickly on the field !
+
His friends ſit around the King, on miſt ! They hear the ſongs of Ullin : he
+ ſtrikes the half-viewleſs harp. He raiſes the feeble voice. The leſſer heroes, with a thouſand
+ meteors, light the airy hall. Malvina riſes, in the midſt; a bluſh is on her cheek. She beholds
+ the unknown faces of her fathers. She turns aſide her humid eyes. “Art thou come ſo ſoon ?” ſaid
+ Fingal, “daughter of generous Toſcar.
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ Sadneſs dwells in the halls of Lutha. My aged ſonDisplay note is ſad ! I hear the breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy locks. It comes to
+ the hall, but thou art not there. Its voice is mournful among the arms of thy fathers ! Go, with
+ thy ruſtling wing, O breeze! ſigh on Malvina's tomb. It riſes yonder beneath the rock, at the
+ blue ſtream of Lutha. The maidsDisplay note are departed to their place. Thou alone, O breeze, mourneſt there!”
+
But who comes from the duſky weſt, ſupported on a cloud? A ſmile is on his
+ grey, watry face. His locks of miſt fly on wind. He bends forward on his airy ſpear. It is thy
+ father, Malvina ! “Why ſhineft thou, ſo ſoon, on our clouds,” he ſays, “O lovely light of Lutha!
+ But thou wert ſad, my daughter. Thy friends had paſſed away. The ſons of little menDisplay note were in the hall. None remained of the heroes, but Oſſian king of ſpears !”
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+
+
And doſt thou remember Oſſian, car-borne ToſcarDisplay note, ſon of Conloch ? The battles of our youth were many. Our ſwords went together to the
+ field. They ſaw us coming like two falling rocks. The ſons of the ſtranger fled. “There come the
+ warriors of Cona !” they ſaid. “Their ſteps are in the paths of the flying!” Draw near, ſon of
+ Alpin, to the ſong of the aged. The deeds of other times are in my ſoul. My memory beams on the
+ days that are paſt. On the days of mighty Toſcar, when our path was in the deep. Draw near, ſon
+ of Alpin, to the laſt ſound of the voice of Cona !
+
The king of Morven commanded. I raiſed my ſails to the wind. Toſcar chief of
+ Lutha ſtood at my ſide. I roſe on the dark-blue wave, Our courſe was to ſea-ſurrounded BerrathonDisplay note, the iſle of many ſtorms. There dwelt, with his locks of age, the ſtately ſtrength of
+ Larthmor. Larthmor, who ſpread the feaſt of ſhells to Fingal, when he went to Starno's halls, in
+ the days of Agandecca. But when the chief was old, the pride of his ſon aroſe ; the pride of
+ fair-haired Uthal, the love of a thouſand maids. He bound
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ the aged Larthmor, and dwelt in his ſounding halls !
+
Long pined the king in his cave, beſide his rolling ſea. Day did not come to
+ his dwelling ; nor the burning oak by night. But the wind of ocean was there, and the parting
+ beam of the moon. The red ſtar looked on the king, when it trembled on the weſtern wave. Snitho
+ came to Selma's hall : Snitho the friend of Larthmor's youth. He told of the king of Berrathon :
+ the wrath of Fingal aroſe. Thrice he aſſumed the ſpear, reſolved to ſtretch his hand to Uthal.
+ But the memoryDisplay note of his deeds roſe before the king. He ſent his ſon and Tofcar. Our joy was great on the
+ rolling ſea. We often half-unſheathed our ſwords. For never before had we fought alone, in
+ battles of the ſpear.
+
Night came down on the ocean. The winds departed on their wings. Cold and
+ pale is the moon. The red ſtars lift their heads on high. Our courſe is ſlow along the coaſt of
+ Berrathon. The white waves tumble on the rocks. “What voice is that,” ſaid Toſcar, “which comes
+ between the ſounds of the waves? It is ſoft but
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ mournful, like the voice of departed bards. But I behold a maidDisplay note. She ſits on the rock alone. Her head bends on her arm of ſnow. Her dark hair is in the
+ wind. Hear, ſon of Fingal, her ſong, it is ſmooth as the gliding ſtream.” We came to the ſilent
+ bay, and heard the maid of night.
+
“How long will ye roll around me, blue-tumbling waters of ocean ? My
+ dwelling was not always in caves, nor beneath the whiſtling tree. The feaſt was ſpread in
+ Torthóma's hall. My father delighted in my voice. The youths beheld me in the ſteps of my
+ lovelineſs. They bleſſed the dark-haired Nina-thoma. It was then thou didſt come, O Uthal ! like
+ the ſun of heaven ! The ſouls of the virgins are thine, ſon of generous Larthmor ! But why doſt
+ thou leave me alone, in the midſt of roaring waters? Was my ſoul dark with thy death? Did my
+ white hand lift the ſword ? Why then haſt thou left me alone, king of high FinthormoDisplay note !”
+
The tear ſtarted from my eye, when I heard the voice of the maid. I ſtood
+ before her in my arms. I ſpoke the words of peace ! “Lovely
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ dweller of the cave! what ſigh is in thy breaſt ? Shall Oſſian lift his
+ ſword in thy preſence, the deſtruction of thy foes? Daughter of Torthoma, riſe. I have heard the
+ words of thy grief. The race of Morven are around thee, who never injured the weak. Come to our
+ dark-boſomed ſhip! thou brighter than that ſetting moon ! Our courſe is to the rocky Berrathon,
+ to the ecchoing walls of Finthormo.” She came in her beauty ; ſhe came with all her lovely ſteps.
+ Silent joy brightened in her face; as when the ſhadows fly from the field of ſpring ; the
+ blue-ſtream is rolling in brightneſs, and the green buſh bends over its courſe !
+
The morning roſe with its beams. We came to Rothma's bay. A boar ruſhed from
+ the wood : my ſpear pierced his ſide, and he fell. I rejoiced over the bloodDisplay note. I foreſaw my growing fame. But now the ſound of Uthal's train came, from the high
+ Finthormo. They ſpread over the heath to the chace of the boar. Himſelf comes ſlowly on, in the
+ pride of his ſtrength. He lifts two pointed ſpears. On his ſide is the hero's
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ ſword. Three youths carry his poliſhed bows. The bounding of five dogs is
+ before him. His heroes move on, at a diſtance, admiring the ſteps of the king. Stately was the
+ ſon of Larthmor ! but his ſoul was dark! Dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it foretels
+ the ſtorms !
+
We roſe on the heath before the king. He ſtopt in the midſt of his courſe.
+ His heroes gathered around. A gray-haired bard advanced. “Whence are the ſons of the ſtrangers !”
+ began the bard of ſong. “The children of the unhappy come to Berrathon; to the ſword of car-borne
+ Uthal. He ſpreads no feaſt in his hall. The blood of ſtrangers is on his ſtreams. If from Selma's
+ walls ye come, from the moſſy walls of Fingal, chuſe three youths to go to your king to tell of
+ the fall of his people. Perhaps the hero may come and pour his blood on Uthal's ſword. So ſhall
+ the fame of Finthormo ariſe, like the growing tree of the vale!”
+
“Never will it riſe, O bard,” I ſaid in the pride of my wrath. “He would
+ ſhrink from the preſence of Fingal, whofe eyes are the flames of death. The ſon of Comhal comes,
+ and kings vaniſh before him. They are rolled together, like miſt, by the breath of his rage.
+ Shall three tell to Fingal, that his people fell?
+
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+ Yes ! they may tell it, bard ! but his people ſhall fall with fame !”
+
I stood in the darkneſs of my ſtrength. Toſcar drew his ſword at my ſide.
+ The foe came on like a ſtream. The mingled ſound of death aroſe. Man took man, ſhield met ſhield
+ ; ſteel mixed its beams with ſteel. Darts hiſs thro' air. Spears ring on mails. Swords on broken
+ bucklers bound. As the noiſe of an aged grove beneath the roaring wind, when a thouſand ghoſts
+ break the trees by night, ſuch was the din of arms! But Uthal fell beneath my ſword. The ſons of
+ Berrathon fled. It was then I ſaw him in his beauty, and the tear hung in my eye! “Thou art fallenDisplay note, young tree,” I ſaid, “with all thy beauty round thee. Thou art fallen on thy plains, and
+ the field is bare. The winds come from the deſart! there is no ſound in thy leaves ! Lovely art
+ thou in death, ſon of car-borne Larthmor.”
+
Nina-thoma ſat on the ſhore. She heard the ſound of battle. She turned her
+ red eyes on
+
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+ Lethmal, the gray-haired bard of Selma. He alone had remained on the
+ coaſt, with the daughter of Torthoma, “Son of the times of old !” ſhe ſaid, “I hear the noiſe of
+ death. Thy friends have met with Uthal and the chief is low ! O that I had remained on the rock,
+ incloſed with the tumbling waves! Then would my ſoul be ſad, but his death would not reach my
+ ear. Art thou fallen on thy heath, O ſon of high Finthormo ! Thou didſt leave me on a rock, but
+ my ſoul was full of thee. Son of high Finthormo ! art thou fallen on thy heath ?”
+
She roſe pale in her tears. She ſaw the bloody ſhield of Uthal. She ſaw it
+ in Oſſian's hand. Her ſteps were diſtracted on the heath. She flew. She found him. She fell. Her
+ ſoul came forth in a ſigh. Her hair is ſpread on his face. My burſting tears deſcend. A tomb
+ aroſe on the unhappy. My ſong of woe was heard. “Reſt, hapleſs children of youth! Reſt at the
+ noiſe of that moſſy ſtream! The virgins will ſee your tomb, at the chace, and turn away their
+ weeping eyes. Your fame will be in ſong. The voice of the harp will be heard in your praiſe. The
+ daughters of Selma ſhall hear it: your renown ſhall be in other lands. Reſt, children of youth,
+ at the noiſe of the moſſy ſtream.”
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+
+
Two days we remained on the coaſt. The heroes of Berrathon convened. We
+ brought Larthmor to his halls. The feaſt of ſhells is ſpread. The joy of the aged was great. He
+ looked to the arms of his fathers. The arms which he left in his hall, when the pride of Uthal
+ roſe. We were renowned before Larthmor. He bleſſed the chiefs of Morven. He knew not that his ſon
+ was low, the ſtately ſtrength of Uthal ! They had told, that he had retired to the woods, with
+ the tears of grief. They had told it, but he was ſilent in the tomb of Rothma's heath.
+
On the fourth day we raiſed our ſails, to the roar of the northern wind.
+ Larthmor came to the coaſt. His bards exalted the ſong. The joy of the king was great, he looked
+ to Rothma's gloomy heath. He ſaw the tomb of his ſon. The memory of Uthal roſe. “Who of my
+ heroes,” he ſaid, “lies there? he ſeems to have been of the Kings of men. Was he renowned in my
+ halls, before the pride of Uthal roſe ?” Ye are ſilent, ſons of Berrathon! is the king of heroes
+ low ? My heart melts for thee, O Uthal ! though thy hand was againſt thy father. O that I had
+ remained in the cave! that my ſon had dwelt in Finthormo! I might have heard the
+
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+ tread of his feet, when he went to the chace of the boar. I might have
+ heard his voice on the blaſt of my cave. Then would my ſoul be glad : but now darkneſs dwells in
+ my halls.”
+
Such were my deeds, ſon of Alpin, when the arm of my youth was ſtrong. SuchDisplay note the actions of Toſcar, the car-borne ſon of Conloch. But Toſcar is on his flying cloud. I
+ am alone at Lutha. My voice is like the laſt ſound of the wind, when it forfakes the woods. But
+ Oſſian ſhall not be long alone. He fees the miſt that ſhall receive his ghoſt. He beholds the
+ miſt that ſhall form his robe, when he appears on his hills. The ſons of feeble men ſhall behold
+ me, and admire the ſtature of the chiefs of old. They ſhall creep to their caves. They ſhall look
+ to the ſky with fear: for my ſteps ſhall be in the clouds. Darkneſs ſhall roll on my ſide.
+
Lead, ſon of Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. The winds begin to riſe. The
+ dark wave of the lake reſounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora with its branches bare? It
+ bends, ſon of Alpin, in the ruſtling blaſt. My harp hangs on a blaſted branch. The ſound of its
+ ſtrings is mournful. Does the wind touch thee, O harp, or is it ſome paſſing ghoſt! It is the
+ hand of Malvina! Bring me the harp,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſon of Alpin. Another ſong ſhall riſe. My ſoul ſhall depart in the ſound.
+ My fathers ſhall hear it in their airy hall. Their dim faces ſhall hang, with joy, from their
+ clouds; and their hands receive their ſon. The aged oak bends over the ſtream. It ſighs with all
+ its moſs. The withered fern whiſtles near, and mixes, as it waves, with Oſſian's hair.
+
“Strike the harp and raiſe the ſong: be near, with all your wings, ye winds.
+ Bear the mournful ſound away to Fingal's airy hall. Bear it to Fingal's hall, that he may hear
+ the voice of his ſon. The voice of him that praiſed the mighty !”
+
“The blaſt of north opens thy gates, O king. I behold thee ſitting on miſt,
+ dimly gleaming in all thine arms. Thy form now is not the terror of the valiant. It is like a
+ watery cloud ; when we ſee the ſtars behind it, with their weeping eyes. Thy ſhield is the aged
+ moon : thy ſword a vapour half-kindled with fire. Dim and feeble is the chief, who travelled in
+ brightneſs before ! But thy ſtepsDisplay note are on the winds of the
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ deſart, The ſtorms are darkening in thy hand. Thou takeſt the ſun in thy
+ wrath, and hideſt him in thy clouds. The ſons of little men are afraid. A thouſand ſhowers
+ deſcend. But when thou comeſt forth in thy mildneſs ; the gale of the morning is near thy courſe.
+ The ſun laughs in his blue fields. The grey ſtream winds in its vale, The buſhes ſhake their
+ green heads in the wind. The roes bound towards the deſart.”
+
“There is a murmur in the heath ! the ſtormy winds abate! ] hear the voice
+ of Fingal. Long has it been abſent from mine ear ! “Come, Oſſian, come away,” he ſays. “Fingal
+ has received his fame. We paſſed away, like flames that had ſhone for a ſeaſon. Our departure was
+ in renown. Though the plains of our battles are dark and ſilent ; our fame is in the ſour grey
+ ſtones. The voice of Oſſian has been heard. The harp has been ſtrung in Selma. “Come Oſſian, come
+ away,” he ſays, “come, fly with thy fathers on clouds.” I come, I come, thou king of men ! The
+ life of Oſſian fails. I begin to vaniſh on Cona. My ſteps are not ſeen in Selma. Beſide the ſtone
+ of Mora I ſhall fall aſleep. The winds whiſtling in my grey hair, ſhall not awaken me. Depart on
+ thy wings, O wind : thou canſt not diſturb the reſt of the bard.
+
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+ ]
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+ The night is long, but his eyes are heavy, Depart, thou ruſtling
+ blaſt.”
+
“But why art thou ſad, ſon of Fingal ? Why grows the cloud of thy ſoul ? The
+ chiefs of other times are departed. They have gone without their fame. The ſons of future years
+ ſhall paſs away. Another race ſhall ariſe. The people are like the waves of ocean : like the
+ leaves of woody Morven, they paſs away in the ruſtling blaſt, and other leaves lift their green
+ heads on high.”
+
Did thy beauty laſt, O RynoDisplay note? Stood the ſtrength of car-borne Oſcar? Fingal himſelf
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ departed. The halls of his fathers forgot his ſteps. Shalt thou then
+ remain, thou aged bard! when the mighty have failed ? But my fame ſhall remain, and grow like the
+ oak of Morven ; which lifts its broad head to the ſtorm, and rejoices in the courſe of the wind !
Inquiries into the antiquities of nations afford more pleaſure than any
+ real advantage to mankind. The ingenious may form ſyſtems of hiſtory on probabilities and a few
+ facts; but at a great diſtance of time, their accounts muſt be vague and uncertain. The infancy
+ of ſtates and kingdoms is as deſtitute of great events, as of the means of tranſmitting them to
+ poſterity: The arts of poliſhed life, by which alone facts can be preſerved with certainty, are
+ the production of a well-formed community. It is then hiſtorians begin to write, and public
+ tranſactions to be worthy remembrance. The actions of former times are left in obſcurity, or
+ magnified by uncertain traditions, Hence it is that we find ſo
+
+ [
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+ much of the marvellous in the origin of every nation;
+ poſterity being always ready to believe any thing, however fabulous, that reflects honour on
+ their anceſtors.
+
The Greeks and Romans were remarkable for this weakneſs. They ſwallowed the
+ moſt abſurd fables concerning the high antiquities of their reſpective nations. Good hiſtorians,
+ however, roſe very early amongſt them, and tranſmitted, with luſtre, their great actions to
+ poſterity. It is to them that they owe that unrivalled fame they now enjoy, while the great
+ actions of other nations are involved in fables, or loſt in obſcurity. The Celtic nations afford
+ a ſtriking inſtance of this kind, They, though once the maſters of Europe from the mouth of the
+ river ObyDisplay note, in Ruſſia, to Cape Finiſterre, the weſtern point of Gallicia in
+ Spain, are very little mentioned in hiſtory. They truſted their fame to tradition and the ſongs
+ of their bards, which, by the viciſſitude of human affairs, are long ſince loſt. Their ancient
+ language is the only monument that remains of them ; and the traces of it being ſound in places
+ ſo widely diſtant from each other, ſerves only to ſhew the extent of their ancient power, but
+ throws very little light on their hiſtory.
+
+
+ [
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+ Of all the Celtic nations, that which poſſeſſed
+ old Gaul is the moſt renowned ; not perhaps on account of worth ſuperior to the reſt, but for
+ their wars with a people who had hiſtorians to tranſmit the fame of their enemies, as well as
+ their own, to poſterity. Britain was firſt peopled by them, according to the teſtimony of the
+ beſt authorsDisplay note ; its ſituation in reſpect to Gaul makes the opinion
+ probable ; but what puts it beyond all diſpute, is that the ſame cuſtoms and language prevailed
+ among the inhabitants of both in the days of Julius CæſarDisplay note.
+
The colony from Gaul poſſeſſed themſelves; at firſt, of that part of Britain
+ which was next to their own country ; and ſpreading northward, by degrees, as they increaſed in
+ numbers, peopled the whole iſland. Some adventurers paſſing over from thoſe parts of Britain that
+ are within ſight of Ireland, were the founders of the Iriſh nation: which is a more probable
+ ſtory than the idle fables of Mileſian and Gallician colonies. Diodorus SiculusDisplay note mentions it as a thing well known in his time, that the
+ inhabitants of Ireland were originally Britons, and his teſtimony is unqueſtionable, when we
+ conſider
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ that, for many ages, the language and cuſtoms of both
+ nations were the ſame.
+
Tacitus was of opinion that the ancient Caledonians were of German extract;
+ but even the ancient Germans themſelves were Gauls. The preſent Germans, properly ſo called, were
+ not the ſame with the ancient Celtæ. The manners and cuſtoms of the two nations were ſimilar ;
+ but their language different. The GermansDisplay note are the genuine deſcendants of the ancient Scandinavians, who
+ croſſed, in an early period, the Baltic. The CeltæDisplay note, anciently, ſent many colonies into
+ Germany, all of whom retained their own laws, language, and cuſtoms, till they were diſſipated,
+ in the Roman empire ; and it is of them, if any colonies came from Germany into Scotland, that
+ the ancient Caledonians were deſcended.
+
But whether the Caledonians were a colony of the Celtic Germans, or the ſame
+ with the Gauls that firſt poſſeſſed themſelves of Britain, is a matter of no moment at this
+ diſtance of time. Whatever their origin was, we find them very numerous in the time of Julius
+ Agricola, which is a preſumption that they were long before ſettled in the country, The form of
+ their government was a mixture of ariſtocracy and
+
+ [
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+ monarchy, as it was in all the countries where the Druids bore the
+ chief ſway. This order of men ſeems to have been formed on the ſame principles with the Dactyli
+ Idæi and Curetes of the ancients. Their pretended intercourſe with heaven, their magic and
+ divination were the ſame. The knowlege of the Druids in natural cauſes, and the properties of
+ certain things, the fruit of the experiments of ages, gained them a mighty reputation among the
+ people. The eſteem of the populace ſoon increaſed into a veneration for the order; which theſe
+ cunning and ambitious prieſts took care to improve, to ſuch a degree, that they, in a manner,
+ ingroſſed the management of civil, as well as religious, matters. It is generally allowed that
+ they did not abuſe this extraordinary power ; the preſerving their character of ſanctity was ſo
+ eſſential to their influence, that they never broke out into violence or oppreſſion. The chiefs
+ were allowed to execute the laws, but the legiſlative power was entirely in the hands of the
+ DruidsDisplay note. It was by their authority that the tribes were united, in times of the
+ greateſt danger, under one head. This temporary king, or VergobretusDisplay note, was choſen by them, and generally laid
+ down his office at the end of the war. Theſe prieſts
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ enjoyed long this extraordinary privilege among the
+ Celtic nations who lay beyond the pale of the Roman empire. It was in the beginning of the ſecond
+ century that their power among the Caledonians begun to decline. The traditions concerning
+ Trathal and Cormac, anceſtors to Fingal, are full of the particulars of the fall of the Druids: a
+ fingular fate, it muſt be owned, of prieſts, who had once eſtabliſhed their ſuperſtition !
+
The continual wars of the Caledonians againſt the Romans hindered the better
+ ſort from initiating themſelves, as the cuſtom formerly was, into the order of the Druids. The
+ precepts of their religion were confined to a few, and were not much attended to by a people
+ inured to war. The Vergobretus, or chief magiſtrate, was choſen without the concurrence of the
+ hierarchy, or continued in his office againſt their will. Continual power ſtrengthened his
+ intereſt among the tribes, and enabled him to ſend down, as hereditary to his poſterity, the
+ office he had only received himſelf by election.
+
On occaſion of a new war againſt the King of the World, as
+ tradition emphatically calls the Roman emperor, the Druids, to vindicate the honour of the order,
+ began to reſume their ancient privilege of chuſing the Vergobretus. Garmal, the ſon of Tarno,
+ being deputed by
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ them, came to the grandfather of the celebrated Fingal, who was then
+ Vergobretus, and commanded him, in the name of the whole order, to lay down his office. Upon his
+ refuſal, a civil war commenced, which ſoon ended in almoſt the total extinction of the religious
+ order of the Druids. A few that remained, retired to the dark receſſes of their groves, and the
+ caves they had formerly uſed for their meditations. It is then we find them in the circle of
+ ſtones, and unheeded by the world. A total diſregard for the order, and utter abhorrence of
+ the Druidical rites enſued. Under this cloud of public hate, all that had any knowlege of the
+ religion of the Druids became extinct, and the nation fell into the laft degree of ignorance of
+ their rites and ceremonies.
+
It is no matter of wonder then, that Fingal and his ſon Oſſian diſliked the
+ Druids, who were the declared enemies to their ſucceſſion in the ſupreme magiſtracy. It is a
+ fingular caſe, it muſt be allowed, that there are no traces of religion in the poems aſcribed to
+ Oſſian ; as the poetical compoſitions of other nations are fo cloſely connected with their
+ mythology. But gods are not neceſſary, when the poet has genius. It is hard to account for it to
+ thoſe who are not made acquainted with the manner of the old Scottiſh
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ bards. That race of men carried their notions of
+ martial honour to an extravagant pitch. Any aid given their heroes in battle, was thought to
+ derogate from their fame ; and the bards immediately transferred the glory of the action to him
+ who had given that aid.
+
Had the poet brought down gods, as often as Homer hath done, to aſſiſt his
+ heroes, his work had not conſiſted of eulogiums on men, but of hymns to ſuperior beings. Thoſe
+ who write in the Galic language ſeldom mention religion in their profane poetry ; and when they
+ profeſſedly write of religion, they never mix with their compoſitions, the actions of their
+ heroes, This cuſtom alone, even though the religion of the Druids had not been previouſly
+ extinguiſhed, may, in ſome meaſure, excuſe the author's ſilence concerning the religion of
+ ancient times.
+
To allege, that a nation is void of all religion, would betray ignorance of
+ the hiſtory of mankind. The traditions of their fathers, and their own obſervations on the works
+ of nature, together with that ſuperſtition which is inherent in the human frame, have, in all
+ ages, raiſed in the minds of men ſome idea of a ſuperior being. Hence it is, that in the darkeſt
+ times, and amongſt the moſt barbarous nations, the very populace themſelves had ſome faint
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ notion, at leaſt, of a divinity. The Indians, who worſhip no God,
+ believe that he exiſts. It would be doing injuſtice to the author of theſe poems, to think, that
+ he had not opened his conceptions to that primitive and greateſt of all truths. But let his
+ religion be what it will, it is certain he has not alluded to Chriſtianity, or any of its rites,
+ in his poems ; which ought to fix his opinions, at leaſt, to an æra prior to that religion.
+ Conjectures, on this ſubject, muſt ſupply the place of proof. The perſecution begun by
+ Dioclefian, in the year 303, is the moſt probable time in which the firſt dawning of Chriſtianity
+ in the north of Britain can be fixed. The humane and mild character of Conſtantius Chlorus, who
+ commanded then in Britain, induced the perſecuted Chriftians to take refuge under him. Some of
+ them, through a zeal to propagate their tenets, or through fear, went beyond the pale of the
+ Roman empire, and ſettled among the Caledonians; who were ready to hearken to their doctrines, if
+ the religion of the Druids was exploded long before.
+
These miſſionaries, either through choice, or to give more weight to the
+ doctrine they advanced, took poſſeſſion of the cells and groves of the Druids; and it was from
+ this retired life they had the name of CuldeesDisplay note, which in the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ language of the country ſignified ſequeſtered
+ perſons. It was with one of the Culdees that Oſſian, in his extreme old age, is
+ ſaid to have diſputed concerning the Chriftian religion. This diſpute, they ſay, is extant, and
+ is couched in verſe, according to the cuſtom of the times. The extreme ignorance on the part of
+ Oſſian, of the Chriſtian tenets, ſhews, that that religion had only been lately introduced, as it
+ is not eafy to conceive, how one of the firſt rank could be totally unacquainted with a religion
+ that had been known for any time in the country. The diſpute bears the genuine marks of
+ antiquity. The obſolete phraſes and expreſſions peculiar to the times, prove it to be no forgery.
+ If Oſſian then lived at the introduction of Chriſtianity, as by all appearance he did, his epoch
+ will be the latter end of the third, and beginning of the fourth century. Tradition here ſteps in
+ with a kind of proof.
+
The exploits of Fingal againſt CaraculDisplay note, the ſon of the king of the world, are among the firſt brave
+ actions of his youth. A complete poem, which relates to this ſubject, is printed in this
+ collection.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+
+
In the year 210 the emperor Severus, after returning from his expedition
+ againſt the Caledonians, at York fell into the tedious illneſs of which he afterwards died. The
+ Caledonians and Maiatæ, reſuming courage from his indiſpoſition, took arms in order to recover
+ the poſſeſſions they had loſt. The enraged emperor commanded his army to march into their
+ country, and to deſtroy it with fire and ſword. His orders were but ill executed, for his ſon,
+ Caracalla, was at the head of the army, and his thoughts were entirely taken up with the hopes of
+ his father's death, and with ſchemes to ſupplant his brother Geta. --- He ſcarcely had entered
+ the enemy's country, when news was brought him that Severus was dead. --- A ſudden peace is
+ patched up with the Caledonians, and, as it appears from Dion Caſſius, the country they had loſt
+ to Severus was reſtored to them.
+
The Caracul of Fingal is no other than Caracalla, who, as the ſon of
+ Severus, the Emperor of Rome, whoſe dominions were extended almoſt over the known world, was not
+ without reaſon called the Son of the King of the world. The ſpace of time between 211,
+ the year Severus died, and the beginning of the fourth century, is not ſo great, but Oſſian the
+ ſon of Fingal, might have ſeen the Chriſtians whom the
+
+ [
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+ perſecution under Diocleſian had driven beyond the
+ pale of the Roman empire.
+
In one of the many lamentations on the death of Oſcar, a battle which he
+ fought againſt Caros, king of ſhips, on the banks of the winding CarunDisplay note, is mentioned among his great actions. It is
+ more than probable, that the Caros mentioned here, is the ſame with the noted uſurper Caraufius,
+ who aſſumed the purple in the year 287, and ſeizing on Britain, defeated the emperor Maximian
+ Herculius, in ſeveral naval engagements, which gives propriety to his being called the King
+ of Ships. The winding Carun is that ſmall river retaining ſtill the name of Carron,
+ and runs in the neighbourhood of Agricola's wall, which Carauſius repaired to obſtruct the
+ incurſions of the Caledonians. Several other paſſages in traditions allude to the wars of the
+ Romans ; but the two juſt mentioned clearly fix the epocha of Fingal to the third century ; and
+ this account agrees exactly with the Iriſh hiſtories, which place the death of Fingal, the ſon of
+ Comhal, in the year 283, and that of Oſcar and their own celebrated Cairbre, in the year 296.
+
Some people may imagine, that the alluſions to the Roman hiſtory might have
+ been derived
+
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+ by tradition, from learned men, more than from ancient poems. This
+ muſt then have happened at leaſt three ages ago, as theſe alluſions are mentioned often in the
+ compoſitions of thoſe times.
+
Every one knows what a cloud of ignorance and barbariſm overſpread the north
+ of Europe three hundred years ago. The minds of men, addicted to ſuperſtition, contracted a
+ narrowneſs that deſtroyed genius. Accordingly we find the compoſitions of thoſe times trivial and
+ puerile to the laſt degree. But let it be allowed, that, amidſt all the untoward circumſtances of
+ the age, a genius might ariſe, it is not eaſy to determine what could induce him to allude to the
+ Roman times. We find no fact to favour any deſigns which could be entertained by any man who
+ lived in the fifteenth century.
+
The ſtrongeſt objection to the antiquity of the poems now given to the
+ public under the name of Oſſian, is the improbability of their being handed down by tradition
+ through ſo many centuries. Ages of barbariſm ſome will ſay, could not produce poems abounding
+ with the diſintereſted and generous ſentiments ſo conſpicuous in the compoſitions of Oſſian; and
+ could theſe ages produce them, it is impoſſible but they muſt be loſt, or altogether corrupted in
+ a long ſucceſſion of barbarous generations.
+
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+
+ ]
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+
+
These objections naturally ſuggeſt themſelves to men unacquainted with the
+ ancient ſtate of the northern parts of Britain. The bards, who were an inferior order of the
+ Druids, did not ſhare their bad fortune. They were ſpared by the victorious king, as it was
+ through their means only he could hope for immortality to his fame. They attended him in the
+ camp, and contributed to eſtabliſh his power by their ſongs. His great actions were magnified,
+ and the populace, who had no ability to examine into his character narrowly, were dazzled with
+ his fame in the rhimes of the bards. In the mean time, men aſſumed ſentiments that are rarely to
+ be met with in an age of barbariſm. The bards who were originally the diſciples of the Druids,
+ had their minds opened, and their ideas enlarged, by being initiated in the learning of that
+ celebrated order. They could form a perfect hero in their own minds, and aſcribe that character
+ to their prince. The inferior chiefs made this ideal character the model of their conduct, and by
+ degrees brought their minds to that generous ſpirit which breathes in all the poetry of the
+ times. The prince, flattered by his bards, and rivalled by his own heroes, who imitated his
+ character as deſcribed in the eulogies of his poets, endeavoured to excel his people in merit,
+
+
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+ as he was above them in ſtation. This emulation continuing, formed at
+ laſt the general character of the nation, happily compounded of what is noble in barbarity, and
+ virtuous and generous in a poliſhed people.
+
When virtue in peace, and bravery in war, are the characteriſtics of a
+ nation, their actions become intereſting, and their fame worthy of immortality. A generous ſpirit
+ is warmed with noble actions, and becomes ambitious of perpetuating them. This is the true ſource
+ of that divine inſpiration, to which the poets of all ages pretended. When they found their
+ themes inadequate to the warmth of their imaginations, they varniſhed them over with fables,
+ ſupplied by their own fancy, or furniſhed by abſurd traditions. Theſe fables, however ridiculous,
+ had their abettors; poſterity either implicitly believed them, or through a vanity natural to
+ mankind, pretended that they did. They loved to place the founders of their families in the days
+ of fable, when poetry, without the fear of contradiction, could give what characters ſhe pleaſed
+ of her heroes. It is to this vanity that we owe the preſervation of what remain of the more
+ ancient poems. Their poetical merit made their heroes famous in a country where heroiſm was much
+ eſteemed and admired. The poſterity of thoſe
+
+ [
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+ heroes, or thoſe who pretended to be deſcended from
+ them, heard with pleaſure the eulogiums of their anceſtors ; bards were employed to repeat the
+ poems, and to record the connection of their patrons with chiefs ſo renowned. Every chief in
+ proceſs of time had a bard in his family, and the office became at laſt hereditary. By the
+ ſucceſſion of theſe bards, the poems concerning the anceſtors of the family were handed down from
+ generation to generation; they were repeated to the whole clan on ſolemn occaſions, and always
+ alluded to in the new compoſitions of the bards. This cuſtom came down to near our own times; and
+ after the bards were diſcontinued, a great number in a clan retained by memory, or committed to
+ writing, their compoſitions, and founded the antiquity of their families on the authority of
+ their poems.
+
The uſe of letters was not known in the north of Europe till long after the
+ inſtitution of the bards : the records of the families of their patrons, their own, and more
+ ancient poems were handed down by tradition. Their poetical compoſitions were admirably contrived
+ for that purpoſe. They were adapted to muſic; and the moſt perfect harmony was obſerved. Each
+ verſe was ſo connected with thoſe which preceded or followed it, that if one line had been
+
+
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+ ]
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+ remembered in a ſtanza, it was almoſt impoſſible to forget the reſt.
+ The cadences followed in ſo natural a gradation, and the words were ſo adapted to the common turn
+ of the voice, after it is raiſed to a certain key, that it was almoſt impoſſible, from a
+ ſimilarity of ſound, to ſubſtitute one word for another. This excellence is peculiar to the
+ Celtic tongue, and is perhaps to be met with in no other language. Nor does this choice of words
+ clog the ſenſe or weaken the expreſſion. The numerous flections of conſonants, and variation in
+ declenſion, make the language very copious.
+
The deſcendants of the Celtæ, who inhabited Britain and its iſles, were not
+ ſingular in this method of preſerving the moſt precious monuments of their nation. The ancient
+ laws of the Greeks were couched in verſe, and handed down by tradition. The Spartans, through a
+ long habit, became ſo fond of this cuſtom, that they would never allow their laws to be committed
+ to writing. The actions of great men, and the eulogiums of kings and heroes, were preſerved in
+ the ſame manner. All the hiſtorical monuments of the old Germans were comprehended in their
+ ancient ſongsDisplay note! which were either hymns to their gods, or elegies in
+ praiſe of their heroes,
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ and were intended to perpetuate the great events in
+ their nation which were carefully interwoven with them. This ſpecies of compoſition was not
+ committed to writing, but delivered by oral traditionDisplay note. The care they took to
+ have the poems taught to their children, the uninterrupted cuſtom of repeating them upon certain
+ occaſions, and the happy meaſure of the verſe, ſerved to preſerve them for a long time
+ uncorrupted. This oral chronicle of the Germans was not forgot in the eighth century, and it
+ probably would have remained to this day, had not learning, which thinks every thing, that is not
+ committed to writing, fabulous, been introduced. It was from poetical traditions that Garcillaſſo
+ compoſed his account of the Yncas of Peru. The Peruvians had loft all other monuments of their
+ hiſtory, and it was from ancient poems which his mother, a princeſs of the blood of the Yncas,
+ taught him in his youth, that he collected the materials of his hiſtory. If other nations then,
+ that had been often overrun by enemies, and had ſent abroad and received colonies, could, for
+ many ages, preſerve, by oral tradition, their laws and hiſtories uncorrupted, it is much more
+ probable that the ancient Scots, a people ſo free of intermixture
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ with foreigners, and ſo ſtrongly attached to the memory of their
+ anceſtors, had the works of their bards handed down with great purity.
+
What is advanced, in this ſhort Diſſertation, it muſt be confeſſed, is mere
+ conjecture. Beyond the reach of records, is ſettled a gloom, which no ingenuity can penetrate.
+ The manners deſcribed, in theſe poems, ſuit the ancient Celtic times, and no other period, that
+ is known in hiſtory. We muſt, therefore, place the heroes far back in antiquity; and it matters
+ little, who were their contemporaries in other parts of the world. If we have placed Fingal in
+ his proper period, we do honour to the manners of barbarous times. He exercifed every manly
+ virtue in Caledonia, while Heliogabalus diſgraced human nature at Rome.
The hiſtory of thoſe nations, who originally poſſeſſed the north of Europe,
+ is leſs known than their manners. Deſtitute of the uſe of letters, they themſelves had not the
+ means of tranſmitting their great actions to remote poſterity. Foreign writers ſaw them only at a
+ diſtance, and deſcribed them as they found them. The vanity of the Romans induced them to
+ conſider the nations beyond the pale of their empire as barbarians; and conſequently their
+ hiſtory unworthy of being inveſtigated. Their manners and fingular character were matters of
+ curioſity, as they committed them to record. Some men, otherwiſe of great merit among ourſelves,
+ give into confined ideas on
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ this ſubject. Having early imbibed their idea of
+ exalted manners from the Greek and Roman writers, they ſcarcely ever afterwards have the
+ fortitude to allow any dignity of character to any nation deſtitute of the uſe of letters.
+
Without derogating from the fame of Greece and Rome, we may conſider
+ antiquity beyond the pale of their empire worthy of ſome attention. The nobler paſſions of the
+ mind never ſhoot forth more free and unreſtrained than in the times we call barbarous. That
+ irregular manner of life, and thoſe manly purſuits from which barbarity takes its name, are
+ highly favorable to a ſtrength of mind unknown in poliſhed times. In advanced ſociety the
+ characters of men are more uniform and diſguiſed. The human paſſions lie in ſome degree concealed
+ behind forms, and artificial manners; and the powers of the ſoul, without an opportunity of
+ exerting them, loſe their vigor. The times of regular government, and poliſhed manners, are
+ therefore to be wiſhed for by the feeble and weak in mind. An unſettled ſtate, and thoſe
+ convulſions which attend it, is the proper field for an exalted character, and the exertion of
+ great parts. Merit there riſes always ſuperior ; no fortuitous event can raiſe the timid and mean
+ into power. To thoſe who look upon antiquity in this light,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ it is an agreeable proſpect ; and they alone can have real pleaſure
+ in tracing nations to their ſource.
+
The eſtabliſhment of the Celtic ſtates, in the north of Europe, is beyond
+ the reach of written annals. The traditions and ſongs to which they truſted their hiſtory, were
+ loſt, or altogether corrupted in their revolutions and migrations, which were ſo frequent and
+ univerſal, that no kingdom in Europe is now poſſefed by its original inhabitants. Societies were
+ formed, and kingdoms erected, from a mixture of nations, who, in proceſs of time, loſt all
+ knowlege of their own origin. If tradition could be depended upon, it is only among a people,
+ from all time, free from intermixture with foreigners. We are to look for theſe among the
+ mountains and inacceſfible parts of a country : places, on account of their barrenneſs,
+ uninviting to an enemy, or whoſe natural ſtrength enabled the natives to repel invaſions. Such
+ are the inhabitants of the mountains of Scotland. We, accordingly, find, that they differ
+ materially from thoſe who poſſeſs the low and more fertile part of the kingdom. Their language is
+ pure and original, and their manners are thoſe of an ancient and unmixed race of men. Conſcious
+ of their own antiquity, they long deſpiſed others, as a new and mixed
+
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+ people. As they lived in a country only fit for
+ paſture, they were free from that toil and buſineſs, which engroſs the attention of a commercial
+ people. Their amuſement conſiſted in hearing or repeating their ſongs and traditions, and theſe
+ intirely turned on the antiquity of their nation, and the exploits of their forefathers. It is no
+ wonder, therefore, that there are more remains of antiquity among them, than among any other
+ people in Europe. Traditions, however, concerning remote periods, are only to be regarded, in ſo
+ far as they co-incide with cotemporary writers of undoubted credit and veracity.
+
No writers began their accounts from a more early period, than the
+ hiſtorians of the Scots nation. Without records, or even tradition itſelf, they give a long liſt
+ of ancient kings, and a detail of their tranſactions, with a ſcrupulous exactneſs. One might
+ naturally ſuppoſe, that, when they had no authentic annals, they ſhould, at leaſt, have recourſe
+ to the traditions of their country, and have reduced them into a regular ſyſtem of hiſtory. Of
+ both they ſeem to have been equally deſtitute. Born in the low country, and ſtrangers to the
+ ancient language of their nation, they contented themſelves with copying from one another, and
+ retailing the ſame fictions, in a new colour and dreſs.
John Fordunn was the firſt who collected thoſe fragments of the Scots
+ hiſtory, which had eſcaped the brutal policy of Edward I. and reduced them into order. His
+ accounts, in ſo far as they concerned recent tranſactions, deſerved credit : beyond a certain
+ period, they were fabulous and unſatisfactory. Some time before Fordun wrote, the king of
+ England, in a letter to the pope, had run up the antiquity of his nation to a very remote æra.
+ Fordun, poſſeſſed of all the national prejudice of the age, was unwilling that his country ſhould
+ yield, in point of antiquity, to a people, then its rivals and enemies. Deſtitute of annals in
+ Scotland, he had recourſe to Ireland, which, according to the vulgar errors of the times, was
+ reckoned the firſt habitation of the Scots. He found, there, that the Iriſh bards had carried
+ their pretenſions to antiquity as high, if not beyond any nation in Europe. It was from them he
+ took thoſe improbable fictions, which form the firſt part of his hiſtory.
+
The writers that ſucceeded Fordun implicitly followed his ſyſtem, though
+ they ſometimes varied from him in their relations of particular tranſactions, and the order of
+ ſucceſſion of their kings. As they had no new lights, and were, equally with him, unacquainted
+ with the
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+ traditions of their country, their hiſtories contain
+ little information concerning the origin of the Scots. Even Buchanan himſelf, except the elegance
+ and vigour of his ſtile, has very little to recommend him. Blinded with political prejudices, he
+ ſeemed more anxious to turn the fictions of his predeceſſors to his own purpoſes, than to detect
+ their miſrepreſentations, or inveſtigate truth amidſt the darkneſs which they had thrown round
+ it. It therefore appears, that little can be collected from their own hiſtorians, concerning the
+ firſt migration of the Scots into Britain.
+
That this iſland was peopled from Gaul admits of no doubt. Whether colonies
+ came afterwards from the north of Europe is a matter of meer ſpeculation. When South-Britain
+ yielded to the power of the Romans, the unconquered nations to the north of the province were
+ diſtinguiſhed by the name of Caledonians. From their very name, it appears, that they
+ were of thoſe Gauls, who poſſeſſed themſelves originally of Britain. It is compounded of two
+ Celtic words, Caël ſignifying Celts, or Gauls, and
+ Dun or Don, a hill; ſo that Caël-don, or Caledonians, is as much as to
+ ſay, the Celts of the hill country. The Highlanders, to this day, call themſelves
+ Caël, their language Caëlic, or Galic, and their country
+
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+ Caëldoch, which the Romans ſoftened into
+ Caledonia. This, of itſelf, is ſufficient to demonſtrate, they are the genuine
+ deſcendents of the ancient Caledonians, and not a pretended colony of Scots, who ſettled
+ firſt in the north, in the third or fourth century.
+
From the double meaning of the word Caël, which ſignifies
+ ſtrangers, as well as Gauls,or Celts, ſome have imagined, that the
+ anceſtors of the Caledonians were of a different race from the reſt of the Britons, and that they
+ received their name upon that account. This opinion, ſay they, is ſupported by Tacitus, who, from
+ ſeveral circumſtances, concludes, that the Caledonians were of German extraction. A diſcuſſion of
+ a point ſo intricate, at this diſtance of time, could neither be fatisfaſtory nor important.
+
Towards the latter end of the third, and beginning of the fourth century, we
+ meet with the Scots in the north. PorphyriusDisplay note makes the firſt mention of them about that time. As
+ the Scots were not heard of before that period, moſt writers ſuppoſed them to have been a colony,
+ newly come to Britain, and that the Picts were the only genuine deſcendents of the
+ ancient Caledonians. This miſtake is eaſily removed. The
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+ Caledonians, in proceſs of time, became naturally
+ divided into two diſtinct nations, as poſſeſſing parts of the country, intirely different in
+ their nature and ſoil. The weſtern coaſt of Scotland is hilly and barren ; towards the eaſt the
+ country is plain, and fit for tillage. The inhabitants of the mountains, a roving and
+ uncontrouled race of men, lived by feeding of cattle, and what they killed in hunting. Their
+ employment did not fix them to one place. They removed from one heath to another, as ſuited beſt
+ with their convenience or inclination. They were not, therefore, improperly called, by their
+ neighbours, Scuite, or the wandering nation ; wiuch is evidently the
+ origin of the Roman name of Scoti.
+
On the other hand, the Caledonians, who poſſeſſed the eaſt coaſt of
+ Scotland, as the diviſion of the country was plain and fertile, applied themſelves to
+ agriculture, and raiſing of corn. It was from this, that the Galic name of the Picts
+ proceeded; for they are called, in that language, Cruithnich, i. e. the wheat or
+ corn-eaters. As the Picts lived in a country ſo different in its nature from that poſſeſſed
+ by the Scots, ſo their national character ſuffered a material change. Unobſtructed by mountains,
+ or lakes, their communication with one another was free and frequent.
+
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+ Society, therefore, became ſooner eſtabliſhed among them, than
+ among the Scots, and, conſequently, they were much ſooner governed by civil magiſtrates and laws.
+ This, at laſt, produced ſo great a difference in the manners of the two nations, that they began
+ to forget their common origin, and almoſt continual quarrels and animoſities ſubſiſted between
+ them. Theſe animoſities, after ſome ages, ended in the ſubverſion of the Pictiſh kingdom, but not
+ in the total extirpation of the nation, according to moſt of the Scots writers, who ſeemed to
+ think it more for the honour of their countrymen to annihilate, than reduce a rival people under
+ their obedience. It is certain, however, that the very name of the Picts was loſt, and thoſe that
+ remained were ſo completely incorporated with their conquerors, that they ſoon loſt all memory of
+ their own origin.
+
The end of the Pictiſh government is placed ſo near that period, to which
+ authentic annals reach, that it is matter of wonder, that we have no monuments of their language
+ or hiſtory remaining. This favours the ſyſtem I have laid down. Had they originally been of a
+ different race from the Scots, their language of courſe would be different. The contrary is the
+ caſe. The names of places in the Pictiſh dominions,
+
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+ and the very names of their kings, which are handed
+ down to us, are of Galic original, which is a convincing proof, that the two nations were, of
+ old, one and the ſame, and only divided into two governments, by the effect which their ſituation
+ had upon the genius of the people.
+
The name of Picts is ſaid to have been given by the Romans to the
+ Caledonians, who poſſeſſed the eaſt coaſt of Scotland, from their painting their bodies. The
+ ſtory is ſilly and the argument abſurd. But let us revere antiquity in her very follies. This
+ circumſtance made ſome imagine, that the Picts were of Britiſh extract, and a different race of
+ men from the Scots. That more of the Britons, who fled northward from the tyranny of the Romans,
+ ſettled in the low country of Scotland, than among the Scots of the mountains, may be eaſily
+ imagined, from the very nature of the country. It was they who introduced painting among the
+ Picts. From this circumſtance, affirm ſome antiquaries, proceeded the name of the latter, to
+ diſtinguiſh them from the Scots, who never had that art among them, and from the Britons, who
+ diſcontinued it after the Roman conqueſt.
+
The Caledonians, moſt certainly, acquired a conſiderable knowlege in
+ navigation, by their living on a coaſt interſected with many arms of
+
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+ the ſea, and, in iſlands, divided, one from another, by wide and
+ dangerous firths. It is, therefore, highly probable, that they, very early, found their way to
+ the north of Ireland, which is within ſight of their own country. That Ireland was firſt peopled
+ from Britain is, at length, a matter that admits of no doubt. The vicinity of the two iſlands;
+ the exact correſpondence of the ancient inhabitants of both, in point of manners and language,
+ are ſufficient proofs, even if we had not the teſtimony ofDisplay note authors of undoubted veracity to confirm it. The abettors of the
+ moſt romantic ſyſtems of Iriſh antiquities allow it; but they place the colony from Britain in an
+ improbable and remote æra. I ſhall eaſily admit, that the colony of the Firbolg,
+ confeſſedly the Belgæ of Britain, ſettled in the ſouth of Ireland, before the Caël, or
+ Caledonians, diſcovered the north; but it is not at all likely, that the migration of the Firbolg
+ to Ireland happened many centuries before the chriſtian æra.
+
The poem of Temora throws conſiderable light on this ſubject. The accounts
+ given in it agree ſo well with what the ancients have delivered, concerning the firſt population
+ and
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+ inhabitants of Ireland, that eyery unbiaſſed perſon
+ will confeſs them more probable, than the legends handed down, by tradition, in that country. It
+ appears, that, in the days of Trathal, grandfather to Fingal, Ireland was poſſeſſed by two
+ nations; the Firbolg or Belgæ of Britain, who inhabited the ſouth, and the
+ Caël, who paſſed over from Caledonia and the Hebrides to Ulfter. The two nations, as is uſual
+ among an unpoliſhed and lately ſettled people, were divided into ſmall dynaſties, ſubject to
+ petty kings, or chiefs, independent of one another. In this ſituation, it is probable, they
+ continued long, without any material revolution in the ſtate of the iſland, until Crothar, Lord
+ of Atha, a country in Connaught, the moſt potent chief of the Firbolg, carried away
+ Conlama, the daughter of Cathmin, a chief of the Caël, who poſſeſſed Ulſter.
+
Conlama had been betrothed ſome time before to Turloch, a chief of their own
+ nation. Turloch reſented the affront offered him by Crothar, made an irruption into Connaught,
+ and killed Cormul, the brother of Crothar, who came to oppoſe his progreſs. Crothar himſelf then
+ took arms, and either killed or expelled Turloch. The war, upon this, became general, between the
+ two nations: and the Caël were
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+ reduced to the laſt extremity. In this ſituation, they applied, for
+ aid, to Trathal king of Morven, who ſent his brother Conar, already famous for his great
+ exploits, to their relief. Conar, upon his arrival in Ulfter, was choſen king, by the unanimous
+ conſent of the Caledonian tribes, who poſſeſſed that country. The war was renewed with vigour and
+ ſucceſs; but the Firbolg appear to have been rather repelled than ſubdued. In ſucceeding reigns,
+ we learn from epiſodes in the ſame poem, that the chiefs of Atha made ſeveral efforts to become
+ monarchs of Ireland, and to expel the race of Conar.
+
To Conar ſucceeded his ſon Cormac, who appears to have reigned long. In his
+ latter days he ſeems to have been driven to the laſt extremity, by an inſurrection of the
+ Firbolg, who ſupported the pretenſions of the chiefs of Atha to the Iriſh throne.
+ Fingal, who then was very young, came to the aid of Cormac, totally defeated Colc-ulla, chief of
+ Atha, and re-eſtabliſhed Cormac in the ſole poſſeſſion of all Ireland. It was then he fell in
+ love with, and took to wife, Roscrana, the daughter of Cormac, who was the mother of Oſſian.
+
Cormac was ſucceeded in the Iriſh throne by his ſon, Cairbre; Cairbre by
+ Artho, his ſon, who was the father of that Cormac, in whoſe
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+ minority the invaſion of Swaran happened, which is the
+ ſubject of the poem of Fingal. The family of Atha, who had not relinquiſhed their
+ pretenflons to the Iriſh throne, rebelled in the minority of Cormac, defeated his adherents, and
+ murdered him in the palace of Temora. Cairbar, lord of Atha, upon this, mounted the throne. His
+ uſurpation ſoon ended with his life; for Fingal made an expedition into Ireland, and reſtored,
+ after various viciſſitudes of fortune, the family of Conar to the poſſeſſion of the kingdom. This
+ war is the ſubject of Temora; the events, though certainly heightened and embelliſhed by poetry,
+ ſeem, notwithſtanding, to have their ſoundation in true hiſtory.
+
Temora contains not only the hiſtory of the firſt migration of the
+ Caledonians into Ireland, it alſo preſerves ſome important facts, concerning the firſt ſettlement
+ of the Firbolg, or Belgæ of Britain, in that kingdom, under their leader
+ Larthon, who was anceſtor to Cairbar and Cathmor, who ſucceſſively mounted the Iriſh throne,
+ after the death of Cormac, the ſon of Artho. I forbear to tranſcribe the paſſage, on account of
+ its length. It is the ſong of Fonar, the bard; towards the latter end of the ſeventh book of
+ Temora. As the generations from Larthon to Cathmor, to whom the epiſode
+
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+ is addreſſed, are not marked, as are thoſe of the family of Conar,
+ the firſt king of Ireland, we can form no judgment of the time of the ſettlement of the Firbolg.
+ It is, however, probable, it was ſome time before the Caël, or Caledonians, ſettled in Ulfter.
+ One important fact may be gathered from this hiſtory, that the Iriſh had no king before the
+ latter end of the firſt century. Fingal lived, it is ſuppoſed, in the third century ; ſo Conar,
+ the firſt monarch of the Iriſh, who was his grand-uncle, cannot be placed farther back than the
+ cloſe of the firſt. To eſtabliſh this fact, is to lay, at once, aſide the pretended antiquities
+ of the Scots and Iriſh, and to get quit of the long liſt of kings which the latter give us for a
+ millennium before.
+
Of the affairs of Scotiand, it is certain, nothing can be depended upon,
+ prior to the reign of Fergus, the ſon of Erc, who lived in the fifth century. The true hiſtory of
+ Ireland begins ſomewhat later than that period, Sir James WareDisplay note, who was indefatigable in his reſearches after
+ the antiquities of his country, rejects, as mere fiction and idle romance, all that is related of
+ the ancient Iriſh, before the time of St. Patrick, and the reign of Leogaire. It is from
+
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+ this conſideration, that he begins his hiſtory at the
+ introduction of Chriſtianity, remarking, that all that is delivered down, concerning the times of
+ paganiſm, were tales of late invention, ſtrangely mixed with anachroniſms and inconſiſtencies.
+ Such being the opinion of Ware, who had collected with uncommon induſtry and zeal, all the real
+ and pretendedly antient manuſcripts, concerning the hiſtory of his country, we may, on his
+ authority, reject the improbable and ſelf-condemned tales of Keating and O'Flaherty. Credulous
+ and puerile to the laſt degree, they have diſgraced the antiquities they meant to eſtabliſh. It
+ is to be wiſhed, that ſome able Iriſhman, who underſtands the language and records of his
+ country, may redeem, ere it is too late, the genuine antiquities of Ireland, from the hands of
+ theſe idle fabuliſts.
+
By comparing the hiſtory in theſe poems with the legends of the Scots and
+ Iriſh writers, and, by afterwards examining both by the teſt of the Roman authors, it is eaſy to
+ diſcover which is the moſt probable. Probability is all that can be eſtabliſhed on the authority
+ of tradition, ever dubious and uncertain. But when it favours the hypotheſis laid down by
+ cotemporary writers of undoubted veracity, and, as it were, finiſhes the figure of which they
+ only drew the out-lines, it
+
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+ ought, in the judgment of ſober reaſon, to be preferred to
+ accounts framed in dark and diſtant periods, with little judgment, and upon no authority.
+
Concerning the period of more than a century, which intervenes between
+ Fingal and the reign of Fergus, the ſon of Erc or Arcath, tradition is dark and contradictory.
+ Some trace up the family of Fergus to a ſon of Fingal of that name, who makes a conſiderable
+ figure in Oſſian's poems. The three elder ſons of Fingal, Oſſian, Fillan, and Ryno, dying without
+ iſſue, the ſucceſſion, of courſe, devolved upon Fergus, the fourth ſon and his poſterity. This
+ Fergus, ſay ſome traditions, was the father of Congal, whoſe ſon was Arcath, the father of
+ Fergus, properly called the firſt king of Scots, as it was in his time the Caël, who
+ poſſeſſed the weſtern coaft of Scotland, began to be diſtinguiſhed, by foreigners, by the name of
+ Scots From thenceforward, the Scots and Picts, as diftinct nations, became objects of
+ attention to the hiſtorians of other countries. The internal ſtate of the two Caledonian kingdoms
+ has always continued, and ever muſt remain, in obſcurity and fable.
+
It is in this epoch we muſt fix the beginning of the decay of that ſpecies
+ of heroiſm, which ſubſiſted in the days of Fingal. There are three
+
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+ ſtages in human ſociety. The firſt is the reſult of
+ conſanguinity, and the natural affection of the members of a family to one another. The ſecond
+ begins when property is eſtabliſhed, and men enter into aſſociations for mutual defence, againſt
+ the invaſions and injuſtice of neighbours. Mankind ſubmit, in the third, to certain laws and
+ ſubordinations of government, to which they truſt the ſafety of their perſons and property. As
+ the firft is formed on nature, ſo, of courſe, it is the moſt diſintereſted and noble. Men, in the
+ laſt, have leiſure to cultivate the mind, and to reſtore it, with reflection, to a primæval
+ dignity of ſentiment. The middle ſtate is the region of complete barbariſm and ignorance. About
+ the beginning of the fifth century, the Scots and Picts were advanced into the ſecond ſtage, and,
+ conſequently, into thoſe circumſcribed ſentiments, which always diſtinguiſh barbarity. The events
+ which ſoon after happened did not at all contribute to enlarge their ideas, or mend their
+ national character.
+
About the year 425, the Romans, on account of domeſtic commotions, entirely
+ forſook Britain, finding it impoſſible to defend ſo diſtant a frontier, The Picts and Scots,
+ ſeizing this favourable opportunity, made incurſions into the deſerted province. The Britons,
+ enervated by
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+ the ſlavery of ſeveral centuries, and thoſe vices, which are
+ inſeparable from an advanced ſtate of civility, were not able to withſtand the impetuous, though
+ irregular attacks of a barbarous enemy. In the utmoſt diſtreſs, they applied to their old
+ maſters, the Romans, and (after the unfortunate ſtate of the Empire could not ſpare aid) to the
+ Saxons, a nation equally barbarous and brave, with the enemies of whom they were ſo much afraid.
+ Though the bravery of the Saxons repelled the Caledonian nations for a time, yet the latter found
+ means to extend themſelves, conſiderably, towards the ſouth. It is, in this period, we muſt place
+ the origin of the arts of Civil life among the Scots. The ſeat of government was removed from the
+ mountains to the plain and more fertile provinces of the South, to be near the common enemy, in
+ caſe of ſudden incurſions. Inſtead of roving through unfrequented wilds, in ſearch of
+ ſubſiſtance, by means of hunting, men applied to agriculture, and raiſing of corn. This manner of
+ life was the firſt means of changing the national character. The next thing which contributed to
+ it was their mixture with ſtrangers.
+
In the countries which the Scots had conquered from the Britons, it is
+ probable the moſt of the old inhabitants remained. Theſe
+
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+ incorporating with the conquerors, taught them
+ agriculture, and other arts, which they themſelves had received from the Romans. The Scots,
+ however, in number as well as power, being the moſt predominant, retained ſtill their language,
+ and as many of the cuſtoms of their anceſtors, as ſuited with the nature of the country they
+ poſſeſſed. Even the union of the two Caledonian kingdoms did not much affect the national
+ character. Being originally deſcended from the ſame ſtock, the manners of the Picts and Scots
+ were as ſimilar as the different natures of the countries they poſſefſed permitted.
+
What brought about a total change in the genius of the Scots nation, was
+ their wars, and other tranſactions with the Saxons. Several counties in the ſouth of Scotland
+ were alternately poſſeſſed by the two nations. They were ceded, in the ninth age, to the Scots,
+ and, it is probable, that moſt of the Saxon inhabitants remained in poſſeſſion of their lands.
+ During the ſeveral conqueſts and revolutions in England, many fled, for refuge, into Scotland, to
+ avoid the oppreſſion of foreigners, or the tyranny of domeſtic uſurpers ; in ſo much, that the
+ Saxon race formed perhaps near one half of the Scottiſh kingdom. The Saxon manners and language
+ daily gained ground, on the tongue and
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+ cuſtoms of the antient Caledonians, till, at laſt, the latter were
+ entirely relegated to inhabitants of the mountains, who were ſtill unmixed with ſtrangers.
+
It was after the acceſſion of territory which the Scots received, upon the
+ retreat of the Romans from Britain, that the inhabitants of the Highlands were divided into
+ clans. The king, when he kept his court in the mountains, was conſidered, by the whole nation, as
+ the chief of their blood. Their ſmall number, as well as the preſence of their prince, prevented
+ thoſe diviſions, which, afterwards, ſprung forth into ſo many ſeparate tribes. When the ſeat of
+ government was removed to the ſouth, thoſe who remained in the Highlands were, of courſe,
+ neglected. They naturally formed themſelves into ſmall ſocieties, independent of one another.
+ Each ſociety had its own regulus, who either was, or in the ſucceſſion of a few
+ generations, was regarded as chief of their blood. The nature of the country favoured an
+ inſtitution of this ſort. A few valleys, divided from one another by extenſive heaths and
+ impaſſible mountains, form the face of the Highlands. In theſe valleys the chiefs fixed their
+ reſidence. Round them, and almoſt within ſight of their dwellings, were the habitations of their
+ relations and dependents.
+
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+ The ſeats of the Highland chiefs
+ were neither diſagreeable nor inconvenient. Surrounded with mountains and hanging woods, they
+ were covered from the inclemency of the weather. Near them generally ran a pretty large river,
+ which, diſcharging itſelf not far off, into an arm of the ſea, or extenſive lake, ſwarmed with
+ variety of fiſh. The woods were ſtocked with wild-fowl ; and the heaths and mountains behind them
+ were the natural ſeat of the red-deer and roe. If we make allowance for the backward ſtate of
+ agriculture, the valleys were not unfertile ; affording, if not all the conveniencies, at leaſt
+ the neceſſaries of life. Here the chief lived, the ſupreme judge and law-giver of his own people
+ ; but his ſway was neither ſevere nor unjuſt. As the populace regarded him as the chief of their
+ blood, ſo he, in return, conſidered them as members of his family. His commands therefore, though
+ abſolute and decifive, partook more of the authority of a father, than of the rigor of a judge.
+ Though the whole territory of the tribe was conſidered as the property of the chief, yet his
+ vaſſals made him no other conſideration for their lands than ſervices, neither burdenſome nor
+ frequent. As he ſeldom went from home, he was at no expense. His table
+
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+ was ſupplied by his own herds, and what his numerous attendants
+ killed in hunting.
+
In this rural kind of magnificence, the Highland chiefs lived, for many
+ ages. At a diſtance from the ſeat of government, and ſecured, by the inacceſſibleneſs of their
+ country, they were free and independent. As they had little communication with ſtrangers, the
+ cuſtoms of their anceſtors remained among them, and their language retained its original purity.
+ Naturally fond of military fame, and remarkably attached to the memory of their anceſtors, they
+ delighted in traditions and ſongs, concerning the exploits of their nation, and eſpecially of
+ their own particular families. A ſucceſſion of bards was retained in every clan, to hand down the
+ memorable actions of their forefathers. As Fingal and his chiefs were the moſt renowned names in
+ tradition, the bards took care to place them in the genealogy of every great family. They became
+ famous among the people, and an object of fiction and poetry to the bards.
+
The bards erected their immediate patrons into heroes, and celebrated them
+ in their ſongs. As the circle of their knowledge was narrow, their ideas were confined in
+ proportion. A few happy expreſſions, and the manners they repreſent, may pleaſe thoſe who
+ underſtand the
+
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+ language; their obſcurity and inaccuracy would diſguſt
+ in a tranſlation. It was chiefly for this reaſon, that I have rejected wholly the works of the
+ bards in my publications. Oſſian acted in a more extenſive ſphere, and his ideas ought to be more
+ noble and univerſal ; neither gives he, I preſume, ſo many of thoſe peculiarities, which are only
+ underſtood in a certain period or country. The other bards have their beauties, but not in this
+ ſpecies of compoſition. Their rhimes, only calculated to kindle a martial ſpirit among the
+ vulgar, afford very little pleaſure to genuine taſte. This obſervation only regards their poems
+ of the heroic kind; in every inferior ſpecies of poetry they are more ſucceſsful. They expreſs
+ the tender melancholy of deſponding love, with ſimplicity and nature. So well adapted are the
+ ſounds of the words to the ſentiments, that, even without any knowledge of the language they
+ pierce and diſſolve the heart. Succeſsful love is expreſſed with peculiar tenderneſs and
+ elegance. In all their compoſitions, except the heroic, which was ſolely calculated to animate
+ the vulgar, they give us the genuine language of the heart, without any of thoſe affected
+ ornaments of phraſeology, which, tho' intended to beautify ſentiments, diveſt them of their
+ natural force. The ideas, it is confeſſed,
+
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+ are too local, to be admired, in another language ; to thoſe who
+ are acquainted with the manners they repreſent, and the ſcenes they deſcribe, they muſt afford
+ pleaſure and ſatiſfaction.
+
It was the locality of their deſcription and ſentiment, that, probably, has
+ kept them hitherto in the obſcurity of an almoſt loſt language. The ideas of an unpoliſhed period
+ are ſo contrary to the preſent advanced ſtate of ſociety, that more than a common mediocrity of
+ taſte is required, to reliſh them as they deſerve. Thoſe who alone are capable of transferring
+ ancient poetry into a modern language, might be better employed in giving originals of their own,
+ were it not for that wretched envy and meanneſs which affects to deſpiſe cotemporary genius. My
+ firſt publication was merely accidental. Had I then met with leſs approbation, my after-purſuits
+ would have been more profitable ; at leaft I might have continued to be ſtupid, without being
+ branded with dulneſs.
+
These poems may furniſh light to antiquaries, as well as ſome pleaſure to
+ the lovers of poetry. The firſt population of Ireland, its firſt kings, and ſeveral
+ circumſtances, which regards its connection of old with the ſouth and north of Britain, are
+ preſented in ſeveral epiſodes. The
+
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+ ſubject and cataſtrophe of the poem are founded upon
+ facts, which regarded the firſt peopling of that country, and the conteſts between the two
+ Britiſh nations, who originally inhabited that iſland. In a preceding part of this Diſſertation,
+ I have ſhewn how ſuperior the probability of this ſyſtem is to the undigeſted fictions of the
+ Iriſh bards, and the more recent and regular legends of both Iriſh and Scottiſh hiſtorians. I
+ mean not to give offence to the abettors of the high antiquities of the two nations, though I
+ have all along expreſſed my doubts, concerning the veracity and abilities of thoſe who deliver
+ down their antient hiſtory. For my own part, I prefer the national fame, ariſing from a few
+ certain facts, to the legendary and uncertain annals of ages of remote and obſcure antiquity. No
+ kingdom now eſtabliſhed in Europe can pretend to equal antiquity with that of the Scots,
+ inconſiderable as it may appear in other reſpects, even according to my ſyſtem, ſo that it is
+ altogether needleſs to fix its origin a fictitious millennium before.
+
Since the firſt publication of theſe poems, many inſinuations have been
+ made, and doubts ariſen, concerning their authenticity. Whether theſe ſuſpicions are ſuggeſted by
+ prejudice, or are only the effects of malice, I neither know nor
+
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+ care. Thoſe who have doubted my veracity have paid a compliment to
+ my genius ; and were even the allegation true, my ſelf-denial might have atoned for my fault.
+ Without vanity I ſay it, I think I could write tolerable poetry ; and I aſſure my antagoniſts,
+ that I ſhould not tranſlate what I could not imitate.
+
As prejudice is the effect of ignorance, I am not ſurprized at its being general. An age that
+ produces few marks of genius ought to be ſparing of admiration. The truth is, the bulk of mankind
+ have ever been led, by reputation more than taſte, in articles of literature. If all the Romans,
+ who admired Virgil, underſtood his beauties, he would have ſcarce deſerved to have come down to
+ us, through ſo many centuries. Unleſs genius were in faſhion, Homer himſelf might have written in
+ vain. He that wiſhes to come with weight, on the ſuperficial, muſt ſkim the ſurface, in their own
+ ſhallow way. Were my aim to gain the many, I wou'd write a madrigal ſooner than an heroic poem.
+ Laberius himſelf would be always ſure of more followers than Sophocles.
+
Some who doubt the authenticity of this work, with peculiar acuteneſs
+ appropriate them to the Iriſh nation. Tho' it is not eaſy to conceive how theſe poems can belong
+ to Ireland and to me, at
+
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+ once, [ ſhall examine the ſubject, without further
+ animadverſion on the blunder.
+
Of all the nations deſcended from the antient Celtæ, the Scots and
+ Iriſh are the moſt ſimilar in language, cuſtoms, and manners. This argues a more intimate
+ connection between them, than a remote deſcent from the great Celtic ſtock. It is evident, in
+ ſhort, that at ſome one period or other, they formed one ſociety, were ſubject to the ſame
+ government, and were, in all reſpects, one and the ſame people. How they became divided, which
+ the colony, or which the mother nation, I have in another work amply diſcuſſed. The firft
+ circumſtance that induced me to diſregard the vulgarly-received opinion of the Hibernian
+ extraction of the Scottiſh nation, was my obſervations on their antient language. That dialect of
+ the Celtic tongue, ſpoken in the north of Scotland, is much more pure, more agreeable to its
+ mother language, and more abounding with primitives, than that now ſpoken, or even that which has
+ been written for ſome centuries back, amongſt the moſt unmixed part of the Iriſh nation. A
+ Scotchman, tolerably converſant in his own language, underſtands an Iriſh compoſition, from that
+ derivative analogy which it has to the Galic of North Britain. An Iriſhman, on the other
+ hand, without the aid of ſtudy, can never underſtand
+
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+ a compoſition in the Galic tongue. This affords a proof, that the
+ Scotch Galic is the moſt original, and, conſequently, the language of a more ancient and unmixed
+ people. The Iriſh, however backward they may be to allow any thing to the prejudice of their
+ antiquity, ſeem inadvertently to acknowledge it, by the very appellation they give to the dialect
+ they ſpeak. They call their own language Caëlic, Eirinach, i. e. Caledonian
+ Iriſh, when, on the contrary, they call the dialect of North-Britain a Chaëlic, or
+ the Caledonian tongue, emphatically. A circumftance of this nature tends more to decide
+ which is the moſt antient nation, than the united teſtimonies of a whole legion of ignorant bards
+ and ſenachies, who, perhaps, never dreamed of bringing the Scots from Spain to Ireland, till ſome
+ one of them, more learned than the reſt, diſcovered, that the Romans called the firſt
+ Iberia, and the latter Hibernia. On ſuch a ſlight foundation were probably
+ built the romantic fictions, concerning the Mileſians of Ircland.
+
From internal proofs it ſufficiently appears, that the poems publiſhed under
+ the name of Oſſian, are not of Iriſh compoſition. The favourite chimæra, that Ireland is the
+ mother-country of the Scots, is totally ſubverted and ruined. The fictions concerning the
+ antiquities
+
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+ of that country, which were forming for ages, and
+ growing as they came down, on the hands of ſucceſſive ſenachies and fileas, are
+ found, at laſt, to be the ſpurious brood of modern and ignorant ages. To thoſe who know how
+ tenacious the Iriſh are, of their pretended Iberian deſcent, this alone is proof
+ ſufficient, that poems, ſo ſubverſive of their ſyſtem, could never be produced by an Hibernian
+ bard. But when we look to the language, it is ſo different from the Iriſh dialect, that it would
+ be as ridiculous to think, that Milton's Paradiſe Loſt could be wrote by a Scottiſh peaſant, as
+ to ſuppoſe, that the poems aſcribed to Oſſian were writ in Ireland.
+
The pretenſions of Ireland to Oſſian proceed from another quarter. There are
+ handed down, in that country, traditional poems, concerning the Fiona, or the heroes of
+ Fion Mac Comnal. This Fion, ſay the Iriſh annaliſts, was general of the militia
+ of Ireland, in the reign of Cormac, in the third century. Where Keating and O'Flaherty learned,
+ that Ireland had an embodied militia ſo early, is not eaſy for me to determine. Their
+ information certainly did not come from the Iriſh poems,concerning Fion. I have juſt now, in my
+ hands, all that remain, of thoſe
+
+ [
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+ compoſitions; but, unluckily for the antiquities of Ireland, they
+ appear to be the work of a very modern period. Every ſtanza, nay almoſt every line, affords
+ ſtriking proofs, that they cannot be three centuries old. Their alluſions to the manners and
+ cuſtoms of the fifteenth century, are ſo many, that it is matter of wonder to me, how any one
+ could dream of their antiquity. They are entirely writ in that romantic taſte, which prevailed
+ two ages ago. Giants, enchanted caſtles, dwarfs, palfreys, witches and magicians form the whole
+ circle of the poet's invention. The celebrated Fion could ſcarcely move from one hillock
+ to another, without encountering a giant, or being entangled in the circles of a magician.
+ Witches, on broomſticks, were continually hovering round him, like crows; and he had freed
+ enchanted virgins in every valley in Ireland. In ſhort, Fion, great as he was, paſſed a
+ diſagreeable life. Not only had he to engage all the miſchiefs in his own country, foreign armies
+ invaded him, aſſiſted by magicians and witches, and headed by Kings, as tall as the main-maſt of
+ a firſt rate. It muſt be owned, however, that Fion was not inferior to them in height.
+
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+
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+ A chos air Cromleach, druim-ard,
+ Chos eile air Crom-meal dubh,
+ Thoga Fion le lamh mhoir
+ An d'uiſge o Lubhair na fruth.
+
+ With one foot on Cromleach his brow,
+ The other on Crommal the dark,
+ Fion took up with his large hand
+ The water from Lubar of the ſtreams.
+
Cromleach and Crommal were two mountains in the neighbourhood of one another,
+ in Ulſter, and the river Lubar ran through the intermediate valley. The property of ſuch
+ a monſter as this Fion, I ſhould never have diſputed with any nation. But the bard
+ himſelf, in the poem, from which the above quotation is taken, cedes him to Scotland.
+ Fion o Albin, fiol nan laoich !
+ FionfromAlbion, race of
+ heroes !
+
Were it allowable to contradict the authority of a bard, at this diſtance of time, I ſhould
+ have given as my opinion, that this enormous Fion was of the race of the Hibernian
+ giants, of Ruanus, or ſome other celebrated name, rather than
+
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+ a native of Caledonia, whoſe inhabitants, now at leaſt, are not
+ remarkable for their ſtature. As for the poetry, I leave it to the reader.
+
IfFion was ſo remarkable for his ſtature, his heroes had alſo
+ other extraordinary properties. In weight all the ſons of ſtrangers yielded to the
+ celebrated Ton-iofal ; and for hardneſs of ſkull, and, perhaps, for thickneſs too, the valiant
+ Oſcar ſtood unrivalled and alone. Oſſian himſelf had many ſingular and leſs delicate
+ qualifications, than playing on the harp; and the brave Cuthullin was of ſo diminutive a ſize, as
+ to be taken for a child of two years of age, by the gigantic Swaran. To illuſtrate this ſubject,
+ I ſhall here lay before the reader, the hiſtory of ſome of the Iriſh poems, concerning Fion Mac
+ Comnal. A tranflation of theſe pieces, if well executed, might afford ſatisfaction, in an
+ uncommon way, to the Public. But this ought to be the work of a native of Ireland. To draw forth,
+ from obſcurity, the poems of my own country, has waſted all the time I had allotted for the muſes
+ ; beſides, I am too diffident of my own abilities, to undertake ſuch a work. A gentleman in
+ Dublin accuſed me to the public, of committing blunders and abſurdities, in tranflating the
+ language of my own country, and
+
+ [
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+ that before any tranſlation of mine appearedDisplay note. How the gentleman came to ſee my blunders before I committed them, is not eaſy
+ to determine; if he did not conclude, that, as a Scotſman, and, of courſe deſcended of the
+ Mileſian race, I might have committed ſome of thoſe overſights, which, perhaps very unjuſtly, are
+ ſaid to be peculiar to them.
+
From the whole tenor of the Iriſh poems, concerning the Fiona, it
+ appears, that Fion Mac Comnal flouriſhed in the reign of Cormac, which is placed, by the
+ univerſal conſent of the ſenachies, in the third century. They even fix the death
+
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+ of Fingal in the year 286, yet his ſon Oſſian is made cotemporary
+ with St. Patrick, who preached the goſpel in Ireland about the middle of the fifth age. Oſſian,
+ though, at that time, he muſt have been two hundred and fifty years of age, had a daughter young
+ enough to become wife to the ſaint. On account of this family connection, Patrick of the
+ Pſalms, for ſo the apoſtle of Ireland is emphatically called in the poems, took great
+ delight in the company of Oſſian, and in hearing the great actions of his family. The ſaint
+ ſometimes threw off the aufterity of his profeſſion, drunk freely, and had his ſoul properly
+ warmed with wine, to receive with becoming enthuſiaſm, the poems of his father-in-law. One of the
+ poems begins with this piece of uſeful information,
+ Lo don rabh Padric na mhúr,
+ Gun Sailm air uidh, ach a gól,
+ Ghluais é thigh Oſſian mhic Fhion,
+ O fan leis bu bhinn a ghloir.
+
The title of this poem is Teantach mor na Fiona. It appears to have been founded on
+ the ſame ſtory with the battle of Lora. The circumſtances and cataſtrophe in both are
+ much the ſame; but
+
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+ the Iriſh Oſſian diſcovers the age in which
+ he lived, by an unlucky anachroniſm. After deſcribing the total route of Erragon, he very gravely
+ concludes with this remarkable anecdote, that none of the foe eſcaped, but a few, who were
+ permitted to go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. This circumſtance fixes the date of
+ the compofition of the piece ſome centuries after the famous croiſade; for, it is evident, that
+ the poet thought the time of the croiſade ſo ancient, that he confounds it with the age of
+ Fingal. Erragon, in the courſe of this poem, is often called,
+ Riogh Lochlin an do ſhloigh,
+ King of Denmark of two nations which alludes to the union of the
+ kingdoms of Norway and Denmark, a circumſtance which happened under Margaret de Waldemar, in the
+ cloſe of the fourteenth age. Modern, however, as this pretended Oſſian was, it is certain, he
+ lived before the Iriſh had dreamed of appropriating Fion, or Fingal, to
+ themſelves. He concludes the poem, with this reflection.
+ Na fagha fe comhthróm nan n' arm,
+ Erragon Mac Annir nan lánn glas
+
+
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+ 'San n' Albin ni n' abairtair Triath
+ Agus ghlaoite an n' Fhiona as.
+
+
“Had Erragon, ſon of Annir of gleaming ſwords, avoided the equal conteſt of arms, (ſingle
+ combat) no chief ſhould have afterwards been numbered in Albion, and the
+ heroes of Fion ſhould no more be named.”
+
The next poem that falls under our obſervation is Cath-cabhra, or,
+ The death of Oſcar. This piece is founded on the ſame ſtory which we have in the firft
+ book of Temora. So little thought the author of Cath-cabhra of making Oſcar his countryman, that,
+ in the courſe of two hundred lines, of which the poems conſiſts, he puts the following expreſſion
+ thrice in the mouth of the hero :
+
+ Albin an fa d' roina m' arach.
+ Albionwhere I was born and bred .
+
The poem contains almoſt all the incidents in the firſt book of Temora. In one circumſtance the
+ bard differs materially from Oſſian. Oſcar, after he was mortally wounded by Cairbar, was carried
+ by his people to a neighbouring hill, which commanded a proſpect of the ſea. A fleet appeared at
+ a diſtance, and the hero exclaims with joy,
+
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+
+ Loingeas mo ſhean-athair at' án
+ 'S iad a tiächd le cabhair chugain,
+ O Albin na n' ioma ſtuagh.
+
“It is the fleet of my grandfather, coming with aid to our field, from Albion of many waves !” —The teſtimony of this bard is ſufficient to confute the idle
+ fictions of Keating and O'Flaherty ; for, though he is far from being ancient, it is probable, he
+ flouriſhed a full century before theſe hiſtorians. He appears, however, to have been a much
+ better chriſtian than chronologer; for Fion, though he is placed two centuries before
+ St. Patrick, very devoutly recommends the ſoul of his grandſon to his Redeemer.
+
Duan a Gharibh Mac-Starn is another Iriſh poem in high repute. The grandeur of its
+ images, and its propriety of ſentiment, might have induced me to give a tranſlation of it, had
+ not I ſome expectations, which are now over, of ſeeing it in the collection of the Iriſh Oſſian's
+ poems, promiſed twelve years ſince, to the public. The author deſcends ſometimes from the region
+ of the ſublime to low and indecent deſcription; the laſt of which, the Iriſh tranſlator, no
+ doubt, will chooſe to leave in the obſcurity of the original. In this piece Cuthullin is uſed
+ with very little ceremony, for he is oft called, the dog of
+
+ [
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+ Tara, in the county of Meath. This ſevere title of the
+ redoubtable Cuthullin, the moſt renowned of Iriſh champions, proceeded from the poet's
+ ignorance of etymology. Cu, voice, or commander, ſignifies alſo a
+ dog. The poet choſe the laſt, as the moſt noble appellation for his hero.
+
The ſubject of the poem is the ſame with that of the epic poem of Fingal.
+ Caribh Mac-Starn is the ſame with Oſſian's Swaran, the ſon of Starno. His ſingle combats
+ with, and his victory over all the heroes of Ireland, excepting the celebrated dog of
+ Tara, i. e. Cuthullin, afford matter for two hundred lines of tolerable poetry.
+ Caribh's progreſs in ſearch of Cuthullin, and his intrigue with the gigantic
+ Emir-bragal, that hero's wife, enables the poet to extend his piece to four hundred lines. This
+ author, it is true, makes Cuthullin a native of Ireland ; the gigantic Emir-bragal he calls the
+ guiding ſtar of the women of Ireland. The property of this enormous lady I ſhall not
+ diſpute with him, or any other. But, as he ſpeaks with great tenderneſs of the daughters of
+ the convent, and throws out ſome hints againſt the Engliſh nation, it is probable he lived
+ in too modern a period to be intimately acquainted with the genealogy of Cuthullin.
+
+
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+
+
Another Iriſh Oſſian, for there were many, as appears from their difference
+ in language and ſentiment, ſpeaks very dogmatically of Fion Mac Comnal, as an Iriſhman.
+ Little can be ſaid for the judgment of this poet, and leſs for his delicacy of ſentiment. The
+ hiſtory of one of his epiſodes may, at once, ſtand as a ſpecimen of his want of both. Ireland, in
+ the days of Fion, happened to be threatened with an invaſion, by three great potentates,
+ the kings of Lochlin, Sweden, and France. lt is needleſs to inſiſt upon the impropriety of a
+ French invaſion of Ireland ; it is ſufficient for me to be faithful to the language of my author.
+ Fion, upon receiving intelligence of the intended invaſion, ſent Ca-olt, Oſſian, and
+ Oſcar, to watch the bay, in which, it was apprehended, the enemy was to land. Oſcar was the worſt
+ choice of a ſcout that could be made, for, brave as he was, he had the bad property of falling
+ very often aſleep on his poſt, nor was it poſſible to awake him, without cutting off one of his
+ fingers, or daſhing a large ſtone againſt his head. When the enemy appeared, Oſcar, very
+ unfortunately, was aſleep. Oſſian and Ca-olt conſulted about the method of wakening him, and
+ they, at laſt, fixed on the ſtone, as the leſs dangerous expedient.
+
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+ ]
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+
+
+ Gun thog Caoilte a chlach, nach gán,
+ Agus a n' aigha' chican gun bhuail ;
+ Tri mil an tulloch gun chri', &c.
+ “Ca-olt took up a heavy ſtone, and ſtruck it againſt the hero's head. The hill ſhook for
+ three miles, as the ſtone rebounded and rolled away.”
+
Oſcar roſe in wrath, and his father
+ gravely defired him to ſpend his rage on his enemies, which he did to ſo good purpoſe, that he
+ ſingly routed a whole wing of their army. The confederate kings advanced, notwithſtanding, till
+ they came to a narrow paſs, poſſeſſed by the celebrated Ton-iofal. This name is very ſignificant
+ of the ſingular property of the hero who bore it. Ton-iofal, though brave, was ſo heavy and
+ unwieldy, that when he ſat down, it took the whole force of an hundred men to ſet him upright on
+ his feet again. Luckily for the preſervation of Ireland, the hero happened to be ſtanding when
+ the enemy appeared, and he gave ſo good an account of them, that Fion, upon his arrival,
+ found little to do, but to divide the ſpoil among his ſoldiers,
+
All theſe extraordinary heroes, Fion, Oſſian, Oſcar and Ca-olt, ſays the
+ poet, were
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+ Siol Erin na gorm lánn,
+ The ſons of Erinof blue ſteel.
+
Neither ſhall I much diſpute the matter with him : He has my conſent alſo to appropriate to
+ Ireland the celebrated Ton-iofal. I ſhall only ſay, that they are different perſons from thoſe of
+ the ſame name, in the Scotch poems ; and that, though the ſtupendous valour of the firſt is ſo
+ remarkable, they have not been equally lucky with the latter, in their poet. It is ſomewhat
+ extraordinary, that Fion, who lived ſome ages before St. Patrick, ſwears like a very
+ good chriſtian :
+ Air an Dia do chum gach caſe.
+ By God, who ſhaped every caſe.
+
It is worthy of being remarked, that, in the line quoted, Oſſian, who lived in St. Patrick's
+ days, ſeems to have underſtood ſomething of the Engliſh, a language not then ſubſiſting. A
+ perſon, more ſanguine for the honour of his country than I am, might argue, from this
+ circumſtance, that this pretendedly Iriſh Oſſian was a native of Scotland ; for my countrymen are
+ univerſally allowed to have an excluſive right to the ſecond-ſight.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
From the inſtances given, the reader may form a complete idea of the Iriſh compoſitions
+ concerning the Fiona, The greateſt part of them make the heroes of Fion,
+ Siol Albin a n'nioma caoile.
+ The race ofAlbionof many firths.
+
+
The reſt make them natives of Ireland. But, the truth is, that their authority is of little
+ conſequence on either ſide. From the inſtances I have given, they appear to have been the work of
+ a very modern period. The pious ejaculations they contain, their alluſions to the manners of the
+ times, fix them to the fifteenth century. Had even the authors of theſe pieces avoided all
+ alluſions to their own times, it is impoſſible that the poems could paſs for ancient, in the eyes
+ of any perſon tolerably converſant with the Iriſh tongue. The idiom is ſo corrupted and ſo many
+ words borrowed from the Engliſh, that the language muſt have made conſiderable progreſs in
+ Ireland before the poems were written.
+
It remains now to ſhew, how the Iriſh bards begun to appropriate the
+ Scottiſh Oſſian and his heroes to their own country. After the Engliſh conqueſt, many of the
+ natives of Ireland, averſe to a foreign yoke, either actually were in a ſtate of hoſtility with
+ the conquerors, or at leaſt, paid
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ little regard to their government. The Scots, in thoſe
+ ages, were often in open war, and never in cordial friendſhip with the Engliſh. The ſimilarity of
+ manners and language, the traditions concerning their common origin, and above all, their having
+ to do with the ſame enemy, created a free and friendly intercourſe between the Scottiſh and Iriſh
+ nations. As the cuſtom of retaining bards and ſenachies was common to both ; ſo each, no doubt,
+ had formed a ſyſtem of hiſtory, it matters not how much ſoever fabulous, concerning their
+ reſpective origin. It was the natural policy of the times, to reconcile the traditions of both
+ nations together, and, if poſſible, to reduce them from the ſame original ſtock.
+
The Saxon manners and language had, at that time, made great progreſs in the
+ ſouth of Scotland. The ancient language, and the traditional hiſtory of the nation, became
+ confined entirely to the inhabitants of the Highlands, then fallen, from ſeveral concurring
+ circumſtances, into the laſt degree of ignorance and barbariſm. The Iriſh, who, for ſome ages
+ before the conqueſt, had poſſeſſed a competent ſhare of that kind of learning, which then
+ prevailed in Europe, found it no difficult matter to impoſe their own fictions on the ignorant
+ Highland ſenachies. By flattering the vanity of the Highlanders, with
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ their long liſt of Heremonian kings and heroes, they, without
+ contradiction, aſſumed to themſelves the character of being the mother-nation of the Scots of
+ Britain. At this time, certainly, was eſtabliſhed that Hibernian ſyſtem of the original of the
+ Scots, which afterwards, for want of any other, was univerſally received. The Scots of the
+ low-country, who, by lofing the language of their anceſtors, loſt, together with it, their
+ national traditions, received, implicitly, the hiſtory of their country, from Iriſh refugees, or
+ from Highland ſenachies, perſuaded over into the Hibernian ſyſtem.
+
These circumſtances are far from being ideal. We have remaining many
+ particular traditions, which bear teſtimony to a fact, of itſelf abundantly probable. What makes
+ the matter inconteſtible is, that the antient traditional accounts of the genuine origin of the
+ Scots, have been handed down without interruption. Tho' a few ignorant ſenachies might be
+ perſuaded out of their own opinion, by the ſmoothneſs of an Iriſh tale, it was impoſſible to
+ eradicate, from among the bulk of the people, their own national traditions. Thefe traditions
+ afterwards ſo much prevailed, that the Highlanders continue totally unacquainted with the
+ pretended Hibernian extract of the Scots nation. Ignorant chronicle
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ writers, ſtrangers to the antient language of their country,
+ preſerved only from falling to the ground, ſo improbable a ſtory.
+
This ſubject, perhaps, is purſued further than it deſerves; but a diſcuſſion
+ of the pretenſions of Ireland, was become in ſome meaſure neceſſary. If the Iriſh poems,
+ concerning the Fiona, ſhould appear ridiculous, it is but juſtice to obferve, that they
+ are ſcarcely more ſo than the poems of other nations, at that period. On other ſubjects, the
+ bards of Ireland have diſplayed a genius for poetry. It was, alone, in matters of antiquity, that
+ they were monſtrous in their fables. Their love-ſonnets, and their elegies on the death of
+ perſons worthy or renowned, abound with ſimplicity, and a wild harmony of numbers. They become
+ more than an atonement for their errors, in every other ſpecies of poetry. But the beauty of
+ theſe pieces, depends ſo much on a certain curioſa felicitas of expreſſion in the
+ original, that they muſt appear much to diſadvantage in another language.
A critical dissertation on the poems of Ossian,the son of Fingal.
+
Among the monuments remaining of the ancient ſtate of nations, few are more
+ valuable than their poems or ſongs. Hiſtory, when it treats of remote or dark ages, is ſeldom
+ very inſtructive. The beginnings of ſociety, in every country, are involved in fabulous
+ confuſion; and though they were not, they would furniſh few events worth recording. But, in every
+ period of ſociety, human manners are a curious ſpectacle; and the moſt natural pictures of
+ ancient manners are exhibited in the ancient poems of nations. Theſe preſent to us what is much
+ more valuable than the hiſtory of ſuch tranſactions as a rude age can afford—the hiſtory
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image of human imagination and paſſion. They make
+ us acquainted with the notions and feelings of our fellow creatures in the moſt artleſs ages;
+ Diſcovering what objects they admired, and what pleaſures they purſued, before thoſe refinements
+ of ſociety had taken place, which enlarge, indeed, and diverſify the tranſactions, but diſguiſe
+ the manners of mankind.
+
Beſides this merit which ancient poems have with philoſophical obſervers of
+ human nature, they have another with perſons of taſte. They promiſe ſome of the higheſt beauties
+ of poetical writing. Irregular and unpoliſhed we may expect the production of uncultivated ages
+ to be; but abounding, at the ſame time, with that enthuſiaſm, that vehemence and fire, which are
+ the ſoul of poetry: for many circumſtances of thoſe times which we call barbarous, are favourable
+ to the poetical ſpirit. That ſtate, in which human nature ſhoots wild and free, though unfit for
+ other improvements, certainly encourages the high exertions of fancy and paſſion.
+
In the infancy of ſocieties, men live ſcattered and diſperſed in the midſt
+ of ſolitary rural ſcenes, where the beauties of nature are their chief entertainment. They meet
+ with many objects to them new and ſtrange; their wonder
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and ſurpriſe are frequently excited; and by
+ the ſudden changes of fortune occurring in their unſettled ſtate of life, their paſſions are
+ raiſed to the utmoſt; their paſſions have nothing to reſtrain them, their imagination has nothing
+ to check it. They diſplay themſelves to one another without diſguiſe, and converſe and act in the
+ uncovered ſimplicity of nature. As their feelings are ſtrong, ſo their language, of itſelf,
+ aſſumes a poetical turn. Prone to exaggerate, they deſcribe everything in the ſtrongeſt colours;
+ which of courſe renders their ſpeech pictureſque and figurative. Figurative language owes its
+ riſe chiefly to two cauſes; to the want of proper names for objects, and to the influence of
+ imagination and paſſion over the form of expreſſion. Both theſe cauſes concur in the infancy of
+ ſociety. Figures are commonly conſidered as artificial modes of ſpeech, deviſed by orators and
+ poets, after the world had advanced to a refined ſtate. The contrary of this is the truth. Men
+ never have uſed ſo many figures of ſtyle as in thoſe rude ages, when, beſides the power of a warm
+ imagination to ſuggeſt lively images, the want of proper and preciſe terms for the ideas they
+ would expreſs, obliged them to have recourſe to circumlocution, metaphor, compariſon, and all
+ thoſe ſubſtituted forms of expreſſion, which give a poetical air to language.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image An American chief, at this day, harangues at
+ the head of his tribe in a more bold and metaphorical ſtyle than a modern European would
+ adventure to uſe in an epic poem.
+
In the progreſs of ſociety, the genius and manners of men undergo a change
+ more favourable to accuracy than to ſprightlineſs and ſublimity. As the world advances, the
+ underſtanding gains ground upon the imagination; the underſtanding is more exerciſed; the
+ imagination, leſs. Fewer objects occur that are new or ſurpriſing. Men apply themſelves to trace
+ the cauſes of things; they correct and refine one another; they ſubdue or diſguiſe their
+ paſſions; they form their exterior manners upon one uniform ſtandard of politeneſs and civility.
+ Human nature is pruned according to method and rule. Language advances from ſterility to
+ copiouſneſs, and at the ſame time from fervor and enthuſiaſm, to correctneſs and preciſion. Style
+ becomes more chaſte, but leſs animated. The progreſs of the world in this reſpect reſembles the
+ progreſs of age in man. The powers of imagination are moſt vigorous and predominant in youth;
+ thoſe of the underſtanding ripen more ſlowly, and often attain not to their maturity till the
+ imagination begins to flag. Hence poetry, which is the child of imagination, is frequently
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image moſt glowing and animated in the firſt ages
+ of ſociety As the ideas of our youth are remembered with a peculiar pleaſure, on account of their
+ livelineſs and vivacity, ſo the moſt ancient poems have often proved the greateſt favourites of
+ nations.
+
Poetry has been ſaid to be more ancient than proſe; and, however paradoxical
+ ſuch an aſſertion may ſeem, yet, in a qualified ſenſe, it is true. Men certainly never converſed
+ with one another in regular numbers; but even their ordinary language would, in ancient times,
+ for the reaſons before aſſigned, approach to a poetical ſtyle; and the firſt compoſitions
+ tranſmitted to poſterity, beyond doubt, were, in a literal ſenſe, poems; that is, compoſitions in
+ which imagination had the chief hand, formed into ſome kind of numbers, and pronounced with a
+ muſical modulation or tone. Muſic or ſong has been found coeval with ſociety among the moſt
+ barbarous nations. The only ſubjects which could prompt men, in their firſt rude ſtate, to utter
+ their thoughts in compoſitions of any length, were ſuch as naturally aſſumed the tone of poetry;
+ praiſes of their gods, or of their anceſtors; commemorations of their own warlike exploits, or
+ lamentations over their miſfortunes.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image And, before writing was invented, no other
+ compoſitions, except ſongs or poems, could take ſuch hold of the imagination and memory, as to be
+ preſerved by oral tradition, and handed down from one race to another.
+
Hence we may expect to find poems among the antiquities of all nations. It
+ is probable, too, that an extenſive ſearch would diſcover a certain degree of reſemblance among
+ all the moſt ancient poetical productions, from whatever country they have proceeded. In a
+ ſimilar ſtate of manners, ſimilar objects and paſſions, operating upon the imaginations of men,
+ will ſtamp their productions with the ſame general character. Some diverſity will, no doubt, be
+ occaſioned by climate and genius. But mankind never bear ſuch reſembling features as they do in
+ the beginnings of ſociety. Its ſubſequent revolutions give riſe to the principal diſtinctions
+ among nations; and divert, into channels widely ſeparated, that current of human genius and
+ manners which deſcends originally from one ſpring. What we have been long accuſtomed to call the
+ oriental vein of poetry, becauſe ſome of the earlieſt poetical productions have come to us from
+ the eaſt, is probably no more oriental than Occidental: it is characteriſtical of an age rather
+ than a country,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and belongs, in ſome meaſure, to all nations
+ at a certain period. Of this the works of Oſſian ſeem to furniſh a remarkable proof.
+
Our preſent ſubject leads us to inveſtigate the ancient poetical remains,
+ not ſo much of the eaſt, or of the Greeks and Romans, as of the northern nations, in order to
+ diſcover whether the Gothic poetry has any reſemblance to the Celtic or Gaelic, which we are
+ about to conſider. Though the Goths, under which name we uſually comprehend all the Scandinavian
+ tribes, were a people altogether fierce and martial, and noted, to a proverb for their ignorance
+ of the liberal arts, yet they too, from the earlieſt times, had their poets and their ſongs.
+ Their poets were diſtinguiſhed by the title of Scalders, and their ſongs were termed
+ Vyſes. Display note Saxo Grammaticus
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image , a Daniſh hiſtorian of conſiderable note,
+ who flouriſhed in the thirteenth century, informs us, that very many of theſe ſongs, containing
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the ancient traditionary ſtories of the
+ country, were found engraven upon rocks in the old Runic character, ſeveral of which he, has
+ tranſlated into Latin, and inſerted into his hiſtory. But his verſions are plainly ſo
+ paraphiaſtical, and forced into ſuch an imitation of the ſtyle and the meaſures of the Roman
+ poets, that one can form no judgment from them of the native ſpirit of the original. A more
+ curious monument of the true Gothic poetry is preſerved by Olaus Wormius in his book de
+ Literatura Runica. It is an epicedium, or funeral ſong, compoſed by Regner Lodbrog, and
+ tranſlated by Olaus, word for word, from the original. This Lodbrog was a king of Denmark, who
+ lived in the eighth century, famous for his wars and victories; and at the ſame time an eminent
+ ſcalder, or poet. It was his miſfortune to fall at laſt into the hands of one of his
+ enemies, by whom he was thrown into priſon, and condemned to he deſtroyed by ſerpents. In this
+ ſituation he ſolaced himſelf with rehearſing all the exploits of his life. The poem is divided
+ into twenty-nine ſtanzas, of ten lines each; and every ſtanza begins with theſe words,
+ “Pugnavimus enſibus,” We have fought with our ſwords. Olauſ's verſion is in many places ſo
+ obſcure as to be hardly intelligible. I have ſubjoined the whole below, exactly as he has
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image publiſhed it; and ſhall tranſlate as much as
+ may give the Engliſh reader an idea of the ſpirit and ſtrain of this kind of poetry Display note .
“We have fought with our ſwords. I was young. when, towards the eaſt, in the bay of Oreon, we
+ made torrents of blood flow, to gorge the ravenous beaſt of prey, and the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image yellow-footed bird. There reſounded the hard
+ ſteel upon the lofty helmets of men. The whole ocean was one wound. The crow waded in the blood
+ of the ſlain. When we
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image had numbered twenty years, we lifted our
+ ſpears on high, and everywhere ſpread our renown. Eight barons we overcame in the eaſt, before
+ the port of Diminum; and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image plentifully we feaſted the eagle in that
+ ſlaughter. The warm ſtream of wounds ran into the ocean. The army fell before us. When we
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſteered our ſhips into the mouth of the
+ Viſtula, we ſent the Helſingians to the hall of Odin. Then did the ſword bite. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image waters were all one wound. The earth was dyed
+ red with the warm ſtream. The ſword rung upon the coats of mail, and clove the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bucklers in twain. None fled on that day,
+ till among his ſhips Heraudus fell. Than him no braver baron cleaves the ſea with ſhips; a
+ cheerful heart did he ever bring to the combat.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Then the hoſt threw away. their ſhields, when
+ the uplifted ſpear flew at the breaſt of heroes. The ſword bit the Scarflan rocks;
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bloody was the ſhield in battle, until Rafno
+ the king was ſlain. From the heads of warriors the warm ſweat ſtreamed down their
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image armour. The crows around the Indirian iſlands
+ had an ample prey. It were difficult to ſingle out one among ſo many deaths. At the riſing of the
+ ſun I beheld the ſpears piercing the bodies of foes, and the bows throwing forth their
+ ſteel-pointed arrows. Loud roared the ſwords in the plains of Lano.—The virgin long bewailed the
+ ſlaughter of that morning.”—In this ſtrain the poet continues to deſcribe ſeveral other military
+ exploits. The images are not much varied: the noiſe of arms, the ſtreaming of blood, and the
+ feaſting the birds of prey often recurring. He mentions the death of two of his ſons in battle;
+ and the lamentation he deſcribes as made for one of them is very ſingular. A Grecian or a Roman
+ poet would have introduced the virgins or nymphs of the wood bewailing the untimely fall of a
+ young hero. But, ſays our Gothic poet, “When Rogvaldus was ſlain, for him mourned all the hawks
+ of heaven,” as lamenting a benefactor who had ſo liberally ſupplied them with prey; “for boldly,”
+ as he adds, “in the ſtrife of ſwords did the breaker of helmets throw the ſpear of blood.”
+
The poem concludes with ſentiments of the higheſt bravery and contempt of
+ death. “What is more certain to the brave man than death,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image though amidſt the ſtorm of ſwords he ſtands
+ always ready to oppoſe it? He only regrets this life who hath never known diſtreſs. The timorous
+ man allures the, devouring eagle to the field of battle. The coward, wherever he comes, is
+ uſeleſs to himſelf. This I eſteem honourable, that the youth ſhould advance to the combat fairly
+ matched one againſt another; nor man retreat from man. Long was this the warrior's higheſt glory.
+ He who aſpires to the love of virgins, ought always to be foremoſt in the roar of arms. It
+ appears to me, of truth, that we are led by the Fates. Seldom can any overcome the appointment of
+ deſtiny. Little did I foreſee that Ella Display note was to have my life
+ in his hands, in that day when fainting I concealed my blood, and puſhed forth my ſhips into the
+ waves; after we had ſpread a repaſt for the beaſts of prey throughout the Scottiſh bays. But this
+ makes me always rejoice, that in the halls of our father Balder [or Odin] I know there are ſeats
+ prepared, where, in a ſhort time, we ſhall be drinking ale out of the hollow ſkulls of our
+ enemies. In the houſe of the mighty Odin, no brave man laments death. I come not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image with the voice of deſpair to Odin's hall. How
+ eagerly would all the ſons of Aſlauga now ruſh to war, did they know the diſtreſs of their
+ father, whom a multitude of venomous ſerpents tear! I have given to my children a mother who hath
+ filled their hearts with valor. I am faſt approaching to my end. A cruel death awaits me from the
+ viper's bite. A ſnake dwells in the midſt of my heart. I hope that the ſword of ſome of my ſons
+ ſhall yet be ſtained with the blood of Ella. The valiant youths will wax red with anger, and will
+ not ſit in peace. Fifty and one times have I reared the ſtandard in battle. In my youth I learned
+ to dye the ſword in blood: my hope was then that no king among men would be more renowned than
+ me. The goddeſſes of death will now ſoon call me; I muſt not mourn my death. Now I end my ſong.
+ The goddeſſes invite me away; they whom Odin has ſent to me from his hall. I will ſit upon a
+ lofty ſeat, and drink ale joyfully with the goddeſſes of death. The hours of my life are run out.
+ I will ſmile when I die.”
+
This is ſuch poetry as we might expect from a barbarous nation. It breathes
+ a moſt ferocious ſpirit. It is wild, harſh, and irregular; but at the ſame time animated and
+ ſtrong; the ſtyle,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image in the original, full of inverſions, and, as
+ we learn from ſome of Olauſ's notes, highly metaphorical and figured.
+
But when we open the works of Oſſian, a very different ſcene preſents
+ itſelf. There we find the fire and enthuſiaſm of the moſt early times, combined with an amazing,
+ degree of regularity and art. We find tenderneſs, and even delicacy of ſentiment, greatly
+ predominant over fierceneſs and barbarity. Our hearts are melted with the ſofteſt feelings, and
+ at the ſame time elevated with the higheſt ideas of magnanimity, generoſity, and true heroiſm.
+ When we turn from the poetry of Lodbrog to that of Oſſian, it is like paſſing from a ſavage
+ deſert into a fertile and cultivated country. How is this to be accounted for? or by what means
+ to be reconciled with the remote antiquity attributed to theſe poems? This is a curious point,
+ and requires to be illuſtrated.
+
That the ancient Scots were of Celtic original, is paſt all doubt. Their
+ conformity with the Celtic nations in language, manners, and religion, proves it to a full
+ demonſtration. The Celtæ, a great and mighty people, altogether diſtinct from the Goths and
+ Teutones, once extended their dominion over all the weſt of Europe; but ſeem to have had their
+ moſt full and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image complete eſtabliſhment in Gaul, Wherever the
+ Celtæ or Gauls are mentioned by ancient writers, we ſeldom fall to hear of their Druids and their
+ Bards; the inſtitution of which two orders was the capital diſtinction of their manners and
+ policy. The druids were their philoſophers and prieſts; the bards their poets and recorders of
+ heroic actions; and, both theſe orders of men ſeem to have ſubſiſted among them, as chief members
+ of the ſtate, from time immemorialDisplay note. We muſt not therefore imagine the Celtæ to have been
+ altogether a groſs and rude nation. They poſſeſſed from very remote ages a formed ſyſtem of
+ diſcipline and manners, which appears to have had a deep and laſting influence. Ammianus
+ Marcellinus gives them this expreſs teſtimony, that there flouriſhed among them the ſtudy of the
+ moſt laudable arts, introduced by the bards, whoſe office it was to ſing in heroic verſe the
+ gallant actions of illuſtrious men; and by the druids, who lived together in colleges, or
+ ſocieties, after the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Pythagorean manner, and, philoſophizing upon
+ the higheſt ſubjects, aſſerted the immortality of the human ſoul. Display noteThough Julius Cæſar, in his
+ account of Gaul, does not expreſſly mention the bards, yet it is plain that, under the title of
+ Druids, he comprehends that whole college or order; of which the bards, who, it is probable, were
+ the diſciples of the druids, undoubtedly made a part. It deſerves remark, that, according to his
+ account, the druidical inſtitution firſt took riſe in Britain, and paſſed from thence into Gaul;
+ ſo that they who aſpires to be thorough maſters of that learning, were wont to reſort to Britain.
+ He adds, too, that ſuch as were to be initiated among the druids, were obliged to commit to their
+ memory a great number of verſes, inſomuch that ſome employed twenty years in this courſe of
+ education; and that they did not think it lawful to record thoſe poems in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image writing, but ſacredly handed them down by
+ tradition from race to raceDisplay note.
+
So ſtrong was the attachment of the Celtic nations to their poetry and
+ bards, that, amidſt all the changes of their government and manners, even long after the order of
+ the druids was extinct, and the national religion altered, the bards continued to flouriſh; not
+ as a ſet of ſtrolling ſongſters, like the Greek Αοιδοι, or Rhapſodiſts, in Homer's time, but as
+ an order of men highly reſpected in the ſtate, and ſupported by a public eſtabliſhment. We find
+ them, according to the teſtimonies of Strabo and Diodorus, before the age of Auguſtus Cæſar; and
+ we find them remaining under the ſame name, and exerciſing the ſame functions as of old, in
+ Ireland, and in the north of Scotland, almoſt down to our own times. It is well known, that in
+ both theſe countries every Regulus or chief had his own bard, who was conſidered as an
+ officer of rank in his court; and had lands aſſigned him, which deſcended to his family. Of the
+ honour in which the bards were held, many inſtances occur in Oſſian's Poems. On all important
+ occaſions they were the ambaſſadors between contending chiefs; and their perſons were held
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſacred. “Cairbar feared to ſtretch his ſword
+ to the bards, though his ſoul was dark. 'Looſe the bards,' ſaid his brother Cathmor, 'they are
+ the ſons of other times. Their voice ſhall be heard in other ages, when the kings of Temora have
+ failed.'”
+
From all this, the Celtic tribes clearly appear to have been addicted in ſo
+ high a degree to poetry, and to have made it ſo much their ſtudy from the earlieſt times, as may
+ remove our wonder at meeting with a vein of higher poetical refinement among them, than was at
+ firſt to have been expected among nations whom we are accuſtomed to call barbarous. Barbarity, I
+ muſt obſerve, is a very equivocal term; it admits of many different forms and degrees; and
+ though, in all of them, it excludes poliſhed manners, it is, however, not inconſiſtent with
+ generous ſentiments and tender affections. Display note
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image What degrees of friendſhip, love, and heroiſm
+ may poſſibly be found to prevail in a rude ſtate of ſociety, no one can ſay. Aſtoniſhing
+ inſtances of them we know, from hiſtory, have ſometimes appeared; and a few characters,
+ diſtinguiſhed by thoſe high qualities, might lay a foundation for a ſet of manners being
+ introduced into the ſongs of the bards, more refined, it is probable, and exalted, according to
+ the uſual poetical licenſe, than the real manners of the country.
+
In particular, with reſpect to heroiſm; the great employment of the Celtic bards was to
+ delineate the characters, and ſing the praiſes of heroes. So Lucan;
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+ Vos quoque qui fortes animos, belloque peremptos,
+ Laudibus in longum vates diffunditis ævum
+ Plurima ſecuri fudiſtis carmina bardi.
+
Phars. l. 1.
+
Now when we conſider a college or order of men, who, cultivating poetry
+ throughout a long ſeries of ages, had their imaginations continually employed on the ideas of
+ heroiſm; who had all the poems and panegyrics, which were compoſed by their predeceſſors, handed
+ down to them with care; who rivalled and endeavored to outſtrip thoſe who had gone before them,
+ each in the celebration of his particular hero; is it not natural to think, that at length the
+ character of a hero would appear in their ſongs with the higheſt luſtre, and be adorned with
+ qualities truly noble? Some of the qualities indeed which diſtinguiſh a Fingal, moderation,
+ humanity, and clemency, would not probably be the firſt ideas of heroiſm occurring to a barbarous
+ people: but no ſooner had ſuch ideas begun to dawn on the minds of poets, than, as the human mind
+ eaſily opens to the native repreſentations of human perfection, they would be ſeized and
+ embraced; they would enter into their panegyrics; they would afford materials for ſucceeding
+ bards to work upon and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image improve; they would contribute not a little
+ to exalt the public manners. For ſuch ſongs as theſe, familiar to the Celtic warriors from their
+ childhood, and, throughout their whole life, both in war and in peace, their principal
+ entertainment, muſt have had a very conſiderable influence in propagating among them real
+ manners, nearly approaching to the poetical; and in forming even ſuch a hero as Fingal.
+ Eſpecially when we conſider, that among their limited objects of ambition, among the few
+ advantages which, in a ſavage ſtate, man could obtain over man, the chief was fame, and that
+ immortality which they expected to receive from their virtues and exploits, in ſongs of
+ bardsDisplay note.
+
Having made theſe remarks on the Celtic poetry and bards in general, I ſhall
+ next conſider the particular advantages which Oſſian poſſeſſed. He appears clearly to have lived
+ in a period which enjoyed all the benefit I juſt now mentioned of traditionary poetry. The
+ exploits of Trathal, Trenmor, and the other anceſtors of Fingal, are ſpoken of as familiarly
+ known.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Ancient bards are frequently alluded to. In
+ one remarkable paſſage Oſſian deſcribes himſelf as living in a ſort of claſſical age, enlightened
+ by the memorials of former times, which were conveyed in the ſongs of bards; and points at a
+ period of darkneſs and ignorance which lay beyond the reach of tradition. “His words,” ſays he,
+ “Came only by halves to our ears; they were dark as the tales of other times, before the light of
+ the ſong aroſe.” Oſſian himſelf appears to have been endowed by nature with an exquiſite
+ ſenſibility of heart; prone to that tender melancholy which is ſo often an attendant on great
+ genius: and ſuſceptible equally of ſtrong and of ſoft emotion. He was not only a profeſſed bard,
+ educated with care, as we may eaſily believe, to all the poetical art then known, and connected,
+ as he ſhews us himſelf, in intimate friendſhip with the other contemporary bards, but a warrior
+ alſo; and the ſon of the moſt renowned hero and prince of his age. This formed a conjunction of
+ circumſtances uncommonly favourable towards exalting the imagination of a poet. He relates
+ expeditions in which he had been engaged; he ſings of battles in which he had fought and
+ overcome; he had beheld the moſt illuſtrious ſcenes which that age could exhibit, both of heroiſm
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image in war and magnificence in peace. For however
+ rude the magnificence of thoſe times may ſeem to us, we muſt remember, that all ideas of
+ magnificence are comparative; and that the age of Fingal was an æra of diſtinguiſhed ſplendor in
+ that part of the world. Fingal reigned over a conſiderable territory; he was enriched with the
+ ſpoils of the Roman province; he was ennobled by his victories and great actions; and was in all
+ reſpects a perſonage of much higher dignity than any of the chieftains, or heads of clans, who
+ lived in the ſame country, after a more extenſive monarchy was eſtabliſhed,
+
The manners of Oſſian's age, ſo far as we can gather them from his writings,
+ were abundantly favourable to a poetical genius. The two diſpiriting vices, to which Longinus
+ imputes the decline of poetry, covetouſneſs and effeminacy, were as yet unknown. The cares of men
+ were few. They lived a roving indolent life; hunting and war their principal employments; and
+ their chief amuſements, the muſic of bards, and the feaſt of ſhells.” The great objects purſued
+ by heroic ſpirits, was “to receive their fame;” that is, to become worthy of being celebrated in
+ the ſongs of bards; and “to have their name on the four gray ſtones.” To die unlamented by a
+ bard, was deemed ſo great a miſfortune as
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image even to diſturb their ghoſts in another
+ ſtate. They wander in thick miſts beſide the reedy lake but never ſhall they riſe, without the
+ ſong, to the dwelling of winds.” After death, they expected to follow employments of the ſame
+ nature with thoſe which had amuſed them on earth; to fly with their friends on clouds, to purſue
+ airy deer, and to liſten to their praiſe in the mouths of bards. In ſuch times as theſe, in a
+ country where poetry had been ſo long cultivated, and ſo highly honoured, is it any wonder that,
+ among the race and ſucceſſion of bards, one Homer ſhould ariſe: a man, who, endowed with a
+ natural happy genius, favoured with peculiar advantages of birth and condition, and meeting, in
+ the courſe of his life, with a variety of incidents proper to fire his imagination, and to touch
+ his heart, ſhould attain a degree of eminence in poetry, worthy to draw the admiration of more
+ refined ages?
+
The compoſitions of Oſſian are ſo ſtrongly marked with characters of
+ antiquity, that although there were no external proof to ſupport that antiquity, hardly any
+ reader of judgment and taſte could heſitate in referring them to a very remote æra. There are
+ four great ſtages through which men ſucceſſively paſs in the progreſs of ſociety. The firſt and
+ earlieſt is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the life of hunters; paſturage ſucceeds to
+ this, as the ideas of property begin to take root; next agriculture; and, laſtly, commerce.
+ Throughout Oſſian's Poems we plainly find ourſelves in the firſt of theſe periods of ſociety;
+ during which hunting was the chief employment of men, and the principal method of their procuring
+ ſubſiſtence. Paſturage was not indeed wholly unknown; for we hear of dividing the herd in the
+ caſe of a divorce; but the alluſions to herds and to cattle are not many; and of agriculture we
+ find no traces. No cities appear to have been built in the territories of Fingal. No arts are
+ mentioned, except that of navigation and of working in ironDisplay note. Every thing preſents to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image us the moſt ſimple and unimproved manners. At
+ their feaſts, the heroes prepared their own repaſt; they ſat round the light of the burning oak;
+ the wind lifted their locks, and whiſtled through their open halls. Whatever was beyond the
+ neceſſaries of life was known to them only as the ſpoil of the Roman province; “the gold of the
+ ſtranger; the lights of the ſtranger; the ſteeds of the ſtranger; the children of the rein.”
+
This repreſentation of Oſſian's times muſt ſtrike us the more, as genuine
+ and authentick, when it is compared with a poem of later date, which Mr. Macpherſon has preſerved
+ in one of his notes. It is that in which five bards are repreſented as paſſing the evening in the
+ houſe of a chief, and each of them ſeparately giving his deſcription of the night. The night
+ ſcenery is beautiful; and the author has plainly imitated the ſtyle and manner of Oſſian; but he
+ has allowed ſome images to appear which betray a later period of ſociety. For we meet with
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image windows clapping, the herds of goats and cows
+ ſeeking ſhelter, the ſhepherd wandering, corn on the plain, and the wakeful hind rebuilding the
+ ſhocks of corn which had been overturned by the tempeſt. Whereas, in Oſſian's works, from
+ beginning to end, all is conſiſtent; no modern alluſion drops from him; but everywhere the ſame
+ face of rude nature appears; a country wholly uncultivated, thinly inhabited, and recently
+ peopled. The graſs of the rock, the flower of the heath, the thiſtle with its beard, are the
+ chief ornaments of his landſcapes. “The deſert,” ſays Fingal, “is enough for me, with all its
+ woods and deer.”
+
The circle of ideas and tranſactions is no wider than ſuits ſuch an age; nor
+ any greater diverſity introduced into characters, than the events of that period would naturally
+ diſplay. Valor and bodily ſtrength are the admired qualities. Contentions ariſe, as is uſual
+ among ſavage nations, from the ſlighteſt cauſes. To be affronted at a tournament, or to be
+ omitted in the invitation to a feaſt, kindles a war. Women are often carried away by force; and
+ the whole tribe, as in the Homeric times, riſe to avenge the wrong. The heroes ſhow refinement of
+ ſentiment indeed on ſeveral occaſions, but none of manners. They ſpeak of their paſt
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image actions with freedom, boaſt of their
+ exploits, and ſing their own praiſe. In their battles, it is evident, that drums, trumpets, or
+ bagpipes, were not known or uſed. They had no expedient for giving the military alarms but
+ ſtriking a ſhield, or raiſing a loud cry: and hence the loud and terrible voice of Fingal is
+ often mentioned as a neceſſary qualification of a great general; like the βοην αγαθος Μενελαος of Homer. Of military diſcipline or ſkill they appear to have
+ been entirely deſtitute. Their armies ſeem not to have been numerous; their battles were
+ diſorderly; and terminated, for the moſt part, by a perſonal combat, or wreſtling of the two
+ chiefs; after which, “the bard ſung the ſong of peace, and the battle ceaſed along the
+ field.”
+
The manner of compoſition bears all the marks of the greateſt antiquity. No
+ artful tranſitions, nor full and extended connexion of parts; ſuch as we find among the poets of
+ later times, when order and regularity of compoſition were more ſtudied and known: but a ſtyle
+ always rapid and vehement; narration conciſe, even to abruptneſs, and leaving ſeveral
+ circumſtances to be ſupplied by the reader's imagination. The language has all that figurative
+ caſt, which, as I before ſhowed, partly a glowing and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image undiſciplined imagination partly the
+ ſterility of language and the want of proper terms, have always introduced into the early ſpeech
+ of nations; and in ſeveral reſpects, it carries a remarkable reſemblance to the ſtyle of the Old
+ Teſtament. It deſerves particular notice, as one of the moſt genuine and deciſive characters of
+ antiquity, that very few general terms, or abſtract ideas, are to be met with in the whole
+ collection of Oſſian's works. The ideas of men, at firſt, were all particular. They had not words
+ to expreſs general conceptions. Theſe were the conſequences of more profound reflection, and
+ longer acquaintance with the arts of thought and of ſpeech. Oſſian, accordingly, almoſt never
+ expreſſes himſelf in the abſtract. His ideas extended little further than to the objects he ſaw
+ around him. A public, a community, the univerſe, were conceptions beyond his ſphere. Even a
+ mountain, a ſea, or a lake, which he has occaſion to mention, though only in a ſimile, are for
+ the moſt part particularized; it is the hill of Cromla, the ſtorm of the ſea of Malmor, or the
+ reeds of the lake of Lego. A mode of expreſſion which, while it is characteriſtical of ancient
+ ages, is at the ſame time highly favourable to deſcriptive poetry. For the ſame reaſons,
+ perſonification is a poetical figure not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image very common with Oſſian. Inanimate objects,
+ ſuch as winds, trees, flowers, he ſometimes perſonifies with great beauty. But the
+ perſonifications which are ſo familiar to later poets, of Fame, Time, Terror, Virtue, and the
+ reſt of that claſs, were unknown to our Celtic bard. Theſe were modes of conception too abſtract
+ for his age.
+
All theſe are marks ſo undoubted, and ſome of them, too ſo nice and
+ delicate, of the moſt early times, as put the high antiquity of theſe poems out of queſtion.
+ Eſpecially when we conſider, that if there had been any impoſture in this caſe, it muſt have been
+ contrived and executed in the Highlands of Scotland, two or three centuries ago; as up to this
+ period, both by manuſcripts, and by the teſtimony of a multitude of living witneſſes, concerning
+ the uncontrovertible tradition of theſe poems, they can clearly be traced. Now, this is a period
+ when that country enjoyed no advantages for a compoſition of this kind, which it may not be
+ ſuppoſed to have enjoyed in as great, if not in a greater degree, a thouſand years before. To
+ ſuppoſe that two or three hundred years ago, when we well know the Highlands to have been in a
+ ſtate of groſs ignorance and barbarity, there ſhould have ariſen in that country a poet, of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſuch exquiſite genius, and of ſuch deep
+ knowledge of mankind, and of hiſtory, as to diveſt himſelf of the ideas and manners of his own
+ age, and to give us a juſt and natural picture of a ſtate of ſociety ancienter by a thouſand
+ years; one who could ſupport this counterfeited antiquity through ſuch a large collection of
+ poems, without the leaſt inconſiſtency; and who, poſſeſſed of all this genius and art, had, at
+ the ſame time, the ſelf-denial of concealing himſelf, and of aſcribing his own works to an
+ antiquated bard, without the impoſture being detected; is a ſuppoſition that tranſcends all
+ bounds of credibility.
+
There are, beſides, two other circumſtances to be attended to, ſtill of
+ greater weight, if poſſible, againſt this hypotheſis. One is, the total abſence of religious
+ ideas from this work; for which the tranſlator has, in his preface, given a very probable
+ account, on the footing of its being the work of Oſſian. The druidical ſuperſtition was, in the
+ days of Oſſian, on the point of its final extinction; and, for particular reaſons, odious to the
+ family of Fingal; whilſt the Chriſtian faith was not yet eſtabliſhed. But had it been the work of
+ one to whom the ideas of Chriſtianity were familiar from his infancy, and who had ſuperadded to
+ them alſo the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bigoted ſuperſtition of a dark age and
+ country, it is impoſſible. but in ſome paſſage or other, the traces of them would have appeared.
+ The other circumſtance is, the entire ſilence which reigns with reſpect to all the great clans or
+ families which are now eſtabliſhed in the Highlands. The origin of theſe ſeveral clans is known
+ to be very ancient; and it is well known that there is no paſſion by which a native Highlander is
+ more diſtinguiſhed than by attachment to his clan, and jealouſy for its honour. That a Highland
+ bard, in forging a work relating to the antiquities of his country, ſhould have inſerted no
+ circumſtance which pointed out the riſe of his own clan, which aſcertained its antiquity, or
+ increaſed its glory, is, of all ſuppoſitions that can be formed, the moſt improbable; and the
+ ſilence on this head amounts to a demonſtration that the author lived before any of the preſent
+ great clans were formed or known.
+
Aſſuming it then, as well we may, for certainty, that the poems, now under
+ conſideration, are genuine venerable monuments of a very remote antiquity, I proceed to make ſome
+ remarks upon their general ſpirit and ſtrain. The two great characteriſtics of Oſſian's poetry
+ are, tenderneſs and ſublimity. It breathes nothing of the gay and cheerful kind; an air of
+ ſolemnity
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and ſeriouſneſs is diffuſed over the whole.
+ Oſſian is, perhaps, the only poet who never relaxes, or lets himſelf down into the light and
+ amuſing ſtrain which I readily admit to be no ſmall diſadvantage to him, with the bulk of
+ readers. He moves perpetually in the high region of the grand and the pathetic. One keynote is
+ ſtruck at the beginning, and ſupported to the end; nor is any ornament introduced, but what is
+ perfectly concordant with the general tone of melody. The events recorded, are all ſerious and
+ grave; the ſcenery throughout, wild and romantic. The extended heath by the ſeaſhore; the
+ mountains ſhaded with miſt; the torrent ruſhing through a ſolitary valley; the ſcattered oaks,
+ and the tombs of warriors overgrown with moſs; all produce a ſolemn attention in the mind, and
+ prepare it for great and extraordinary events. We find not in Oſſian an imagination that ſports
+ itſelf, and dreſſes out gay trifles to pleaſe the fancy. His poetry, more perhaps than that of
+ any other writer, deſerves to be ſtiled, The poetry of the heart. It is a heart
+ penetrated with noble ſentiments and with ſublime and tender paſſions; a heart that glows, and
+ kindles the fancy; a heart that is full, and pours itſelf forth. Oſſian did not write,, like
+ modern poets, to pleaſe readers and critics. He ſung from the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image love of poetry and ſong. His delight was to
+ think of the heroes among whom he had flouriſhed; to recall the affecting incidents of his life;
+ to dwell upon his paſt wars, and loves, and friendſhips: till, as he expreſſes it himſelf, “there
+ comes a voice to Oſſian, and awakes his ſoul. It is the voice of years that are gone; they roll
+ before me with all their deeds;” and under this true poetic inſpiration, giving vent to his
+ genius, no wonder we ſhould ſo often hear, and acknowledge, in his ſtrains, the powerful and
+ ever-pleaſing voice of nature.
+
+ —Arte, natura potentior omni—
+ Eſt Deus in nobis, agitante caleſcimus illo.
+
It is neceſſary here to obſerve, that the beauties of Oſſian's writings
+ cannot be felt by thoſe who have given them only a ſingle or haſty peruſal. His manner is ſo
+ different from that of the poets to whom we are moſt accuſtomed; his ſtyle is ſo conciſe, and ſo
+ much crowned with imagery; the mind is kept at ſuch a ſtretch in accompanying the author; that an
+ ordinary reader is at firſt apt to be dazzled and fatigued, rather than pleaſed. His poems
+ require to he taken up at intervals, and to be frequently reviewed; and then it is impoſſible but
+ his beauties muſt open to every reader who is capable of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſenſibility. Thoſe who have the higheſt
+ degree of it will reliſh them the moſt.
+
As Homer is, of all the great poets, the one whoſe manner, and whoſe times,
+ come the neareſt to Oſſian's, we are naturally led to run a parallel in ſome inſtances between
+ the Greek and Celtic bard. For though Homer lived more than a thouſand years before Oſſian, it is
+ not from the age of the world, but from the ſtate of ſociety that we are to judge of reſembling
+ times. The Greek has, in ſeveral points, a manifeſt ſuperiority. He introduces a greater variety
+ of incidents; he poſſeſſes a larger compaſs of ideas; has more diverſity in his characters; and a
+ much deeper knowledge of human nature. It was not to be expected, that in any of theſe
+ particulars Oſſian could equal Homer. For Homer lived in a country where ſociety was much farther
+ advanced; he had beheld many more objects; cities built and flouriſhing; laws inſtituted; order,
+ diſcipline, and arts, begun. His field of obſervation was much larger and more ſplendid: his
+ knowledge, of courſe, more extenſive; his mind alſo, it ſhall be granted, more penetrating. But
+ if Oſſian's ideas and objects be leſs diverſified than thoſe of Homer, they are all, however, of
+ the kind fitteſt for poetry: the bravery and generoſity of heroes, the tenderneſs of lovers,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the attachment of friends, parents, and
+ children. In a rude age and country, though the events that happen be few, the undiſſipated mind
+ broods over them more; they ſtrike the imagination, and fire the paſſions, in a higher degree;
+ and, of conſequence, become happier materials to a poetical genius, than the ſame events when
+ ſcattered through the wide circle of more varied action and cultivated life.
+
Homer is a more cheerful and ſprightly poet than Oſſian. You diſcern in him
+ all the Greek vivacity; whereas Oſſian uniformly maintains the gravity and ſolemnity of a Celtic
+ hero. This, too, is in a great meaſure to be accounted for from the different ſituations in which
+ they lived—partly perſonal, and partly national. Oſſian had ſurvived all his friends, and was
+ diſpoſed to melancholy by the incidents of his life. But, beſides this, cheerfulneſs is one of
+ the many bleſſings which we owe to formed ſociety. The ſolitary, wild ſtate, is always a ſerious
+ one. Bating the ſudden and violent burſts of mirth, which ſometimes break forth at their dances
+ and feaſts, the ſavage American tribes have been noted by all travellers for their gravity and
+ taciturnity. Somewhat of this taciturnity may be alſo be remarked in Oſſian. On all occaſions he
+ is frugal of his words; and never gives you more of an
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image image, or a deſcription, than is juſt
+ ſufficient to place it before you in one clear point of view. It is a blaze of lightning, which
+ flaſhes and vaniſhes. Homer is more extended in his deſcriptions, and fills them up with a
+ greater variety of circumſtances. Both the poets are dramatic; that is, they introduce their
+ perſonages frequently ſpeaking before us. But Oſſian is conciſe and rapid in his ſpeeches, as he
+ is in every other thing. Homer, with the Greek vivacity, had alſo ſome portion of the Greek
+ loquacity. His ſpeeches, indeed, are highly characteriſtical; and to them we are much indebted
+ for that admirable diſplay he has given of human nature. Yet, if he be tedious any where, it is
+ in theſe: ſome of them are trifling, and ſome of them plainly unſeaſonable. Both poets are
+ eminently ſublime; but a difference may be remarked in the ſpecies of their ſublimity. Homer's
+ ſublimity is accompanied with more impetuoſity and fire; Oſſian's with more of a ſolemn and awful
+ grandeur. Homer hurries you along; Oſſian elevates, and fixes you in aſtoniſhment. Homer is moſt
+ ſublime in actions and battles; Oſſian in deſcription and ſentiment. In the pathetic, Homer, when
+ he chooſes to exert it, has great power; but Oſſian exerts that power much oftener, and has the
+ character of tenderneſs far
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image more deeply imprinted on his works. No poet
+ knew better how to ſeize and melt the heart. With regard to dignity of ſentiment, the
+ pre-eminence muſt clearly he given to Oſſian. This is, indeed, a ſurpriſing circumſtance, that in
+ point of humanity, magnanimity, virtuous feelings of every kind, our rude Celtic bard ſhould be
+ diſtinguiſhed to ſuch a degree, that not only the heroes of Homer, but even thoſe of the polite
+ and refined Virgil, are left far behind by thoſe of Oſſian.
+
After theſe general obſervations on the genius and ſpirit of our author, I
+ now proceed to a nearer view and more accurate examination of his works; and as Fingal is the
+ firſt great poem in this collection, it is proper to begin with it. To refuſe the title of an
+ epic poem to Fingal, becauſe it is not, in every little particular, exactly conformable to the
+ practice of Homer and Virgil, were the mere ſqueamiſhneſs and pedantry of criticiſm. Examined
+ even according to Ariſtotle's rules, it will be found to have all the eſſential requiſites of a
+ true and regular epic; and to have ſeveral of them in ſo high a degree, as at firſt view to raiſe
+ our aſtoniſhment on finding Oſſian's compoſition ſo agreeable to rules of which he was entirely
+ ignorant. But our aſtoniſhment will ceaſe, when we conſider
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image from what ſource Ariſtotle drew thoſe rules.
+ Homer knew no more of the laws of criticiſm than Oſſian. But, guided by nature, he compoſed in
+ verſe a regular ſtory, founded on heroic actions, which all poſterity admired. Ariſtotle, with
+ great ſagacity and penetration, traced the cauſes of this general admiration. He obſerved what it
+ was in Homer's compoſition, and in the conduct of his ſtory, which gave it ſuch power to pleaſe;
+ from. this obſervation he deduced the rules which poets ought to follow, who would write and
+ pleaſe like Homer; and to a compoſition formed according to ſuch rules, he gave the name of an
+ epic poem. Hence his whole ſyſtem aroſe. Ariſtotle ſtudied nature in Homer. Homer and Oſſian both
+ wrote from nature. No wonder that among all the three, there ſhould be ſuch agreement and
+ conformity.
+
The fundamental rules delivered by Ariſtotle concerning an epic poem, are
+ theſe: that the action, which is the groundwork of the poem, ſhould be one, complete, and great;
+ that it ſhould be feigned, not merely hiſtorical; that it ſhould be enlivened with characters and
+ manners, and heightened by the marvellous.
+
But, before entering on any of theſe, it may perhaps be aſked, what is the
+ moral of Fingal? For, according to M. Boſſu, an epic poem is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image no other than an allegory contrived to
+ illuſtrate ſome, moral truth. The poet, ſays this critic, muſt begin with fixing on ſome maxim or
+ inſtruction, which he intends to inculcate on mankind. He next forms a fable, like one of Æſop's,
+ wholly with a view to the moral; and having thus ſettled and arranged his plan, he then looks
+ into traditionary hiſtory for names and incidents, to give his fable ſome air of probability.
+ Never did a more frigid, pedantic notion enter into the mind of a critic. We may ſafely
+ pronounce, that he who ſhould compoſe an epic poem after this manner, who ſhould firſt lay down a
+ moral and contrive a plan, before he had thought of his perſonages and actors, might deliver,
+ indeed, very ſound inſtruction, but would find very few readers. There cannot be the leaſt doubt
+ that the firſt object which ſtrikes an epic poet, which fires his genius, and gives him any idea
+ of his work, is the action or ſubject he is to celebrate. Hardly is there any tale, any ſubject,
+ a poet can chooſe for ſuch a work, but will afford ſome general moral inſtruction. An epic poem
+ is, by its nature, one of the moſt moral of all poetical compoſitions: but its moral tendency is
+ by no means to be limited to ſome commonplace maxim, which may be gathered from the ſtory. It
+ ariſes from the admiration of heroic actions,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image which ſuch a compoſition is peculiarly
+ calculated to produce; from the virtuous emotions which the characters and incidents raiſe,
+ whilſt we read it; from the happy impreſſions which all the parts ſeparately, as well as the
+ whole together, leave upon the mind. However, if a general moral be ſtill inſiſted on, Fingal
+ obviouſly furniſhes one, not inferior to that of any other poet, viz: that wiſdom and bravery
+ always triumph over brutal force: or another, nobler ſtill: that the moſt complete victory over
+ an enemy is obtained by that moderation and generoſity which convert him into a friend.
+
The unity of the epic action, which of all Ariſtotle's rules, is the chief
+ and moſt material, is ſo ſtrictly preſerved in Fingal, that it muſt be perceived by every reader.
+ It is a more complete unity than what ariſes from relating the actions of one man, which the
+ Greek critic juſtly cenſures as imperfect: it is the unity of one enterpriſe—the deliverance of
+ Ireland from the invaſion of Swaran; an enterpriſe which has ſurely the full heroic dignity. All
+ the incidents recorded bear a conſtant reference to one end; no double plot is carried on; but
+ the pa unite into a regular whole; and as the action is one and great, ſo it is an entire or
+ complete action. For we find, as the critic, farther
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image requires, a beginning, a middle, and an end;
+ a nodus, or intrigue, in the poem; difficulties occurring through Cuthullin's raſhneſs and bad
+ ſucceſs; thoſe difficulties gradually ſurmounted; and at laſt, the work conducted to that happy
+ concluſion which is held eſſential to epic poetry. Unity is, indeed, obſerved with greater
+ exactneſs in Fingal, than in almoſt any other epic compoſition. For not only is unity of ſubject
+ maintained, but that of time and place alſo. The autumn is clearly pointed out as the ſeaſon of
+ the action; and from beginning to end the ſcene is never ſhifted from the heath of Lena, along
+ the ſeaſhore. The duration of the action in Fingal, is much ſhorter than in the Iliad or Æneid;
+ but ſure there may be ſhorter as well longer heroic poems; and if the authority of Ariſtotle be
+ alſo required for this, he ſays expreſſly, that the epic compoſition is indefinite as to the time
+ of its duration. Accordingly, the action of the Iliad laſts only forty-ſeven days, whilſt that of
+ the Æneid is continued for more than a year.
+
Throughout the whole of Fingal, there reigns that grandeur of ſentiment,
+ ſtyle, and imagery, which ought ever to diſtinguiſh this high ſpecies of poetry. The ſtory is
+ conducted with no ſmall art. The poet goes not back to a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image tedious recital of the beginning of the war
+ with Swaran; but haſtening to the main action, he falls in exactly, by a moſt happy coincidence
+ of thought, with the rule of Horace:
+ Semper ad eventum feſtinat, et in medias res,
+ Non ſecus ac notas, auditorem rapit—
+ Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo.
De Arte Poet.
+
+
He invokes no muſe, for he acknowledged none. but his occaſional addreſſes
+ to Malvina have a finer effect than the invocation of any muſe. He ſets out with no formal
+ propoſition of his ſubject; but the ſubject naturally and eaſily unfolds itſelf; the poem opening
+ in an animated manner, with the ſituation of Cuthullin, and the arrival of a ſcout, who informs
+ him of Swaran's landing. Mention is preſently made of Fingal, and of the expected aſſiſtance from
+ the ſhips of the lonely iſle, in order to give farther light to the ſubject. For the poet often
+ ſhews his addreſs in gradually preparing us for the events he is to introduce; and, in
+ particular, the preparation for the appearance of Fingal, the previous expectations that are
+ raiſed, and the extreme magnificence, fully anſwering theſe expectations, with which the hero is
+ at length preſented to us, are all worked up with ſuch
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſkilful conduct as would do honour to any
+ poet of the moſt refined times. Homer's art in magnifying the character of Achilles, has been
+ univerſally admired. Oſſian certainly ſhews no leſs aft in aggrandizing Fingal. Nothing could be
+ more happily imagined for this purpoſe than the whole management of the laſt battle, wherein
+ Gaul, the ſon of Morni, had beſought Fingal to retire, and to leave him and his other chiefs the
+ honour of the day. The generoſity of the king in agreeing to this propoſal; the majeſty with
+ which he retreats to the hill, from whence he was to behold the engagement, attended by his
+ bards, and waving the lightning of his ſword; his perceiving the chiefs overpowered by numbers,
+ but, from unwillingneſs to deprive them of the glory of victory by coming in perſon to their
+ aſſiſtance, firſt ſending Ullin, the bard, to animate their courage, and at laſt, when the danger
+ becomes more preſſing, his riſing in his might, and interpoſing, like a divinity, to decide the
+ doubtful fate of the day; are all circumſtances contrived with ſo much art, as plainly diſcover
+ the Celtic bards to have been not unpractiſed in heroic poetry.
+
The ſtory which is the foundation of the Iliad, is in itſelf as ſimple as
+ that of Fingal. A quarrel
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ariſes between Achilles and Agamemnon
+ concerning a female ſlave; on which Achilles, apprehending himſelf to be injured, withdraws his
+ aſſiſtance from the reſt of the Greeks. The Greeks fall into great diſtreſs, and beſeech him to
+ be reconciled to them. He refuſes to fight for them in perſon, but ſends his friend Patroclus;
+ and upon his being ſlain, goes forth to revenge his death, and kills Hector. The ſubject of
+ Fingal is this: Swaran comes to invade Ireland; Cuthullin, the guardian of the young king, had
+ applied for his aſſiſtance to Fingal, who reigned in the oppoſite coaſt of Scotland. But before
+ Fingal's arrival, he is hurried by raſh counſel to encounter Swaran. He is defeated; he retreats,
+ and deſponds. Fingal arrives in this conjuncture. The battle is for ſome time dubious; but in the
+ end he conquers Swaran; and the remembrance of Swaran's being the brother of Agandecca, who, had
+ once ſaved his life, makes him diſmiſs him honourably. Homer, it is true, has filled up his ſtory
+ with a much greater variety of particulars than Oſſian; and in this has ſhown a compaſs of
+ invention ſuperior to that of the other poet. But it muſt not be forgotten that though Homer be
+ more circumſtantial, his incidents, however, are leſs diverſified in kind than thoſe of Oſſian.
+ War and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bloodſhed reign throughout the Iliad; and,
+ notwithſtanding all the fertility of Homer's invention, there is ſo much uniformity in his
+ ſubjects, that there are few readers, who, before the cloſe, are not tired with perpetual
+ fighting. Whereas in Oſſian, the mind is relieved by a more agreeable diverſity. There is a finer
+ mixture of war and heroiſm, with love and friendſhip—of martial, with tender ſcones, than is to
+ be met with, perhaps, in any other poet. The epiſodes, too, have great propriety—as natural, and
+ proper to that age and country: conſiſting of the ſongs of bards, which are known to have been
+ the great entertainment of the Celtic heroes in war, as well as in peace. Theſe ſongs are not
+ introduced at random; if you except the epiſode of Duchommar and Morna, in the firſt book, which,
+ though beautiful, is more unartful than any of the reſt, they have always ſome particular
+ relation to the actor who is intereſted, or to the events which are going on; and, whilſt they
+ vary the ſcene, they preſerve a ſufficient connection with the main ſubject by the fitneſs and
+ propriety of their introduction.
+
As Fingal's love to Agandecca influences ſome circumſtances of the poem,
+ particularly the honourable diſmiſſion of Swaran at the end; it was neceſſary that we ſhould be
+ let into this
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image part of the hero's ſtory. But as it lay
+ without the compaſs of the preſent action, it could be regularly introduced nowhere except in an
+ epiſode. Accordingly, the poet, with as much propriety as if Ariſtotle himſelf had directed the
+ plan, has contrived an epiſode for this purpoſe in the ſong of Carril, at the beginning of the
+ third book.
+
The concluſion of the poem is ſtrictly according to rule, and is every way
+ noble and pleaſing. Th reconciliation of the contending heroes, the conſolation of Cuthullin, and
+ the general felicity that crowns the action, ſoothe the mind in a very agreeable manner, and form
+ that paſſage from agitation and trouble, to perfect quiet and repoſe, which critics require as
+ the proper termination of the epic work. “Thus they paſſed the night in ſong, and brought back
+ the morning with joy. Fingal aroſe on the heath; and ſhook his glittering ſpear in his hand. He
+ moved firſt towards the plains of Lena; and we followed like a ridge of fire. Spread the ſail,
+ ſaid the king of Morven, and catch the winds that pour from Lena. We roſe on the waves with
+ ſongs; and ruſhed with joy through the foam of the ocean.” So much for the unity and general
+ conduct of the Epic action in Fingal.
With regard to that property of the ſubject which Ariſtotle requires, that
+ it ſhould be feigned, not hiſtorical, he muſt not be underſtood ſo ſtrictly is if he meant to
+ exclude all ſubjects which have any foundation in truth. For ſuch excluſion would both be
+ unreaſonable in itſelf, and what is more, would be contrary to the practice of Homer, who is
+ known to have founded his Iliad on hiſtorical facts concerning the war of Troy, which was famous
+ throughout all Greece. Ariſtotle means no more than that it is the buſineſs of a poet not to be a
+ more annaliſt of facts, but to embelliſh truth with beautiful, probable, and uſeful fictions; to
+ copy nature as he himſelf explains it, like painters, who preſerve a likeneſs, but exhibit their
+ objects more grand and beautiful than they are in reality. That Oſſian has followed this courſe,
+ and building upon true hiſtory, has ſufficiently adorned it with poetical fiction for
+ aggrandizing his characters and facts, will not, I believe, be queſtioned by moſt readers. At the
+ ſame time, the foundation which thoſe facts and characters had in truth, and the ſhare which the
+ poet had himſelf in the tranſactions which he records, muſt be conſidered as no ſmall advantage
+ to his work. For truth makes an impreſſion on the mind far beyond any fiction; and no man, let
+ his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image imagination be ever ſo ſtrong, relates any
+ events ſo feelingly as thoſe in which he has been intereſted; paints any ſcene ſo naturally as
+ one which he has ſeen; or draws any characters in ſuch ſtrong colours as thoſe which he has
+ perſonally known. It is conſidered as an advantage of the epic ſubject to be taken from a period
+ ſo diſtant, as, by being involved in the darkneſs of tradition, may give licenſe to fable. Though
+ Oſſian's ſubject may at firſt view appear unfavourable in this reſpect, as being taken from his
+ own times, yet, when we reflect that he lived to an extreme old age; that he relates what had
+ been tranſacted in another country, at the diſtance of many years, and after all that race of men
+ who had been the actors were gone off the ſtage; we ſhall find the objection in a great meaſure
+ obviated. In ſo rude an age, when no written records were known, when tradition was looſe, and
+ accuracy of any kind little attended to, what was great and heroic in one generation, eaſily
+ ripened into the marvellous in the next.
+
The natural repreſentation of human character in an epic poem is highly
+ eſſential to its merit; and, in reſpect of this, there can be no doubt of Homer's excelling all
+ the heroic poets who have ever wrote. But though Oſſian be much inferior to Homer in this
+ article, he will
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image be found to be equal at leaſt, if not
+ ſuperior to Virgil; and has, indeed, given all the diſplay of human nature, which the ſimple
+ occurrences of his times could be expected to furniſh. No dead uniformity of character prevails
+ in Fingal; but, on the contrary, the principal characters are not only clearly diſtinguiſhed, but
+ ſometimes artfully contraſted, ſo as to illuſtrate each other. Oſſian's heroes are like Homer's,
+ all brave; but their bravery, like thoſe of Homer's too, is of different kinds. For inſtance: the
+ prudent, the ſedate, the modeſt and circumſpect Connal, is finely oppoſed to the preſumptuous,
+ raſh, overbearing, but gallant and generous Calmar. Calmar hurries Cuthullin into action by his
+ temerity; and when he ſees the bad effects of his counſels, he will not ſurvive the diſgrace.
+ Connal, like another Ulyſſes, attends Cuthullin to his retreat, counſels and comforts him under
+ his miſfortune. The fierce, the proud, and the high-ſpirited Swaran, is admirably contraſted with
+ the calm, the moderate, and generous Fingal. The character of Oſcar is a favourite one throughout
+ the whole poems. The amiable warmth of the young warrior; his eager impetuoſity in the day of
+ action; his paſſion for fame; his ſubmiſſion to his father; his tenderneſs for Malvina; are the
+ ſtrokes of a maſterly
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pencil: the ſtrokes are few; but it is the
+ hand of nature, and attracts the heart. Oſſian's own character, the old man, the hero, and the
+ bard, all in one, preſents to us, through the whole work, a moſt reſpectable and venerable
+ figure, which we always contemplate with pleaſure. Cuthullin is a hero of the higheſt claſs:
+ daring, magnanimous, and exquiſitely ſenſible to honour. We become attached to his intereſt, and
+ are deeply touched with his diſtreſs; and after the admiration raiſed for him in the firſt part
+ of the poem, it is a ſtrong proof of Oſſian's maſterly genius, that he durſt adventure to produce
+ to us another hero, compared with whom, even the great Cuthullin ſhould be only an inferior
+ perſonage; and who ſhould riſe as far above him, as Cuthullin riſes above the reſt.
+
Here indeed, in the character and deſcription of Fingal, Oſſian triumphs
+ almoſt unrivalled; for we may boldly defy all antiquity to ſhow us any hero equal to Fingal.
+ Homer's Hector poſſeſſes ſeveral great and amiable qualities; but Hector is a ſecondary perſonage
+ in the Iliad, not the hero of the work. We ſee him only occaſionally; we know much leſs of him
+ than we do of Fingal; who, not only in this, epic poem, but in Temora, and throughout the reſt of
+ Oſſian's works, is preſented in all that variety of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image lights, which give the full diſplay of a
+ character. And though Hector faithfully diſcharges his duty to his country, his friends, and his
+ family, he is tinctured, however, with a degree of the ſame ſavage ferocity which prevails among
+ all the Homeric heroes: for we find him inſulting over the fallen Patroclus with the moſt cruel
+ taunts, and telling him, when he lies in the agonies of death, that Achilles cannot help him now;
+ and that in a ſhort time his body, ſtripped naked, and deprived of funeral honours, ſhall be
+ devoured by the vulturesDisplay note. Whereas, in the character of Fingal, concur almoſt
+ all the qualities that can ennoble human nature; that can either make us admire the hero, or love
+ the man. He is not only unconquerable in war, but he makes his people happy by his wiſdom in the
+ days of peace. He is truly too father of his people. He is known by the epithet or “Fingal of the
+ mildeſt look;” and diſtinguiſhed on every occaſion by humanity and generoſity. He is merciful to
+ his foes Display note; full of affection to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image his children; full of concern about his
+ friends; and never mentions Agandecca, his firſt love, without the utmoſt tenderneſs. He is the
+ univerſal Protector of the diſtreſſed; “None ever went ſad from Fingal.”—“O, Oſcar! bend the
+ ſtrong in arms; but ſpare the feeble hand. Be thou a ſtream of mighty tides againſt the foes of
+ thy people; but like the gale that moves the graſs to thoſe who aſk thine aid. So Trenmor lived;
+ ſuch Trathal was; and ſuch has Fingal been. My arm was the ſupport of the injured; the weak
+ reſted behind the lightning of my ſteel.” Theſe were the maxims of true heroiſm, to which he
+ formed his grandſon. His fame is repreſented as everywhere ſpread; the greateſt heroes
+ acknowledge his ſuperiority; his enemies tremble at his name; and the higheſt encomium that can
+ be beſtowed on one whom the poets would moſt exalt, is to ſay, that his ſoul was like the ſoul of
+ Fingal.
+
To do juſtice to the poet's merit, in ſupporting ſuch a character as this, I
+ muſt obſerve, what is not commonly attended to, that there is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image no part of poetical execution more
+ difficult, than to draw a perfect character in ſuch a manner as to render it diſtinct, and
+ affecting to the mind. Some ſtrokes of human imperfection and frailty, are what uſually give us
+ the moſt clear view, and the moſt ſenſible impreſſion of a character; becauſe they preſent to us
+ a man, ſuch as we have ſeen; they recall known features of human nature. When poets attempt to go
+ beyond this range, and deſcribe a faultleſs hero, they for the moſt part ſet before us a ſort of
+ vague, undiſtinguiſhable character, ſuch as the imagination cannot lay hold of, or realize to
+ itſelf as the object of affection. We know how much Virgil has failed in this particular. His
+ perfect hero, Æneas, is an unanimated, inſipid perſonage, whom we may pretend to admire, but whom
+ no one can heartily love. But what Virgil has failed in, Oſſian, to our aſtoniſhment, has
+ ſucceſſfully executed. His Fingal, though exhibited without any of the common human failings, is,
+ nevertheleſs, a real man; a character which touches and intereſts every reader. To this it has
+ much contributed that the poet has repreſented him as an old man; and by this has gained the
+ advantage of throwing around him a great many circumſtances, peculiar to that age, which paint
+ him to the fancy in a more diſtinct
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image light. He is ſurrounded with his family; he
+ inſtructs his children in the principles of virtue; he is narrative of his paſt exploits he is
+ venerable with the gray locks of age; he is frequently diſpoſed to moralize, like an old man, on
+ human vanity, and the proſpect of death. There is more art, at leaſt more felicity, in this, than
+ may at firſt be imagined. For youth and old are the two ſtates of human life, capable of being
+ placed in the moſt pictureſque lights. Middle age is more general and vague; and has fewer
+ circumſtances peculiar to the idea of it. And when any object is in a ſituation that admits it to
+ be rendered particular, and to be clothed with a variety of circumſtances, it always ſtands out
+ more clear and full of poetical deſcription.
+
Beſides human perſonages, divine or ſupernatural agents are often introduced
+ into epic poetry, forming what is called the machinery of it; which moſt critics hold to be an
+ eſſential part. The marvellous, it muſt he admitted, has always a great charm for the bulk of
+ readers. It gratifies the imagination, and affords room for ſtriking and ſublime deſcription. No
+ wonder, therefore, that all poets ſhould have a ſtrong propenſity towards it. But I muſt obſerve,
+ that nothing is more difficult than to adjuſt properly the marvellous with the probable. If a
+ poet
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſacrifice probability, and fill his work
+ with extravagant ſupernatural ſcenes, he ſpreads over it an appearance of romance and childiſh
+ fiction; he tranſports his readers from this world into a fantaſtic viſionary region; and loſes
+ that weight and dignity which ſhould reign in epic poetry. No work from which probability is
+ altogether baniſhed, can make a laſting or deep impreſſion. Human actions and manners are always,
+ the moſt intereſting objects which can be preſented to a human mind. All machinery, therefore, is
+ faulty, which withdraws theſe too much from view, or obſcures them under a cloud of incredible
+ fictions. Beſides being temperately employed, machinery ought always to have ſome foundation in
+ popular belief. A poet is by no means at liberty to invent what ſyſtem of the marvellous he
+ pleaſes; he muſt avail himſelf either of the religious faith, or the ſuperſtitious credulity of
+ the country wherein he lives; ſo as to give an air of probability to events which are moſt
+ contrary to the common courſe of nature.
+
In theſe reſpects, Oſſian appears to me to have been remarkably happy. He
+ has, indeed, followed the ſame courſe with Homer. For it is perfectly abſurd to imagine, as ſome
+ critics have done, that Homer's mythology was invented by
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image him “in conſequence of profound reflection
+ on the benefits it would yield to poetry.” Homer was no ſuch refining genius. He found the
+ traditionary ſtories, on which he built his Iliad, mingled with popular legends concerning the
+ intervention of the gods; and he adopted theſe becauſe they amuſed the fancy. Oſſian, in like
+ manner, found the tales of his country full of ghoſts and ſpirits; it is likely he believed them
+ himſelf; and he introduced them, becauſe they gave his poems that ſolemn and marvellous caſt
+ which ſuited his genius. This was the only machinery he could employ with propriety; becauſe it
+ was the only intervention of ſupernatural beings which agreed with the common belief of the
+ country. It was happy; becauſe it did not interfere in the leaſt with the proper diſplay of human
+ characters and actions; becauſe it had leſs of the incredible than moſt other kinds of poetical
+ machinery; and becauſe it ſerved to diverſify the ſcene, and to heighten the ſubject by an awful
+ grandeur, which is the great deſign of machinery.
+
As Oſſian's mythology is peculiar to himſelf, and makes a conſiderable
+ figure in his other poems, as well as in Fingal, it may be proper to make ſome obſervations on
+ it, independent of its ſubſerviency to epic compoſition. It turns
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image for the moſt part on the appearances of
+ departed ſpirits. Theſe, conſonantly to the notions of every rude age, are repreſented not as
+ purely immaterial, but as thin airy forms, which can be viſible or inviſible at pleaſure; their
+ voice is feeble, their arm is weak; but they are endowed with knowledge more than human. In a
+ ſeparate ſtate, they retain the ſame diſpoſitions which animated them in this life. They ride on
+ the wind; they bend their airy bows; and purſue deer formed of clouds. The ghoſts of departed
+ bards continue to ſing. The ghoſts of departed heroes frequent the fields of their former fame.
+ “They reſt together in their caves, and talk of mortal men. Their ſongs are of other worlds. They
+ come ſometimes to the ear of reſt, and raiſe their feeble voice.” All this preſents to us much
+ the ſame ſet of ideas concerning ſpirits, as we find in the eleventh book of the Odyſſey, where
+ Ulyſſes viſits the regions of the dead; and in the twenty-third book of the Iliad, the ghoſt of
+ Patroclus, after appearing to Achilles, vaniſhes preciſely like one of Oſſian's, emitting a
+ ſhrill, feeble cry, and melting away like ſmoke.
+
But though Homer's and Oſſian's ideas concerning ghoſts were of the ſame
+ nature, we cannot but obſerve, that Oſſian's ghoſts are drawn with much ſtronger and livelier
+ colours
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image than thoſe of Homer. Oſſian deſcribes ghoſts
+ with all the particularity of one who had ſeen and converſed with them, and whoſe imagination was
+ full of the impreſſion they had left upon it. He calls up thoſe awful and tremendous ideas which
+ the
+ —Simulacra modis pallentia miris are fitted to raiſe in the human mind; and
+ which, in Shakſpeare's ſtyle, “harrow up the ſoul.” Crugal's ghoſt, in particular, in the
+ beginning of the ſecond book of Fingal, may vie with any appearance of this kind, deſcribed by
+ any epic or tragic poet whatever. Moſt poets would have contented themſelves, with telling us,
+ that he reſembled, in every particular, the living Crugal; that his form and dreſs were the ſame,
+ only his face more pale and ſad; and that he bore the mark of the wound by which he fell. But
+ Oſſian ſets before our eyes a ſpirit from the inviſible world, diſtinguiſhed by all thoſe
+ features which a ſtrong, aſtoniſhed imagination would give to a ghoſt. “A dark red ſtream of fire
+ comes down from the hill. Crugal ſat upon the beam; he that lately fell by the band of Swaran,
+ ſtriving in the battle of heroes. His face is like the beam of the ſetting moon. His robes are of
+ the clouds of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the hill. His eyes are like two decaying
+ flames. Dark is the wound of his breaſt.—The ſtars dim twinkled through his form; and his voice
+ was like the ſound of a diſtant ſtream.” The circumſtance of the ſtars being beheld “dim
+ twinkling through his form,” is wonderfully pictureſque, and convoys the moſt lively impreſſion
+ of his thin and ſhadowy ſubſtance. The attitude in which he is afterward placed, and the ſpeech
+ put into his mouth, are full of that ſolemn and awful ſublimity, which ſuits the ſubject. “Dim,
+ and in tears he ſtood, and he ſtretched his pale hand over the hero. Faintly he raiſed his feeble
+ voice, like the gale of the reedy Lego.—My ghoſt, O Connal! is on my native hills; but my corſe
+ is on the ſands of Ulla. Thou ſhalt never talk with Crugal, or find his lone ſteps in the heath.
+ I am light as the blaſt of Cromla; and I move like the ſhadow of miſt. Connal, ſon of Colgar! I
+ ſee the dark cloud of death; it hovers over the plains of Lena. The ſons of green Erin Shall
+ fall. Remove from the field of ghoſts.—Like the darkened moon, he retired in the midſt of the
+ whiſtling blaſt.”
+
Several other appearances of ſpirits might be pointed out, as among the moſt
+ ſublime paſſages of Oſſian's poetry. The circumſtances of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image them are conſiderably diverſified, and the
+ ſcenery always ſuited to the occaſion. “Oſcar ſlowly aſcends the hill. The meteors of night ſet
+ on the heath before him. A diſtant torrent faintly roars. Unfrequent blaſts ruſh through aged
+ oaks. The half enlightened moon ſinks dim and red behind her hill. Feeble voices are heard on the
+ heath. Oſcar drew his ſword—.”Nothing can prepare the fancy more happily for the awful ſcene that
+ is to follow. “Trenmor came from his hill at the voice of his mighty ſon. A cloud, like the ſteed
+ of the ſtranger, ſupported his airy limbs. His robe is of the miſt of Lano, that brings death to
+ the people. His ſword is a green meteor, half extinguiſhed. His face is without form, and dark.
+ He ſighed thrice over the hero; and thrice the winds of the night roared around. Many were his
+ words to Oſcar.—He ſlowly vaniſhed, like a miſt that melts on the ſunny hill.” To appearances of
+ this kind, we can find no parallel among the Greek or Roman poets. They bring to mind that noble
+ deſcription in the book of Job: “In thoughts from the viſion of the night, when deep ſleep
+ falleth on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to ſhake. Then a ſpirit
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image paſſed before my face: the hair of my fleſh
+ ſtood up It ſtood ſtill: but I could not diſcern the form thereof. An image was before mine eyes.
+ There was ſilence; and I heard a voice—Shall mortal man be more juſt than God Display note?”
+
As Oſſian's ſupernatural beings are deſcribed with a ſurpriſing force of
+ imagination, ſo they are introduced with propriety. We have only three ghoſts in Fingal: that of
+ Crugal, which comes to warn the hoſt of impending deſtruction, and to adviſe them to ſave
+ themſelves by retreat; that of Evir-allen, the ſpouſe of Oſſian, which calls on him to riſe and
+ reſcue their ſon from danger; and that of Agandecca, which, juſt before the laſt engagement with
+ Swaran, moves Fingal to pity, by mourning for the approaching deſtruction of her kinſman and
+ people. In the other poems, ghoſts ſometimes appear, when invoked, to foretell futurity;
+ frequently, according to the notions of theſe times, they come as forerunners of miſfortune or
+ death, to thoſe whom they viſit; ſometimes they inform their friends at a diſtance of thier own
+ death; and ſometimes they are introduced to heighten the ſcenery on ſome great and ſolemn
+ occaſion.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image “A hundred oaks burn to the wind; and faint
+ light gleams over the heath. The ghoſts of Ardven paſs through the beam, and ſhow their dim and
+ diſtant forms. Comala is half unſeen on her meteor; and Hidallan is ſullen and dim.”—“The awful
+ faces of other times looked from the clouds of Crona.”—“Fercuth! I ſaw the ghoſt of night. Silent
+ he ſtood on that bank; his robe of miſt flew on the wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man
+ he ſeemed, and full of thought.”
+
The ghoſts of ſtrangers mingle not with thoſe of the natives. “She is ſeen:
+ but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the ſtrangerſ' land; and ſhe is ſtill
+ alone.” When the ghoſt of one whom we had formerly known is introduced, the propriety of the
+ living character is ſtill preſerved. This is remarkable in the appearance of Calmar's ghoſt, in
+ the poem entitled, The death of Cuthullin. He ſeems to forebode Cuthullin's death, and to beckon
+ him to his cave. Cuthullin reproaches him for ſuppoſing that he could be intimidated by ſuch
+ prognoſtics. “Why doſt thou bend thy dark eyes on me, ghoſt of the car-borne Calmar? Wouldſt thou
+ frighten me, O Matha's ſon! from the battles of Cormac? Thy hand was not feeble in war; neither
+ was thy voice for
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image peace. How art thou changed, chief of Lara!
+ if thou now doſt adviſe to fly! Retire thou to thy cave thou art not Calmar's ghoſt; lie
+ delighted in battle and his arm was like the thunder of heaven.” Calmar makes no return to this
+ ſeeming reproach: but “he retired in his blaſt with joy; for he had heard the voice of his
+ praiſe.” This is preciſely the ghoſt of Achilles in Homer; who, notwithſtanding all the
+ diſſatiſfaction he expreſſes with his ſtate in the region of the dead, as ſoon as he had heard
+ his ſon Neoptolemus praiſed for his gallant behavior, ſtrode away with ſilent joy to rejoin the
+ reſt of the ſhadesDisplay note.
+
It is a great advantage of Oſſian's mythology, that it is not local and
+ temporary, like that of moſt other ancient poets; which of courſe is apt to ſeem ridiculous,
+ after the ſuperſtitions have paſſed away on which it is founded. Oſſian's mythology is, to ſpeak
+ ſo, the mythology of human nature; for it is founded on what has been the popular belief, in all
+ ages and countries, and under all forms of religion, concerning the appearances of departed
+ ſpirits. Homer's machinery is always lively and amuſing; but far from being always ſupported with
+ proper
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image dignity. The indecent ſquabbles among his
+ gods ſurely do no honour to epic poetry. Whereas Oſſian's machinery has dignity upon all
+ occaſions. It is indeed a dignity of the dark and awful kind; but this is proper; becauſe
+ coincident with the ſtrain and ſpirit of the poetry. A light and gay mythology, like Homer's,
+ would have been perfectly unſuitable to the ſubjects on which Oſſian's genius was employed. But
+ though his machinery be always ſolemn, it is not, however, always dreary or diſmal; it as
+ enlivened, as much as the ſubject would permit, by thoſe pleaſant and beautiful appearances,
+ which he ſometimes introduces, of the ſpirits of the hill. Theſe are gentle ſpirits: deſcending
+ on ſunbeams, fair moving on the plain; their forms white and bright; their voices ſweet; and
+ their viſits to men propitious. The greateſt praiſe that can be given to the beauty of a living
+ woman, is to ſay, “She is fair as the ghoſt of the hill, when it moves in a ſunbeam at noon, over
+ the ſilence of Morven.” “The hunter ſhall hear my voice from his booth. He ſhall fear, but love
+ my voice. For ſweet ſhall my voice be for my friends; for pleaſant were they to me.”
+
Beſides ghoſts, or the ſpirits of departed men, we find in Oſſian ſome
+ inſtances of other
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image kinds of machinery. Spirits of a ſuperior
+ nature to ghoſts are ſometimes alluded to, which have power to embroil the deep; to call forth
+ winds and ſtorms, and pour them on the land of the ſtranger; to overturn foreſts, and to ſend
+ death among the people. We have prodigies too; a ſhower of blood; and when ſome diſaſter is
+ befalling at a diſtance, the ſound of death is heard on the ſtrings of Oſſian's harp: all
+ perfectly conſonant, not only to the peculiar ideas of northern nations, but to the general
+ current of a ſuperſtitious mention in all countries. The deſcription of Fingal's airy hall, in
+ the poem called Errathon, and of the aſcent of Malvina into it, deſerves particular notice, as
+ remarkably noble and magnificent. But, above all, the engagement of Fingal with the ſpirit of
+ Loda, in Carric-thura, cannot be mentioned without admiration. I forbear tranſcribing the
+ paſſage, as it muſt have drawn the attention of every one who has read the works of Oſſian. The
+ undaunted courage of Fingal, oppoſed to all the terrors of the Scandinavian god; the appearance
+ and the ſpeech of that awful ſpirit; the wound which he receives, and the ſhriek which he ſends
+ forth, “as, rolled into himſelf, he roſe upon the wind;” are full of the moſt amazing and
+ terrible majeſty. I know no paſſage more
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſublime in the writings of any uninſpired
+ author. The fiction is calculated to aggrandize the hero; which it does to a high degree: nor is
+ it ſo unnatural or wild a fiction as might at firſt be thought. According to the notions of thoſe
+ times, ſupernatural beings were material, and, conſequently, vulnerable. The ſpirit of Loda was
+ not acknowledged as a deity by Fingal; he did not worſhip at the ſtone of his power; he plainly
+ conſidered him as the god of his enemies only; as a local deity, whoſe dominion extended no
+ farther than to the regions where he was worſhipped; who had, therefore, no title to threaten
+ him, and no claim to his ſubmiſſion. We know there are poetical precedents of great authority,
+ for fictions fully as extravagant; and if Homer be forgiven for making Diomed attack and wound in
+ battle the gods whom that chief himſelf worſhipped, Oſſian ſurely is pardonable for making his
+ hero ſuperior to the god of a foreign territory Display note.
Notwithſtanding the poetical advantages which I have aſcribed to Oſſian's
+ machinery, I acknowledge it would have been much more beautiful and perfect had the author
+ diſcovered ſome knowledge of a Supreme Being. Although his ſilence on this head has been
+ accounted for by the learned and ingenious tranſlator in a very probable, manner, yet ſtill it
+ muſt be held a conſiderable diſadvantage to the poetry. For the moſt auguſt and lofty ideas that
+ can embelliſh poetry are derived from the belief of a divine adminiſtration of the univerſe; and
+ hence the invocation of a Supreme Being, or at leaſt of ſome ſuperior powers, who are conceived
+ as preſiding over human affairs, the ſolemnities of religious worſhip, prayers preferred, and
+ aſſiſtance implored on critical occaſions, appear
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image with great dignity in the works of almoſt
+ all poets, as chief ornaments of their compoſitions. The abſence of all ſuch religious ideas from
+ Oſſian's poetry is a ſenſible blank in it; the more to be regretted, as we can eaſily imagine
+ what an illuſtrious figure they would have made under the management of ſuch a genius as his; and
+ how finely they would have been adapted to many ſituations which occur in his works.
+
After ſo particular an examination of Fingal, it were needleſs to enter into
+ as full a diſcuſſion of the conduct of Temora, the other epic poem. Many of the ſame
+ obſervations, eſpecially with regard to the great characteriſtics of heroic poetry, apply to
+ both. The high merit, however, of Temora, requires that we ſhould not paſs it by without ſome
+ remarks.
+
The ſcene of Temora, as of Fingal, is laid in Ireland; and the action is of
+ a poſterior date. The ſubject is, an expedition of the hero to dethrone and puniſh a bloody
+ uſurper, and to reſtore the poſſeſſion of the kingdom to the poſterity of the lawful prince: an
+ undertaking worthy of the juſtice and heroiſm of the great Fingal. The action is one, and
+ complete. The Poem opens with the deſcent of Fingal on the coaſt, and the conſultation held among
+ the chiefs of the enemy. The murder of the young
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image prince Cormac, which was the cauſe of the
+ war, being antecedent to the epic action, is introduced with great propriety as an epiſode in the
+ firſt book. In the progreſs of the poem, three battles are deſcribed, which riſe in their
+ importance above, one another; the ſucceſs is various, and the iſſue for ſome time doubtful; till
+ at laſt, Fingal, brought into diſtreſs, by the wound of his great general Gaul, and the death of
+ his ſon Fillan, aſſumes the command himſelf; and, having ſlain the Iriſh king in ſingle combat,
+ reſtores the rightful heir to his throne.
+
Temora has perhaps leſs fire than the other epic poem; but in return it has
+ more variety, more tenderneſs, and more magnificence. The reigning idea, ſo often reſented to us,
+ of “Fingal, in the laſt of his fields, is venerable and affecting; nor could any more noble
+ concluſion be thought of, than the aged hero, after ſo many ſucceſſful achievements, taking his
+ leave of battles, and, with all the ſolemnities of thoſe times, reſigning his ſpear to his ſon.
+ The events are leſs crowded in Temora than in Fingal; actions and characters are more
+ particularly diſplayed: we are let into the tranſactions of both hoſts, and informed of the
+ adventures of the night as well as of the day. The ſtill, pathetic, and the romantic ſcenery of
+ ſeveral of the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image night adventures, ſo remarkably ſuited to
+ Oſſian's genius, occaſion a fine diverſity in the poem; and are happily contraſted with the
+ military operations of the day.
+
In moſt of our author's poems, the horrors of war are ſoftened by intermixed
+ ſcenes of love and friendſhip. In Fingal theſe are introduced as epiſodes: in Temora we have an
+ incident of this nature wrought into the body of the piece, in the adventure of Cathmor and
+ Sulmalla. This forms one of the moſt conſpicuous beauties of that poem. The diſtreſs of Sulmalla,
+ diſguiſed and unknown amongſt ſtrangers, her tender and anxious concern for the ſafety of
+ Cathmor, her dream, and her melting remembrance of the land of her fathers; Cathmor's emotion
+ when he firſt diſcovers her, his ſtruggles to conceal and ſuppreſs his paſſion, leſt it ſhould
+ unman him in the midſt of war, though “his ſoul poured forth in ſecret, when he beheld her
+ fearful eye,” and the laſt interview between them, when, overcome by her tenderneſs, he lets her
+ know he had diſcovered her, and confeſſes his paſſion; are all wrought up with the moſt exquiſite
+ ſenſibility and delicacy.
+
Beſides the characters which appeared in Fingal, ſeveral new ones are here
+ introduced; and though, as they are all the characters of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image warriors, bravery is the predominant
+ feature, they are nevertheleſs diverſified in a ſenſible and ſtriking manner. Foldath, for
+ inſtance, the general of Cathmor, exhibits the perfect picture of a ſavage chieftain; bold and
+ daring, but preſumptuous, cruel, and overbearing. He is diſtinguiſhed, on his firſt appearance,
+ as the friend of the tyrant Cairbar, “His ſtride is haughty; his red eye rolls in wrath.” In his
+ perſon and whole deportment he is contraſted with the mild and wiſe Hidalla, another leader of
+ the ſame army, on whoſe humanity and gentleneſs he looks with great contempt. He profeſſedly
+ delights in ſtrife and blood. He inſults over the fallen. He is imperious in his counſels, and
+ factious when they are not followed. He is unrelenting in all his ſchemes of revenge, even to the
+ length of denying the funeral ſong to the dead; which, from the injury thereby done to their
+ ghoſts, was in thoſe days conſidered as the greateſt barbarity. Fierce to the laſt, he comforts
+ himſelf in his dying moments with thinking that his ghoſt ſhall often leave its blaſt to rejoice
+ over the graves of thoſe he had ſlain. Yet Oſſian, ever prone to the pathetic, has contrived to
+ throw into his account of the death, even of this man, ſome tender
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image circumſtances, by the moving deſcription of
+ his daughter Dardulena, the laſt of his race.
+
The character of Foldath tends much to exalt that of Cathmor, the chief
+ commander, which is diſtinguiſhed by the moſt humane virtues. He all fraud and cruelty, is famous
+ for his hoſpitality to ſtrangers; open to every generous ſentiment, and to every ſoft and
+ compaſſionate feeling. he is ſo amiable as to divide the reader's attachment between him and the
+ hero of the poem; though our author has artfully managed it ſo as to make Cathmor himſelf
+ indirectly acknowledge Fingal's ſuperiority, and to appear ſomewhat apprehenſive of the event,
+ after the death of Fillan, which he knew would call forth Fingal in all his might. It is very
+ remarkable, that although Oſſian has introduced into his poems three complete heroes, Cuthullin,
+ Cathmor, and Fingal, he has, however, ſenſibly diſtinguiſhed each of their characters; Cuthullin
+ is particularly honourable; Cathmor particularly amiable; Fingal wiſe and great, retaining an
+ aſcendant peculiar to himſelf in whatever light he is viewed.
+
But the favourite figure in Temora, and the one moſt highly finiſhed, is
+ Fillan. His character is of that ſort for which Oſſian ſhews a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image particular fondneſs; an eager, fervent,
+ young warrior, fired with all the impatient enthuſiaſm for military glory peculiar to that time
+ of life. He had ſketched this in the deſcription of his own ſon Oſcar; but as he has extended it
+ more fully in Fillan, and as the character is ſo conſonant to the epic ſtrain, though, as far as
+ I remember, not placed in ſuch a conſpicuous light by any other epic poet, it may be worth while
+ to attend a little to Oſſian's management of it in this inſtance.
+
Fillan was the youngeſt of all the ſons of Fingal younger, it is plain, than
+ his nephew Oſcar, by whoſe fame and great deeds in war we may naturally ſuppoſe his ambition to
+ have been highly ſtimulated. Withal, as lie is younger, he is deſcribed as more raſh and fiery.
+ His firſt appearance is ſoon after Oſcar's death, when he was employed to watch the motions of
+ the foe by night. In a converſation with his brother Oſſian, on that occaſion, we learn that it
+ was not long ſince he began to lift the ſpear. “Few are the marks of my ſword in battle; but my
+ ſoul is fire.” He is with ſome difficulty reſtrained by Oſſian from going to attack the enemy;
+ and complains to him, that his father had never allowed him any opportunity of ſignalizing his
+ valor. “The king hath not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image remarked my ſword; I go forth with the
+ crowd; I return without my fame.” Soon after, when Fingal, according to cuſtom, was to appoint
+ one of his chiefs to command the army, and each was ſtanding forth, and putting in his claim to
+ this honour, Fillan is preſented in the following moſt pictureſque and natural attitude: “On his
+ ſpear ſtood the Son of Clatho, in the wandering of his locks. Thrice he raiſed his eyes to
+ Fingal; his voice thrice failed him as he ſpoke. Fillan could not boaſt of battles; at once he
+ ſtrode away. Bent over a diſtant ſtream he ſtood; the tear hung in his eye. He ſtruck, at times,
+ the thiſtle's head with his inverted ſpear.” No leſs natural and beautiful is the deſcription of
+ Fingal's paternal emotion on this occaſion. “Nor is he unſeen of Fingal. Sidelong he beheld his
+ ſon. He beheld him with burſting joy. He hid the big tear with his locks, and turned amidſt his
+ crowded ſoul.” The command, for that day, being given to Gaul, Fillan ruſhes amidſt the thickeſt
+ of the foe, ſaves Gaul's life, who is wounded by a random arrow, and diſtinguiſhes himſelf ſo in
+ battle, that “the days of old return on Fingal's mind, as he beholds the renown of his ſon. As
+ the ſun rejoices from the cloud, over the tree his beams have raiſed,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image whilſt it ſhakes its lonely head on the
+ heath, ſo joyful is the king over Fillan.” Sedate, however, and wiſe, he mixes the praiſe which
+ he beſtows on him with ſome reprehenſion of his raſhneſs. “My ſon, I ſaw thy deeds, and my ſoul
+ was glad. Thou art brave, ſon of Clatho, but headlong in the ſtrife. So did not Fingal advance,
+ though he never feared a foe. Let thy people be a ridge behind thee; they are thy ſtrength in the
+ field. Then ſhalt thou be long renowned, and behold the tombs of thy fathers.”
+
On the next day, the, greateſt and the laſt of Fillan's life, the charge is
+ committed to him of leading on the hoſt to battle. Fingal's ſpeech to his troops on this occaſion
+ is full of noble ſentiment; and, where he recommends his ſon to their care, extremely touching.
+ “A young beam is before you: few are his ſteps to war. They are few, but he is valiant; defend my
+ dark-haired ſon. Bring him back with joy; hereafter he may ſtand alone. His form is like his
+ fathers; his ſoul is a flame of their fire.” When the battle begins, the poet puts forth his
+ ſtrength to deſcribe the exploits of the young hero; who, at laſt encountering and killing with
+ his own hand Foldath, the oppoſite general, attains the pinnacle of glory. In what
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image follows, when the fate of Fillan is drawn
+ near, Oſſian, if anywhere, excels himſelf. Foldath being ſlain, and a general rout begun, there
+ was no reſource left to the enemy but in the great Cathmore himſelf, who in this extremity
+ deſcends from the hill, where, according to the cuſtom of thoſe princes, he ſurveyed the battle.
+ Obſerve how this critical event is wrought up by the poet. “Wide-ſpreading over echoing Lubar,
+ the flight of Bolga is rolled along. Fillan hung forward on their ſteps, and ſtrewed the heath
+ with dead. Fingal rejoiced over his ſon.—Blue-ſhielded Cathmor roſe.—Son of Alpin, bring the
+ harp! Give Fillan's praiſe to the wind: raiſe high his praiſe in my hall, while yet he ſhines in
+ war. Leave, blue-eyed Clatho! leave thy hall; behold that early beam of thine! The hoſt is
+ withered in its courſe. No farther look—it is dark—light trembling from the harp, ſtrike,
+ virgins! ſtrike the ſound.” The ſudden interruption and ſuſpenſe of the narration on Cathmor's
+ riſing from his hill, the abrupt burſting into the praiſe of Fillan, and the paſſionate
+ apoſtrophe to his mother Clatho, are admirable efforts of poetical art, in order to intereſt us
+ in Fillan's danger; and the whole is heightened by the immediate following ſimile,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image one of the moſt magnificent and ſublime that
+ is to be met with in any poet, and which, if it had been found in Homer, would have been the
+ frequent ſubject of admiration to critics: “Fillan is like a ſpirit of heaven, that deſcends from
+ the ſkirt of big blaſt. The troubled ocean feels his ſteps as he ſtrides from wave to wave. His
+ path kindles behind him; iſlands ſhake their heads on the heaving ſeas.”
+
But the poet's art is not yet exhauſted. The fall of this noble young,
+ warrior, or, in Oſſian's ſtyle, the extinction of this beam of heaven, could not be rendered too
+ intereſting and affecting. Our attention is naturally drawn towards Fingal. He beholds front his
+ hill the riſing of Cathmor, and the danger of his ſon. But what ſhall he do? “Shall Fingal riſe
+ to his aid, and take the ſword of Luno? What then ſhall become of thy fame, ſon of white-boſomed
+ Clatho? Turn not thine eves from Fingal, daughter of Iniſtore! I ſhall not quench thy early beam.
+ No cloud of mine ſhall riſe, my ſon, upon thy ſoul of fire.” Struggling between concern for the
+ fame, and fear for the ſafety of his ſon, be withdraws from the ſight of the engagement, and
+ deſpatches Oſſian in haſte to the field,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image with this affectionate and delicate
+ injunction: “Father of Oſcar!” addreſſing him by a title which on this occaſion has the higheſt
+ propriety: “Father of Oſcar! lift the ſpear, defend the young in arms. But conceal thy ſteps from
+ Fillan's eyes. He muſt not know that I doubt his ſteel.” Oſſian arrived too late. But unwilling
+ to deſcribe Fillan vanquiſhed, the poet ſuppreſſes all the circumſtances of the combat with
+ Cathmor; and only ſhews us the dying hero. We ſee him animated to the end with the ſame martial
+ and ardent ſpirit; breathing his laſt in bitter regret for-being ſo early cut off from the field
+ of glory. “Oſſian, lay me in that hollow rock. Raiſe no ſtone above me, leſt one ſhould aſk about
+ my fame. I am fallen in the firſt of my fields; fallen without renown. Let thy voice alone ſend
+ joy to my flying ſoul. Why ſhould the bard know where dwells the early-fallen Fillan?” He who,
+ after tracing the circumſtances of this ſtory, ſhall deny that our bard is poſſeſſed of high
+ ſentiment and high art, muſt be ſtrangely prejudiced indeed. Let him read the ſtory of Pallas in
+ Virgil, which is of a ſimilar kind; and after all the praiſe he may juſtly beſtow on the elegant
+ and finiſhed deſcription of that amiable author, let him ſay which of the two poets unfold moſt
+ of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the human ſoul. I waive inſiſting on any
+ more of the particulars in Temora; as my aim is rather to lead the reader into the genius and
+ ſpirit of Oſſian's poetry, than to dwell on all his beauties.
+
The judgment and art diſcovered in conducting works of ſuch length as Fingal
+ and Temora, diſtinguiſh them from the other poems in this collection. The ſmaller pieces,
+ however, contain particular beauties, no leſs eminent. They are hiſtorical poems, generally of
+ the elegiac kind; and plainly diſcover themſelves to be the work of the ſame author. One
+ conſiſtent face of manners is everywhere preſented to us; one ſpirit of poetry reigns; the
+ maſterly hand of Oſſian appears throughout; the ſame rapid and animated ſtyle; the ſame ſtrong
+ colouring of imagination, and the ſame glowing ſenſibility of heart. Beſides the unity which
+ belongs to the compoſitions of one man, there is moreover a certain unity of ſubject, which very
+ happily connects all theſe poems. They form the poetical hiſtory of the age, of Fingal, The ſame
+ race of heroes whom we had met with in the greater poems, Cuthullin, Oſcar, Connar, and Gaul,
+ return again upon the ſtage; and Fingal himſelf is always the principal figure, preſented on
+ every occaſion, with equal
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image magnificence, nay, riſing upon us to the
+ laſt. The circumſtances of Oſſian's old age and blindneſs, his ſurviving all his friends, and his
+ relating their great exploits to Malvina, the ſpouſe or miſtreſs of his beloved ſon Oſcar,
+ furniſh the fineſt poetical ſituations that fancy could deviſe for that tender pathetic which
+ reigns in Oſſian's poetry.
+
On each of theſe poems there might be room for ſeparate obſervations, with
+ regard to he conduct and diſpoſitions of the incidents, as well as to the beauty of the
+ deſcriptions and ſentiments. Carthon is a regular and highly finiſhed piece. The main ſtory is
+ very properly introduced by Cleſſamore's relation of the adventure of his youth; and this
+ introduction is finely heightened by Fingal's ſong of mourning over Moina; in which Oſſian, ever
+ fond of doing honour to his father, has contrived to diſtinguiſh him for being an eminent poet,
+ as well as warrior. Fingal's ſong upon this occaſion, when “his thouſand bards leaned forwards
+ from their ſeats, to hear the voice of the king,” is inferior to no paſſage in the whole book;
+ and with great judgement put in his mouth, as the ſeriouſneſs, no leſs than the ſublimity of the
+ ſtrain, is peculiarly ſuited to the hero's character. In Darthula are
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image aſſembled almoſt all the tender images that
+ can touch the heart of man, friendſhip, love, the affections of parents, ſons, and brothers, the
+ diſtreſs of the aged, and the unavailing bravery of the young. The beautiful addreſs to the moon,
+ with which the poem opens, and the tranſition from thence to the ſubject, moſt happily prepare
+ the mind for that train of affecting events that is to follow. The ſtory is regular, dramatic,
+ intereſting to the laſt. He who can read it without emotion may congratulate himſelf, if he
+ pleaſes, upon being completely armed againſt ſympathetic ſorrow. As Fingal had no occaſion of
+ appearing in the action of this poem, Oſſian makes a very artful tranſition from his narration,
+ to what was paſſing in the halls of Selma. The ſound heard there on the ſtrings of his harp, the
+ concern which Fingal ſhews on bearing it, and the invocation of the ghoſts of their fathers, to
+ receive the heroes falling in a diſtant land, are introduced with great beauty of imagination to
+ increaſe the ſolemnity, and to diverſify the ſcenery of the poem.
+
Carric-thura is full of the moſt ſublime dignity; and has this advantage, of
+ being more cheerful in the ſubject, and more happy in the cataſtrophe, than moſt of the other
+ poems: though tempered at the ſame time with epiſodes
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image in that ſtrain of tender melancholy which
+ ſeems to have been the great delight of Oſſian and the bards of his age. Lathmon is peculiarly
+ diſtinguiſhed by high generoſity of ſentiment. This is carried ſo far, particularly in the
+ refuſal of Gaul, on one ſide, to take the advantage of a ſleeping foe; and of Lathmon, on the
+ other, to overpower by numbers the two young warriors as to recall into one's mind the manners of
+ chivalry; ſome reſemblance to which may perhaps be ſuggeſted by other incidents in this
+ collection of poems. Chivalry, however, took riſe in an age and country too remote from thoſe of
+ Oſſian, to admit the ſuſpicion that the one could have borrowed any thing from the other. So far
+ as chivalry had any real exiſtence, the ſame military enthuſiaſm which gave birth to it in the
+ feudal times, might, in the days of Oſſian, that is, in the infancy of a riſing ſtate, through
+ the operation of the ſame cauſe, very naturally produce effects of the ſame kind on the minds and
+ manners of men. So far as chivalry was an ideal ſyſtem, exiſting only in romance, it will not be
+ thought ſurpriſing, when we reflect on the account before given of the Celtic bards, that this
+ imaginary refinement of heroic manners ſhould be found among them, as much, at leaſt, as among
+ the Trobadores, or ſtrolling
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Provençal Bards, in the 10th or 11th
+ century; whoſe ſongs, it is ſaid, firſt gave riſe to thoſe romantic ideas of heroiſm, which for
+ ſo long a time enchanted EuropeDisplay note. Oſſian's heroes have all the
+ gallantry and generoſity of thoſe fabulous knights, without their extravagance; and his love
+ ſcenes have native tenderneſs, without any mixture of thoſe forced and unnatural conceits which
+ abound in the old romances. The adventures related by our poet which reſemble the moſt thoſe of
+ romance, concern women who follow their lovers to war diſguiſed in the armour of men; and theſe
+ are ſo managed as to produce, in the diſcovery, ſeveral of the moſt intereſting ſituations; one
+ beautiful inſtance of which may be ſeen in Carric-thura, and another in Calthon and Colmal.
+
Oithona preſents a ſituation of a different nature. In the abſence of her
+ lover Gaul, ſhe had been carried off and raviſhed by Dunrommath. Gaul diſcovers the place where
+ ſhe is kept concealed, and comes to revenge her. The meeting of the two lovers, the ſentiments
+ and the behavior of Oithona on that occaſion, are deſcribed with ſuch tender and exquiſite
+ propriety, as does the greateſt honour both to the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image heart and to the delicacy of our author; and
+ would have been admired in any poet of the moſt refined age. The conduct of Cruma muſt ſtrike
+ every reader as remarkably judicious and beautiful. We are to be prepared for the death of
+ Malvina, which is related in the ſucceeding poem. She is therefore introduced in perſon; “ſhe has
+ heard a voice in her dream; She feels the fluttering of her ſoul:” and in a moſt moving
+ lamentation addreſſed to her beloved Oſcar, ſhe ſings her own death-ſong. Nothing could be
+ calculated with more art to ſooth and comfort her than the ſtory which Oſſian relates. In the
+ young and brave Fovargormo, another Oſcar is introduced: his praiſes are ſung; and the happineſs
+ is ſet before her of thoſe who die in their youth “when their renown is around them; before the
+ feeble behold them in the hall, and ſmile at their trembling hands.”
+
But nowhere does Oſſian's genius appear to greater advantage, than in
+ Berrathon, which is reckoned the concluſion of his ſongs, “The laſt ſound of the voice of
+ Cona.”
The whole train of ideas is admirably ſuited to the ſubject. Every thing is
+ full of that inviſible world, into which the aged bard believes himſelf now ready to enter. The
+ airy ball of Fingal preſents itſelf to his view; “he ſees the cloud that ſhall receive his ghoſt;
+ he beholds the miſt that ſhall form his robe when he appears on his hill;” and all the natural
+ objects around him ſeem to carry the preſages of death. “The thiſtle ſhakes its beard to the
+ wind. The flower hangs its heavy head; it ſeems to any, I am covered with the drops of heaven;
+ the time of my departure is near, and the blaſt that ſhall ſcatter my leaves.” Malvina's death is
+ hinted to him in the moſt delicate manner by the ſon of Alpin. His lamentation over her, her
+ apotheoſis, or aſcent to the habitation of heroes, and the introduction to the ſtory which
+ follows from the mention which Oſſian ſuppoſes the father of Malvina to make of him in the ball
+ of Fingal, are all in the higheſt ſpirit of poetry. “And doſt thou remember Oſſian, O Toſcar, ſon
+ of Conloch? The battles of our youth were many; our ſwords went together to the field.” Nothing
+ could be more proper than to end his ſongs with recording an exploit of the father of that
+ Malvina, of whom his heart was now ſo full; and who, from firſt to laſt, had
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image been ſuch a favourite object throughout all
+ his poems.
+
The ſcene of moſt of Oſſian's poems is laid in Scotland, or in the coaſt of
+ Ireland, oppoſite to the territories of Fingal. When the ſcene is in Ireland, we perceive no
+ change of manners from thoſe of Oſſian's native country. For as Ireland was undoubtedly peopled
+ with Celtic tribes, the language, cuſtoms, and religion of both nations were the ſame. They had
+ been ſeparated from one another by migration, only a few generations, as it ſhould ſeem, before
+ our poet's age; and they ſtill maintained a cloſe and frequent intercourſe. But when the poet
+ relates the expeditions of any of his heroes to the Scandinavian coaſt, or to the iſlands of
+ Orkney, which were then part of the Scandinavian territory, as he does in Carric-thura, Sul-malla
+ of Lumon, and Cathloda, the caſe is quite altered. Thoſe countries were inhabited by nations of
+ the Teutonic deſcent, who, in their manners and religious rites, differed widely from the Celtæ;
+ and it is curious and remarkable, to find this difference clearly pointed out in the poems of
+ Oſſian. His deſcriptions bear the native marks of one who was preſent in the expeditions which he
+ relates, and who deſcribes what he had ſeen with his own eyes. No ſooner are we carried to
+ Lochlin, or
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the iſlands of Iniſtore, than we perceive we
+ are in a foreign region. New objects begin to appear. We meet everywhere with the ſtones and
+ circles of Loda, that is, Odin, the great Scandinavian deity. We meet with the divinations and
+ enchantments for which it is well known thoſe northern nations were early famous. “There, mixed
+ with the murmur of waters, roſe the voice of aged men, who called the forms of night to aid them
+ in their war;” whilſt the Caledonian chiefs, who aſſiſted them, are deſcribed as ſtanding at a
+ diſtance, heedleſs of their rites. That ferocity of manners which diſtinguiſhed thoſe nations,
+ alſo becomes conſpicuous. In the combats of their chiefs there is a peculiar ſavageneſs; even
+ their women are bloody and fierce. The ſpirit. and the very ideas of Regner Lodbrog, that
+ northern ſcalder, whom I formerly quoted, occur to us again. “The hawks,” Oſſian makes one of the
+ Scandinavian chiefs ſay, “ruſh from all their winds; they are wont to trace my courſe. We
+ rejoiced three days above the dead, and called the hawks of heaven, They came from all their
+ winds, to feaſt on the foes of Annir.”
+
Diſmiſſing now the ſeparate conſideration of any of our author's works, I
+ proceed to make ſome obſervations on his manner of writing,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image under the general heads of Deſcription,
+ Imagery, and Sentiment.
+
A poet of original genius is always diſtinguiſhed by his talent for
+ deſcription Display note A ſecond-rate writer
+ diſcerns nothing new or peculiar in the object he means to deſcribe. His conceptions of it are
+ vague and looſe; his expreſſions feeble; and of courſe the object is preſented to us
+ indiſtinctly, and as through a cloud. But a true poet makes us imagine that we ſee it before our
+ eyes; he catches the diſtinguiſhing features; he gives it the colours of life and reality; he
+ places it in ſuch a light that a painter could copy after him. This happy talent is chiefly owing
+ to a lively imagination, which firſt receives a ſtrong impreſſion of the object; and then, by a
+ proper ſelection of capital pictureſque circumſtances employed in deſcribing it, tranſmits that
+ impreſſion in its full force to the imaginations of others. That Oſſian poſſeſſes this
+ deſcriptive power in a high degree, we have a clear proof, from the effect which his deſcriptions
+ produce upon the imaginations of thoſe who read him with any degree of attention, or taſte. Few
+ poets are more intereſting. We contract an intimate
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image acquaintance with his principal heroes. The
+ characters, the manners, the face of the country, become familiar; we even think we could draw
+ the figure of his ghoſt. In a word, whilſt reading him we are tranſported as into a new region,
+ and dwell among his objects as if they were all real.
+
It were eaſy to point out ſeveral inſtances of exquiſite painting in the
+ works of our author. Such, for inſtance, is the ſcenery with which Temora opens, and the attitude
+ in which Cairbar is there preſented to us; the deſcription of the young prince Cormac, in the
+ ſame book; and the ruins of Balclutha, in Cartho. “I have ſeen the walls of Balclutha, but they
+ were deſolate. The fire had reſounded in the balls: and the voice of the people is heard no more.
+ The ſtream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thiſtle ſhook there
+ its lonely head; the moſs whiſtled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows; the rank
+ graſs of the wall waved round his head. Deſolate is the dwelling of Moina; ſilence is in the
+ houſe of her fathers.” Nothing alſo can be more natural and lively than the manner in which
+ Carthon afterward deſcribes how the conflagration of his city affected him when a child: “Have I
+ not ſeen the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image fallen Balclutha? And ſhall I feaſt with
+ Comhal's ſon? Comhal! who threw his fire in the midſt of my father's hall! I was young, and knew
+ not the cauſe why the virgins wept. The columns of ſmoke pleaſed mine eye, when they aroſe above
+ my walls: I often looked back with gladneſs, when my friends fled above the hill. But when the
+ years of my youth came on, I beheld the moſs of my fallen walls. My ſigh aroſe with the morning;
+ and my tears deſcended with night. Shall I not fight, I ſaid to my ſoul, againſt the children of
+ my foes? And I will fight, O bard! I feel the ſtrength of my ſoul.” In the ſame poem, the
+ aſſembling of the chiefs round Fingal, who had been warned of ſome impending danger by the
+ appearance of a prodigy, is deſcribed with ſo many pictureſque circumſtances, that one imagines
+ himſelf preſent in the aſſembly. “The king alone beheld the terrible ſight, and he foreſaw the
+ death of his people. He came in ſilence to his hall, and took his father's ſpear: the mail
+ rattled on his breaſt. The heroes roſe around. They looked in ſilence on each other, marking the
+ eyes of Fingal. They ſaw the battle in his face. A thouſand ſhields are placed at once on their
+ arms; and they drew a thouſand ſwords. The hall of Selma
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image brightened around. The clang of arms
+ aſcends. The gray dogs howl in their place. No word is among the mighty chiefs. Each marked the
+ eyes of the king; and half aſſumed his ſpear.”
+
It has been objected to Oſſian, that his deſcriptions of military actions
+ are imperfect, and much leſs diverſified by the circumſtances than thoſe of Homer. This is in
+ ſome meaſure true. The amazing fertility of Homer's invention, is nowhere ſo much diſplayed as in
+ the incidents of his battles, and in the little hiſtory pieces he gives of the perſons ſlain.
+ Nor, indeed, with regard to the talent of deſcription, can too much be ſaid in praiſe of Homer.
+ Every thing is alive in his writings. The colours with which he paints are thoſe of nature. But
+ Oſſian's genius was of a different kind from Homer's. It led him to hurry towards grand objects,
+ rather than to amuſe himſelf with particulars of leſs importance. He could dwell on the death of
+ a favourite hero; but that of a private man ſeldom ſtopped his rapid courſe. Homer's genius was
+ more comprehenſive than Oſſian's. It included a wider circle of objects; and could work up any
+ incident into deſcription. Oſſian's was more limited; but the region within which it
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image chiefly exerted itſelf was the higheſt of
+ all, the region of the pathetic and the ſublime.
+
We muſt not imagine, however, that Oſſian's battles conſiſt only of general
+ indiſtinct deſcription. Such beautiful incidents are ſometimes introduced, and the circumſtances
+ of the perſons ſlain ſo much diverſified, as ſhow that be could have embelliſhed his military
+ ſcenes with an abundant variety of particulars, if his genius had led him to dwell upon them.
+ “One man is ſtretched in the duſt of his native land; he fell, where often he had ſpread the
+ feaſt, and often raiſed the voice of the harp.” The maid of Iniſtore is introduced in a moving
+ apoſtrophe, as weeping for another; and a third, “as rolled in the duſt he lifted his faint eyes
+ to the king,” is remembered and mourned by Fingal as the friend of Agandecca. The blood pouring
+ from the wound of one who was ſlain by night, is heard “hiſſing on the half-extinguiſhed oak,”
+ which had been kindled for giving light. Another climbing up a tree to eſcape from his foe, is
+ pierced by his ſpear from behind; ſhrieking, panting he fell; whilſt moſs and withered branches
+ purſue his fall, and ſtrew the blue arms of Gaul. Never was a finer picture drawn of the ardour
+ of two
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image youthful warriors than the following: “I ſaw
+ Gaul in his armour, and my ſoul was mixed with his; for the fire of the battle was in his eyes,
+ lie looked to the foe with joy. We ſpoke the words of friendſhip in ſecret; and the lightning of
+ our ſwords poured together. We drew them behind the wood, and tried the ſtrength of our arms on
+ the empty air.`
+
Oſſian is always conciſe in his deſcriptions, which adds much to their
+ beauty and force. For it is a great miſtake to imagine, that a crowd of particulars, or a very
+ fall and extended ſtyle, is of advantage to deſcription. On the contrary, ſuch a diffuſe manner
+ for the moſt part weakens it. Any one redundant circumſtance is a nuiſance. It encumbers and
+ loads the fancy, and renders the main image indiſtinct. “Obſtat,” as Quintilian ſays with regard
+ to ſtyle, “quicquid non adjuvat.” To be conciſe in deſcription, is one thing: and to be general,
+ is another. No deſcription that reſts in generals can poſſibly be good; it can convey no lively
+ idea; for it is of particulars only that we have a diſtinct conception. But, at the ſame time, no
+ ſtrong imagination dwells long upon any one particular; or heaps together a maſs of trivial ones.
+ By the happy choice of ſome one, or of a few that are the moſt ſtriking, it preſents
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the image more complete, ſhews us more at
+ one glance than a feeble imagination is able to do, by turning its object round and round into a
+ variety of lights. Tacitus is of all proſe writers the moſt conciſe. He has even a degree of
+ abruptneſs reſembling our author: yet no writer is more eminent for lively deſcription. When
+ Fingal, after having conquered the haughty Swaran, propoſes to diſmiſs him with honour: “Raiſe
+ to-morrow thy white ſails to the wind, thou brother of Agandecca!” he conveys, by thus addreſſing
+ his enemy, a ſtronger impreſſion of the emotions then paſſing within his mind, than if whole
+ paragraphs had been ſpent in deſcribing the conflict between reſentment againſt Swaran and the
+ tender remembrance of his ancient love. No amplification is needed to give us the moſt full idea
+ of a hardy veteran, after the few following words: “His ſhield is marked with the ſtrokes of
+ battle; his red eye deſpiſes danger.” When Oſcar left alone, was ſurrounded by foes, “he ſtood,”
+ it is ſaid, “growing in his place, like the flood of the narrow vale;” a happy repreſentation of
+ one, who, by daring intrepidity in the midſt of danger, ſeems to increaſe in his appearance, and
+ becomes more formidable every moment, like the ſudden riſing of the torrent hemmed in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image by the valley. And a whole crowd of ideas,
+ concerning the circumſtances of domeſtic ſorrow, occaſioned by a young warrior's firſt going
+ forth to battle, is poured upon the mind by theſe words: “Calmar leaned on his father's ſpear;
+ that ſpear which he brought from Lara's hall, when the ſoul of his mother was ſad.”
+
The conciſeneſs of Oſſian's deſcriptions is the more proper, on account of
+ his ſubjects. Deſcriptions of gay and ſmiling ſcenes may, without any diſadvantage, be amplified
+ and prolonged. Force is not the predominant quality expected in theſe. The deſcription may be
+ weakened by being diffuſe, yet, notwithſtanding, may be beautiful ſtill; whereas, with reſpect to
+ grand, ſolemn, and pathetic ſubjects, which are Oſſian's chief field, the caſe is very different.
+ In theſe, energy is above all things required. The imagination muſt be ſeized at once, or not at
+ all; and is far more deeply impreſſed by one ſtrong and ardent image, than by the anxious
+ minuteneſs of labored illuſtration.
+
But Oſſian's genius, though chiefly turned towards the ſublime and pathetic,
+ was not confined to it. In ſubjects alſo of grace and delicacy, he diſcovers the hand of a
+ maſter. Take for an example the following elegant deſcription of Agandecca, wherein the
+ tenderneſs of Tibullus
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſeems united with the majeſty of Virgil.
+ “The daughter of the ſnow overheard, and left the hall of her ſecret ſigh. She came in all her
+ beauty; like the moon from the cloud of the eaſt. Lovelineſs was around her as light. Her ſteps
+ were like the muſic of ſongs. She ſaw the youth and loved him. He was the ſtolen ſigh of her
+ ſoul. Her blue eyes rolled on him in ſecret; and ſhe bleſt the chief of Morven.” Several other
+ inſtances might be produced of the feelings of love and friendſhip, painted by our author with a
+ moſt natural and happy delicacy.
+
The ſimplicity of Oſſian's manner adds great beauty to his deſcriptions, and
+ indeed to his whole poetry. We meet with no affected ornaments; no forced refinement; no marks
+ either in ſtyle or thought of a ſtudied endeavor to ſhine or ſparkle. Oſſian appears everywhere
+ to be prompted by his feelings; and to ſpeak from the abundance of his heart. I remember no more
+ than one inſtance of what may be called a quaint thought in this whole collection of his works.
+ It is in the firſt book of Fingal, where, from the tombs of two lovers, two lonely yews are
+ mentioned to have ſprung, “whoſe branches wiſhed to meet on high.” This ſympathy of the trees
+ with the lovers, may be reckoned to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image border on an Italian conceit; and it is
+ ſomewhat curious to find this ſingle inſtance of that ſort of wit in our Celtic poetry.
+
The “joy of grief” is one of Oſſian's remarkable expreſſions, ſeveral times
+ repeated. If any one ſhall think that it needs to be juſtified by a precedent, he may find it
+ twice uſed by Homer: in the Iliad, when Achilles is viſited by the ghoſt of Patroclus; and in the
+ Odyſſey, when Ulyſſes meets his mother in the ſhades. On both theſe occaſions, the heroes, melted
+ with tenderneſs, lament their not having it in their power to throw their arms round the ghoſt,
+ “that we might,” ſay they, “in mutual embrace, enjoy the delight of grief. “
+ Κρυεροιο τοταρπωμεσθα γοαιο.Display note
+
But in truth, the expreſſion ſtands in need of no defence from authority;
+ for it is a natural and juſt expreſſion; and conveys a clear idea of that gratification which a
+ virtuous heart often feels in the indulgence of a tender melancholy. Oſſian makes a very proper
+ diſtinction between this gratification and the deſtructive effect of overpowering grief. “There
+ is a joy in grief when peace dwells in the breaſts of the ſad. But ſorrow waſtes the mournful, O
+ daughter of Toſcar, and their days are few.” To “give the joy of grief,” generally ſignifies to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image raiſe the ſtrain of ſoft and grave muſic;
+ and finely characterizes the taſte of Oſſian's age and country. In thoſe days, when the ſongs of
+ bards were the great delight of heroes, the tragic muſe was hold in chief honour: gallant actions
+ and virtuous ſufferings, were the choſen theme; preferably to that light and trifling ſtrain, of
+ poetry and muſic, which promotes light and trifling manners, and ſerves to emaſculate the mind.
+ “Strike the harp in my hall,” ſaid the great Fingal, in the midſt of youth and victory; “ſtrike
+ the harp in my hall, and let Fingal hear the ſong. Pleaſant is the joy of grief! It is like the
+ ſhower O of ſpring, when it ſoftens the branch of the oak; and the young leaf lifts its green
+ head. Sing on, O bards! To-morrow we lift the ſail.”
+
Perſonal epithets have been much uſed by all the poets of the moſt ancient
+ ages; and when well choſen, not general and unmeaning, they contribute not a little to render the
+ ſtyle deſcriptive and animated. Beſides epithets founded on bodily diſtinctions, akin to many of
+ Homer's, we find in Oſſian ſeveral which are remarkably beautiful and poetical. Such as Oſcar of
+ the future fights, Fingal of the mildeſt look, Carril of other times, the mildly bluſhing
+ Evir-allin: Bragela, the lonely ſun-beam of Dunſcaich; a Culdee, the ſon of the ſecret cell.
But of all the ornaments employed in deſcriptive poetry, compariſons or
+ ſimiles are the moſt ſplendid. Theſe chiefly form what is called the imagery of a poem; and as
+ they abound go much in the works of Oſſian, and are commonly among the favourite paſſages of all
+ poets, it may be expected that I ſhould be ſomewhat particular in my remarks upon them.
+
A poetical ſimile always ſuppoſes two objects brought together, between which
+ there is ſome near relation or connection in the fancy. What that relation ought to be, cannot be
+ preciſely defined. For various, almoſt numberleſs, are the analogies formed among objects, by a
+ ſprightly imagination. The relation of actual ſimilitude, or likeneſs of appearance, is far from
+ being the only foundation of poetical compariſon. Sometimes a reſemblance in the effect produced
+ by two objects, is made the connecting principle: ſometimes a reſemblance in one diſtinguiſhing
+ property or circumſtance. Very often two objects are brought together in a ſimile, though they
+ reſemble one another, ſtrictly ſpeaking, in nothing, only becauſe they raiſe in the mind a train
+ of ſimilar, and what may be called concordant, ideas; ſo that the remembrance of the one, when
+ recalled, ſerves to quicken and heighten the impreſſion made by the other. Thus, to give an
+ inſtance from our
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image poet, the pleaſure with which an old man
+ looks back on the exploits of his youth, has certainly no direct reſemblance to the beauty of a
+ fine evening; further than that both agree in producing a certain calm, placid joy. Yet Oſſian
+ has founded upon this, one of the moſt beautiful compariſons that is to be met with in any poet.
+ “Wilt thou not liſten, ſon of the rock, to the ſong of Oſſian? My ſoul is full of other times;
+ the joy of my youth returns. Thus the ſun appears in the weſt, after the ſteps of his brightneſs
+ have moved behind a ſtorm. The green hills lift their dewy heads. The blue ſtreams rejoice in the
+ vale. The aged hero comes forth on his ſtaff; and his gray hair glitters in the beam.” Never was
+ there a finer group of objects. It raiſes a ſtrong conception of the old man's joy and elation of
+ heart, by diſplaying a ſcene which produces in every ſpectator a correſponding train of pleaſing
+ emotions; the declining ſun looking forth in his brightneſs after a ſtorm; the cheerful face of
+ all nature; and the ſtill life finely animated by the circumſtance of the aged hero, with his
+ ſtaff and his gray locks: a circumſtance both extremely pictureſque, in itſelf, and peculiarly
+ ſuited to the main object of the compariſon. Such analogies and aſſociations of ideas as theſe,
+ are highly pleaſing to the fancy. They give
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image opportunity for introducing many a fine
+ poetical picture. They diverſify the ſcene; they aggrandize the ſubject; they keep the
+ imagination awake and ſprightly. For as the judgment is principally exerciſed in diſtinguiſhing
+ objects, and remarking the differences among thoſe which ſeem alike, ſo the higheſt amuſement of
+ the imagination is to trace likeneſſes and agreements among thoſe which ſeem different.
+
The principal rules which reſpect poetical compariſons are, that they be
+ introduced on proper occaſions, when the mind is diſpoſed to reliſh them; and not in the midſt of
+ ſome ſevere and agitating paſſion, which cannot admit this play of fancy; that they be founded on
+ a reſemblance neither. too near and obvious, ſo as to give little amuſement to the imagination in
+ tracing it, nor too faint and remote, ſo as to he apprehended with difficulty; that they ſerve
+ either to illuſtrate the principal object, and to render the conception of it more clear and
+ diſtinct; or, at leaſt, to heighten and embelliſh it, by a ſuitable aſſociation of imagesDisplay note.
+
Every country has a ſcenery peculiar to itſelf; and the imagery of a good
+ poet will exhibit it. For as he copies after nature, his alluſions
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image will of courſe be taken from thoſe objects
+ which he ſees around him, and which have often ſtruck his fancy. For this reaſon, In order to
+ judge of the propriety of poetical imagery, we ought to be in ſome meaſure acquainted with the
+ natural hiſtory of the country where the ſcene of the poem is laid. The introduction of foreign
+ images betrays a poet, copying not from nature, but from other writers. Hence ſo many lions, and
+ tigers, and eagles, and ſerpents, which we meet, with in the ſimiles of modern poets; as if theſe
+ animals had acquired ſome right to a place in poetical compariſons for ever, becauſe employed by
+ ancient authors. They employed them with propriety, as objects generally known in their, country,
+ but they are abſurdly uſed for illuſtration by us, who know them only at ſecond hand, or by
+ deſcription. To moſt readers of modern poetry, it were more to the purpoſe to deſcribe lions or
+ tigers by ſimiles taken from men, than to compare men to lions. Oſſian is very correct in this
+ particular. His imagery is, without exception, copied from that face of nature which be ſaw
+ before his eyes; and by conſequence may be expected to be lively. We meet with no Grecian or
+ Italian ſcenery; but with the miſts and clouds, and ſtorms, of a northern mountainous region.
No poet abounds more in ſimiles than Oſſian. There are in this collection as
+ many, at leaſt, as in the whole Iliad and Odyſſey of Homer. I am indeed inclined to think, that
+ the works of both poets are too much crowded with them. Similes are ſparkling ornaments; and,
+ like all things that ſparkle, are apt to dazzle and tire us by their luſtre. But if Oſſian's
+ ſimiles be too frequent, they have this advantage, of being commonly ſhorter than Homer's; they
+ interrupt his narration leſs; he juſt glances aſide to ſome reſembling, object, and inſtantly
+ returns to his former track. Homer's ſimiles include a wider range of objects; but, in return,
+ Oſſian's, are, without exception, taken from objects of dignity, which cannot be ſaid for all
+ thoſe which Homer employs. The ſun, the moon, and the ſtars, clouds and meteors, lightning and
+ thunder, ſeas and whales, rivers, torrents, winds, ice, rain, ſnow, dews, miſt, fire and ſmoke,
+ trees and foreſts, heath and graſs and flowers, rocks and mountains, muſic and ſongs, light and
+ darkneſs, ſpirits and ghoſts; theſe form the circle within which Oſſian's compariſons generally
+ run. Some, not many, are taken from birds and beaſts: as eagles, ſea-fowl, the horſe, the deer,
+ and the mountain bee; and a very few from ſuch operations of art as were then known.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Homer has diverſified his imagery, by many
+ more alluſions to the animal world; to lions, bulls, goats, herds of cattle, ſerpents, inſects;
+ and to various occupations of rural and paſtoral life. Oſſian's defect in this article, is
+ plainly owing to the deſert, uncultivated ſtate of his country, which ſuggeſted to him few images
+ beyond natural inanimate objects, in their rudeſt form. The birds and animals of the country were
+ probably not numerous; and his acquaintance with them was ſlender, as they were little ſubjected
+ to the uſes of man.
+
The great objection made to Oſſian's imagery, is its uniformity, and the too
+ frequent repetition of the ſame compariſon. In a work ſo thick-ſown with ſimiles one could not
+ but expect to find images of the ſame kind ſometimes ſuggeſted to the poet by reſembling objects;
+ eſpecially to a poet like Oſſian, who wrote from the immediate impulſe of poetical enthuſiaſm,
+ and without much preparation of ſtudy or labor. Fertile as Homer's imagination is acknowledged to
+ be, who does not know how often his lions, and bulls, and flocks of ſheep, recur with little or
+ no variation; nay, ſometimes, in the very ſame words? The objection made to Oſſian is, however,
+ founded, in a great meaſure, upon a miſtake. It has been ſuppoſed
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image by inattentive readers, that wherever the
+ moon, the cloud, or the thunder, returns in a ſimile, it is the ſame ſimile, and the ſame moon,
+ or cloud, or thunder, which they had met with a few pages before. Whereas very often the ſimiles
+ are widely different. The object, from whence they are taken, is indeed in ſubſtance the ſame;
+ but the image is new; for the appearance of the object is changed; it is preſented to the fancy
+ in another attitude: and clothed with new circumſtances, to make it ſuit the different
+ illuſtration for which it is employed. In this lies Oſſian's great art; in ſo happily varying the
+ form of the few natural appearances with which he was acquainted, as to make them correſpond to a
+ great many different objects.
+
Let us take for one inſtance the moon, which is very frequently introduced
+ in his compariſons; as in northern climates, where the nights are long, the moon is a greater
+ object of attention than in the climate of Homer; and let us view how much our poet has
+ diverſified its appearance. The ſhield of it warrior is like “the darkened moon when it moves a
+ dun circle through the heavens.” The face of a ghoſt, wan and ale, is like “the beam of the
+ ſetting moon.” And a different appearance of a ghoſt, thin and indiſtinct, is like “the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image new moon ſeen through the gathered miſt,
+ when the ſky pours down its flaky ſnow, and the world is ſilent and dark;” or, in a different
+ form ſtill, is like “the watery beam of the moon, when it ruſhes from between two clouds, and the
+ midnight ſhower is on the field.” A very oppoſite uſe is made of the moon in the deſcription of
+ Agandecca: “She came in all her beauty, like the moon from the cloud of the eaſt.” Hope ſucceeded
+ by diſappointment, is “joy riſing on her face and ſorrow returning again, like a thin cloud on
+ the moon.” But when Swaran, after his defeat, is cheered by Fingal's generoſity, “his face
+ brightened like the full moon of heaven, when the clouds vaniſh away, and leave her calm and
+ broad in the midſt of the ſky.” Venvela is “bright as the moon when it trembles o'er the weſtern
+ wave;” but the ſoul of the guilty Uthal is “dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it
+ foretells the ſtorm.” And by a very fanciful and uncommon alluſion, it is ſaid of Cormac, who was
+ to die in his early years, “Nor long ſhalt thou lift the ſpear, mildly-ſhining beam of youth!
+ Death ſtands dim behind thee, like the darkened half of the moon behind its growing light.”
Another inſtance of the ſame nature may be taken from miſt, which, as being
+ a very familiar appearance in the country of Oſſian, he applies to a variety of purpoſes, and
+ purſues through a great many forms. Sometimes, which one would hardly expect, he employs it to
+ heighten the appearance of a beautiful object. The hair of Morna is “like the miſt of Cromla,
+ when it curls on the rock, and ſhines to the beam of the weſt.” “The ſong comes with its muſic to
+ melt and pleaſe the ear. It is like ſoft miſt, that riſing from the lake pours on the ſilent
+ vale. The green flowers are filled with dew. The ſun returns in its ſtrength, and, the miſt is
+ goneDisplay note.” But, for the moſt part, miſt is employed as a
+ ſimilitude of ſome diſagreeable or terrible object. “The ſoul of Nathos was ſad, like the ſun in
+ the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image day of miſt, when his face is watery and
+ dim.”—“The darkneſs of old age comes like the miſt of the deſert.” The face of a ghoſt is “pale
+ as the miſt of Cromla.”—“The gloom of battle is rolled along as miſt that is poured on the
+ valley, when ſtorms invade the ſilent ſunſhine of heaven.” Fame, ſuddenly departing, is likened
+ to “miſt that flies away before the ruſtling wind of the vale.” A ghoſt, ſlowly vaniſhing, to
+ “miſt that melts by degrees on the ſunny hill.” Cairbar, after his treacherous aſſaſſination of
+ Oſcar, is compared to a peſtilential fog. “I love a foe like Cathmor,” ſays Fingal, “his ſoul is
+ great; his arm is ſtrong; his battles are full of fame. But the little ſoul is like a vapor that
+ hovers round the marſhy lake. It never riſes on the green hill, leſt the winds meet it there. Its
+ dwelling is in the cave; and it ſends forth the dart of death.” This is a ſimile highly finiſhed.
+ But there is another which is ſtill more ſtriking, founded alſo on miſt, in the fourth book of
+ Temora. Two factious chiefs are contending: Cathmor, the king, interpoſes, rebukes, and ſilences
+ them. The poet intends to give us the higheſt idea of Cathmor's ſuperiority; and moſt effectually
+ accompliſhes his intention by the following happy image. “They ſunk
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image from the king on either ſide, like two
+ columns of morning miſt, when the ſun riſes between them on his glittering rocks. Dark is their
+ rolling on either ſide; each towards its reedy pool.” Theſe inſtances may ſufficiently ſhow with
+ what richneſs of imagination Oſſian's compariſons abound, and, at the ſame time, with what
+ propriety of judgment they are employed. If his field was narrow, it muſt be admitted to have
+ been as well cultivated as its extent would allow.
+
As it is uſual to judge of poets from a compariſon of their ſimiles more
+ than of other paſſages, it will, perhaps, be agreeable to the reader, to ſee how Homer and Oſſian
+ have conducted ſome images of the ſame kind. This might be ſhown in many inſtances. For as the
+ great objects of nature are common to the poets of all nations, and make the general ſtorehouſe
+ of all imagery, the groundwork of their compariſons muſt, of courſe, be Frequently the ſame. I
+ ſhall ſelect only a few of the moſt conſiderable from both poets. Mr. Pope's tranſlation of Homer
+ can be of no uſe to us here. The parallel is altogether unfair between proſe and the impoſing
+ harmony of flowing numbers. It is only by viewing Homer in the ſimplicity of a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image proſe tranſlation, that we can form any
+ compariſon between the two bards.
+
The ſhock of two encountering armies, the noiſe and the tumult of battle,
+ afford one of the moſt grand and awful ſubjects of deſcription; on which all epic poets have
+ exerted their ſtrength. Let us firſt hear Homer. The following deſcription is a favourite one,
+ for we find it twice repeated in the ſame wordsDisplay note. “When now the conflicting hoſts joined in the
+ field of battle, then were mutually oppoſed ſhields, and ſwords, and the ſtrength of armed men.
+ The boſſy bucklers were daſhed againſt each other. The univerſal tumult roſe. There were mingled
+ the triumphant ſhouts and the dying groans of the victors and the vanquiſhed. The earth ſtreamed
+ with blood. As when winter torrents, ruſhing from the mountains, pour into a narrow valley their
+ violent waters. They iſſue from a thouſand ſprings, and mix in the hollowed channel. The diſtant
+ ſhepherd hears on the mountain their roar from afar. Such was the terror and the ſhout of the
+ engaging armies.” In another paſſage, the poet, much in the manner of Oſſian, heaps ſimile on
+ ſimile, to expreſs the vaſtneſs of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the idea with which his imagination ſeems to
+ labor. “With a mighty ſhout the hoſts engage. Not ſo loud roars the wave of ocean, when driven
+ againſt the ſhore by the whole force of the boiſterous north; not ſo loud in the woods of the
+ mountain, the noiſe of the flame, when riſing in its fury to conſume the foreſt; not ſo loud the
+ wind among the lofty oaks, when the wrath of the worm rages; as was the clamor of the Greeks and
+ Trojans, when, roaring terrible, they ruſhed againſt each other.”Display note
+
To theſe deſcriptions and ſimiles, we may oppoſe the following from Oſſian,
+ and leave the reader to judge between them. He will find images of the ſame kind employed;
+ commonly leſs extended; but thrown forth with a glowing rapidity which characterizes our poet.
+ “As autumn's dark ſtorms pour from two echoing hills, towards each other approached the heroes.
+ As two dark ſtreams from high rocks meet and mix, and roar on the plains; loud, rough, and dark
+ in battle, meet Lochlin and Iniſfail. Chief mixed his ſtrokes with chief, and man with man. Steel
+ clanging, ſounded on ſteel. Helmets are cleft on high; blood
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image burſts and ſmokes around.—As the troubled
+ noiſe of the ocean, when roll the waves on high; as the laſt peal of the thunder of heaven; ſuch
+ is the noiſe of battle.” “As roll a thouſand waves to the rock, ſo Swaran's beſt came on; as
+ meets a rock a thouſand waves, ſo Iniſfail met Swaran. Death raiſes all his voices around, and
+ mixes with the ſound of ſhields.—The field echoes from wing to wing, as a hundred hammers that
+ riſe by turns on the red ſon of the furnace.”—“As a hundred winds on Morven; as the ſtreams of a
+ hundred hills; as clouds fly ſucceſſive over heaven or as the dark ocean aſſaults the ſhore of
+ the deſert ſo roaring, ſo vaſt, ſo terrible, the armies mixed on Lena's echoing heath.” In
+ ſeveral of theſe images there is a remarkable ſimilarity to Homer's: but what follows is ſuperior
+ to any compariſon that Homer uſes on this ſubject. “The groan of the people ſpread over the
+ hills; it was like the thunder of night, when the cloud burſts on Cona, and a thouſand ghoſts
+ ſhriek at once on the hollow wind.” Never was an image of, more awful ſublimity employed to
+ heighten the terror of battle.
+
Both poets compare the appearance of an army approaching, to the gathering
+ of dark
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image clouds. “As when a ſhepherd,” ſays Homer,
+ “beholds from the rock a cloud borne along the ſea by the weſtern wind; black as pitch it appears
+ from afar ſailing over the ocean, and carrying the dreadful ſtorm. He ſhrinks at the ſight, and
+ drives his flock into the cave: ſuch, under the Ajaces, moved on the dark, the thickened phalanx
+ to the war.”Display note —“They came,” ſays Oſſian, “over the deſert like ſtormy clouds,
+ when the winds roll them over the heath; their edges are tinged with lightning; and the echoing
+ groves foreſee the ſtorm.” The edges of the clouds tinged with lightning, is a ſublime idea: but
+ the ſhepherd and his flock render Homer's ſimile more pictureſque. This is frequently the
+ difference between the two poets. Oſſian gives no more than the main image, ſtrong and full:
+ Homer adds circumſtances and appendages, which amuſe the fancy by enlivening the ſcenery.
+
Homer compares the regular appearance of an army, to “clouds that are
+ ſettled on the mountain-top, in the day of calmneſs, when the ſtrength of the north wind
+ ſleepsDisplay note.” Oſſian, with full as much propriety, compares the appearance of a
+ diſordered army, to “the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image mountain cloud, when the. blaſt hath entered
+ its womb, and ſcatters the curling gloom on every ſide.” Oſſian's clouds aſſume a great many
+ forms, and, as we might expect from his climate, are a fertile ſource of imagery to him. “The
+ warriors followed their chiefs like the gathering of the rainy clouds behind the red meteors of
+ heaven.” An army retreating without coming to action, is likened to “clouds, that having long
+ threatened rain, retire ſlowly behind the hills.” The picture of Oithona, after ſhe had
+ determined to die, is lively and delicate. “Her ſoul was reſolved, and the tear was dried from
+ her wildly-looking eye. A troubled joy roſe on her mind, like the red path of the lightning on a
+ ſtormy cloud.” The image alſo of the gloomy Cairbar, meditating, in ſilence, the aſſaſſination of
+ Oſcar, until the moment came when his deſigns were ripe for execution, is extremely noble and
+ complete in all its parts. “Cairbar heard their words in ſilence, like the cloud of a ſhower; it
+ ſtands dark on Cromla till the lightning burſts its ſide. The valley gleams with red light; the
+ ſpirits of the ſtorm rejoice. So ſtood the ſilent king of Temora; at length his words are
+ heard.”
Homer's compariſon of Achilles to the Dog-Star, is very ſublime. “Priam
+ beheld him ruſhing along the plain, ſhining in his armour, like the ſtar of autumn bright are its
+ beams, diſtinguiſhed amidſt the multitude of ſtars in the dark hour of night. It riſes in its
+ ſplendor; but its ſplendor is fatal; betokening to miſerable men the deſtroying heatDisplay note.” The firſt appearance of Fingal is, in like manner, compared by
+ Oſſian to a ſtar or meteor. “Fingal, tall in his ſhip, ſtretched his bright lance before him.
+ Terrible was the gleam of his ſteel; it was like the green meteor of death, ſetting in the heath
+ of Malmor, when the traveller is alone, and the broad moon is darkened in heaven.” The hero's
+ appearance in Homer is more magnificent; in Oſſian, more terrible.
+
A tree cut down, or overthrown by a ſtorm, is a ſimilitude frequent among
+ poets for deſcribing the fall of a warrior in battle. Homer employs it often. But the moſt
+ beautiful, by far, of his compariſons, founded on this object, indeed one of the moſt beautiful
+ in the whole Iliad, is that on the death of Euphorbus. “As the young and verdant olive, which a
+ man hath reared with care in a lonely field, where
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the ſprings of water bubble around it; it is
+ fair and flouriſhing; it is fanned by the breath of all the winds, and loaded with white
+ bloſſoms; when the ſudden blaſt of a whirlwind deſcending, roots it out from its bed, and
+ ſtretches it on the duſt Display note.” To this, elegant as it is, we may oppoſe the following ſimile of
+ Oſſian's, relating to the death of the three ſons of Uſnoth. “They fell, like three young oaks
+ which ſtood alone on the hill. The traveller ſaw the lovely trees, and wondered how they grew ſo
+ lonely. The blaſt of the deſert came by night, and laid their green heads low. Next day he
+ returned; but they were withered, and the heath was bare.” Malvina's alluſion to the ſame object,
+ in her lamentation over Oſcar, is ſo exquiſitely tender, that I cannot forbear giving it a place
+ alſo. “I was a lovely tree in thy preſence, Oſcar! with all my branches round me. But thy death
+ came, like a blaſt from the deſert, and laid my green head low. The ſpring returned with its
+ ſhowers; but no leaf of mine aroſe.” Several of Oſſian's ſimiles, taken from trees, are
+ remarkably beautiful, and diverſified with well-choſen circumſtances ſuch as that upon the death
+ of Ryno and Orla: They have fallen
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image like the oak of the deſert; when it lies
+ acroſs a ſtream, and withers in the wind of the mountains.” Or that which Oſſian applies to
+ himſelf: “I, like an ancient oak in Morven, moulder alone in my place; the blaſt hath lopped my
+ branches away; and I tremble at the winds of the north.”
+
As Homer exalts his heroes by comparing them to gods, Oſſian makes the ſame
+ uſe of compariſons taken from ſpirits and ghoſts. “Swaran roared in battle, like the ſhrill
+ ſpirit of a ſtorm, that ſits dim on the clouds of Gormal, and enjoys the death of the mariner.”
+ His people gathered round Erragon, “like ſtorms around the ghoſt of night, when he calls them
+ from the top of Morven, and prepares to pour them on the land of the ſtranger.”—“They fell before
+ my ſon like groves in the deſert, when an angry ghoſt ruſhes through night, and takes their green
+ heads in his hand.” In ſuch images, Oſſian appears in his ſtrength; for very ſeldom have
+ ſupernatural beings been painted with ſo much ſublimity, and ſuch force of imagination, as by
+ this poet. Even Homer, great as he is, muſt yield to him in ſimiles formed upon theſe. Take, for
+ inſtance, the following, which is the moſt remarkable of this kind in the Iliad.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image “Meriones followed Idomeneus to battle, like
+ Mars, the deſtroyer of men, when lie ruſhes to war. Terror, his beloved ſon, ſtrong and fierce,
+ attends him; who fills with diſmay the moſt valiant hero. They come from Thrace armed againſt the
+ Ephyrians and Phlegyans; nor do they regard the prayers of either, but diſpoſe of ſucceſs at
+ their willDisplay note.” The idea here is undoubtedly noble, but obſerve what a figure
+ Oſſian ſets before the aſtoniſhed imagination, and with what ſublimely terrible circumſtances he
+ has heightened it. “He ruſhed, in the ſound of his arms, like the dreadful ſpirit of Loda, when
+ he comes in the roar of a thouſand ſtorms, and ſcatters battles from his eyes. He ſits on a cloud
+ over Lochlin's ſeas. His mighty hand is on his ſword. The wind lifts his flaming locks. So
+ terrible was Cuthullin in the day of his fame.”
+
Homer's compariſons relate chiefly to martial ſubjects, to the appearances
+ and motions of armies, the engagement and death of heroes, and the various incidents of war. In
+ Oſſian, we find a greater variety of other ſubjects, illuſtrated by ſimiles, particularly the
+ ſongs of bards, the beauty of women, the different circumſtances of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image old age, ſorrow, and private diſtreſs; which
+ give occaſion to much beautiful imagery. What, for inſtance, can be more delicate and moving,
+ than the following ſimile of Oithona's, in her lamentation over the diſhonour ſhe had ſuffered
+ “Chief of Strumon.” replied the ſighing maid, why didſt thou come over the dark blue wave to
+ Nuath's mournful daughter? Why did not I paſs away in ſecret, like the flower of the rock, that
+ lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrews its withered leaves on the blaſt?” The muſic of bards, a
+ favourite object with Oſſian, is illuſtrated by a variety of the moſt beautiful appearances that
+ are to be found in nature. It is compared to the calm ſhower of ſpring; to the dews of the
+ morning on the hill of roes; to the face of the blue and ſtill lake. Two ſimiles on this ſubject
+ I ſhall quote, becauſe they would do honour to any of the moſt celebrated claſſics. The one is:
+ “Sit thou on the heath, O bard! and let us hear thy voice; it is pleaſant as the gale of the
+ ſpring that ſighs on the hunter's ear, when he awakens from dreams of joy, and has heard the
+ muſic of the ſpirits of the hill.” The other contains a ſhort but exquiſitely tender image,
+ accompanied with the fineſt poetical painting. “The muſic of Carril was like the memory of joys
+ that are paſt,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pleaſant, and mournful to the ſoul. The
+ ghoſts of departed bards heard it from Slimora's ſide. Soft ſounds ſpread along the wood; and the
+ ſilent valleys of night rejoice.” What a figure would ſuch imagery and ſuch ſcenery have made,
+ had they been preſented to us adorned with the ſweetneſs and harmony of the Virgilian
+ numbers!
+
I have choſen all along to compare Oſſian with Homer, rather than Virgil,
+ for an obvious reaſon. There is a much nearer correſpondence between the times and manners of the
+ two former poets. Both wrote in an early period of ſociety; both are originals; both are
+ diſtinguiſhed by ſimplicity, ſublimity, and fire. The correct elegances of Virgil, his artful
+ imitation of Homer, the Roman ſtatelineſs which he everywhere maintains, admit no parallel with
+ the abrupt boldneſs and enthuſiaſtic warmth of the Celtic bard. In one article, indeed, there is
+ a reſemblance. Virgil is more tender than Homer, and thereby agrees more with Oſſian; with this
+ difference, that the feelings of the one are more gentle and poliſhed—thoſe of the other more
+ ſtrong: the tenderneſs of Virgil ſoftenſ—that of Oſſian diſſolves and overcomes the heart.
+
A reſemblance may be ſometimes obſerved between Oſſian's Compariſons and
+ thoſe
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image employed by the ſacred writers. They abound
+ much in this figure, and they uſe it with the utmoſt proprietyDisplay note. The imagery of Scripture exhibits a ſoil
+ and climate altogether different from thoſe of Oſſian: a warmer country, a more ſmiling face of
+ nature, the arts of agriculture and of rural life much farther advanced. The wine-preſs and the
+ threſhing-floor are often preſented to us; the cedar and the palm-tree, the fragrance of perfumes
+ the voice of the turtle, and the beds of lilies. The ſimiles are, like Oſſian's, generally ſhort,
+ touching on one point of reſemblance, rather than ſpread out into little epiſodes. In the
+ following example may be perceived what inexpreſſible grandeur poetry receives from the
+ intervention of the Deity. “The nations ſhall ruſh like the ruſhing of many waters; but God ſhall
+ rebuke them, and they ſhall fly far off, and ſhall be chaſed as the chaff of the “mountains
+ before the wind, and like the down of the thiſtle before the whirlwindDisplay note.”
+
Beſides formal compariſons, the poetry of Oſſian is embelliſhed with many
+ beautiful metaphors; ſuch as that remarkably fine one
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image applied to Deugala: “She was covered with
+ the light of beauty; but her heart was the houſe of pride.” This mode of expreſſion, which
+ ſuppreſſes the mark of compariſon, and ſubſtitutes a figured deſcription in room of the object
+ deſcribed, is a great enlivener of ſtyle. It denotes that glow and rapidity of fancy, which,
+ without pauſing to form a regular ſimile, paints the object at one ſtroke. “Thou art to me the
+ beam of the caſt, riſing in a land unknown.”—“In peace, thou art the gale of ſpring; In war, the
+ mountain ſtorm.”—“Pleaſant be thy reſt, O lovely beam! ſoon haſt thou ſet on our hills! The ſteps
+ of thy departure were ſtately, like the moon on the blue trembling wave. But thou haſt left us in
+ darkneſs, firſt of the maids of Lutha!—Soon haſt thou ſet, Malvina! but thou riſeſt, like the
+ beam of the eaſt, among the ſpirits of thy friends, where they ſit in their ſtormy halls, the
+ chambers of the thunder.” This is correct, and finely ſupported. But in the following inſtance,
+ the metaphor, though very beautiful at the beginning, becomes imperfect before it cloſes, by
+ being improperly mixed with the literal ſenſe. “Trathal went forth with the ſtream of his people:
+ but they met a rock; Fingal ſtood unmoved; broken, they rolled back from his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſide. Nor did they roll in ſafety; the Spear
+ of the king purſued their flight.”
+
The hyperbole is a figure which we might expect to find often employed by
+ Oſſian; as the undiſciplined imagination of early ages generally prompts exaggeration, and
+ carries its objects to exceſs; whereas longer experience, and farther progreſs in the arts of
+ life, chaſten men's ideas and expreſſions. Yet Oſſian's hyperboles appear not, to me, either ſo
+ frequent or ſo harſh as might at firſt have been looked for; an advantage owing, no doubt, to the
+ more cultivated ſtate in which, as was before ſhown, poetry ſubſiſted among the ancient Celtæ,
+ than among moſt other barbarous nations. One of the moſt exaggerated deſcriptions in the whole
+ work, is what meets us at the beginning of Fingal, where the ſcout makes his report to Cuthullin
+ of the landing of the foe. But this is ſo far from deſerving cenſure, that it merits praiſe, as
+ being on that occaſion natural and proper. The ſcout arrives, trembling and full of fears; and it
+ is well known that no paſſion diſpoſes men to hyperbolize more than terror. It both annihilates
+ themſelves in their own apprehenſion, and magnifies every object which they view through the
+ medium of a troubled imagination. Hence all thoſe indiſtinct images of formidable
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image greatneſs, the natural marks of a diſturbed
+ and confuſed mind, which occur in Moran's deſcription of Swaran's appearance, and in his relation
+ of the conference which they held together; not unlike the report which the affrighted Jewiſh
+ ſpies made to their leader, of the land of Canaan. “The land through which we have gone to ſearch
+ it, is a land that eateth up the inhabitants thereof; and all the people that we ſaw in it are
+ men of a great ſtature: and there ſaw we giants, the ſons of Anak, which come of the giants; and
+ we were in our own ſight as graſſhoppers, and ſo we were in their ſightDisplay note.”
+
With regard to perſonifications, I formerly obſerved that Oſſian was
+ ſparing, and I accounted for his being ſo. Allegorical perſonages he has none; and their abſence
+ is not to be regretted. For the intermixture of thoſe ſhadowy beings, which have not the ſupport
+ even of mythological or legendary belief, with human actors, ſeldom produces a good effect. The
+ fiction becomes too viſible and fantaſtic; and overthrows that impreſſion of reality, which the
+ probable recital of human actions is calculated to make upon the mind. In the ſerious and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pathetic ſcenes of Oſſian, eſpecially,
+ allegorical characters would have been as much out of place as in tragedy; ſerving only
+ unſeaſonably to uſe the fancy, whilſt they ſtopped the current and weakened the force of
+ paſſion.
+
With apoſtrophes, or addreſſes to perſons abſent or dead, which have been
+ in, all ages the language of paſſion, our poet abounds; and they are among his higheſt beauties.
+ Witneſs the apoſtrophe, in the firſt book of Fingal, to the maid of Iniſtore, whoſe lover had
+ fallen in battle; and that inimitably fine one of Cuthullin to Bragela, at the concluſion of the
+ ſame book. He commands his harp to be ſtruck in her praiſe; and the mention of Bragela's name
+ immediately ſuggeſting to him a crowd of tender ideaſ—“Doſt thou raiſe thy fair face from the
+ rocks,” he exclaims, “to find the ſails of Cuthullin? The ſea is rolling far diſtant, and its
+ white foam ſhall deceive thee for my ſails.” And now his imagination being wrought up to conceive
+ her as, at that moment, really in this ſituation, he becomes afraid of the harm ſhe may receive
+ from the inclemency of the night; and with an enthuſiaſm happy and affecting, though beyond the
+ cautious ſtrain of modern poetry, “Retire,” he proceeds, “retire, for it is night, my love, and
+ the dark
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image winds ſigh in thy hair. Retire to the hall
+ of my feaſts, and think of the times that are paſt: for I will not return until the ſtorm of war
+ has ceaſed. O, Connal! ſpeak of wars and arms, and ſend her from my mind; for lovely with her
+ raven hair is the white-boſomed daughter of Sorglan.” This breathes all the native ſpirit of
+ paſſion and tenderneſs.
+
The addreſſes to the ſun, to the moon, and to the evening ſtar, muſt draw
+ the attention of every reader of taſte, as among the moſt ſplendid ornaments of this collection.
+ The beauties of each are too great and too obvious to need any particular comment. In one paſſage
+ only of the addreſs to the moon, there appears ſome obſcurity. “Whither doſt thou retire from thy
+ courſe when the darkneſs of they countenance grows? Haſt thou thy hall like Oſſian? Dwelleſt thou
+ in the ſhadow of grief? Have thy ſiſters fallen from heaven? Are they who rejoiced with thee, at
+ night, no more? Yes, they have fallen, fair light! and thou doſt often retire to mourn.” We may
+ be at a loſs to comprehend, at firſt view, the ground of thoſe ſpeculations of Oſſian concerning
+ the moon: but when all the circumſtances are attended to, they will appear to flow naturally from
+ the preſent ſituation of his mind.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image A mind under the domination of any ſtrong
+ paſſion, tinctures with its own diſpoſition every object which it beholds. The old bard, with his
+ heart bleeding for the loſs of all his friends, is meditating on the different phaſes of the
+ moon. Her waning and darkneſs preſent to his melancholy imagination the image of ſorrow; and
+ preſently the idea ariſes, and is indulged, that like himſelf, ſhe retires to mourn over the loſs
+ of other moons, or of ſtars, whom he calls her ſiſters, and fancies to have once rejoiced with
+ her at night, now fallen from heaven. Darkneſs ſuggeſted the idea of mourning, and mourning
+ ſuggeſted nothing ſo naturally to Oſſian as the death of beloved friends. An inſtance preciſely
+ ſimilar, of this influence of paſſion, may be ſeen in a paſſage, which has always been admired,
+ of Shakſpeare's King Lear. The old man, on the point of diſtraction through the inhumanity of his
+ daughters, ſees Edgar appear, diſguiſed as a beggar and a madman.
+
+ Lear.
+ Didſt thou give all to thy daughters?
+ `And art thou come to this?
+ Couldſt thou leave nothing? Didſt thou give them all?
+
+ Kent.
+
He hath no daughters, ſir.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Lear.
+ Death, traitor! nothing could have ſubdued nature
+ To ſuch a lowneſs, but his unkind daughters.
+
King Lear, Act 3. Scene 5.
+
The apoſtrophe to the winds, in the opening of Dar-thula, is in the higheſt
+ ſpirit of poetry. “But the winds deceive me, O Dar-thula! and deny the woody Etha to thy ſails.
+ Theſe are not the mountains, Nathos, nor is that roar of thy climbing waves. The halls of Cairbar
+ are near, and the towers of the foe lift their heads. Where have ye been, ye ſouthern winds! when
+ the ſons of thy love were deceived? But ye have been ſporting on plains, and purſuing the
+ thiſtle's beard. O that ye had been ruſtling in the ſails of Nathos, till the hills of Etha roſe!
+ till they roſe in the clouds, and ſaw their coming chief.” This paſſage is remarkable for the
+ reſemblance it bears to an expoſtulation with the wood nymphs, on their abſence at a critical
+ time; which, as a favourite poetical idea, Virgil has copied from Theocritus, and Milton has very
+ happily imitated from both.
+
+ Where were ye, nymphs! when the remorſeleſs deep
+ Cloſed o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ For neither were ye playing on the ſteep
+ Where your old bards, the famous Druids, he!
+ Nor on the ſhaggy top of Mona, high,
+ Nor yet where Deva ſpreads her wizard ſtreamDisplay note.
+
Having now treated fully of Oſſian's talents, with reſpect to deſcription
+ and imagery, it only remains to make ſome obſervations on his ſentiments. No ſentiments can be
+ beautiful without being proper; that is, ſuited to the character and ſituation of thoſe who utter
+ them. In this reſpect Oſſian is as correct as moſt writers. His characters, as above deſcribed,
+ are, in general, well ſupported; which could not have been the caſe, had the ſentiments been
+ unnatural or out of place. A variety of perſonages, of different ages, ſexes, and conditions, are
+ introduced into his poems; and they ſpeak and act with a propriety of ſentiment and behavior
+ which it is ſurpriſing to find in ſo rude an age. Let the poem of Dar-thula, throughout, be taken
+ as an example.
+
But it is not enough that ſentiments be natural and proper. In order to
+ acquire any high
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image degree of poetical merit, they muſt alſo be
+ ſublime and pathetic.
+
The ſublime is not confined to ſentiment alone. It belongs to deſcription
+ alſo; and whether in deſcription or in ſentiment, imports ſuch ideas preſented to the mind, as
+ raiſe it to an uncommon degree of elevation, and fill it with admiration and aſtoniſhment. This
+ is the higheſt effect either of eloquence or poetry; and, to produce this effect, requires a
+ genius glowing with the ſtrongeſt and warmeſt conception of ſome object, awful, great, or
+ magnificent. That this character of genius belongs to Oſſian, may, I think, ſufficiently appear
+ from many of the paſſages I have already had occaſion to quote. To produce more inſtances were
+ ſuperfluous. If the engagement of Fingal with the ſpirit of Loda, in Carric-thura; if the
+ encounters of the armies, in Fingal; if the addreſs to the ſun, in Carthon; if the ſimiles
+ founded upon ghoſts and ſpirits of the night, all formerly mentioned, be not admitted as
+ examples, and illuſtrious ones too, of the true poetical ſublime, I confeſs myſelf entirely
+ ignorant of this quality in writing.
+
All the circumſtances, indeed, of Oſſian's compoſition, are favourable to
+ the ſublime,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image more perhaps than to any other ſpecies of
+ beauty. Accuracy and correct. neſs, artfully connected narration, exact method and proportion. of
+ parts, we may look for in poliſhed times. The gay and the beautiful will appear to more advantage
+ in the midſt of ſmiling ſcenery and pleaſurable themes; but, amidſt the rude ſcenes of nature,
+ amidſt rocks and torrents, and whirlwinds and battles, dwells the ſublime. It is the thunder and
+ the lightning of genius. It is the offſpring of nature, not of art. It is negligent of all the
+ leſſer graces, and perfectly conſiſtent with a certain noble diſorder. It aſſociates naturally
+ with that grave and ſolemn ſpirit which diſtinguiſhes our author. For the ſublime is an awful and
+ ſerious emotion; and is heightened by all the Images of trouble, and terror, and darkneſs.
+
+ Ipſe pater, media nimborum in nocte, coruſcâ
+ Fulmina molitur dextra; quo maxima motu
+ Terra tremit; fugere feræ; et mortalia corda
+ Per gentes, humilis ſtravit pavor; ille, flagranti
+ Aut Atho, aut Rhodopen, aut alta Ceraunia telo
+ Dejicit.—
—Virg. Georg. I.
+
Simplicity and conciſeneſs are never-failing characteriſtics of the ſtyle of
+ a ſublime writer. He reſts on the majeſty of his ſentiments, not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image on the pomp of his expreſſions. The main
+ ſecret of being ſublime is to ſay great things in few, and in plain words: for every ſuperfluous
+ decoration degrades a ſublime idea. The mind riſes and ſwells, when a lofty deſcription or
+ ſentiment is preſented to it in its native form. But no ſooner does the poet attempt to ſpread
+ out this ſentiment, or deſcription, and to deck it round and round with glittering ornaments,
+ than the mind begins to fall from its high elevation; the tranſport is over; the beautiful may
+ remain, but the ſublime is gone. Hence the conciſe and ſimple ſtyle of Oſſian gives great
+ advantage to his ſublime conceptions, and aſſiſts them in ſeizing the imagination with full
+ powerDisplay note.
Sublimity, as belonging to ſentiment, coincides, in a great meaſure, with
+ magnanimity, heroiſm, and generoſity of ſentiment. Whatever diſcovers human nature in its
+ greateſt elevation; whatever beſpeaks a high effort of ſoul, or ſhews a mind ſuperior to
+ pleaſures, to dangers, and to death, forms what may be called the moral of ſentimental ſublime.
+ For this Oſſian is eminently diſtinguiſhed. No poet maintains a higher tone of virtuous and noble
+ ſentiment throughout all his works. Particularly in all the ſentiments of Fingal there is a
+ grandeur and loftineſs, proper to ſwell the mind with the higheſt ideas of human perfection.
+ Wherever he appears, we behold the hero. The objects which he purſues are always truly great: to
+ bend the proud; to protect the injured; to defend his friends; to overcome his enemies by
+ generoſity more than by force. A portion of the ſame ſpirit actuates all the other heroes. Valor
+ reigns; but it is a generous valor, void of cruelty, animated by honour, not by hatred. We behold
+ no debaſing paſſions
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image among Fingal's warriors; no ſpirit of
+ avarice or of inſult; but a perpetual contention for fame; a deſire of being diſtinguiſhed and
+ remembered for gallant actions; a love of juſtice; and a zealous attachment to their friends and
+ their country. Such is the ſtrain of ſentiment in the works of Oſſian.
+
But the ſublimity of moral ſentiments, if they wanted the ſoftening of the
+ tender, would be in hazard of giving a hard and ſtiff air to poetry. It is not enough to admire.
+ Admiration is a cold feeling, in compariſon of that deep intereſt which the heart takes in tender
+ and pathetic ſcenes; where, by a myſterious attachment to the objects of compaſſion, we are
+ pleaſed and delighted, even whilſt we mourn. With ſcenes of this kind Oſſian abounds; and his
+ high merit in theſe is inconteſtible. He may be blamed for drawing tears too often from our eyes;
+ but that he has the power of commanding them, I believe no man, who as the leaſt ſenſibility,
+ will queſtion. The general character of his poetry is the heroic mixed with the elegiac ſtrain;
+ admiration tempered with pity. Ever fond of giving, as he expreſſes it, “the joy of grief,” it is
+ viſible that, on all moving ſubjects, he delights to exert his genius; and, accordingly, never
+ were there finer
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pathetick ſituations than what his works
+ preſent. His great art in managing them lies in giving vent to the ſimple and natural emotions of
+ the heart. We meet with no exaggerated declamation; no ſubtile refinements on ſorrow; no
+ ſubſtitution of deſcription in place of paſſion. Oſſian felt ſtrongly himſelf; and the heart,
+ when uttering its native language, never fails, by powerful ſympathy, to affect the heart. A
+ great variety of examples might be produced. We need only open the book to find them everywhere.
+ What, for inſtance, can be more moving than the lamentations of Oithona, after her miſfortune?
+ Gaul, the ſon of Morni, her lover, ignorant of what ſhe had ſuffered, comes to her reſcue. Their
+ meeting is tender in the higheſt degree. He propoſes to engage her foe, in ſingle combat, and
+ gives her in charge what ſhe is to do if he himſelf ſhall fall. “And ſhall the daughter of Nuath
+ live?” ſhe replied, with a burſting ſigh. “Shall I live in Tromathon, and the ſon of Morni low?
+ My heart is not of that rock; nor my ſoul careleſs as that ſea, which lifts its blue waves to
+ every wind, and rolls beneath the ſtorm. The blaſt, which ſhall lay thee low, ſhall ſpread the
+ branches of Oithona, on earth. We ſhall wither together, ſon of car-borne Morni! The narrow houſe
+ is pleaſant to me;
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and the gray ſtone of the dead; for never
+ more will I leave my rocks, ſea-ſurrounded Tromathon!—Chief of Strumon! why comeſt thou over the
+ waves to Nuath's mournful daughter? Why did I not paſs away in ſecret, like the flower of the
+ rocks that lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrews its withered leaves on the blaſt? Why didſt
+ thou come, O Gaul I to bear my departing ſigh?—O, had I dwelt at Duvranna, in the bright beam of
+ my fame! Then had my years come on with joy: and the virgins would bleſs my ſteps. But I fall in
+ youth, ſon of Morni! and my father ſhall bluſh in his hall!”
+
Oithona mourns like a woman: in Cuthullin's expreſſions of grief after his
+ defeat, we behold the ſentiments of a hero—generous, but deſponding. The ſituation is remarkably
+ fine. Cuthullin, rouſed from his cave by the noiſe of battle, ſees Fingal victorious in the
+ field. He is deſcribed as kindling at the ſight. “His hand is on the ſword of his fathers; his
+ red-rolling eyes on the foe. He thrice attempted to ruſh to battle; and thrice did Connal ſtop
+ him;” ſuggeſting that Fingal was routing the foe; and that he ought not, by the ſhow of
+ ſuperfluous aid, to deprive the king of any part
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image of the honour of a victory, which was owing
+ to him alone. Cuthullin yields to this generous ſentiment; but we ſee it ſtinging him to the
+ heart with the ſenſe of his own diſgrace. “Then, Carril, go,” replied the chief, “and greet the
+ king of Morven. When Lochlin fails away like a ſtream after rain, and the noiſe of the battle is
+ over, then be thy voice ſweet in his ear, to praiſe the king of ſwords. Give him the ſword of
+ Caithbat; for Cuthullin is worthy no more to lift the arms of his fathers. But, O ye ghoſts of
+ the lonely Cromla! ye ſouls of chiefs that are no more! be ye the companions of Cuthullin, and
+ talk to him in the cave of his ſorrow. For never more ſhall I be renowned among the mighty in the
+ land. I am like a beam that has ſhone: like a miſt that has fled away; when the blaſt of the
+ morning came, and brightened the ſhaggy ſide of the hill. Connal! talk of arms no more: departed
+ is my fame. My ſighs ſhall be on Cromla's wind; till my footſteps ceaſe to be ſeen. And thou,
+ white-boſomed Bragela! mourn over the fall of my fame: for vanquiſhed, I will never return to
+ thee, thou ſunbeam of Dunſcaich!”
+
+ —Æſtuat ingens
+ Uno in corde pudor, luctuſque, et conſcia virtus.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Beſides ſuch extended pathetic ſcenes, Oſſian frequently pierces the heart
+ by a ſingle unexpected ſtroke. When Oſcar fell in battle, “No father mourned his ſon ſlain in
+ youth; no brother, his brother of love; they fell without tears, for the chief of the people was
+ low.” In the admirable interview of Hector with Andromache, in the ſixth Iliad, the circumſtance
+ of the child in his nurſe's arms, has often been remarked as adding much to the tenderneſs of the
+ ſcene. In the following paſſage, relating to the death of Cuthullin, we find a circumſtance that
+ muſt ſtrike the imagination with ſtill greater force. “And is the ſon of Semo fallen?” ſaid
+ Carril, with a ſigh. “Mournful are Tura's walls, and ſorrow dwells at Dunſcaich. Thy ſpouſe is
+ left alone in her youth; the ſon of thy love is alone. He ſhall come to Bragela, and aſk her why
+ ſhe weeps? He ſhall lift his eyes to the wall, and ſee his father's ſword. Whoſe ſword is that?
+ he will ſay; and the ſoul of his mother is ſad.” Soon after Fingal had ſhown all the grief of a
+ father's heart for Ryno, one of his ſons, fallen in battle, he is calling, after his accuſtomed
+ manner, his ſons to the chaſe. “Call,” ſays he, “Fillan and Ryno.—But he is not here.—My ſon
+ reſts on the bed
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image of death.” This unexpected ſtart of anguiſh
+ is worthy of the higheſt tragic poet.
+ If ſhe come in, ſhe'll ſure ſpeak to my wife—
+ My wife!—my wife!—What wife!—I have no wife—
+ Oh, inſupportable! Oh, heavy hour!
Othello, Act 5. Scene
+ 7.
+
The contrivance of the incident in both poets is ſimilar: but the
+ circumſtances are varied with judgment. Othello dwells upon the name of wife, when it had fallen
+ from him, with the confuſion and horror of one tortured with guilt. Fingal, with the dignity of a
+ hero, corrects himſelf, and ſuppreſſes his riſing grief.
+
The contraſt which Oſſian frequently makes between his preſent and his
+ former ſtate, diffuſes over his whole poetry a ſolemn pathetic air, which cannot fail to make
+ impreſſion on every heart. The concluſion of the ſongs of Selma is particularly calculated for
+ this purpoſe. Nothing can be more poetical and tender, or can leave upon the mind a ſtronger and
+ more affecting idea of the venerable and aged bard. “Such were the words of the bards in the days
+ of the ſong; when the king heard the muſic of harps, and the tales of other times. The chiefs
+ gathered from all their
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image hills, and heard the lovely ſound. They
+ praiſed the voice of Cona Display note; the firſt among a thouſand
+ bards. But age is now on my tongue, and my ſoul has failed. I hear, ſometimes, the ghoſts of
+ bards, and learn their pleaſant ſong. But memory fails on my mind; I hear the call of years. They
+ ſay, as they paſs along, Why does Oſſian ſing? Soon ſhall he lie in the narrow houſe, and no bard
+ ſhall raiſe his fame. Roll on, ye dark-brown years! for ye bring no joy in your courſe. Let the
+ tomb open to Oſſian, for his ſtrength has failed. The ſons of the ſong are gone to reſt. My voice
+ remains, like a blaſt, that roars lonely on the ſea-rur-rounded rock, after the winds are laid.
+ The dark moſs whiſtles there, and the diſtant mariner ſees the waving trees.”
+
Upon the whole, if to feel ſtrongly, and to deſcribe naturally, be the two
+ chief ingredients in poetical genius, Oſſian muſt, after fair examination, be held to poſſeſs
+ that genius in a high degree. The queſtion is not, whether a few improprieties may be pointed out
+ in his works?-whether this or that paſſage might not have been worked up with more art and ſkill,
+ by ſome writer of happier times? A thouſand ſuch
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image cold and frivolous criticiſms are altogether
+ indeciſive as to his genuine merit. But has he the ſpirit, the fire the inſpiration of a poet?
+ Does he utter the voice of nature? Does he elevate by his ſentiments? Does lie intereſt by his
+ deſcription? Does be paint to the heart as well as to the fancy? Does he make his readers glow,
+ and tremble, and weep? Theſe are the great characteriſtics of true poetry. Where theſe are found,
+ he muſt be a minute critic, indeed, who can dwell, upon ſlight defects. A few beauties of this
+ high kind tranſcend whole volumes of faultleſs mediocrity. Uncouth and abrupt Oſſian may
+ ſometimes appear, by reaſon of his conciſeneſs; but he is ſublime, he is pathetic, in an eminent
+ degree. If he has not the extenſive knowledge, the regular dignity of narration, the fulneſs and
+ accuracy of deſcription, which we find in Homer and Virgil, yet in ſtrength of imagination, in
+ grandeur of ſentiment, in native majeſty of paſſion, he is fully their equal. If he flows not
+ always like a clear ſtream, yet he breaks forth often like a torrent of fire. Of art, too, he is
+ far from being deſtitute; and his imagination is remarkable for delicacy as well as ſtrength.
+ Seldom or never is he either trifling or tedious; and if he be thought too melancholy, yet he is
+ always
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image moral. Though his merit were in other
+ reſpects much leſs than it is, this alone ought to entitle him to high regard, that his writings
+ are remarkably favourable to virtue. They awake the tendereſt ſympathies, and inſpire the moſt
+ generous emotions. No reader can riſe from him without being warmed with the ſentiments of
+ humanity, virtue, and honour.
+
Though unacquainted with the original language, there is no one but muſt
+ judge the tranſlation to deſerve the higheſt praiſe, on account of its beauty and elegance. Of
+ its faithfulneſs and accuracy, I have been aſſured by perſons ſkilled in the Gaelic tongue, who
+ from their youth were acquainted with many of theſe poems of Oſſian. To tranſfuſe ſuch ſpirited
+ and fervid ideas from one language into another; to tranſlate literally, and yet with ſuch a glow
+ of poetry; to keep alive ſo much paſſion, and ſupport ſo much dignity throughout; is one of the
+ moſt difficult works of genius, and proves the tranſlator to have been animated with no ſmall
+ portion of Oſſian's ſpirit.
+
The meaſured proſe which he has employed, poſſeſſes conſiderable advantages
+ above any ſort of verſification he could have choſen. While it pleaſes and fills the ear with a
+ variety of harmonious cadences, being, at the ſame time,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image freer from conſtraint in the choice and
+ arrangement of words, it allows the ſpirit of the original to be exhibited, with more juſtneſs,
+ force, and ſimplicity. Elegant, however, and maſterly, as Mr. Macpherſon's tranſlation is, we
+ muſt never forget, whilſt we read it, that we are putting the merit of the original to a ſevere
+ teſt. For we are examining a poet ſtripped of his native dreſs; diveſted of the harmony of his
+ own numbers. We know how much grace and energy the works of the Greek and Latin poets receive
+ from the charm of verſification in their original languages. If then, deſtitute of this
+ advantage, exhibited in a literal verſion, Oſſian ſtill has power to pleaſe as a poet; and not to
+ pleaſe only, but often to command, to tranſport, to melt the heart; we may very ſafely infer that
+ his productions are the off-ſpring of a true and uncommon genius; and we may proudly aſſign him a
+ place among thoſe whoſe works are to laſt for ages.
By T. BECKET, Corner of the Adelphi Buildings in the STRAND,
+
Bookſeller to their Royal Highneſſes the Prince of Wales and Biſhop of Osnaburgh,
+
FABLES de La FONTAINE,
+
Printed at Paris, in Four Volumes Folio.
+
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+ being but Half the original Price.
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Cairbar, the ſon of Borbar-duthul, lord of Atha in Connaught the moſt potent chief of the
+ race of the Firbolg, having murdered, at Temora the royal palace, Cormac the ſon of Artho, the
+ young king of Ireland, uſurped the throne. Cormac was lineally deſcended from Conar the ſon of
+ Trenmor, the great grandfather of Fingal, king of thoſe Caledonians who inhabited the weſtern
+ coaſt of Scotland. Fingal reſented the behaviour of Cairbar, and reſolved to paſs over into
+ Ireland, with an army, to re-eſtabliſh the royal family on the Iriſh throne. Early intelligence
+ of his deſigns coming to Cairbar, he aſſembled ſome of his tribes in Ulſter, and at the ſame time
+ ordered his brother Cathmor to follow him ſpeedily with an army, from Temora. Such was the
+ ſituation of affairs when the Caledonian invaders appeared on the coaſt of Ulſter.
+
The poem opens in the morning. Cairbar is repreſented as retired from the reſt of the army,
+ when one of his ſcouts brought him news of the landing of Fingal. He aſſembles a council of his
+ chiefs. Foldath the chief of Morna haughtily deſpiſes the enemy ; and is reprimanded warmly by
+ Malthos. Cairbar, after hearing their debate, orders a feaſt to be prepared, to which, by his
+ bard Olla, he invites Oſcar the ſon of Oſſian ; reſolving to pick a quarrel with that hero, and
+ ſo have ſome pretext for killing him. Oſcar came to the feaſt; the quarrel happened ; the
+ followers of both fought, and Cairbar and Oſcar fell by mutual wounds. The noiſe of the battle
+ reached Fingal's army. The king came on, to the relief of Oſcar, and the Iriſh fell back to the
+ army of Cathmor, who was advanced to the banks of the river Lubar, on the heath of Moilena.
+ Fingal, after mourning over his grandſon, ordered Ullin the chief of his bards to carry his body
+ to Morven, to be there interred. Night coming on, Althan, the ſon of Conachar, relates to the
+ king the particulars of the murder of Cormac. Fillan, the ſon of Fingal, is ſent to obſerve the
+ motions of Cathmar by night, which concludes the action of the firſt day. The ſcene of this book
+ is a plain, near the hill of Mora, which roſe on the borders of the heath of Moilena, in Ulſter.
The blue waves of Erin roll in light. The mountains are covered with day.
+ Trees ſhake their duſky heads, in the breeze. Grey torrents pour their noiſy ſtreams. Two green
+ hills, with aged oaks, ſurround a narrow plain. The blue courſe of a ſtream is there. On its
+ banks ſtood CairbarDisplay note of Atha. His ſpear ſupports the king : the red eye of his fear is ſad. Cormac riſes in
+ his ſoul, with all his ghaſtly wounds.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The grey form of the youth appears in darkneſs. Blood pours from
+ his airy ſide. Cairbar thrice threw his ſpear on earth. Thrice he ſtroaked his beard. His ſteps
+ are ſhort. He often ſtops. He toſſes his ſinewy arms. He is like a cloud in the deſart, varying
+ its form to every blaſt. The valleys are ſad around, and fear, by turns, the ſhower ! The king,
+ at length, reſumed his ſoul. He took his pointed ſpear, He turned his eye to Moi-lena, The ſcouts
+ of blue ocean came. They came with ſteps of fear, and often looked behind. Cairbar knew that the
+ mighty were near ! He called his gloomy chiefs.
+
The ſounding ſteps of his warriors came. They drew, at once, their ſwords.
+ There MorlathDisplay note ſtood with darkened face. Hidalla's long hair ſighs in wind. Red-haired Cormar bends on
+ his ſpear, and rolls his ſide-long-looking eyes. Wild is the look of Malthos from beneath too
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhaggy brows. Foldath ſtands, like an oozy rock, that covers its
+ dark ſides with foam. His ſpear is like Slimora's fir, that meets the wind of heaven. His ſhield
+ is marked with the ſtrokes of battle. His red eye deſpiſes danger. Theſe and a thouſand other
+ chiefs ſurrounded the king of Erin, when the ſcout of ocean came, MorannalDisplay note, from ſtreamy Moi-lena. His eyes hang forward from his face. His lips are trembling,
+ pale!
+
“Do the chiefs of Erin ſtand,” he ſaid, “ſilent as the grove of evening?
+ Stand they, like a ſilent wood, and Fingal on the coaſt ? Fingal, who is terrible in battle, the
+ king of ſtreamy Morven ! “Haſt thou ſeen the warrior?” ſaid Cairbar with a ſigh. “Are his heroes
+ many on the coaſt ? Lifts he the ſpear of battle? Or comes the king in peace?” In peace he comes
+ not, king of Erin. I have ſeen his forward ſpearDisplay note. It is a meteor of death. The blood of thouſands
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ is on its ſteel. He came firſt to the ſhore, ſtrong in the grey
+ hair of age. Full roſe his ſinewy limbs, as he ſtrode in his might. That ſword is by his ſide,
+ which gives no ſecondDisplay note wound. His ſhield is terrible, like the bloody moon, aſcending through a ſtorm. Then came
+ Oſſian king of ſongs. Then Morni's ſon, the firſt of men. Connal leaps forward on his ſpear.
+ Dermid ſpreads his dark-brown locks. Fillan bends his bow, the young hunter of ſtreamy Moruth.
+ But who is that before them, like the terrible courſe of a ſtream ! It is the ſon of Oſſian,
+ bright between his locks! His long hair falls on his back. His dark brows are half-incloſed in
+ ſteel. His ſword hangs looſe on his ſide. His ſpear glitters as he moves. I fled from his
+ terrible eyes, king of high Temora !”
+
“Then fly, thou feeble man,” ſaid Foldath's gloomy wrath. “Fly to the grey
+ ſtreams of thy land, ſon of the little ſoul ! Have not I ſeen that Oſcar? I beheld the chief in
+ war. He is of the mighty in danger : but there are others who lift the ſpear. Erin has many ſons
+ as brave, king
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Temora of Groves ! Let Foldath meet him in his ſtrength. Let
+ me ſtop this mighty ſtream. My ſpear is covered with blood. My ſhield is like the wall of
+ Tura!”
+
“Shall FoldathDisplay note alone meet the foe?” replied the dark-browed Malthos. “Are they not on our coaft, like
+ the waters of many ſtreams? Are not theſe the chiefs, who vanquiſhed Swaran, when the ſons of
+ green Erin fled ? Shall Foldath meet their braveſt hero ? Foldath of the heart of pride ! take
+ the ſtrength of the people! and let Malthos come. My ſword is red with ſlaughter, but who has
+ heard my wordsDisplay note ?”
+
“Sons of green Erin,” ſaid HidallaDisplay note, “let not Fingal hear your words. The foe might rejoice, and his arm be ſtrong in the
+ land. Ye are brave, O warriors! Ye are tempeſts in war. Ye are, like ſtorms, which meet the rocks
+ without fear, and overturn the woods. But let us move
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in our ſtrength, ſlow as a gathered cloud ! Then ſhall the mighty
+ tremble ; the ſpear ſhall fall from the hand of the valiant. We ſee the cloud of death, they will
+ ſay, while ſhadows fly over their face. Fingal will mourn in his age. He ſhall behold his flying
+ fame. The ſteps of his chiefs will ceaſe in Morven. The moſs of years ſhall grow in Selma.”
+
Cairbar heard their words, in ſilence, like the cloud of a ſhower : it
+ ſtands dark on Cromla, till the lightning burſts its ſide. The valley gleams with heaven's flame
+ ; the ſpirits of the ſtorm rejoice. So ſtood the ſilent king of Temora; at length his words broke
+ forth. “Spread the feaſt on Moi-lena. Let my hundred bards attend. Thou, red-hair'd Olla, take
+ the harp of the king. Go to Oſcar chief of ſwords. Bid Oſcar to our joy. To-day we feaſt and hear
+ the ſong : to-morrow break the ſpears! Tell him that I have raiſed the tomb of CatholDisplay note ; that bards gave his friend to the winds. Tell him that Cairbar has heard of his fame,
+ at the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtream of reſounding CarunDisplay note. CathmorDisplay note my brother is not here. He is not here with his thouſands, and our arms are weak. Cathmor
+ is a foe to ſtrife at the feaſt! His ſoul is bright as that ſun! But Cairbar muſt fight with
+ Oſcar, chiefs of woody Temora! His words for Cathol were many : the wrath of Cairbar burns. He
+ ſhall fall on Moi-lena. My fame ſhall riſe in blood.”
+
Their faces brightened round with joy. They ſpread over Moilena. The feaſt
+ of ſhells is prepared. The ſongs of bards ariſe. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ chiefs of Selma heard their joyDisplay note. We thought that mighty Cathmor came. Cathmor the friend of ſtrangers! the brother of
+ red-haired Cairbar. Their ſouls were not the ſame. The light of heaven was in the boſom of
+ Cathmor. His towers roſe on the banks of Atha : ſeven paths led to his halls. Seven chiefs ſtood
+ on the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ paths, and called the ſtranger to the feaſt! But Cathmor dwelt
+ in the wood, to ſhun the voice of praiſe !
+
Olla came with his ſongs. Oſcar went to Cairbar's feaſt. Three hundred
+ warriors ſtrode, along Moi-lena of the ſtreams. The grey dogs bounded on the heath : Their
+ howling reached afar. Fingal ſaw the departing hero. The ſoul of the king was ſad. He dreaded
+ Cairbar's gloomy thoughts, amid the feaſt of ſhells. My ſon raiſed high the ſpear of Cormac. An
+ hundred bards met him with ſongs. Cairbar concealed with ſmiles the death, that was dark in his
+ ſoul. The feaſt is ſpread. The ſhells reſound. Joy brightens the face of the hoſt. But it was
+ like the parting beam of the ſun, when he is to hide his red head, in a ſtorm !
+
Cairbar riſes in his arms. Darkneſs gathers on his brow. The hundred harps
+ ceaſe at once. The clangDisplay note of ſhields is heard. Far diſtant on the heath Olla raiſed a ſong of woe. My ſon knew the
+ ſign of death; and riſing ſeized his ſpear. “Oſcar,” ſaid the dark-red
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Cairbar, “I behold the ſpearDisplay note of Erin. The ſpear of TemoraDisplay note glitters in thy hand, ſon of woody Morven! It was the pride of an hundredDisplay note kings. The death of heroes of old. Yield it, ſon of Oſſian, yield it to car-borne Cairbar
+ !”
+
“Shall I yield,” Oſcar replied, “the gift of Erin's injured king: the gift
+ of fair-haired Cormac, when Oſcar ſcattered his foes? I came to Cormac's halls of joy, when
+ Swaran fled from Fingal. Gladneſs roſe in the face of youth. He gave the ſpear of Temora. Nor did
+ he give it to the feeble : neither to the weak in ſoul. The darkneſs of thy face is no ſtorm to
+ me: nor are thine eyes the flame of death. Do I fear thy clanging ſhield? Tremble I at Olla's
+ ſong ? No : Cairbar, frighten the feeble : Oſcar is a rock!”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“Wilt thou not yield the ſpear ?” replied the rifing pride of Cairbar. “Are
+ thy words ſo mighty, becauſe Fingal is near ? Fingal with aged locks, from Morven's hundred
+ groves ! He has fought with little men. But he muſt vaniſh before Cairbar, like a thin pillar of
+ miſt before the winds of AthaDisplay note!” “Were he who fought with little men, near Atha's haughty chief: Atha's chief would
+ yield green Erin to avoid his rage ! Speak not of the mighty, O Cairbar! Turn thy ſword on me.
+ Our ſtrength is equal : but Fingal is renowned ! the firſt of mortal men!”
+
Their people ſaw the darkening chiefs. Their crowding ſteps are heard
+ around. Their eyes roll in fire. A thouſand ſwords are half unſheathed. Red-haired Olla raiſed
+ the ſong of battle. The trembling joy of Oſcar's ſoul aroſe : the wonted joy of his ſoul when
+ Fingal's horn was heard. Dark as the ſwelling wave of ocean before the rifing winds, when it
+ bends its head near the coaſt, came on the hoſt of Cairbar !
+
Daughter of ToſcarDisplay note ! why that tear? He is not fallen yet. Many were the deaths of his arm before my hero
+ fell !
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Behold they fall before my ſon, like groves
+ in the deſart; when an angry ghoſt ruſhes through night, and takes their green heads in his hand
+ ! Morlath falls. Maronnan dies. Conachar trembles in his blood! Cairbar ſhrinks before Oſcar's
+ ſword! He creeps in darkneſs behind a ſtone. He lifts the ſpear in ſecret ; he pierces my Oſcar's
+ ſide ! He falls forward on his ſhield : his knee ſuſtains the chief. But ſtill his ſpear is in
+ his hand. See gloomy CairbarDisplay note falls! The ſteel pierced his forehead, and
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ divided his red hair behind. He lay, like a ſhattered rock,
+ which Cromla ſhakes from its ſhaggy ſide; when the green-vallied Erin ſhakes its mountains, from
+ ſea to ſea!
+
But never more ſhall Oſcar riſe! He leans on his boſſy ſhield. His ſpear is
+ in his terrible hand. Brin's ſons ſtand diſtant and dark. Their ſhouts ariſe, like crouded
+ ſtreams. Moi-lena ecchoes wide. Fingal heard the ſound. He took the ſpear of Selma. His ſteps are
+ before us on the heath. He ſpoke the words of woe.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “I hear the noiſe of war. Young Oſcar is alone. Riſe, ſons of
+ Morven : join the hero's ſword!”
+
Ossian ruſhed along the heath. Fillan bounded over Moi-lena. Fingal ſtrode
+ in his ſtrength. The light of his ſhield is terrible. The ſons of Erin ſaw it far diſtant. They
+ trembled in their ſouls. They knew that the wrath of the king aroſe : and they foreſaw their
+ death. We firſt arrived. We fought. Erin's chiefs withſtood our rage. But when the king came, in
+ the ſound of his courſe, what heart of ſteel could ſtand! Erin fled over Moi-lena. Death purſued
+ their flight. We ſaw Oſcar on his ſhield. We ſaw his blood around. Silence darkened every face.
+ Each turned his back and wept. The king ſtrove to hide his tears. His grey beard whiſtled in the
+ wind. He bends his head above the chief. His words are mixed with ſighs.
+
“Art thou fallen, O Oſcar, in the midſt of thy courſe? the heart of the aged
+ beats over thee! He ſees thy coming wars! The wars which ought to come he ſees ! They are cut off
+ from thy fame! When ſhall joy dwell at Selma? When ſhall grief depart from Morven? My ſons fall
+ by degrees: Fingal is the laſt of his race. My fame begins to paſs away. Mine
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ age will be without friends. I ſhall ſit a grey cloud in my
+ hall. I ſhall not hear the return of a ſon, in his ſounding arms. Weep, ye heroes of Morven !
+ never more ſhall Oſcar rife !”
+
And they did weep, O Fingal ! Dear was the hero to their ſouls. He went out
+ to battle, and the foes vaniſhed. He returned, in peace, amidſt their joy. No father mourned his
+ ſon ſlain in youth : no brother his brother of love. They fell, without tears, for the chief of
+ the people is low! BranDisplay note is howling at his feet : gloomy Luäth is ſad, for he had often led them to the chace; to
+ the bounding roe of the deſart !
+
When Oſcar ſaw his friends around, his heaving breaſt aroſe. “The groans,”
+ he ſaid, “of aged chiefs: The howling of my dogs: The ſudden burſts of the ſong of grief, have
+ melted Oſcar's ſoul. My ſoul, that never melted before. It was like the ſteel of my ſword.
+ Oſſian, carry me to my hills! Raiſe the ſtones of my renown. Place the horn of a deer : place my
+ ſword by my ſide. The torrent hereafter may raiſe the earth : the hunter may find the ſteel and
+ ſay, “This has been Oſcar's ſword, the pride of other years!” “Falleſt thou, ſon of my fame !
+ Shall I never ſee thee, Oſcar ! When
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ others hear of their ſons; ſhall I not hear of thee? The moſs is
+ on thy four grey ſtones. The mournful wind is there. The battle ſhall be fought without thee.
+ Thou ſhalt not purſue the dark-brown hinds. When the warrior returns from battles, and tells of
+ other lands; “I have ſeen a tomb,” he will ſay, “by the roaring ſtream, the dark dwelling of a
+ chief. He fell by car-borne Oſcar, the firſt of mortal men,” I, perhaps, ſhall hear his voice. A
+ beam of joy will riſe in my ſoul.”
+
Night would have deſcended in ſorrow, and morning returned in the ſhadow of
+ grief. Our chiefs would have ſtood, like cold dropping rocks on Moi-lena, and have forgot the war
+ ; did not the king diſperſe his grief, and raiſe his mighty voice. The chiefs, as new-wakened
+ from dreams, lift up their heads around.
+
“How long on Moi-lena ſhall we weep? How long pour in Erin our tears? The mighty will not
+ return. Oſcar ſhall not rife in his ſtrength. The valiant muſt fall in their day, and be no more
+ known on their hills. Where are our fathers, O warriors ! the chiefs of the times of old ? They
+ have ſet like ſtars that have ſhone. We only hear the ſound of their praiſe. But they were
+ renowned in their years: the terror of other times. Thus ſhall we paſs away, in the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ day of our fall. Then let us be renowned when we may ; and
+ leave our fame behind us, like the laſt beams of the ſun, when he hides his red head in the weſt.
+ The traveller mourns his abſence, thinking of the flame of his beams. Ullin my aged bard! take
+ thou the ſhip of the king. Carry Oſcar to Selma of harps. Let the daughters of Morven weep. We
+ muſt fight in Erin, for the race of fallen Cormac. The days of my years begin to fail. I feel the
+ weakneſs of my arm. My fathers bend from their clouds, to receive their grey-hair'd ſon. But,
+ before I go hence, one beam of fame ſhall rife. My days ſhall end, as my years begun, in fame. My
+ life ſhall be one ſtream of light to bards of other times!”
+
Ullin rais'd his white ſails. The wind of the ſouth came forth. He bounded
+ on the waves toward Selma. I remained in my grief, but my words were not heard. The feaſt is
+ ſpread on Moi-lena. An hundred heroes reared the tomb of Cairbar. No ſong is raiſed over the
+ chief. His ſoul had been dark and bloody. The bards remembered the fall of Cormac ! what could
+ they ſay in Cairbar's praiſe ?
+
Night came rolling down. The light of an hundred oaks aroſe, Fingal ſat
+ beneath a tree.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Old AlthanDisplay note ſtood in the midſt. He told the tale of fallen Cormac. Althan the ſon of Conachar, the
+ friend of car-borne Cuthullin. He dwelt with Cormac in windy Temora, when Semo's ſon fell at
+ Lego's ſtream. The tale of Althan was mournful. The tear was in his eye, when he ſpoke.
+
Display note“The ſetting ſon was yellow on DoraDisplay note. Grey evening began to deſcend. Temora's woods ſhook with the blaſt of the unconſtant
+ wind. A cloud gathered in the weſt. A red ſtar looked from behind its edge. I ſtood in the wood
+ alone. I ſaw a ghoſt on the darkening air! His ſtride extended from hill to hill. His ſhield was
+ dim on his ſide. It was the ſon of Semo. I knew the warrior's face. But he paſſed away in his
+ blaſt; and all was dark around ! My ſoul was ſad. I went to the hall of ſhells. A thouſand lights
+ aroſe. The hundred bards had ſtrung the harp. Cormac ſtood in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the midſt, like the morning ſtar, when it rejoices on the
+ eaſtern hill, and its young beams are bathed in ſhowers. Bright and ſilent is its progreſs aloft,
+ but the cloud, that ſhall hide it, is near! The ſword of ArthoDisplay note was in the hand of the king. He looked with joy on its poliſhed ſtuds: thrice he
+ attempted to draw it, and thrice he failed; his yellow locks are ſpread on his ſhoulders : his
+ cheeks of youth are red. I mourned over the beam of youth, for he was ſoon to ſet!”
+
“Althan!” he ſaid, with a ſmile, “didſt thou behold my father? Heavy is the
+ ſword of the king; ſurely his arm was ſtrong. O that I were like him in battle, when the rage of
+ his wrath aroſe! then would I have met, with Cuthullin, the car-borne ſon of Cantéla! But years
+ may come on, O Althan ! and my arm be ſtrong. Haſt thou heard of Semo's ſon, the ruler of high
+ Temora? He might have returned with his fame. He promiſed to return to-night. My bards wait him
+ with ſongs. My feaſt is ſpread in the hall of kings.”
+
I heard Cormac in ſilence, My tears began to flow. I hid them with my aged
+ locks., The king perceived my grief. “Son of Conachar !”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ he ſaid, “is the ſon of SemoDisplay note low? Why burſts the ſigh in ſecret ? Why deſcends the tear? Comes the car-borne Torlath?
+ Comes the ſound of red-haired Cairbar? They come ! for I behold thy grief. Moſſy Tura's chief is
+ low ! Shall I not ruſh to battle ? But I cannot lift the ſpear ! O had mine arm the ſtrength of
+ Cuthullin, ſoon would Cairbar fly ; the fame of my fathers would be renewed; and the deeds of
+ other times!”
+
He took his bow. The tears flow down, from both his ſparkling eyes. Grief
+ ſaddens round. The bards bend forward, from their hundred harps. The lone blaſt touched their
+ trembling ſtrings. The ſoundDisplay note is ſad and low ! A voice is heard at a diſtance, as of one in grief. It was Carril of
+ other times, who came from dark SlimoraDisplay note. He told of the fall of Cuthullin. He told of his mighty deeds. The people were ſcattered
+ round his tomb. Their arms lay on
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the ground. They had forgot the war, for he, their fire, was
+ ſeen no more
+
“But who,” ſaid the ſoft-voiced Carril, “who come like bounding roes? Their
+ ſtature is like young trees in the valley, growing in a ſhower ! Soft and ruddy are their cheeks
+ ! Fearleſs ſouls look forth from their eyes! Who but the ſons of UſnothDisplay note, chief of ſtreamy Etha ? The people riſe on every ſide, like the ſtrength of an
+ half-extinguiſhed fire, when the winds come, ſudden, from the deſart, on their ruſtling wings.
+ Sudden glows the dark brow of the hill; the paſſing mariner lags, on his winds. The ſound of Caithbat'sDisplay note ſhield was heard.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The warriors ſaw CuthullinDisplay note in Nathos. So rolled his ſparkling eyes! his ſteps were ſuch on heath ! Battles are
+ fought at Lego. The ſword of Nathos prevails. Soon ſhalt thou behold him in thy halls, king of
+ Temora of groves !”
+
“Soon may I behold the chief!” replied the blue-eyed king. “But my ſoul is
+ ſad for Cuthullin. His voice was pleaſant in mine ear. Often have we moved, on Dora, to the chace
+ of the dark-brown hinds. His bow was unerring on the hills. He ſpoke of mighty men. He told of
+ the deeds of my fathers. I felt my riſing joy. But ſit thou at the feaſt, O Carril, I have often
+ heard thy voice. Sing in praiſe of Cuthullin. Sing of Nathos of EthaDisplay note!
+
Day roſe on Temora, with all the beams of the eaſt. Crathin came to the hall, the ſon of old GellámaDisplay note. “I behold,” he ſaid, “a cloud in the deſart, king of Erin! a cloud it ſeemed at firſt,
+ but now a croud of men! One ſtrides before them in his ſtrength. His red hair flies in wind. His
+ ſhield glitters to the beam of the eaſt. His ſpear is in his hand.” “Call him to the feaſt
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Temora,” replied the brightening king. “My hall is the houſe
+ of ſtrangers, ſon of generous Gelláma ! It is perhaps the chief of Etha, coming in all his
+ renown, Hail, mightyDisplay note ſtranger! art thou of the friends of Cormac? But Carril, he is dark, and unlovely. He
+ draws his ſword. Is that the ſon of Uſnoth, bard of the times of old?”
+
“It is not the ſon of Uſnoth !” ſaid Carril. “It is Cairbar thy foe. Why
+ comeſt thou in thy arms to Temora ? chief of the gloomy brow. Let not thy ſword riſe againſt
+ Cormac! Whither doſt thou turn thy ſpeed ?” He paſſed on in darkneſs. He ſeized the hand of the
+ king. Cormac foreſaw his death ; the rage of his eyes aroſe. “Retire, thou chief of Atha ! Nathos
+ comes with war. Thou art bold in Cormac's hall, for his arm is weak.” The ſword entered the ſide
+ of the king. He fell in the halls of his fathers. His fair hair is in the duſt. His blood is
+ ſmoaking round.
+
Art thou fallen in thy hallsDisplay note?” ſaid Carril. “O ſon of noble Artho. The ſhield of Cuthullin was not near. Nor the ſpear
+ of thy father. Mournful are the mountains of Erin, for the
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ chief of the people is low ! Bleſt be thy ſoul, O Cormac ! Thou
+ art darkened in thy youth.”
+
His words came to the ears of Cairbar. He cloſedDisplay note us in the midſt of darkneſs. He feared to ſtretch his ſword to the bardsDisplay note, though his ſoul was dark. Long we pined alone! At length, the noble CathmorDisplay note came. He heard our voice from the cave. He turned the eye of his wrath on Cairbar.
+
“Brother of Cathmor,” he ſaid, “how long wilt thou pain my ſoul? Thy heart
+ is a rock. Thy thoughts are dark and bloody ! But thou art the brother of Cathmor ; and Cathmor
+ ſhall ſhine in thy war. But my ſoul is not like thine : thou feeble hand in fight! The light of
+ my boſom is ſtained with thy deeds. Bards will not ſing of my renown : They may ſay, “Cathmor was
+ brave, but he fought for gloomy Cairbar.” They will paſs over my tomb in ſilence. My fame ſhall
+ not be heard. Cairbar ! looſe
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the bards. They are the ſons of future times. Their voice ſhall
+ be heard in other years ; after the kings of Temora have failed.” We came forth at the words of
+ the chief. We ſaw him in his ſtrength. He was like thy youth, O Fingal, when thou firſt did lift
+ the ſpear. His face was like the plain of the ſun, when it is bright. No darkneſs travelled over
+ his brow. But he came with his thouſands to aid the red-haired Cairbar. Now he comes to revenge
+ his death, O king of woody Morven.”
+
“Let Cathmor come,” replied the king. “I love a foe ſo great. His ſoul is
+ bright. His arm is ſtrong. His battles are full of fame. But the little ſoul is a vapour that
+ hovers round the marſhy lake. It never riſes on the green hill, leſt the winds ſhould meet it
+ there. Its dwelling is in the cave, it ſends forth the dart of death ! Our young heroes, O
+ warriors, are like the renown of our fathers. They fight in youth. They fall. Their names are in
+ ſong. Fingal is amid his darkening years. He muſt not fall, as an aged oak, acroſs a ſecret
+ ſtream. Near it are the ſteps of the hunter, as it lies beneath the wind, “How has that tree
+ fallen?” he ſays, and, whiſtling, ſtrides along. Raiſe the ſong of joy, ye bards of Morven. Let
+ our ſouls forget the paſt. The red ſtars look on us from
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ clouds, and ſilently deſcend. Soon ſhall the grey beam of the
+ morning riſe, and ſhew us the foes of Cormac. Fillan ! my ſon, take thou the ſpear of the king.
+ Go to Mora's dark-brown ſide. Let thine eyes travel over the heath. Obſerve the foes of Fingal :
+ Obſerve the courſe of generous Cathmor. I hear a diſtant ſound, like falling rocks in the deſart.
+ But ſtrike thou thy ſhield, at times, that they may not come thro' night, and the fame of Morven
+ ceaſe. I begin to be alone, my fon. I dread the fall of my renown!”
+
The voice of bards aroſe. The King leaned on the ſhield of Trenmor. Sleep
+ deſcended on his eyes. His future battles aroſe in his dreams. The hoſt are ſleeping around.
+ Dark-haired Fillan obſerves the foe. His ſteps are on a diſtant hill. We hear, at times, his
+ clanging ſhield.
This book opens, we may ſuppoſe, about midnight, with a ſoliloquy of Oſſian, who had retired,
+ from the reſt of the army, to mourn for his ſon Oſcar. Upon hearing the noiſe of Cathmor's army
+ approaching, he went to find out his brother Fillan, who kept the watch, on the hill of Mora, in
+ the front of Fingal's army. In the converſation of the brothers, the epiſode of Conar, the ſon of
+ Trenmor, who was the firſt king of Ireland, is introduced, which lays open the origin of the
+ conteſts between the Cael and Firbolg, the two nations who firſt poſſeſſed themſelves of that
+ iſland. Oſſian kindles a fire on Mora ; upon which Cathmor deſiſted from the deſign he had formed
+ of ſurpriſing the army of the Caledonians. He calls a council of his chiefs; reprimands Foldath
+ for adviſing a night-attack, as the Iriſh army were ſo much ſuperior in number to the enemy. The
+ bard Fonar introduces the ſtory of Crothar, the anceſtor of the king, which throws further light
+ on the hiſtory of Ireland, and the original pretenſions of the family of Atha, to the throne of
+ that kingdom. The Iriſh chiefs lie down to reſt, and Cathmor himſelf undertakes the watch. In his
+ circuit, round the army, he is met by Oſſian. The interview of the two heroes is deſcribed.
+ Cathmor obtains a promiſe from Oſſian, to order a funeral elegy to be ſung over the grave of
+ Cairbar; it being the opinion of the times, that the ſouls of the dead could not be happy, till
+ their elegies were ſung by a bard. Morning comes. Cathmor and Oſſian part; and the latter,
+ caſually meeting with Carril the ſon of Kinſena, ſends that bard, with a funeral ſong, to the
+ tomb of Cairbar.
Display noteFather of heroes! O Trenmor ! High dweller of eddying winds! where the
+ dark-red thunder marks the troubled clouds ! Open thou thy ſtormy halls. Let the bards of old be
+ near. Let them draw near, with ſongs and their half-viewleſs harps. No dweller of miſty valley
+ comes ! No hunter unknown at his ſtreams ! It is the carborne Oſcar, from the fields of
+ war.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Sudden is thy change, my ſon, from what thou wert on dark
+ Moilena! The blaſt folds thee in its ſkirt, and ruffles through the ſky ! Doſt thou not behold
+ thy father, at the ſtream of night? The chiefs of Morven ſleep far-diſtant. They have loſt no ſon
+ : But ye have loſt a hero, chiefs of reſounding Morven! Who could equal his ſtrength, when battle
+ rolled againſt his ſide, like the darkneſs of crowded waters? Why this cloud on Oſſian's ſoul ?
+ It ought to burn in danger. Erin is near with her hoſt. The king of Selma is alone. Alone thou
+ ſhalt not be, my father, while I can lift the ſpear !
+
I rose, in all my arms. I roſe and liſtened to the wind. The ſhield of FillanDisplay note is
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ not heard. I tremble for the ſon of Fingal. “Why ſhould the
+ foe come by night? Why ſhould the dark-haired warrior fail ?” Diſtant, ſullen murmurs riſe : like
+ the noiſe of the lake of Lego, when its waters ſhrink, in the days of froſt, and all its burſting
+ ice reſounds. The people of Lara look to heaven, and foreſee the ſtorm! My ſteps are forward on
+ the heath. The ſpear of Oſcar in my hand! Red ſtars looked from high. I gleamed, along the
+ night.
+
I saw Fillan ſilent before me, bending forward from Mora's rock. He heard
+ the ſhout of the foe. The joy of his ſoul aroſe. He heard my ſounding tread, and turned his
+ lifted ſpear. “Comeſt thou, ſon of night, in peace ? Or doſt thou meet my wrath? The foes of
+ Fingal are mine. Speak, or fear my ſteel. I ſtand not, in vain, the ſhield of Morven's race.”
+ “Never mayſt thou ſtand in vain, ſon of blue eyed Clatho! Fingal begins to be alone. Darkneſs
+ gathers on the laſt of his days. Yet he has twoDisplay note ſons who ought to ſhine in war. Who
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ought to be two beams of light, near the ſteps of his
+ departure.”
+
“Son of Fingal,” replied the youth, “it is not long ſince I raiſed the
+ ſpear. Few are the marks of my ſword in war. But Fillan's ſoul is fire! The chiefs of BolgaDisplay note crowd around the ſhield of generous Cathmor. Their gathering is on that heath. Shall my
+ ſteps approach their hoſt? I yielded to Oſcar alone, in the ſtrife of the race, on Cona !”
+
“Fillan, thou ſhalt not approach their hoſt; nor fall before thy fame is
+ known. My name is heard in ſong : when needful I advance. From the ſkirts of night I ſhall view
+ them over all their gleaming tribes. Why, Fillan, didſt thou ſpeak of Oſcar! Why awake my ſigh? I
+ muſt forgetDisplay note the warrior, till the ſtorm is rolled
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ away. Sadneſs ought not to dwell in danger, nor the tear in
+ the eye of war. Our fathers forgot their fallen ſons, till the noiſe of arms was paſt. Then
+ ſorrow returned to the tomb, and the ſong of bards aroſe.” The memory of thoſe, who fell, quickly
+ followed the departure of war: When the tumult of battle is paſt, the ſoul, in ſilence, melts
+ away, for the dead.
+
ConarDisplay note was the brother of Trathal, firſt of mortal men. His battles were on every coaſt. A
+ thouſand ſtreams rolled down the blood of his foes. His fame filled green Erin, like a pleaſant
+ gale.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The nations gathered in Ullin, and they bleſſed the king; the
+ king of the race of their fathers, from the land of Selma.
+
The chiefsDisplay note of the ſouth were gathered, in the darkneſs of their pride. In the horrid cave of Muma,
+ they mixed their ſecret words. Thither often, they ſaid, the ſpirits of their fathers came;
+ ſhewing their pale forms from the chinky rocks : reminding them of the honor of Bolga. “Why
+ ſhould Conar reign,” they ſaid, “the ſon of reſounding Morven ?”
+
They came forth, like the ſtreams of the deſart, with the roar of their
+ hundred tribes. Conar was a rock before them : broken they rolled on every ſide. But often they
+ returned, and the ſons of Selma fell. The king ſtood, among the tombs of his warriors. He darkly
+ bent his mournful face. His ſoul was rolled into itſelf ; and he had marked the place, where he
+ was to fall ; when Trathal came, in his ſtrength, his brother from cloudy Morven. Nor did he come
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ alone, ColgarDisplay note was at his ſide; Colgar the ſon of the King and of white-boſomed Solin-corma.
+
As Trenmor, cloathed with meteors, deſcends from the halls of thunder,
+ pouring the dark ſtorm before him over the troubled ſea ; ſo Colgar deſcended to battle, and
+ waſted the ecchoing field. His father rejoiced over the hero : but an arrow came! His tomb was
+ raiſed, without a tear. The King was to revenge his ſon. He lightened forward in battle, till
+ Bolga yielded at her ſtreams !
+
When peace returned to the land : When his blue waves bore the king to
+ Morven : then he remembered his ſon, and poured the ſilent tear. Thrice did the bards, at the
+ cave of Furmono, call the ſoul of Colgar. They called him to the hills of his land. He heard them
+ in his miſt, Trathal placed his ſword in the cave, that the ſpirit of his ſon might rejoice.
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “ColgarDisplay note, ſon of Trathal!” ſaid Fillan, “thou wert renowned in youth! But the king hath not marked
+ my ſword, bright-ſtreaming on the field. I go forth with the crowd. I return, without my fame.
+ But the foe approaches, Oſſian ! I hear their murmur on the heath. The ſound of their ſteps is
+ like thunder, in the boſom of the ground, when the rocking hills ſhake their groves, and not a
+ blaſt pours from the darkened ſky !”
+
Ossian turned ſudden on his ſpear. He raiſed the flame of an oak on high. I
+ ſpread it large, on Mora's wind. Cathmor ſtopt in his courſe. Gleaming he ſtood, like a rock, on
+ whoſe ſides are the wandering of blaſts; which ſeize its ecchoing ſtreams and clothe them over
+ with ice. So ſtood the friendDisplay note of ſtrangers ! The winds lift his heavy locks. Thou art the talleſt of the race of Erin,
+ king of ſtreamy Atha !
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “First of bards,” ſaid Cathmor, “FonarDisplay note, call the chiefs of Erin. Call red-hair'd Cormar : dark-browed Malthos: the
+ ſide-long-looking gloom of Maronan. Let the pride of Foldath appear. The red-rolling eye of
+ Turlotho. Nor let Hidalla be forgot ; his voice, in danger, is the ſound of a ſhower, when it
+ falls in the blaſted vale, near Atha's falling ſtream.” Pleaſant is its ſound, on the plain,
+ whilſt broken thunder travels over the ſky !”
+
They came, in their clanging arms. They bent forward to his voice, as if a
+ fpirit of their fathers ſpoke from a cloud of night. Dreadful ſhone they to the light; like the
+ fall of the ſtream of BrumoDisplay note, when the meteor lights it, before the nightly ſtranger. Shuddering, he ſtops in his
+ journey, and looks up for the beam of the morn !
“WhyDisplay note delights Foldath,” ſaid the king, “to pour the blood of foes, by night ? Fails his arm in
+ battle, in the beams of day ? Few are the foes before us, why ſhould we clothe us in ſhades? The
+ valiant delight to ſhine, in the battles of their land! Thy counſel was in vain, chief of Morna !
+ The eyes of Morven do not ſleep. They are watchful, as eagles, on their moſſy rocks. Let each
+ collect, beneath his cloud, the ſtrength of his roaring tribe. To-morrow I move, in light, to
+ meet the foes of Bolga? MightyDisplay notewas he, that is low, the race of Borbar-Duthul !”
+
“Not unmarked !” ſaid Foldath, “were my ſteps before thy race. In light, I
+ met the foes of Cairbar. The warrior praiſed my deeds. But his ſtone was raiſed without a tear?
+ No bard ſungDisplay note over Erin's king. Shall his foes rejoice along their moſſy hills? No: they muſt not
+ rejoice ! He was the friend of Foldath ! Our words were mixed, in ſecret, in Morna's ſilent cave;
+ whilſt
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ thou, a boy in the field, purſuedſt the thiſtle's beard. With
+ Morna's ſons I ſhall ruſh abroad, and find the foe, on his duſky hills. Fingal ſhall lie, without
+ his ſong, the grey-haired king of Selma.”
+
“Dost thou think, thou feeble man,” replied Cathmor, half-enraged : “Doſt
+ thou think Fingal can fall, without his fame, in Erin? Could the bards be ſilent, at the tomb of
+ Selma's king ? The ſong would burſt in ſecret ! the ſpirit of the king would rejoice! It is when
+ thou ſhalt fall, that the bard ſhall forget the ſong. Thou art dark, chief of Morna, though thine
+ arm is a tempeſt in war. Do I forget the king of Erin, in his narrow houſe? My ſoul is not loſt
+ to Cairbar, the brother of my love! I marked the bright beams of joy, which travelled over his
+ cloudy mind, when I returned, with fame, to Atha of the ſtreams.”
+
Tall they removed, beneath the words of the king. Each to his own dark tribe
+ ; where, humming, they rolled on the heath, faint-glittering to the ſtars: like waves, in a rocky
+ bay, before the nightly wind. Beneath an oak, lay the chief of Atha. His ſhield, a duſky round,
+ hung high. Near him, againſt a rock, leaned
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the fair ſtrangerDisplay note of Inis-huna: that beam of light, with wandering locks, from Lumon of the roes. At
+ diſtance roſe the voice of Fonar, with the deeds of the days of old. The ſong fails, at times, in
+ Lubar's growing roar !
+
“CrotharDisplay note,” begun the bard,“firſt dwelt at Atha's moſſy ſtream! A thouſandDisplay note oaks, from the mountains, formed his ecchoing hall. The gathering of the people was
+ there, around the feaſt of the blue-eyed king. But who, among his chiefs, was like the ſtately
+ Crothar ? Warriors kindled in his preſence. The young
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſigh of the virgins roſe. In AlnecmaDisplay note was the warrior honoured: the firſt of the race of Bolga.”
+
“He purſued the chace in Ullin : on the moſs covered top of Drumardo. From
+ the wood looked the daughter of Cathmin, the blue-rolling eye of Con-lama. Her ſigh roſe in
+ ſecret. She bent her head, midſt her wandering locks. The moon looked in, at night, and ſaw the
+ white-toſſing of her arms ; for ſhe thought of the mighty Crothar, in the ſeaſon of dreams.”
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Three days feaſted Crothar with Cathmin. On
+ the fourth they awaked the hinds. Con-lama moved to the chace, with all her lovely ſteps. She met
+ Crothar in the narrow path. The bow fell, at once, from her hand. She turned her face away, and
+ half-hid it with her locks. The love of Crothar roſe. He brought the white-boſomed maid to Atha.
+ Bards raiſed the ſong in her preſence. Joy dwelt round the daughter of Cathmin.”
+
The pride of Turloch roſe, a youth who loved the white-handed Con-láma. He
+ came, with battle, to Alnecma; to Atha of the roes. Cormul went forth to the ſtrife, the brother
+ of car-borne Crothar. He went forth, but he fell. The ſigh of his people roſe. Silent and tall,
+ acroſs the ſtream, came the darkening ſtrength of Crothar : he rolled the foe from Alnecoma. He
+ returned, mid the joy of Con-lama.”
+
“Battle on battle comes. Blood is poured on blood. The tombs of the valiant
+ riſe. Erin's clouds are hung round with ghoſts. The chiefs of the ſouth gathered round the
+ ecchoing ſhield of Crothar. He came, with death, to the paths of the foe. The virgins wept, by
+ the ſtreams of Ullin. They looked to the miſt of the hill ; No hunter deſcended from its folds.
+ Silence
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ darkened in the land. Blaſts ſighed lonely on graſſy
+ tombs.”
+
“Descending like the eagle of heaven, with all his ruſtling wings, when he
+ forſakes the blaſt, with joy, the ſon of Trenmor came; Conar, arm of death, from Morven of the
+ groves. He poured his might along green Erin. Death dimly ſtrode behind his ſword. The ſons of
+ Bolga fled, from his courſe, as from a ſtream, that burſting from the ſtormy deſart, rolls the
+ fields together, with all their ecchoing woods. CrotharDisplay note met him in battle: but Alnecma's warriors fled. The king of Atha ſlowly retired, in the
+ grief of his ſoul. He, afterwards, ſhone in the ſouth; but dim as the ſun of Autumn, when he
+ viſits, in his robes of miſt, Lara of
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ dark ſtreams. The withered graſs is covered with dew : the
+ field, tho' bright, is ſad !”
+
“Why wakes the bard before me,” ſaid Cathmor, “the memory of thoſe who fled?
+ Has ſome ghoſt, from his duſky cloud, bent forward to thine ear; to frighten Cathmor from the
+ field, with the tales of old ? Dwellers of the ſkirts of night, your voice is but a blaſt to me;
+ which takes the grey thiſtle's head, and ſtrews its beard on ſtreams. Within my boſom is a voice.
+ Others hear it not. His ſoul forbids the king of Erin to ſhrink back from war.”
+
Abashed the bard ſinks back in night : retired he bends above a ſtream. His
+ thoughts are on the days of Atha, when Cathmor heard his ſong with joy. His tears come rolling
+ down. The winds are in his beard. Erin ſleeps around. No ſleep comes down on
+ Cathmor's eyes. Dark, in his ſoul, he ſaw the ſpirit of low-laid Cairbar. He ſaw him, without his
+ ſong, rolled in a blaſt of night. He roſe. His ſteps were round the hoſt. He ſtruck, at times,
+ his ecchoing ſhield. The ſound reached Oſſian's ear, on Mora's moſſy brow.
+
“Fillan,” I ſaid, “the foes advance. I hear the ſhield of war. Stand thou in
+ the narrow path, Oſſian ſhall mark their courſe, If
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ over my fall the hoſt ſhould pour ; then be thy buckler heard.
+ Awake the king on his heath, leſt his fame ſhould fly away.” I ſtrode in all my rattling arms;
+ wide-bounding over a ſtream that darkly-winded, in the field, before the king of Atha. Green
+ Atha's king, with lifted ſpear, came forward on my courſe. Now would we have mixed in horrid
+ fray, like two contending ghoſts, that bending forward, from two clouds, ſend forth the roaring
+ winds; did not Oſſian behold, on high, the helmet of Erin's kings. The Eagle's wing ſpread above
+ it, ruſtling in the breeze. A red ſtar looked thro' the plumes. I ſtopt the lifted ſpear.
+
“The helmet of kings is before me! Who art thou ſon of night? Shall Oſſian's
+ ſpear be renowned, when thou art lowly-laid ?” At once he dropt the gleaming lance. Growing
+ before me ſeemed the form. He ſtretched his hand in night. He ſpoke the words of kings.
+
“Friend of the ſpirits of heroes, do I meet thee thus in ſhades? I have
+ wiſhed for thy ſtately ſteps in Atha, in the days of joy. Why ſhould my ſpear now ariſe ? The ſun
+ muſt behold us, Oſſian; when we bend, gleaming, in the ſtrife. Future warriors ſhall mark the
+ place : and, ſhuddering, think of other years, They
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhall mark it, like the haunt of ghoſts, pleaſant and dreadful
+ to the ſoul.”
+
“Shall it then be forgot,” I ſaid, “where we meet in peace? Is the
+ remembrance of battles always pleaſant to the ſoul? Do not we behold, with joy, the place where
+ our fathers feaſted ? But our eyes are full of tears, on the fields of their war. This ſtone
+ ſhall riſe, with all its moſs, and ſpeak to other years. “Here Cathmor and Oſſian met! the
+ warriors met in peace !” When thou, O ſtone, ſhalt fail. When Lubar's ſtream ſhall roll away !
+ then ſhall the traveller come, and bend here, perhaps, in reſt. When the darkened moon is rolled
+ over his head, our ſhadowy forms may come, and, mixing with his dreams, remind him of this place.
+ But why turneſt thou ſo dark away, ſon of Borbar-duthulDisplay note ?”
+
“Not forgot, ſon of Fingal, ſhall we aſcend theſe winds. Our deeds are
+ ſtreams of light, before the eyes of bards. But darkneſs is rolled on Atha : the king is low,
+ without his
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſong: ſtill there was a beam towards Cathmor from his ſtormy
+ ſoul; like the moon, in a cloud, amidſt the dark-red courſe of thunder.”
+
“Son of Erin,” I replied, “my wrath dwells not, in his earthDisplay note. My hatred flies, on eagle-wing, from the foe that is low. He ſhall hear the ſong of
+ bards. Cairbar ſhall rejoice on his winds,”
+
Cathmor's ſwelling ſoul aroſe. He took the dagger from his ſide; and placed
+ it gleaming in my hand. He placed it, in my hand, with ſighs, and, ſilent, ſtrode away, Mine eyes
+ followed his departure. He dimly gleamed, like the form of a ghoſt, which meets a traveller, by
+ night, on the dark-ſkirted heath. His words are dark like ſongs of old : with morning ſtrides the
+ unfiniſhed ſhade away !Display note
+
Who comes from Lubar's vale? From the ſkirts of the morning miſt ? The drops
+ of
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ heaven are on his head. His ſteps are in the paths of
+ the ſad. It is Carril of other times. He comes from Tura's ſilent cave. I behold it dark in the
+ rock, thro' the thin folds of miſt. There, perhaps, Cuthullin ſits, on the blaſt which bends its
+ trees. Pleaſant is the ſong of the morning from the bard of Erin!
+
“The waves crowd away,” ſaid Carril. “They crowd away for fear. They hear
+ the ſound of thy coming forth, O ſun! Terrible is thy beauty, ſon of heaven, when death is
+ deſcending on thy locks: when thou rolleſt thy vapors before thee, over the blaſted hoſt. But
+ pleaſant is thy beam to the hunter, ſitting by the rock in a ſtorm, when thou ſheweſt thyſelf
+ from the parted cloud, and brighteneſt his dewy locks: he looks down on the ſtreamy vale, and
+ beholds the deſcent of roes! How long ſhalt thou riſe on war, and roll, a bloody ſhield, thro'
+ heaven ? I ſee the deaths of heroes, dark-wandering over thy face!”
+
“Why wander the words of Carril?” I ſaid. “Does the ſon of heaven mourn ? He
+ is unſtained in his courſe, ever rejoicing in his fire.
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Roll on, thou careleſs light. Thou too, perhaps, muſt fall.
+ Thy darkening hour may ſeize thee, ſtruggling, as thou rolleſt through thy ſky. But pleaſant is
+ the voice of the bard: pleaſant to Oſſian's ſoul! It is like the ſhower of the morning, when it
+ comes through the ruſtling vale, on which the ſun looks thro miſt, juſt riſing from his rocks.
+ But this is no time, O bard, to ſit down, at the ſtrife of ſong. Fingal is in arms on the vale.
+ Thou ſeeft the flaming ſhield of the king. His face darkens between his locks. He beholds the
+ wide rolling of Erin. Does not Carril behold that tomb, beſide the roaring ſtream ? Three ſtones
+ lift their grey heads, beneath a bending oak. A king is lowly laid ! Give thou his ſoul to the
+ wind. He is the brother of Cathmor ! Open his airy hall! Let thy ſong be a ſtream of joy to
+ Cairbar's darkened ghoſt.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
Morning coming on, Fingal, after a ſpeech to his people, devolves the
+ command on Gaul, the ſon of Morni ; it being the cuſtom of the times, that the king ſhould not
+ engage, till the neceſſity of affairs required his ſuperior valour and conduct. The king and
+ Oſſian retire to the rock of Cormul, which overlooked the field of battle. The bards ſing the
+ war-ſong. The general conflict is deſcribed. Gaul, the ſon of Morni, diſtinguiſhes himſelf ;
+ kills Tur-lathon, chief of Moruth, and other chiefs of leſſer name. On the other hand, Foldath,
+ who commanded the Iriſh army (for Cathmor, after the example of Fingal, kept himſelf from battle)
+ fights gallantly ; kills Connal, chief of Dun-lora, and advances to engage Gaul himſelf. Gaul, in
+ the mean time, being wounded in the hand, by a random arrow, is covered by Fillan, the ſon of
+ Fingal, who performs prodigies of valour. Night comes on. The horn of Fingal recalls his army.
+ The bards meet them, with a congratulatory ſong, in which the praiſes of Gaul and Fillan are
+ particularly celebrated. The chiefs ſit down at a feaſt; Fingal miſſes Connal. The epiſode of
+ Connal and Duthcaron is introduced ; which throws further light on the ancient hiſtory of
+ Ireland. Carril is diſpatched to raiſe the tomb of Connal. The action of this book takes up the
+ ſecond day, from the opening of the poem.
Who is that, at blue-ſtreaming Lubar ? Who, by the bending hill of roes ?
+ Tall, he leans on an oak torn from high, by nightly winds. Who but Comhal's ſon, brightening in
+ the laſt of his fields? His grey hair is on the breeze. He half unſheaths the ſword of Luno. His
+ eyes are turned to Moi-lena, to the dark moving of foes. Doſt thou hear the voice of the king? It
+ is like the burſting of a ſtream, in the deſart, when it comes, between its ecchoing rocks, to
+ the blaſted field of the ſun !
+
“Wide-skirted comes down the foe! Sons of woody Selma, ariſe. Be ye like the
+ rocks of our land, on whoſe brown ſides are the rolling of ſtreams. A beam of joy comes on my
+ ſoul. I ſee the foe mighty before me. It is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ when he is feeble, that the ſighs of Fingal
+ are heard : leſt death ſhould come, without renown, and darkneſs dwell on his tomb. Who ſhall
+ lead the war, againſt the hoſt of Alnecma ? It is, only when danger grows, that my ſword ſhall
+ ſhine. Such was the cuſtom, heretofore, of Trenmor the ruler of winds! and thus deſcended to
+ battle the blue-ſhielded Trathal !”
+
The Chiefs bend toward the king. Each darkly ſeems to claim the war. They
+ tell, by halves, their mighty deeds. They turn their eyes on Erin. But far before the reſt the
+ ſon of Morni ſtands. Silent he ſtands, for who had not heard of the battles of Gaul? They roſe
+ within his ſoul. His hand, in ſecret, ſeized the ſword. The ſword which he brought from Strumon,
+ when the ſtrength of Morni failedDisplay note.
+
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ On his ſpear leans Fillan of SelmaDisplay note, in the wandering of his locks. Thrice he raiſes his eyes
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to Fingal: his voice thrice fails him, as he ſpeaks. My
+ brother could not boaſt of battles: at once he ſtrides away. Bent over a diſtant ſtream he
+ ſtands: the tear hangs in his eye. He ſtrikes, at times, the thiſtle's head, with his inverted
+ ſpear. Nor is he unſeen of Fingal. Sidelong he beholds his ſon. He beholds him, with burſting joy
+ ; and turns, amid his crowded ſoul. In ſilence turns the king toward Mora of woods. He hides the
+ big tear with his locks. At length his voice is heard.
+
“First of the ſons of Morni! Thou rock that defieſt the ſtorm! Lead thou my
+ battle, for the race of low-laid Cormac. No boy's ſtaff is thy ſpear : no harmleſs beam of light
+ thy ſword. Son of Morni of ſteeds, behold the foe ! Deſtroy ! Fillan, obſerve the chief! He is
+ not calm in ſtrife : nor burns he, heedleſs, in battle. My ſon, obſerve the chief! He is ſtrong
+ as Lubar's ſtream, but never foams and roars. High on cloudy Mora, Fingal ſhall behold the war.
+ Stand, OſſianDisplay note, near thy father, by the falling
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtream. Raiſe the voice, O bards! Selma, move beneath the
+ ſound. It is my latter field. Clothe it over with light.”
+
As the ſudden riſing of winds; or diſtant rolling of troubled ſeas, when ſome dark ghoſt, in
+ wrath, heaves the billows over an iſle: an iſle, the ſeat of miſt, on the deep, for many
+ dark-brown years ! So terrible is the ſound of the hoſt, wide-moving over the field. Gaul is tall
+ before them. The ſtreams glitter within his ſtrides. The bards raiſe the ſong by his ſide. He
+ ſtrikes his ſhield between. On the ſkirts of the blaſt, the tuneful voices riſe.
+
“On Crona,” ſaid the bards, “there burſts a ſtream by night. It ſwells in
+ its own dark courſe, till morning's early beam. Then comes it white from the hill, with the rocks
+ and their hundred groves. Far be my ſteps from Crona. Death is tumbling there. Be ye a ſtream
+ from Mora, ſons of cloudy Morven !”
+
“Who riſes, from his car, on Clutha ? The hills are troubled before the king
+ ! The dark woods eccho round, and lighten at his ſteel. See him, amidſt the foe, like Colgach'sDisplay note ſportful
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ghoſt; when he ſcatters the clouds, and rides the eddying
+ winds! It is MorniDisplay note of bounding ſteeds Be like thy father, O Gaul!”
+
“Selma is opened wide. Bards take the trembling harps. Ten youths bear the
+ oak of the feaſt. A diſtant ſun-beam marks the hill. The duſty waves of the blaſt fly over the
+ fields of graſs. Why art thou ſilent, O Selma? The king returns with all his fame. Did not the
+ battle roar ; yet peaceful is his brow ? It roared, and Fingal overcame. Be like thy father, O
+ Fillan !”
+
They move beneath the ſong. High wave their arms, as ruſhy fields, beneath
+ autumnal
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ winds. On Mora ſtands the king in arms. Miſt flies round his
+ buckler abroad; as, aloft, it hung on a bough, on Cormul's moſſy rock. In ſilence I ſtood by
+ Fingal, and turned my eyes on Cromla'sDisplay note wood; leſt I ſhould behold the hoſt, and ruſh amid my ſwelling ſoul. My foot is forward
+ on the heath. I glittered, tall, in ſteel : like the falling ſtream of Tromo, which nightly winds
+ bind over with ice. The boy ſees it, on high, gleaming to the early beam : toward it he turns his
+ ear, and wonders why it is ſo ſilent !
+
Nor bent over a ſtream is Cathmor, like a youth in a peaceful field. Wide he
+ drew forward the war, a dark and troubled wave. But when he beheld Fingal on Mora ; his generous
+ pride aroſe, “Shall the chief of Atha fight, and no king in the field? Foldath lead my people
+ forth. Thou art a beam of fire.”
+
Forth-issues Foldath of Morna, like a cloud, the robe of ghoſts. He drew his
+ ſword, a flame, from his ſide. He bade the battle move. The tribes, like ridgy waves, dark pour
+ their ſtrength around. Haughty is his ſtride before
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ them. His red eye rolls in wrath. He calls Cormul chief of DunrathoDisplay note; and his words were heard.
+
“Cormul, thou beholdeſt that path. It winds green behind the foe. Place thy
+ people there; leſt Selma ſhould eſcape from my ſword. Bards of green-valleyed Erin, let no voice
+ of yours ariſe. The ſons of Morven muſt fall without ſong. They are the foes of Cairbar.
+ Hereafter ſhall the traveller meet their dark, thick miſt on Lena, where it wanders, with their
+ ghoſts, beſide the reedy lake. Never ſhall they riſe, without ſong, to the dwelling of
+ winds.”
+
Cormul darkened, as he went. Behind him ruſhed his tribe. They ſunk beyond
+ the rock. Gaul ſpoke to Fillan of Selma ; as his eye purſued the courſe of the dark-eyed chief of
+ Dunratho. “Thou beholdeft the ſteps of Cormul! Let thine arm be ſtrong! When he is low, ſon
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Fingal, remember Gaul in war. Here I fall forward into
+ battle, amid the ridge of ſhields.”
+
The ſign of death aſcends: the dreadful ſound of Morni's ſhield, Gaul pours
+ his voice between. Fingal riſes on Mora. He ſaw them, from wing to wing, bending at once in
+ ſtrife. Gleaming, on his own dark hill, ſtood Cathmor of ſtreamy Atha. The kings were like two
+ ſpirits of heaven, ſtanding each on his gloomy cloud; when they pour abroad the winds, and lift
+ the roaring ſeas. The blue-tumbling of waves is before them, marked with the paths of whales.
+ They themſelves are calm and bright. The gale lifts ſlowly their locks of miſt!
+
What beam of light hangs high in air! What beam, but Morni's dreadful ſword
+ ! Death is ſtrewed on thy paths, O Gaul! Thou foldeſt them together in thy rage. Like a young oak
+ falls Tur-lathonDisplay note, with his branches round him. His high-boſomed ſpouſe ſtretches her white arms, in
+ dreams, to the returning chief, as ſhe ſleeps by gurgling Moruth, in her diſordered locks. It is
+ his ghoſt, Oichoma. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ chief is lowly laid. Hearken not to the winds for Turlathon's
+ ecchoing ſhield. It is pierced, by his ſtreams. Its ſound is paſt away.
+
Not peaceful is the hand of Foldath. He winds his courſe in blood. Connal
+ met him in fight. They mixed their clanging ſteel. Why ſhould mine eyes behold them! Connal, thy
+ locks are grey ! Thou wert the friend of ſtrangers, at the moſs-covered rock of Dun-lora. When
+ the ſkies were rolled together : then thy feaſt was ſpread. The ſtranger heard the winds without;
+ and rejoiced at thy burning oak. Why, ſon of Duth-caron, art thou laid in blood ! The blaſted
+ tree bends above thee. Thy ſhield lies broken near. Thy blood mixes with the ſtream ; thou
+ breaker of the ſhields!
+
Ossian took the ſpear, in his wrath. But Gaul ruſhed forward on Foldath. The
+ feeble paſs by his ſide: his rage is turned on Morna's Chief. Now they had raiſed their deathful
+ ſpears : unſeen an arrow came. It pierced the hand of Gaul. His ſteel fell ſounding to earth.
+ Young Fillan cameDisplay note, with Cormul's ſhield ! He
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtretched it large before the chief. Foldath ſent his ſhouts
+ abroad, and kindled all the field : as a blaſt that lifts the wide-winged flame, over Lumon's
+ ecchoing grovesDisplay note.
+
“Son of blue-eyed Clatho,” ſaid Gaul, “O Fillan, thou art a beam from
+ heaven; that, coming on the troubled deep, binds up the tempeſt's wing. Cormul is fallen before
+ thee. Early art thou in the fame of thy fathers. Ruſh not too far, my hero. I cannot lift the
+ ſpear to aid. I ſtand harmleſs in battle: but my voice ſhall be poured abroad. The ſons of Selma
+ ſhall hear, and remember my former deeds.”
+
His terrible voice roſe on the wind. The hoſt bends forward in fight. Often
+ had they heard him, at Strumon, when he called them to the chace of the hinds. He ſtands tall,
+ amid the war, as an oak in the ſkirts of a ſtorm, which now is clothed on high, in miſt : then
+ ſhews its broad, waving head. The muſing hunter lifts his eye, from his own ruſhy field !
+
My ſoul purſues thee, O Fillan, through the path of thy fame. Thou rolledſt
+ the foe before thee. Now Foldath, perhaps, may fly : but night comes down with its clouds.
+ Cathmor's horn is heard on high. The ſons of Selma hear
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the voice of Fingal, from Mora's gathered miſt. The bards pour
+ their ſong, like dew, on the returning war.
+
“Who comes from Strumon,” they ſaid, “amid her wandering locks? She is
+ mournful in her ſteps, and lifts her blue eyes toward Erin. Why art thou ſad, Evir-chomaDisplay note? Who is like thy chief in renown? He deſcended dreadful to battle; he returns, like a
+ light from a cloud. He raiſed the ſword in wrath : they ſhrunk before blue-ſhielded Gaul !”
+
“Joy, like the ruſtling gale, comes on the ſoul of the king. He remembers
+ the battles of old ; the days, wherein his fathers fought. The days of old return on Fingal's
+ mind, as he beholds the renown of his ſon. As the ſun rejoices, from his cloud, over the tree his
+ beams have raiſed, as it ſhakes its lonely head on the heath ; ſo joyful is the king over Fillan
+ !”
+
“As the rolling of thunder on hills, when Lara's fields are ſtill and dark,
+ ſuch are the ſteps of Selma pleaſant and dreadful to the ear. They return with their ſound, like
+ eagles to their darkbrowed rock, after the prey is torn on the field, the dun ſons of the
+ bounding hind, Your
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ fathers rejoice from their clouds, ſons of ſtreamy
+ Selma !”
+
Such was the nightly voice of bards, on Mora of the hinds. A flame roſe,
+ from an hundred oaks, which winds had torn from Cormul's ſteep. The feaſt is ſpread in the midſt
+ : around ſat the gleaming chiefs. Fingal is there in his ſtrength. The eagle-wingDisplay note of his helmet ſounds. The ruſtling blaſts of the weſt, unequal ruſh through night. Long
+ looks the king in ſilence round : at length, his words are heard.
+
“My ſoul feels a want in our joy. I behold a breach among my friends. The
+ head of one tree is low. The ſqually wind pours in on Selma. Where is the chief of Dun-lora ?
+ Ought Connal to be forgot at the feaſt? When did he forget the ſtranger, in the midſt of his
+ ecchoing hall? Ye are ſilent in my preſence! Connal is then no more. Joy meet thee, O warrior,
+ like a ſtream of light. Swift be thy courſe to thy fathers, along the roaring winds. Oſſian, thy
+ ſoul is fire: kindle the memory of the king. Awake the battles of Connal, when firſt he ſhone in
+ war. The locks of Connal were grey. His days
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of youthDisplay note were mixed with mine. In one day Duthcaron firſt ſtrung our bows, againſt the roes of
+ Dun-lora.”
+
“Many,” I ſaid, “are our paths to battle, in green vallied Erin. Often did
+ our ſails ariſe, over the blue-tumbling waves ; when we came, in other days, to aid the race of
+ Conar. The ſtrife roared once in Alnecma, at the foam-covered ſtreams of Duth-úlaDisplay note. With Cormac deſcended to battle Duthcaron from cloudy Selma. Nor deſcended Duthcaron
+ alone, his ſon was by his ſide, the long-haired youth of Connal lifting the firſt of his ſpears.
+ Thou didſt command them, O Fingal, to aid the king of Erin.”
+
“Like the burſting ſtrength of ocean, the ſons of Bolga ruſhed to war. Colc-ullaDisplay note was before
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ them, the chief of blue-ſtreaming Atha. The battle was mixed
+ on the plain. CormacDisplay note ſhone in his own ſtrife, bright as the forms of his fathers. But, far before the reſt,
+ Duthcaron hewed down the foe. Nor ſlept the arm of Connal, by his father's ſide. Colc-ulla
+ prevailed on the plain : like ſcattered miſt, fled the people of CormacDisplay note.”
+
“Then roſe the ſword of Duthcaron, and the ſteel of broad-ſhielded Connal.
+ They ſhaded
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ their flying friends, like two rocks with their heads of pine.
+ Night came down on Duth-ula: ſilent ſtrode the chiefs over the field. A mountain-ſtream roared
+ acroſs the path, nor could Duthcaron bound over its courſe. Why ſtands my father? ſaid Connal. I
+ hear the ruſhing foe.”
+
“Fly, Connal,” he ſaid. “Thy father's ſtrength begins to fail. I come
+ wounded from battle. Here let me reſt in night. “But thou ſhalt not remain alone,” ſaid Connal's
+ burſting ſigh. “My ſhield is an eagle's wing to cover the king of Dun-lora.” He bends dark above
+ his father. The mighty Duthcaron dies.”
+
Day roſe, and night returned. No lonely bard appeared, deep-muſing on the
+ heath: and could Connal leave the tomb of his father, till he ſhould receive his fame? He bent
+ the bow againſt the roſe of Duth-ula. He ſpread the lonely feaſt. Seven nights he laid his head
+ on the tomb, and ſaw his father in his dreams. He ſaw him rolled, dark, in a blaſt, like the
+ vapor of reedy Lego. At length the ſteps of ColganDisplay note came, the bard of high Temora. Duthcaron
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ received his fame, and brightened, as he roſe on the wind.”
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Pleasant to the ear,” ſaid Fingal, “is the
+ praiſe of the kings of men ; when their bows are ſtrong in battle; when they ſoften at the ſight
+ of the ſad. Thus let my name be renowned, when bards ſhall lighten my riſing ſoul. Carril, ſon of
+ Kinfena ! take the bards and raiſe a tomb. Tonight let Connal dwell, within his narrow houſe. Let
+ not the ſoul of the valiant wander on the winds. Faint glimmers the moon on Moi-lena, through the
+ broad-headed groves of the hill! Raiſe ſtones, beneath its beam, to all the fallen in war. Though
+ no chiefs were they, yet their hands were ſtrong in fight. They were my rock in danger. The
+ mountain from which I ſpread my eagle-wings. Thence am I renowned. Carril forget not the low
+ !”
+
Loud, at once, from the hundred bards, roſe the ſong of the tomb. Carril
+ ſtrode before them, they are the murmur of ſtreams behind his ſteps. Silence dwells in the vales
+ of Moi-lena, where each, with its own dark rill, is winding between the hills. I heard the voice
+ of the bards, leſſening, as they moved along. I leaned forward from my ſhield ; and felt the
+ kindling of my ſoul. Half-formed the words of my ſong, burſt forth upon the wind. So hears a
+ tree, on the vale, the voice of ſpring around. It pours its green leaves to the ſun. It ſhakes:
+ its lonely
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ head. The hum of the mountain bee is near it; the hunter ſees
+ it, with joy, from the blaſted heath.
+
Young Fillan, at a diſtance ſtood. His helmet lay glittering on the ground.
+ His dark hair is looſe to the blaſt. A beam of light is Clatho's ſon ! He heard the words of the
+ king, with joy. He leaned forward on his ſpear.
+
“My ſon,” ſaid car-borne Fingal; “I ſaw thy deeds, and my ſoul was glad. The
+ fame of our fathers, I ſaid, burſts from its gathering cloud. Thou art brave, ſon of Clatho : but
+ headlong in the ſtrife. So did not Fingal advance, though he never feared a foe. Let thy people
+ be a ridge behind. They are thy ſtrength in the field. Then ſhalt thou be long renowned, and
+ behold the tombs of the old. The memory of the paſt returns, my deeds in other years : when firſt
+ I deſcended from ocean on the green-valleyed iſle.”
+
We bend towards the voice of the king. The moon looks abroad from her cloud.
+ The grey-ſkirted miſt is near : the dwelling of the ghoſts!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
The ſecond night continues. Fingal relates, at the feaſt, his own firſt
+ expedition into Ireland, and his marriage with Ros-crána, the daughter of Cormac, king of that
+ iſland. The Iriſh chiefs convene in the preſence of Cathmor. The ſituation of the king deſcribed.
+ The ſtory of Sul-mala, the daughter of Conmor, king of Inis-huna, who, in the diſguiſe of a young
+ warrior, had followed Cathmor to the war. The ſullen behaviour of Foldath, who had commanded in
+ the battle of the preceding day, renews the difference between him and Malthos; but Cathmor,
+ interpoſing, ends it. The chiefs feaſt, and hear the ſong of Fonar the bard. Cathmor returns to
+ reſt, at a diſtance from the army. The ghoſt of his brother Cairbar appears to him in a dream;
+ and obſcurely foretels the iſſue of the war. The ſoliloquy of the king. He diſcovers Sul-malla.
+ Morning comes. Her ſoliloquy cloſes the book.
Display note“Beneath an oak,” ſaid the king, “I ſat on Selma's ſtreamy rock, when
+ Connal roſe, from the ſea, with the broken ſpear of Duth-caron. Far-diſtant ſtood the youth. He
+ turned away his eyes. He remembered the ſteps of his father, on his own green hills. I darkened
+ in my place. Duſky thoughts flew over my ſoul. The kings of Erin roſe before me. I
+ half-unſheathed the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſword. Slowly approached the chiefs. They lifted up their
+ ſilent eyes. Like a ridge of clouds, they wait for the burſting forth of my voice. My voice was,
+ to them, a wind from heaven to roll the miſt away.”
+
“I bade my white ſails to riſe, before the roar of Cona's wind. Three
+ hundred youths looked, from their waves, on Fingal's boſſy ſhield. High on the maſt it hung, and
+ marked the dark-blue ſea. But when night came down, I ſtruck, at times, the warning boſs : I
+ ſtruck, and looked on high, for fiery-haired Ul-erinDisplay note. Nor abſent was the ſtar of heaven. It travelled red between the clouds. I purſued the
+ lovely beam, on the faint-gleaming deep. With morning, Erin roſe in miſt. We came into the bay of
+ Moi-lena, where its blue waters tumbled, in the boſom of ecchoing woods. Here Cormac, in his
+ ſecret hall, avoids the ſtrength of Colc-ulla. Nor he alone avoids the foe. The blue eye of
+ Ros-crana is there : Ros-cranaDisplay note, white-handed maid, the daughter of the king!”
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Grey, on his pointleſs ſpear, came forth
+ the aged ſteps of Cormac. He ſmiled, from his waving locks, but grief was in his ſoul. He ſaw us
+ few before him, and his ſigh aroſe. “I ſee the arms of Trenmor, he ſaid; and theſe are the ſteps
+ of the king ! Fingal! thou art a beam of light to Cormac's darkened ſoul. Early is thy fame, my
+ ſon: but ſtrong are the foes of Erin. They are like the roar of ſtreams in the land, ſon of
+ car-borne Comhal !” “Yet they may be rolledDisplay note away,” I ſaid in my riſing ſoul. “We are not of the race of the feeble, king of
+ blue-ſhielded hoſts! Why ſhould fear come amongſt us, like a ghoſt of night? The ſoul of the
+ valiant grows, when foes increaſe in the field. Roll no darkneſs, king of Erin, on the young in
+ war!”
+
“The burſting tears of the king came down. He ſeized my hand in ſilence.
+ “Race of the daring Trenmor!” at length he ſaid, “I roll no cloud before thee. Thou burneſt in
+ the fire
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of thy fathers. I behold thy fame. It marks thy courſe in
+ battle, like a ſtream of light. But wait the coming of CairbarDisplay note, my ſon muſt join thy ſword. He calls the ſons of Erin, from all their diſtant
+ ſtreams.”
+
“We came to the hall of the king, where it roſe in the midſt of rocks, on
+ whoſe dark ſides, were the marks of ſtreams of old. Broad oaks bend around with their moſs. The
+ thick birch is waving near. Half-hid, in her ſhady grove, Ros-crana raiſes the ſong. Her white
+ hands move on the harp. I beheld her blue-rolling eyes. She was like a ſpiritDisplay note of heaven half-folded in the ſkirt of a cloud !”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“Three days we feaſt at Moi-lena. She riſes bright in my troubled ſoul.
+ Cormac beheld me dark. He gave the white-boſomed maid. She comes with bending eye, amid the
+ wandering of her heavy locks. She came! Straight the battle roared. Colc-ulla appeared : I took
+ my ſpear. My ſword roſe, with my people, againſt the ridgy foe. Alnecma fled, Colc-ulla fell.
+ Fingal returned with fame.”
+
Renowned is he, O Fillan, who fights, in the ſtrength of his hoſt. The bard
+ purſues his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſteps, thro' the land of the foe. But he who fights alone, few
+ are his deeds to other times! He ſhines, to-day, a mighty light. To-morrow, he is low. One ſong contains his fame. His name is on One dark field. He
+ is forgot ; but where his tomb ſends forth the tufted graſs.”
+
Such are the words of Fingal, on Mora of the roes. Three bards, from the
+ rock of Cormul, pour down the pleaſing ſong. Sleep deſcends, in the ſound, on the broad-ſkirted
+ hoſt. Carril returned, with the bards, from the tomb of Dun-lora's chief. The voice of morning
+ ſhall not come, to the duſky bed of Duth-caron. No more ſhalt thou hear the tread of roes, around
+ thy narrow houſe!
+
As roll the troubled clouds, round a meteor of night, when they brighten
+ their ſides, with its light, along the heaving ſea: ſo gathers Erin, around the gleaming form of
+ Cathmor. He, tall in the midſt, careleſs lifts, at times, his ſpear : as
+ ſwells or falls the ſound of Fonar's diſtant harp.Display note Near him leaned, againſt a
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ rock, Sul-mallaDisplay note of blue eyes, the white-boſomed daughter of Conmor, king of Inis-huna. To his aid came
+ blue-ſhielded Cathmor, and rolled his foes away. Sul-malla beheld him ſtately in the hall of
+ feaſts. Nor careleſs rolled the eyes of Cathmor on the long-haired maid!
+
The third day aroſe, when FithilDisplay note came, from Erin of the ſtreams. He told of the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ lifting up of the ſhieldDisplay note in Selma : He told of the danger of Cairbar. Cathmor raiſed the ſail at Cluba : but the
+ winds were in other lands. Three days he remained on the coaft, and turned his eyes on Conmor's
+ halls, He remembered the daughter of ſtrangers, and his ſigh aroſe. Now when the winds awaked the
+ wave: from the hill came a youth in arms; to lift the ſword with Cathmor, in his ecchoing fields.
+ It was the white-armed Sul-malla. Secret ſhe dwelt
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ beneath her helmet. Her ſteps were in the path of the king :
+ on him her blue eyes rolled with joy, when he lay by his roaring ſtreams! But Cathmor thought,
+ that, on Lumon, ſhe ſtill purſued the roes. He thought, that fair on a rock, ſhe ſtretched her
+ white hand to the wind ; to feel its courſe from Erin, the green dwelling of her love. He had
+ promiſed to return, with his white-boſomed ſails. The maid is near thee, O Cathmor ! leaning on
+ her rock.
+
The tall forms of the chiefs ſtand around ; all but dark-browed FoldathDisplay note. He leaned againſt a diſtant tree, rolled into his haughty ſoul. His buſhy hair whiſtles
+ in wind. At times, burſts the hum of a ſong. He ſtruck the tree, at length, in wrath ; and ruſhed
+ before the king ! Calm and ſtately, to the beam of the oak, aroſe the form of young Hidalla. His
+ hair falls round his bluſhing cheek, in wreaths of waving light. Soft was his voice in Clon-raDisplay note, in the valley of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ his fathers, Soft was his voice when he touched the harp, in
+ the hall, near his roaring ſtreams !
+
“King of Erin,” ſaid Hidalla, “now is the time to feaſt. Bid the voice of
+ bards ariſe. Bid them roll the night away. The ſoul returns, from ſong, more terrible to war.
+ Darkneſs ſettles on Erin. From hill to hill bend the ſkirted clouds. Far and grey, on the heath,
+ the dreadful ſtrides of ghoſts are ſeen : the ghoſts of thoſe who fell bend forward to their
+ ſong. Bid, O Cathmor, the harps to riſe, to brighten the dead, on their wandering blaſts.”
+
“Be all the dead forgot,” ſaid Foldath's burſting wrath. “Did not I fail in
+ the field? Shall I then hear the ſong? Yet was not my courſe harmleſs in war. Blood was a ſtream
+ around my ſteps. But the feeble were behind me. The foe has eſcaped from my ſword. In Clonra's
+ vale touch thou the harp. Let Dura anſwer to the voice of Hidalla, Let ſome maid look, from the
+ wood, on thy long, yellow locks. Fly from Lubar's ecchoing plain. This is the field of heroes
+ !”
+
“King of ErinDisplay note,” Malthos ſaid, “it is Thine to lead in war. Thou
+ art a fire to our eyes, on the dark-brown field. Like a blaſt
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ thou haſt paſt over hoſts. Thou haſt laid them low in blood. But who has heard thy words returning
+ from the field ? The wrathful delight in death : Their remembrance reſts on the wounds of their
+ ſpear. Strife is folded in their thoughts: their words are
+ ever heard. Thy courſe, chief of Morna, was like a troubled ſtream. The dead were rolled on thy
+ path ; but others alſo lift the ſpear. We were not feeble behind thee ; but the foe was
+ ſtrong.”
+
Cathmor beheld the riſing rage, and bending forward of either chief: for,
+ half-unſheathed, they held their ſwords, and rolled their ſilent eyes. Now would they have mixed
+ in horrid fray, had not the wrath of Cathmor burned. He drew his ſword: it gleamed thro' night,
+ to the high-flaming oak ! “Sons of pride,” ſaid the king, “allay your ſwelling ſouls. Retire in
+ night. Why ſhould my rage ariſe? Should I contend with both in arms? It is no
+ time for ſtrife ! Retire, ye clouds, at my feaſt. Awake my ſoul no more.”
+
They ſunk from the King on either ſide ; likeDisplay note two columns of morning miſt, when the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſun riſes, between them, on his glittering rocks. Dark is their
+ rolling on either ſide; each toward its reedy pool !
+
Silent ſat the chiefs at the feaſt. They look, at times, on Atha's king,
+ where he ſtrode, on his rock, amid his ſettling ſoul. The hoſt lie, along the field. Sleep
+ deſcends on Moi-lena. The voice of Fonar aſcends alone, beneath his diſtant tree. It aſcends in
+ the praiſe of Cathmor, ſon of LarthonDisplay note of Lumon. But Cathmor did not hear his praiſe. He lay at the roar
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of a ſtream. The ruſtling breeze of night flew over his
+ whiſtling locks,
+
His brother came to his dreams, half-ſeen from his low-hung cloud. Joy roſe
+ darkly in his face. He had heard the ſong of CarrilDisplay note. A blaſt ſuſtained his dark-ſkirted cloud ; which he ſeized in the boſom of night, as he
+ roſe, with his fame, towards his airy hall. Half-mixed with the noiſe of the ſtream, he poured
+ his feeble words.
+
“Joy meet the ſoul of Cathmor. His voice was heard on Moi-lena. The bard
+ gave his ſong to Cairbar. He travels on the wind. My form is in my father's hall, like the
+ gliding of a terrible light, which darts acroſs the deſart, in a ſtormy night. No bard ſhall be
+ wanting at thy tomb, when thou art lowly laid. The ſons of ſong love the valiant. Cathmor, thy
+ name
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ is a pleaſant gale. The mournful ſounds ariſe ! On Lubar's field
+ there is a voice ! Louder ſtill, ye ſhadowy ghoſts ! The dead were full of fame! Shrilly ſwells
+ the feeble ſound. The rougher blaſt alone is heard ! Ah, ſoon is Cathmor low!” Rolled into
+ himſelf he flew, wide on the boſom of winds. The old oak felt his departure, and ſhook its
+ whiſtling head. Cathmor ſtarts from reſt. He takes his deathful ſpear. He lifts his eyes around.
+ He ſees but dark-ſkirted night.
+
“ItDisplay note was the voice of the king,” he ſaid. “But now his form is gone. Unmarked is your path in
+ the air, ye children of the night. Often like a reflected beam, are ye ſeen in the deſart wild :
+ but ye retire in your blaſts, before our ſteps approach. Go then, ye feeble race! Knowledge with
+ you there is none ! Your joys are weak, and like the dreams of our reſt, or the light-winged
+ thought, that flies acroſs the ſoul. Shall Cathmor ſoon be low ? Darkly laid in his narrow houſe
+ ? Where no morning comes, with her half-opened eyes? Away, thou ſhade!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to fight is mine! All further thought away! I ruſh forth, on
+ eagle wings, to ſeize my beam of fame. In the lonely vale of ſtreams, abides the narrowDisplay note ſoul. Years roll on. ſeaſons return, but he is ſtill unknown. In a blaſt comes cloudy
+ death, and lays his grey head low. His ghoſt is folded in the vapour of the fenny field. Its
+ courſe is never on hills, nor moſſy vales of wind. So ſhall not Cathmor depart. No boy in the
+ field was he, who only marks the bed of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ roes, upon the ecchoing hills. My iſſuing forth was with kings.
+ My joy in dreadful plains : where broken hoſts are rolled away, like ſeas before the wind.”
+
So ſpoke the king of Alnecma, brightening in his rifing ſoul. Valour, like a
+ pleaſant flame, is gleaming within his breaſt. Stately is his ſtride on the heath! The beam of
+ eaſt is poured around. He ſaw his grey hoſt on the field, wide-ſpreading their ridges in light.
+ He rejoiced, like a ſpirit of heaven, whoſe ſteps come forth on the ſeas, when he beholds them
+ peaceful round, and all the winds are laid. But ſoon he awakes the waves, and rolls them large to
+ ſome ecchoing ſhore.
+
On the ruſhy bank of a ſtream, ſlept the daughter of Inis-huna. The helmet
+ had fallen from her head. Her dreams were in the lands of her fathers. There
+ morning is on the field. Grey ſtreams leap down from the rocks. The breezes, in ſhadowy waves,
+ fly over the ruſhy fields. There is the ſound that prepares for the chace. There the moving of warriors from the hall. But tall above the reſt is ſeen the
+ hero of ſtreamy Atha. He bends his eye of love on Sul-malla, from his ſtately ſteps. She turns, with pride, her face away, and careleſs bends the bow.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Such were the dreams of the maid, when Cathmor of Atha came. He ſaw her fair
+ face before him, in the midſt of her wandering locks. He knew the maid of Lumon. What ſhould
+ Cathmor do? His ſighs ariſe. His tears come down. But ſtraight he turns away. “This is no time,
+ king of Atha, to awake thy ſecret ſoul. The battle is rolled before thee, like a troubled
+ ſtream.”
+
He ſtruck that warning boſsDisplay note, wherein dwelt the voice of war. Erin roſe around him, like the ſound of eagle-wing.
+ Sul-malla ſtarted from ſleep, in her diſordered locks. She ſeized the helmet from earth. She
+ trembled in her place. “Why ſhould they know in Erin of the daughter of Inis-huna ?” She
+ remembered the race of kings. The pride of her ſoul aroſe! Her ſteps are behind a rock, by the
+ blue-winding ſtreamDisplay note of a vale : where dwelt the dark-brown hind ere yet the war aroſe. Thither came the voice
+ of Cathmor, at times, to Sul-malla's ear. Her
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſoul is darkly ſad. She pours her words on wind.
+
“The dreams of Inis-huna departed. They are diſperſed from my ſoul. I hear
+ not the chace in my land. I am concealed in the ſkirt of war. I look forth from my cloud. No beam
+ appears to light my path. I behold my warrior low ; for the broad-ſhielded king is near, he that
+ overcomes in danger, Fingal from Selma of ſpears ! Spirit of departed Conmor ! are thy ſteps on
+ the boſom of winds? Comeſt thou, at times, to other lands, father of ſad Sul-malla ? Thou doſt
+ come ! I have heard thy voice at night; while yet I roſe on the wave to Erin of the ſtreams. The
+ ghoſt of fathers, they ſayDisplay note, call away the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſouls of their race, while they behold them lonely in the
+ midſt of woe. Call me, my father, away ! When Cathmor is low on earth. Then ſhall Sul-malla be
+ lonely in the midſt of woe !”
The poet, after a ſhort addreſs to the harp of Cona, deſcribes the arrangement of both armies
+ on either ſide of the river Lubar. Fingal gives the command to Fillan ; but, at the ſame time,
+ orders Gaul, the ſon of Morni, who had been wounded in the hand in the preceding battle, to
+ aſſiſt him with his counſel. The army of the Fir-bolg is commanded by Foldath. The general onſet
+ is deſcribed. The great actions of Fillan. He kills Rothmar and Culmin. But when Fillan conquers,
+ in one wing, Foldath preſſes hard on the other. He wounds Dermid, the ſon of Duthno, and puts the
+ whole wing to flight. Dermid deliberates with himſelf, and, at laſt, reſolves to put a ſtop to
+ the progreſs of Foldath, by engaging him in ſingle combat. When the two chiefs were approaching
+ towards one another, Fillan came ſuddenly to the relief of Dermid ; engaged Foldath, and killed
+ him. The behaviour of Malthos towards the fallen Foldath. Fillan puts the whole army of the
+ Fir-bolg to flight. The book cloſes with an addreſs to Clatho, the mother of that hero.
Thou dweller between the ſhields, that hang, on high, in Oſſian's hall!
+ Deſcend from thy place, O harp, and let me hear thy voice! Son of Alpin, ſtrike the ſtring. Thou
+ muſt awake the ſoul of the bard. The murmur of Lora'sDisplay note ſtream has rolled the tale away. I ſtand in the cloud of years. Few are its openings
+ toward the paſt; and when the viſion comes, it is but dim and dark. I hear thee, harp of Selma !
+ my ſoul returns, like a breeze, which the ſun brings back to the vale, where dwelt the lazy miſt
+ !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ LubarDisplay note is bright before me in the windings of its vale. On either ſide, on their hills, riſe the
+ tall forms of the kings. Their people are poured around them, bending forward to their words: as
+ if their fathers ſpoke, deſcending from the winds. But they themſelves are like two rocks in the
+ midſt; each with its dark head of pines, when they are ſeen in the deſart, above low-failing
+ miſt. High on their face are ſtreams, which ſpread their foam on blaſts of wind!
+
Beneath the voice of Cathmor pours Erin, like the ſound of flame. Wide they
+ come down to Lubar. Before them is the ſtride of Foldath. But Cathmor retires to his hill,
+ beneath his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ bending oak. The tumbling of a ſtream is near the king. He
+ lifts, at times, his gleaming ſpear. It is a flame to his people, in the midſt of war. Near him
+ ſtands the daughter of Con-mor, leaning on a rock. She did not rejoice at the ſtrife. Her ſoul
+ delighted not in blood. A valleyDisplay note ſpreads green behind the hill, with its three blue ſtreams. The ſun is there in ſilence.
+ The dun mountain-roes come down. On theſe are turned the eyes of Sul-malla in her thoughtful
+ mood.
+
Fingal beholds Cathmor, on high, the ſon of Borbar-duthul ! he beholds the
+ deep-rolling of Erin, on the darkened plain. He ſtrikes that warning boſs, which bids the people
+ to obey ; when he ſends his chiefs before them, to the field of renown. Wide riſe their ſpears to
+ the ſun. Their ecchoing ſhields reply around. Fear, like a vapour, winds not among the hoſt: for
+ he, the king, is near, the ſtrength of ſtreamy Selma. Gladneſs brightens the
+ hero. We hear his words with joy.
+
“Like the coming forth of winds, is the ſound of Selma's ſons! They are
+ mountain waters, determined in their courſe. Hence is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Fingal renowned. Hence is his name in other lands. He was not a
+ lonely beam in danger ; for your ſteps were always near! But never was Fingal a dreadful form, in
+ your preſence, darkened into wrath. My voice was no thunder to your ears. Mine eyes ſent forth no
+ death. When the haughty appeared, I beheld them not. They were forgot at my feaſts. Like miſt
+ they melted away. A young beam is before you! Few are his paths to war ! They are few, but he is
+ valiant. Defend my dark-haired ſon. Bring Fillan back with joy. Hereafter he may ſtand alone, His
+ form is like his fathers. His ſoul is a flame of their fire. Son of car-borne Morni, move behind
+ the youth. Let thy voice reach his ear, from the ſkirts of war. Not unobſerved rolls battle,
+ before thee, breaker of the ſhields!”
+
The king ſtrode, at once, away to Cormul's lofty rock. Intermitting, darts
+ the light, from his ſhield, as, ſlow the king of heroes moves. Sidelong rolls his eye o'er the
+ heath, as forming advance the lines. Graceful, fly his halfgrey locks, round his kingly features,
+ now lightened with dreadful joy. Wholly mighty is the chief! Behind him dark and flow I moved.
+ Straight came forward the ſtrength of Gaul. His ſhield hung looſe on its thong. He ſpoke, in
+ haſte,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to Oſſian. “BindDisplay note, ſon of Fingal, this ſhield ! Bind it high to the ſide of Gaul. The foe may behold it,
+ and think I lift the ſpear. If I ſhould fall, let my tomb be hid in the field ; for fall I muſt
+ without fame. Mine arm cannot lift the ſteel. Let not Evir-choma hear it, to bluſh between her
+ locks. Fillan, the mighty behold us ! Let us not forget the ſtrife. Why ſhould they come, from their hills, to aid our flying field ?”
+
He ſtrode onward, with the ſound of his ſhield. My voice purſued him, as he
+ went, “Can the ſon of Morni fall, without his fame in Erin? But the deeds of the mighty are
+ forgot by themſelves. They ruſh careleſs over the fields of renown. Their words are never heard
+ !” I rejoiced over the ſteps of the chief. I ſtrode to the rock of the king, where he ſat, in his
+ wandering locks, amid the mountain-wind !
+
In two dark ridges bend the hoſts, toward each other, at Lubar. Here Foldath
+ riſes a pillar of darkneſs : there brightens the youth of Fillan. Each, with his ſpear in the
+ ſtream, ſent forth the voice of war. Gaul ſtruck the ſhield of Selma. At once they plunge in
+ battle! Steel pours its gleam on ſteel : like the fall of ſtreams
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhone the field, when they mix their foam together, from two
+ dark-browed rocks ! Behold he comes the ſon of fame He lays the people low ! Deaths ſit on blaſts
+ around him ! Warriors ſtrew thy paths, O Fillan !
+
RothmarDisplay note, the ſhield of warriors, ſtood between two chinky rocks. Two oaks, which winds had bent
+ from high, ſpread their branches on either ſide. He rolls his darkening eyes on Fillan, and,
+ ſilent, ſhades his friends. Fingal ſaw the approaching fight. The hero's ſoul aroſe. But as the
+ ſtone of LodaDisplay note falls, ſhook,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ at once, from rocking Druman-ard, when ſpirits heave the earth
+ in their wrath ; ſo fell blue-ſhielded Rothmar.
+
Near are the ſteps of Culmin. The youth came, burſting into tears. Wrathful
+ he cut the wind, ere yet he mixed his ſtrokes with Fillan. He had firſt bent the bow with
+ Rothmar, at the rock of his own blue ſtreams. There they had marked the place of the roe, as the
+ ſun-beam flew over the fern. Why, ſon of Cul-allin! Why, Culmin, doſt thou ruſh on that beamDisplay note of light? It is a fire that conſumes. Son of Cul-allin retire. Your fathers were not
+ equal, in the glittering ſtrife of the field. The mother of Culmin remains in the hall. She looks
+ forth on blue-rolling Strutha. A whirlwind riſes, on the ſtream, dark-eddying round the ghoſt of
+ her ſon. His dogsDisplay note are howling
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in their place. His ſhield is bloody in the hall. “Art thou
+ fallen, my fair-haired ſon, in Erin's diſmal war ?”
+
As a roe, pierced in ſecret, lies panting, by her wonted ſtreams ; the
+ hunter ſurveys her feet of wind : He remembers her ſtately bounding before. So lay the ſon of
+ Cul-allin, beneath the eye of Fillan. His hair is rolled in a little ſtream. His blood wanders on
+ his ſhield. Still his hand holds the ſword, that failed him in the midſt of danger. “Thou art
+ fallen,” ſaid Fillan, “ere yet thy fame was heard. Thy father ſent thee to war. He expects to
+ hear of thy deeds. He is grey, perhaps, at his ſtreams, His eyes are toward Moi-lena. But thou
+ ſhalt not return, with the ſpoil of the fallen foe !”
+
Fillan pours the flight of Erin before him, over the reſounding heath. But,
+ man on man, fell Morven before the dark-red rage of Foldath : for, far on the field, he poured
+ the roar of half his tribes. Dermid ſtands before him in wrath. The ſons of Selma gathered
+ around.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ But his ſhield is cleft by Foldath. His people fly over the
+ heath.
+
Then ſaid the foe, in his pride, “They have fled. My fame begins! Go,
+ Malthos, go bid Cathmor guard the dark-rolling of ocean ; that Fingal may not eſcape from my
+ ſword. He muſt lie on earth. Beſide ſome fen ſhall his tomb be ſeen. It ſhall
+ riſe without a ſong. His ghoſt ſhall hover, in miſt, over the reedy pool.”
+
Malthos heard, with darkening doubt. He rolled his ſilent eyes. He knew the
+ pride of Foldath. He looked up to Fingal on his hills: then darkly turning, in doubtful mood, he
+ plunged his ſword in war.
+
In Clono'sDisplay note narrow vale, where bend two trees above the ſtream, dark, in his grief, ſtood
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Duthno's ſilent ſon. The blood pours from the ſide of Dermid.
+ His ſhield is broken near. His ſpear leans againſt a ſtone. Why, Dermid, why ſo ſad? “I hear the
+ roar of battle. My
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ people are alone. My ſteps are ſlow on the heath; and no
+ ſhield is mine. Shall he then prevail ? It is then after Dermid is ſlow! I will call thee forth,
+ O Foldath, and meet thee yet in fight.”
+
He took his ſpear, with dreadful joy. The ſon of Morni came. “Stay, ſon of
+ Duthno, ſtay thy ſpeed. Thy ſteps are marked with blood. No boſſy ſhield is thine. Why ſhouldſt
+ thou fall unarmed?” “Son of Morni! give thou thy ſhield. It has often rolled back the war. I
+ ſhall ſtop the chief, in his courſe. Son of Morni! behold that ſtone! It lifts its grey head
+ thro' graſs. There dwells a chief of the race of Dermid. Place me there in night.”
+
He ſlowly roſe againſt the hill. He ſaw the troubled field: The gleaming
+ ridges of battle, disjoined and broken round. As diſtant fires, on heath by night, now ſeem as
+ loſt in ſmoak; now rearing their red ſtreams on the hill, as blow or ceaſe the winds : ſo met the
+ intermitting war the eye of broad-ſhielded Dermid. Thro' the hoſt are the ſtrides of Foldath,
+ like ſome dark ſhip on wintry waves, when ſhe iſſues from between two iſles, to ſport on
+ reſounding ocean !
+
Dermid, with rage, beholds his courſe. He ſtrives to ruſh along. But he
+ fails amid his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſteps; and the big tear comes down. He ſounds his father's
+ horn. He thrice ſtrikes his boſſy ſhield. He calls thrice the name of Foldath, from his roaring
+ tribes. Foldath, with joy, beholds the chief. He lifts aloft his bloody ſpear. As a rock is
+ marked with ſtreams, that fell troubled down its ſide in a ſtorm; ſo, ſtreaked with wandering
+ blood, is the dark chief of Morna ! The hoſt, on either ſide, withdraw from the contending of
+ kings. They raiſe, at once, their gleaming points. Ruſhing comes Fillan of Selma. Three paces
+ back Foldath withdraws, dazzled with that beam of light, which came, as iſſuing from a cloud, to
+ ſave the wounded chief. Growing in his pride he ſtands. He calls forth all his ſteel.
+
As meet two broad-winged eagles, in their ſounding ſtrife, in winds : ſo
+ ruſh the two chiefs, on Moi-lena, into gloomy fight. By turns are the ſteps of the kingsDisplay note forward on their rocks above; for now the duſky war ſeems to deſcend on their ſwords.
+ Cathmor feels the joy of warriors, on his moſſy hill: their joy in ſecret, when dangers rife to
+ match their ſouls. His eye is not turned on Lubar, but on Selma's dreadful king. He beholds him,
+ on Mora, riſing in his arms.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
FoldathDisplay note falls on his ſhield. The ſpear of Fillan pierced the king. Nor looks the youth on the
+ fallen, but onward rolls the war. The hundred voices of death ariſe. “Stay, ſon of Fingal, ſtay
+ thy ſpeed. Beholdeſt thou not that gleaming form, - a dreadful ſign of death ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Awaken not the king of Erin. Return, ſon of blue-eyed
+ Clatho.”
+
MalthosDisplay note beholds Foldath low. He darkly ſtands above the chief. Hatred is rolled from his ſoul. He
+ ſeems a rock in a deſart, on whoſe dark ſide are the trickling of waters ; when the ſlow-ſailing
+ miſt has left it, and all its trees are blaſted with winds. He ſpoke to the dying hero, about the
+ narrow houſe. “Whether ſhall thy grey ſtone rife in Ullin, or in Morna'sDisplay note woody land ? where the ſun looks, in ſecret, on the blue ſtreams of DalruthoDisplay note ?
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ There are the ſteps of thy daughter, blue-eyed Dardu-lena
+ !”
+
“Rememberest thou her,” ſaid Foldath, “becauſe no ſon is mine: no youth to
+ roll the battle before him, in revenge of me ? Malthos, I am revenged. I was not peaceful in the
+ field. Raiſe the tombs of thoſe I have ſlain, around my narrow houſe. Often ſhall I forſake the
+ blaſt, to rejoice above their graves; when I behold them ſpread around, with their long-whiſtling
+ graſs.”
+
His ſoul ruſhed to the vale of Morna, to Dardu-lena's dreams, where ſhe
+ ſlept, by Dalrutho's ſtream, returning from the chace of the hinds. Her bow is near the maid,
+ unſtrung. The breezes fold her long hair on her breaſts. Cloathed in the beauty of youth, the
+ love of heroes lay. Dark-bending, from the ſkirts of the wood, her wounded father ſeemed to come.
+ He appeared, at times, then hid himſelf in miſt. Burfting into tears ſhe roſe. She knew that the
+ chief was low. To her came a beam from his ſoul, when folded in its ſtorms.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Thou wert the laſt of his race, O blue-eyed Dardu-lena !
+
Wide-spreading over ecchoing Lubar, the flight of Bolga is rolled along.
+ Fillan hangs forward on their ſteps. He ſtrews, with dead, the heath. Fingal rejoices over his
+ ſon. Blue-ſhielded Cathmor roſeDisplay note.
+
Son of Alpin, bring the harp. Give Fillan's praiſe to the wind. Raiſe high
+ his praiſe, in mine ear, while yet he ſhines in war.
+
“Leave, blue-eyed Clatho, leave thy hall ! Behold that early beam of thine!
+ The hoſt is withered in its courſe. No further look, it is dark. Light-trembling from the harp,
+ ſtrike, virgins, ſtrike the ſound. No hunter he deſcends, from the dewy haunt of the bounding
+ roe. He bends not his bow on the wind ; nor ſends his grey arrow abroad.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Deep-folded in red war! See battle roll
+ againſt his ſide. Striding amid the ridgy ſtrife, he pours the deaths of thouſands forth. Fillan
+ is like a ſpirit of heaven, that deſcends from the ſkirt of winds. The troubled ocean feels his
+ ſteps, as he ſtrides from wave to wave. His path kindles behind him. Iſlands ſhake their heads on
+ the heaving ſeas! Leave, blue-eyed Clatho, leave thy hall!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
This book opens with a ſpeech of Fingal, who ſees Cathmor deſcending to the
+ aſſiſtance of his flying army. The king diſpatches Oſſian to the relief of Fillan. He himſelf
+ retires behind the rock of Cormul, to avoid the ſight of the engagement between his ſon and
+ Cathmor. Oſſian advances. The deſcent of Cathmor deſcribed. He rallies the army, renews the
+ battle, and, before Oſſian could arrive, engages Fillan himſelf. Upon the approach of Oſſian, the
+ combat between the two heroes ceaſes. Oſſian and Cathmor prepare to fight, but night coming on
+ prevents them. Oſſian returns to the place where Cathmor and Fillan fought. He finds Fillan
+ mortally wounded, and leaning againſt a rock. Their diſcourſe. Fillan dies: his body is laid, by
+ Oſſian, in a neighbouring cave. The Caledonian army return to Fingal. He queſtions them about his
+ ſon, and, underſtanding that he was killed, retires, in ſilence, to the rock of Cormul. Upon the
+ retreat of the army of Fingal, the Fir-bolg advance. Cathmor finds Bran, one of the dogs of
+ Fingal, lying on the ſhield of Fillan, before the entrance of the cave, where the body of that
+ hero lay. His reflections thereupon. He returns, in a melancholy mood, to his army. Malthos
+ endeavours to comfort him, by the example of his father Borbar-duthal. Cathmor retires to reſt.
+ The ſong of Sul-malla concludes the book, which ends about the middle of the third night, from
+ the opening of the poem.
Display note“Cathmor riſes on his hill! Shall Fingal take the ſword of Luno? But
+ what ſhould become of thy fame, ſon of white-boſomed Clatho? Turn not thine eyes from Fingal,
+ fair daughter of Iniſtore. I ſhall not quench thy early beam. It ſhines along my ſoul. Riſe,
+ wood-ſkirted Mora, riſe between the war and me! Why ſhould Fingal behold the ſtrife, leſt his
+ dark-haired warrior ſhould fall ! Amidſt the ſong, O Carril, pour the ſound of the trembling
+ harp! Here are the voices of rocks! and there the bright tumbling of waters. Father of Oſcar lift
+ the ſpear ! Defend the young in arms. Conceal thy ſteps from Fillan. He
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ muſt not know that I doubt his ſteel. No cloud of mine ſhall
+ riſe, my ſon, upon thy ſoul of fire !”
+
He ſunk behind his rock, amid the ſound of Carril's ſong. Brightening, in my
+ growing ſoul, I took the ſpear of TemoraDisplay note. I ſaw, along Moi-lena, the wild tumbling of battle; the ſtrife of death, in gleaming
+ rows, disjoined and broken round. Fillan is a beam of fire. From wing to wing is his waſteful
+ courſe. The ridges of war melt before him. They are rolled, in ſmoak, from the fields !
+
Now is the coming forth of Cathmor, in the armour of kings! Dark-waves the
+ eagle's wing, above his helmet of fire. Unconcerned are his ſteps, as if they were to the chace
+ of Erin. He raiſes, at times, his terrible voice. Erin, abaſhed, gathers round. Their ſouls
+ return back, like a ſtream. They wonder at the ſteps of their fear. He roſe, like the beam of the
+ morning, on a haunted heath : the traveller looks back, with bending eye, on the field of
+ dreadful forms ! Sudden, from the rock of Moilena, are Sul malla's trembling ſteps. An oak
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ takes the ſpear from her hand. Half-bent ſhe looſes the
+ lance. But then are her eyes on the king, from amid her wandering locks! No friendly ſtrife is
+ before thee ! No light contending of bows, as when the youth of Inis-hunaDisplay note come forth beneath the eye of Conmor !
+
As the rock of Runo, which takes the paſſing clouds as they fly, ſeems
+ growing, in gathered darkneſs, over the ſtreamy heath ; ſo ſeems the chief of Atha taller, as
+ gather his people around. As different blaſts fly over the ſea, each behind its dark-blue wave,
+ ſo Cathmor's words, on every ſide, pour his warriors forth. Nor ſilent on his hill is Fillan. He
+ mixes his words with his ecchoing ſhield. An eagle he ſeemed, with ſounding wings, calling the
+ wind to his rock, when he ſees the coming forth of the roes, on Lutha'sDisplay note ruſhy field !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Now they bend forward in battle. Death's hundred voices ariſe.
+ The kings, on either ſide, were like fires on the ſouls of the hoſts. Oſſian bounded along. High
+ rocks and trees ruſh tall between the war and me. But I hear the noiſe of ſteel, between my
+ clanging arms. Rifing, gleaming, on the hill, I behold the backward ſteps of hoſts : their
+ backward ſteps, on either ſide, and wildly-looking eyes. The chiefs were met in dreadful fight!
+ The two blue-ſhielded kings! Tall and dark, through gleams of ſteel, are ſeen the ſtriving
+ heroes! I ruſh. My fears for Fillan fly, burning acroſs my ſoul.
+
I come. Nor Cathmor flies; nor yet comes on; he ſidelong ſtalks along. An
+ icy rock, cold, tall he ſeems. I call forth all my ſteel. Silent awhile we ſtride, on either ſide
+ of a ruſhing ſtream : then, ſudden turning, all at once, we raiſe our pointed ſpears! We raiſe
+ our ſpears, but night comes down. It is dark and ſilent round ; but where the diſtant ſteps of
+ hoſts are ſounding over the heath!
+
I come to the place where Fillan fought. Nor voice, nor ſound is there. A
+ broken helmet lies on earth, a buckler cleft in twain. Where, Fillan, where art thou, young chief
+ of ecchoing Morven ? He hears me leaning on a rock,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ which bends its grey head over the ſtream. He hears ; but
+ ſullen, dark he ſtands. At length I ſaw the hero !
+
“Why ſtandeſt thou, robed in darkneſs, ſon of woody Selma ? Bright is thy
+ path, my brother, in this dark-brown field ! Long has been thy ſtrife in battle! Now the horn of
+ Fingal is heard. Aſcend to the cloud of thy father, to his hill of feaſts. In the evening miſt he
+ ſits, and hears the ſound of Carril's harp. Carry joy to the aged, young breakers of the ſhields
+ !”
+
“Can the vanquiſhed carry joy ? Oſſian, no ſhield is mine ! It lies broken
+ on the field. The eagle-wing of my helmet is torn. It is when foes fly before them, that fathers
+ delight in their ſons. But their ſighs burſt forth, in ſecret, when their young warriors yield.
+ No : Fillan ſhall not behold the king! Why ſhould the hero mourn ?”
+
“Son of blue-eyed Clatho! O Fillan, awake not my ſoul ! Wert thou not a
+ burning fire before him ? Shall he not rejoice? Such fame belongs not to Oſſian ; yet is the king
+ ſtill a ſun to me. He looks on my ſteps, with joy. Shadows never riſe on his face. Aſcend, O
+ Fillan, to Mora ! His feaſt is ſpread in the folds of miſt.”
+
“Ossian! give me that broken ſhield : theſe feathers that are rolled in the
+ wind. Place them
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ near to Fillan, that leſs of his fame may fall. Oſſian, I
+ begin to fail. Lay me in that hollow rock. Raiſe no ſtone above, left one ſhould aſk about my
+ fame. I am fallen in the firſt of my fields; fallen without renown. Let thy voice alone ſend joy to my flying ſoul. Why ſhould the bard know where dwells the loſt beam of ClathoDisplay note !”
“Is thy ſpirit on the eddying winds, O Fillan, young breaker of ſhield !
+ Joy purſue my hero, through his folded clouds. The forms of thy fathers, O Fillan, bend to
+ receive their ſon. I behold the ſpreading of their fire on Mora : the blue-rolling of their miſty
+ wreaths. Joy meet thee my brother! But we are dark and ſad! I behold the foe round the aged. I
+ behold the waſting away of his fame. Thou art left alone in the field, O grey-haired king of
+ Selma !”
+
I laid him in the hollow rock, at the roar of the nightly ſtream. One red
+ ſtar looked in on the hero. Winds lift, at times, his locks. I liſten. No ſound is heard. The
+ warrior flept ! As lightening on a cloud, a thought came ruſhing along my ſoul. My eyes roll in
+ fire: my
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtride was in the clang of ſteel. “I will find thee, king of
+ Erin! in the gathering of thy thouſands find thee. Why ſhould that cloud eſcape, that quenched
+ our early beam? Kindle your meteors on your hills, my fathers. Light my daring ſteps. I will
+ conſume in wrathDisplay note. But ſhould not I return ! The king is without a ſon, grey-haired among his foes! His arm
+ is not as in the days of old. His fame grows dim in Erin. Let me not behold him, laid low in his
+ latter field. But can I return to the king ? Will he not aſk about his ſon ? “Thou oughteſt to
+ defend young Fillan.” Oſſian will meet the foe! Green Erin, thy ſounding tread is pleaſant
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to my ear. I ruſh on thy ridgy hoſt, to ſhun the eyes of
+ Fingal. I hear the voice of the king, on Mora's miſty top ! He calls his two ſons! I come, my
+ father, in my grief. I come like an eagle, which the flame of night met in the deſart, and
+ ſpoiled of half his wings !”
+
DistantDisplay note, round the king, on Mora, the broken ridges of Morven are rolled. They turned their eyes
+ : each darkly bends, on his own aſhen ſpear. Silent ſtood the king in the midſt. Thought on
+ thought rolled over his ſoul. As waves on a ſecret mountain-lake, each with its back of foam. He
+ looked ; no ſon appeared, with his long-beaming ſpear. The ſighs roſe, crowding, from his ſoul ;
+ but he concealed his grief. At length I ſtood beneath an oak. No voice of mine was heard. What
+ could I ſay to Fingal in his hour of woe? His
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ words roſe, at length, in the midſt : the people ſhrunk
+ backward as he ſpokeDisplay note.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“Where is the ſon of Selma, he who led in war? I behold not his ſteps, among
+ my people, returning from the field. Fell the young bounding roe, who was ſo ſtately on my hills?
+ He fell; for ye are ſilent. The ſhield of war is cleft in twain, Let his armour be near to Fingal
+ ; and the ſword of dark-brown Luno. I am waked on my hills; with morning I deſcend to war.”
+
HighDisplay note on Cormul's rock, an oak is flaming to the wind. The grey ſkirts of miſt are rolled
+ around ; thither ſtrode the King in his wrath.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Diſtant from the hoſt he always lay, when battle burnt within
+ his ſoul. On two ſpears hung his ſhield on high ; the gleaming ſign of death ; that ſhield, which
+ he was wont to ſtrike, by night, before he ruſhed to war. It was then his warriors knew, when the
+ king was to lead in ſtrife; for never was this buckler heard, till the wrath of Fingal aroſe.
+ Unequal were his ſteps on high, as he ſhone in the beam of the oak ; he was dreadful as the form
+ of the ſpirit of night, when he cloaths, on hills, his wild geſtures with miſt, and, iſſuing
+ forth, on the troubled ocean, mounts the car of winds.
+
Nor ſettled, from the ſtorm, is Erin's ſea of war! they glitter, beneath the
+ moon, and, low-humming, ſtill roll on the field. Alone are the ſteps of Cathmor, before them on
+ the heath ; he hangs forward, with all his arms, on Morven's flying hoſt. Now had he come to the
+ moſſy cave, where Fillan lay in night. One tree was bent above the ſtream, which glittered over
+ the rock. There ſhone to the moon the broken
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhield of Clatho's ſon; and near it, on graſs, lay
+ hairy-footed BranDisplay note. He had miſſed the chief on Mora, and ſearched him along the wind. He thought that the
+ blue-eyed hunter ſlept ; he lay upon his ſhield. No blaſt came over the heath, unknown to
+ bounding Bran.
+
Cathmor ſaw the white-breaſted dog; he ſaw the broken ſhield. Darkneſs is
+ blown back on his ſoul; he remembers the falling away of the people. They come, a ſtream ; are
+ rolled away ; another race ſucceeds, “But ſome mark the fields, as they paſs, with their own
+ mighty
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ names. The heath, through dark-brown years, is theirs; ſome
+ blue ſtream winds to their fame. Of theſe be the chief of Atha, when he lays him down on earth.
+ Often may the voice of future times meet Cathmor in the air : when he ſtrides from wind to wind,
+ or folds himſelf in the wing of a ſtorm.”
+
Green Erin gathered round the king, to hear the voice of his power. Their
+ joyful faces bend, unequal, forward, in the light of the oak. They who were terrible were removed
+ : LubarDisplay note winds again in their hoſt. Cathmor was that beam from heaven which ſhone when his people
+ were dark. He was honoured in the midſt. Their ſouls roſe with ardour around. The king alone no
+ gladneſs ſhewed ; no ſtranger he to war !
+
“Why is the king ſo fad,” ſaid Malthos eagle-eyed? “Remains there a foe at
+ Lubar? Lives
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ there among them, who can lift the ſpear ? Not ſo peaceful was
+ thy father, Borbar-duthulDisplay note, king of ſpears. His rage was a fire that always burned : his joy over fallen foes was
+ great. Three days feaſted the grey-haired hero, when he heard that Calmar fell : Calmar, who
+ aided the race of Ullin, from Lara of the ſtreams. Often did he feel, with his hands, the ſteel
+ which, they ſaid, had pierced his foe. He felt it, with his hands, for Borbar-duthul's eyes had
+ failed. Yet was the king a ſun to his friends; a gale to lift their branches round. Joy was
+ around him in his halls: he loved the ſons of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Bolga. His name remains in Atha, like the awful memory of
+ ghoſts, whoſe preſence was terrible, but they blew the ſtorm away. Now let the voicesDisplay note of Erin raiſe the ſoul of the king; he that ſhone when war was dark, and laid the mighty
+ low. Fonar, from that grey browed rock, pour the tale of other times : pour it on wide-ſkirted
+ Erin, as it ſettles round.”
+
“To me,” ſaid Cathmor, “no ſong ſhall riſe ; nor Fonar ſit on the rock of Lubar. The mighty
+ there are laid low. Difturb not their ruſhing ghoſts. Far, Malthos, far remove the ſound of
+ Erin's ſong. I rejoice not over the foe, when he ceaſes to lift the ſpear. With morning we pour
+ our ſtrength abroad. Fingal is wakened on his ecchoing hill.”
+
Like waves, blown back by ſudden winds, Erin retired, at the voice of the
+ king. Deep-rolled into the field of night, they ſpread their humming tribes. Beneath his own
+ tree, at intervals, eachDisplay note bard ſat down with his harp.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ They raiſed the ſong, and touched the ſtring : each to the
+ chief he loved. Before a burning oak Sul-malla touched, at times, the harp. She touched the harp,
+ and heard, between, the breezes in her hair. In darkneſs near, lay the king of Atha, beneath an
+ aged tree. The beam of the oak was turned from him ; he ſaw the maid, but was not ſeen. His ſoul
+ poured forth,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in ſecret, when he beheld her fearful eye, “But battle is
+ before thee, ſon of Borbar-duthul.”
+
Amidst the harp, at intervals, ſhe liſtened whether the warrior ſlept. Her
+ ſoul was up; ſhe longed, in ſecret, to pour her own ſad ſong. The field is ſilent. On their
+ wings, the blaſts of night retire. The bards had ceaſed; and meteors came, red-winding with their
+ ghoſts. The ſky grew dark ; the forms of the dead were blended with the clouds. But heedleſs
+ bends the daughter of Conmor, over the decaying flame. Thou wert alone in her ſoul, car-borne
+ chief of Atha. She raiſed the voice of the ſong, and touched the harp between.
+
“Clun-galoDisplay note came; ſhe miſſed the maid. Where art thou, beam of light ? Hunters, from the moſſy rock,
+ ſaw ye the blue-eyed fair? Are her ſteps on graſſy Lumon ; near the bed of roes? Ah me! I behold
+ her bow in the hall. Where art thou, beam of light ?”
+
“CeaseDisplay note, love of Conmor, ceaſe; I hear thee
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ not on the ridgy heath, My eye is turned to the king, whoſe
+ path is terrible in war. He for whom my ſoul is up, in the ſeaſon of my reſt. Deep-boſomed in war
+ he ſtands, he beholds me not from his cloud. Why, ſun of Sulmalla, doſt thou not look forth ? I
+ dwell in darkneſs here; wide over me flies the ſhadowy miſt. Filled with dew are my locks : look
+ thou from thy cloud, O ſun of Sul-malla's ſoul.”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
This book begins, about the middle of the third night from the opening of
+ the poem. The poet deſcribes a kind of miſt, which roſe, by night, from the lake of Lego, and was
+ the uſual reſidence of the ſouls of the dead, during the interval between their deceaſe and the
+ funeral ſong. The appearance of the ghoſt of Fillan above the cave where his body lay. His voice
+ comes to Fingal, on the rock of Cormul. The king ſtrikes the ſhield of Trenmor, which was an
+ infallible ſign of his appearing in arms himſelf. The extraordinary effect of the ſound of the
+ ſhield. Sul-malla, ſtarting from ſleep, awakes Cathmor. Their affecting diſcourſe, She inſiſts
+ with him, to ſue for peace ; he reſolves to continue the war, He directs her to retire to the
+ neighbouring valley of Lona which was the reſidence of an old Druid, until the battle of the next
+ day ſhould be over. He awakes his army with the ſound of his ſhield. The ſhield deſcribed. Fonar,
+ the bard, at the deſire of Cathmor, relates the firſt ſettlement of the Fir-bolg in Ireland,
+ under their leader Larthon. Morning comes. Sul-malla retires, to the valley of Lona. A Lyric ſong
+ concludes the book.
From the wood-ſkirted waters of Lego, aſcend at times, grey-boſomed miſts ;
+ when the gates of the weſt are cloſed, on the ſun's eagle-eye. Wide, over Lara's ſtream, is
+ poured the vapour dark and deep: the moon, like a dim ſhield, is ſwimming thro' its folds. With
+ this, clothe the ſpirits of old their ſudden geſtures on the wind, when they ſtride, from blaſt
+ to blaſt, along the duſky night. Often, blended with the gale, to ſome warrior's graveDisplay note, they
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ roll the miſt, a grey dwelling to his ghoſt, until the ſongs
+ ariſe.
+
A sound came from the deſart ; it was Conar, king of Inis-fail. He poured
+ his miſt on the grave of Fillan, at blue-winding Lubar. Dark and mournful ſat the ghoſt, in his
+ grey ridge of ſmoak. The blaſt, at times, rolled him together : but the form returned again. It
+ returned with bending eyes, and dark winding of locks of miſt.
+
It wasDisplay note dark. The ſleeping hoſt were ſtill, in the ſkirts of night. The flame decayed, on the
+ hill of Fingal; the king lay lonely on his ſhield. His eyes were half-cloſed in ſleep ; the voice
+ of Fillan came. “Sleeps the huſband of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Clatho ? Dwells the father of the fallen in reſt ? Am I
+ forgot in the folds of darkneſs; lonely in the ſeaſon of night ?”
+
“Why doſt thou mix, ſaid the king, with the dreams of thy father? Can I
+ forget thee, my ſon, or thy path of fire in the field ? Not ſuch come the deeds of the valiant on
+ the ſoul of Fingal. They are not there a beam of lightning, which is ſeen, and is then no more. I
+ remember thee, O Fillan, and my wrath begins to riſe.”
+
The king took his deathful ſpear, and ſtruck the deeply-ſounding ſhield :
+ his ſhield that hung high in night, the diſmal ſign of war ! Ghoſts fled on every ſide, and
+ rolled their gathered forms on the wind. Thrice from the winding vale aroſe the voice of deaths.
+ The harpsDisplay note of the bards, untouched, ſound mournful over the hill.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ He ſtruck again the ſhield; battles roſe in
+ the dreams of his hoſt. The wide-tumbling ſtrife is gleaming over their ſouls. Blue-ſhielded
+ kings deſcend to war. Backward-looking armies fly; and mighty deeds are half-hid, in the bright
+ gleams of ſteel.
+
But when the third ſound aroſe, deer ſtarted from the clefts of their rocks.
+ The ſcreams of fowl are heard, in the deſart, as each flew, frighted on his blaſt. The ſons of
+ Selma half-roſe, and half-aſſumed their ſpears. But ſilence rolled back on the hoſt: they knew
+ the ſhield of the king. Sleep returned to their eyes; the field was dark and ſtill.
+
No ſleep was thine in darkneſs, blue-eyed daughter of Conmor! Sul-malla heard the dreadful
+ ſhield, and roſe, amid the night. Her ſteps are towards the king of Atha. “Can danger ſhake his
+ daring ſoul !” In doubt, ſhe ſtands, with bending eyes. Heaven burns with all its ſtars.
+
Again the ſhield reſounds ! She ruſhed. She ſtopt. Her voice half-roſe. It
+ failed. She ſaw him, amidſt his arms, that gleamed to heaven's fire. She ſaw him dim in his
+ locks, that roſe to nightly wind. Away, for fear, ſhe turned her ſteps. “Why ſhould the king of
+ Erin
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ awake? Thou art not a dream to his reſt, daughter of
+ Inis-huna.”
+
More dreadful rings the ſhield. Sul-malla ſtarts. Her helmet falls.
+ Loud-ecchoes Lubar's rock, as over it rolls the ſteel. Burſting from the dreams of night, Cathmor
+ half-roſe, beneath his tree. He ſaw the form of the maid, above him, on the rock. A red ſtar,
+ with twinkling beam, looked thro' her floating hair.
+
“Who comes thro' night to Cathmor, in the ſeaſon of his dreams? Bring'ſt
+ thou ought of war? Who art thou, ſon of night? Stand'ſt thou before me, a form of the times of
+ old? A voice from the fold of a cloud, to warn me of the danger of Erin ?”
+
“Nor lonely ſcout am I, nor voice from folded cloud,” the ſaid ; “but I warn
+ thee of the danger of Erin. Doſt thou hear that ſound ? It is not the feeble, king of Atha, that
+ rolls his ſigns on night.”
+
“Let the warrior roll his ſigns,” he replied; “to Cathmor they are the
+ ſounds of harps. My joy is great, voice of night, and burns over all my thoughts. This is the
+ muſic of kings, on lonely hills, by night; when they light their daring ſouls, the ſons of mighty
+ deeds! The feeble dwell alone, in the valley of the breeze ; where miſts
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ lift their morning ſkirts, from the blue-winding ſtreams.”
+
“Not feeble, king of men, were they, the fathers of my race. They dwelt in
+ the folds of battle, in their diſtant lands. Yet delights not my ſoul, in the ſigns of death! HeDisplay note, who never yields, comes forth : O ſend the bard of peace !”
+
Like a dropping rock, in the deſart, ſtood Cathmor in his tears. Her voice
+ came, a breeze, on his ſoul, and waked the memory of her land ; where ſhe dwelt by her peaceful
+ ſtreams, before he came to the war of Conmor.
+
“Daughter of ſtrangers,” he ſaid ; (ſhe trembling turned away) “long have I
+ marked thee in thy ſteel, young pine of Inis-huna. But my ſoul, I ſaid, is folded in a ſtorm. Why
+ ſhould that beam ariſe, till my ſteps return in peace? Have I been pale in thy preſence, as thou
+ bidſt me to fear the king? The time of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ danger, O maid, is the ſeaſon of my ſoul; for then it
+ ſwells, a mighty ſtream, and rolls me on the foe.”
+
“Beneath the moſs-covered rock of Lona, near his own loud ſtream ; grey in
+ his locks of age, dwells ClonmalDisplay note king of harps. Above him is his ecchoing tree, and the dun bounding of roes. The noiſe of
+ our ſtrife reaches his ear, as he bends in the thoughts of years. There let thy reſt be,
+ Sul-malla, until our battle ceaſe. Until I return, in my arms, from the ſkirts of the evening
+ miſt, that riſes, on Lona, round the dwelling of my love.”
+
A light fell on the ſoul of the maid ; it roſe kindled before the king. She
+ turned her face to Cathmor, from amidſt her waving locks.“Sooner ſhall the eagle of heaven be
+ torn, from the ſtream of his roaring wind, when he ſees the dun prey, before him, the young ſons
+ of the bounding roe, than thou, O Cathmor, be turned from the ſtrife of renown. Soon may I ſee
+ thee, warrior, from the ſkirts of the evening
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ miſt, when it is rolled around me, on Lona of the ſtreams.
+ While yet thou art diſtant far, ſtrike, Cathmor, ſtrike the ſhield, that joy may return to my
+ darkened ſoul, as I lean on the moſſy rock. But if thou ſhouldſt fall, I am in the land of
+ ſtrangers; O ſend thy voice, from thy cloud, to the maid of Inis-huna.”
+
“Young branch of green-headed Lumon, why doſt thou ſhake in the ſtorm? Often
+ has Cathmor returned, from darkly-rolling wars. The darts of death are but hail to me ; they have
+ often rattled along my ſhield. I have riſen brightened from battle, like a meteor from a ſtormy
+ cloud. Return not, fair beam, from thy vale, when the roar of battle grows. Then might the foe
+ eſcape, as from my fathers of old.”
+
“They told to Son-morDisplay note, of ClunarDisplay note, who was ſlain by Cormac in fight. Three days darkened Son-mor, over his brother's fall.
+ His ſpouſe beheld the ſilent king, and foreſaw his ſteps to war. She prepared the bow, in ſecret,
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to attend her blue-ſhielded hero. To her dwelt darkneſs, at
+ Atha, when he was not there. From their hundred ſtreams, by night, poured down the ſons of
+ Alnecma. They had heard the ſhield of the king, and their rage aroſe. In clanging arms, they
+ moved along, towards Ullin of the groves. Son-mor ſtruck his ſhield, at times, the leader of the
+ war.”
+
“Far behind followed Sul-allinDisplay note, over the ſtreamy hills. She was a light on the mountain, when they croſſed the vale
+ below. Her ſteps were ſtately on the vale, when they roſe on the moſſy hill. She feared to
+ approach the king, who left her in ecchoing Atha. But when the roar of battle roſe; when hoſt was
+ rolled on hoſt; when Son-mor burnt, like the fire of heaven in clouds, with her ſpreading hair
+ came Sul-allin; for ſhe trembled for her king. He ſtopt the ruſhing ſtrife to ſave the love of
+ heroes. The foe fled by night ; Clunar ſlept without his blood ; the blood which ought to be
+ poured upon the warrior's tomb.”
+
“Nor roſe the rage of Son-mor, but his days were ſilent and dark. Sul-allin
+ wandered, by her grey ſtreams, with her tearful eyes. Often did ſhe look, on the hero, when he
+ was folded
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in his thoughts. But ſhe ſhrunk from his eyes, and turned her
+ lone ſteps away. Battles roſe, like a tempeſt, and drove the miſt from his ſoul. He beheld, with
+ joy, her ſteps in the hall, and the white riſing of her hands on the harp.”Display noteIn his arms ſtrode the chief of Atha, to where his ſhield hung, high,
+ in night : high on a moſſy bough, over Lubar's ſtreamy roar. Seven boſſes roſe on the ſhield; the
+ ſeven voices of the king, which his warriors received, from the wind, and marked over all their
+ tribes.
+
On each boſs is placed a ſtar of night; Canmathon with beams unſhorn ;
+ Col-derna rifing from a cloud : Uloicho robed in miſt; and the ſoft beam of Caitlin glittering on
+ a rock. Smiling, on its own blue wave, Reldurath half-ſinks its weſtern light. The red eye of
+ Berthin looks, thro' a grove, on the hunter, as he returns, by night, with the ſpoils of the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ bounding roe. Wide, in the midſt, aroſe the cloudleſs beams
+ of Ton-thena, that ſtar which looked, by night, on the courſe of the ſea-toſſed Larthon :
+ Larthon, the firſt of Bolga's race, who travelled on the windsDisplay note. White-boſomed ſpread the ſails of the king, towards ſtreamy Inis-fail ; dun night was
+ rolled before him, with its ſkirts of miſt. Unconſtant blew the winds, and rolled him from wave
+ to wave. Then roſe the fiery-haired Ton-thena, and ſmiled from her parted cloud. LarthonDisplay note bleſſed the well-known beam, as it ſaint-gleamed on the deep.
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Beneath the ſpear of Cathmor, roſe that
+ voice which awakes the bards. They came, dark-winding, from every ſide; each with the ſound of
+ his harp. Before them rejoiced the king, as the traveller, in the day of the ſun; when he hears,
+ far-roiling around, the murmur of moſſy ſtreams ; ſtreams that burſt, in the deſart, from the
+ rock of roes.
+
“Why,” ſaid Fonar, “hear we the voice of the king, in the ſeaſon of his
+ reſt? Were the dim forms of thy fathers bending in thy dreams ? Perhaps they ſtand on that cloud,
+ and wait for Fonar's ſong; often they come to the fields where their ſons are to lift the ſpear.
+ Or ſhall our voice ariſe for him who lifts the ſpear no more; he that conſumed the field, from
+ Morna of the groves ?”
+
“Not forgot is that cloud in war, bard of other times. High ſhall his tomb
+ rife, on Moi-lena, the dwelling of renown. But, now,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ roll back my ſoul to the times of my fathers : to the years
+ when firſt they roſe, on Inis-huna's waves. Nor alone pleaſant to Cathmor is the remembrance of
+ wood-covered Lumon. Lumon of the ſtreams, the dwelling of white-boſomed maids.”Display noteLumon of the ſtreams, thou riſeſt on Fonar's ſoul ! Thy ſun is on thy
+ ſide, on the rocks of thy bending trees. The dun roe is ſeen from thy furze ; the deer lifts his
+ branchy head; for he ſees, at times, the hound, on the half-covered heath. Slow, on the vale, are
+ the ſteps of maids; the white-armed daughters of the bow : they lift their blue eyes to the hill,
+ from amidſt their wandering locks. Not there is the ſtride of Larthon, chief of Inis-huna. He
+ mounts the wave on his own dark oak, in Cluba's ridgy bay. That oak which he cut from Lumon, to
+ bound along the ſea. The maids turn their eyes away, leſt the king ſhould be lowly-laid ; for
+ never had they ſeen a ſhip, dark rider of the wave !”
+
“Now he dares to call the winds, and to mix with the miſt of ocean. Blue Inis-fail roſe, in
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſmoak; but dark-ſkirted night came down. The ſons of Bolga
+ feared. The fiery haired Ton-théna roſe. Culbin's bay received the ſhip, in the boſom of its
+ ecchoing woods. There, iſſued a ſtream, from Duthuma's horrid cave; where ſpirits gleamed, at
+ times, with their half-finiſhed forms.”
+
“Dreams deſcended on Larthon : he ſaw ſeven ſpirits of his fathers. He heard
+ their half-formed words, and dimly beheld the times to come. He beheld the kings of Atha, the
+ ſons of future days. They led their hoſts, along the field, like ridges of miſt, which winds
+ pour, in autumn, over Atha of the groves.”
+
“Larthon raiſed the hall of SamlaDisplay note, to the muſic of the harp. He went forth to the roes of Erin, to their wonted ſtreams.
+ Nor did he forget green-headed Lumon ; he often bounded over his ſeas, to where white-handed FlathalDisplay note looked from the hill of roes. Lumon of the foamy ſtreams, thou riſeſt on Fonar's ſoul
+ !”
+
Morning pours from the eaſt. The miſty heads of the mountains riſe. Valleys
+ ſhew, on
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ every ſide, the grey-winding of their ſtreams. His hoſt
+ heard the ſhield of Cathmor : at once they roſe around ; like a crowded ſea, when firſt it feels
+ the wings of the wind. The waves know not whither to roll; they lift their troubled heads.
+
Sad and ſlow retired Sul-malla to Lona of the ſtreams. She went, and often
+ turned ; her blue eyes rolled in tears. But when ſhe came to the rock, that darkly-covered Lona's
+ vale : ſhe looked, from her burſting ſoul, on the king ; and ſunk, at once, behind,
+
Son of Alpin, ſtrike the ſtring. Is there aught of joy in the harp? Pour it
+ then on the ſoul of Oſſian : it is folded in miſt, I hear thee, O bard, in my night. But ceaſe
+ the lightly-trembling ſound. The joy of grief belongs to Oſſian, amidſt his dark-brown years.
+
Green thorn of the hill of ghoſts, that ſhakeſt thy head to nightly winds! I
+ hear no ſound in thee; is there no ſpirit's windy ſkirt now ruſtling in thy leaves ? Often are
+ the ſteps of the dead, in the dark-eddying blaſts; when the moon, a dun ſhield, from the eaſt, is
+ roiled along the ſky.
+
Ullin, Carril, and Ryno, voices of the days of old! Let me hear you, while
+ yet it is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ dark, to pleaſe and awake my ſoul. I hear you not, ye ſons
+ of ſong. in what hall of the clouds is your reſt? Do you touch the ſhadowy harp, robed with
+ morning miſt, where the ruſtling ſun comes forth from his green-headed waves ?
The fourth morning, from the opening of the poem, comes on. Fingal, ſtill continuing in the
+ place, to which he had retired on the preceding night, is ſeen, at intervals, thro' the miſt,
+ which covered the rock of Cormul. The deſcent of the king is deſcribed. He orders Gaul, Dermid,
+ and Carril the bard, to go to the valley of Cluna, and conduct, from thence, to the Caledonian
+ army, Ferad-artho, the ſon of Cairbre, the only perſon remaining of the family of Conar, the
+ firſt king of Ireland. The king takes the command of the army, and prepares for battle. Marching
+ towards the enemy, he comes to the cave of Lubar, where the body of Fillan lay. Upon ſeeing his
+ dog Bran, who lay at the entrance of the cave, his grief returns. Cathmor arranges the Iriſh army
+ in order of battle. The appearance of that hero. The general conflict is deſcribed. The actions
+ of Fingal and Cathmor. A ſtorm. The total rout of the Firbolg. The two kings engage, in a column
+ of miſt, on the banks of Lubar. Their attitude and conference after the combat. The death of
+ Cathmor. Fingal reſigns the ſpear of Trenmor to Oſſian. The ceremonies obſerved on that
+ occaſion. The ſpirit of Cathmor, in the mean time, appears to Sul-malla, in the valley of Lona.
+ Her ſorrow. Evening comes on. A feaſt is prepared. The coming of Ferad-artho is announced by the
+ ſongs of a hundred bards. The poem cloſes, with a ſpeech of Fingal.
As when the wintry winds have ſeized the waves of the mountain-lake, have
+ ſeized them, in ſtormy night, and cloathed them over with ice; white, to the hunter's early eye,
+ the billows ſtill ſeem to roll. He turns his ear to the ſound of each unequal ridge. But each is
+ ſilent, gleaming, ſtrewn with boughs and tufts of graſs, which ſhake and whiſtle to the wind,
+ over their grey ſeats of froſt. So ſilent ſhone to the morning the ridges of Morven's hoſt, as
+ each warrior looked up from his helmet towards the hill of the king; the cloud-covered hill of
+ Fingal, where he ſtrode, in the folds of miſt. At times is the hero ſeen, greatly dim in all his
+ arms.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ From thought to thought rolled the war, along his mighty
+ ſoul.
+
Now is the coming forth of the king. Firſt appeared the ſword of Luno; the
+ ſpear half iſſuing from a cloud, the ſhield ſtill dim in miſt. But when the ſtride of the king
+ came abroad, with all his grey, dewy locks in the wind ; then roſe the ſhouts of his hoſt over
+ every moving tribe. They gathered, gleaming, round, with all their ecchoing ſhields. So riſe the
+ green ſeas round a ſpirit, that comes down from the ſqually wind. The traveller hears the ſound
+ afar, and lifts his head over the rock. He looks on the troubled bay, and thinks he dimly ſees
+ the form. The waves ſport, unwieldy, round, with all their backs of foam.
+
Far-distant ſtood the ſon of Morni, Duthno's race, and Cona's bard. We ſtood
+ far-diſtant ; each beneath his tree. We ſhunned the eyes of the king; we had not conquered in the
+ field. A little ſtream rolled at my feet: I touched its light wave, with my ſpear. I touched it
+ with my ſpear; nor there was the ſoul of Oſſian. It darkly roſe, from thought to thought, and
+ ſent abroad the ſigh.
+
“Son of Morni,” ſaid the king, “Dermid, hunter of roes ! why are ye dark,
+ like two rocks, each with its trickling waters? No wrath gathers
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ on Fingal's ſoul, againſt the chiefs of men. Ye are my
+ ſtrength in battle; the kindling of my joy in peace. My early voice has been a pleaſant gale to
+ your ears, when Fillan prepared the bow. The ſon of Fingal is not here, nor yet the chace of the
+ bounding roes. But why ſhould the breakers of ſhields ſtand, darkened, far away ?”
+
Tall they ſtrode towards the king ; they ſaw him turned to Mora's wind. His
+ tears came down, for his blue-eyed ſon, who ſlept in the cave of ſtreams. But he brightened
+ before them, and ſpoke to the broad-ſhielded kings.
+
“Crommal, with woody rocks, and miſty top, the field of winds, pours forth,
+ to the fight, blue Lubar's ſtreamy roar. Behind it rolls clear-winding Lavath, in the ſtill vale
+ of deer. A cave is dark in a rock ; above it ſtrong-winged eagles dwell; broad-headed oaks,
+ before it, ſound in Cluna's wind. Within, in his locks of youth, is Ferad-arthoDisplay note, blue-eyed king, the ſon
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of broad-ſhielded Cairbar, from Ullin of the roes. He liſtens
+ to the voice of Condan, as, grey, he bends in feeble light. He liſtens, for his foes dwell in the
+ ecchoing halls of Temora.
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ He comes, at times, abroad, in the ſkirts of miſt, to
+ pierce the bounding roes. When the ſun looks on the field, nor by the rock; nor ſtream, is he! He
+ ſhuns the race of Bolga, who dwell in his father's hall. Tell him, that Fingal lifts the ſpear,
+ and that his foes, perhaps, may fail.”
+
“Lift up, O Gaul, the ſhield before him. Stretch, Dermid, Temora's ſpear. Be
+ thy voice in his ear, O Carril, with the deeds of his fathers. Lead him to green Moi-lena, to the
+ duſky field of ghoſts; for there, I fall forward, in battle, in the folds of war. Before dun
+ night deſcends, come to high Dunmora's top. Look, from the grey ſkirts of miſt, on Lena of the
+ ſtreams. If there my ſtandard ſhall float on wind, over Lubar's gleaming ſtream, then has not
+ Fingal failed in the laſt of his fields.”
+
Such were his words; nor aught replied the ſilent, ſtriding kings. They
+ looked ſide-long, on Erin's hoſt, and darkened, as they went. Never before had they left the
+ king, in the midſt of the ſtormy field. Behind them, touching at
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ times his harp, the grey-haired Carril moved. He foreſaw the
+ fall of the people, and mournful was the ſound! It was like a breeze that comes, by fits, over
+ Lego's reedy lake ; when ſleep half-deſcends on the hunter, within his moſſy cave. “Why bends the bard of Cona,” ſaid Fingal, “over his ſecret ſtream ? Is this a time for
+ ſorrow, father of low-laid Oſcar? Be the warriorsDisplay note remembered in peace; when ecchoing ſhields are heard no more. Bend, then, in grief, over
+ the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ flood, where blows the mountain breeze. Let them paſs on
+ thy ſoul, the blue-eyed dwellers of the tomb. But Erin rolls to war ; wide-tumbling, rough, and
+ dark. Lift, Oſſian, lift the ſhield. I am alone, my ſon!”
+
As comes the ſudden voice of winds to the becalmed ſhip of Inis-huna, and
+ drives it large, along the deep, dark rider of the wave; ſo the voice of Fingal ſent Oſſian,
+ tall, along the heath. He lifted high his ſhining ſhield, in the duſky wing of war : like the
+ broad, blank moon, in the ſkirt of a cloud, before the ſtorms ariſe.
+
Loud, from moſs-covered Mora, poured down, at once, the broad-winged war.
+ Fingal led his people forth, king of Morven of ſtreams. On high ſpreads the eagle's wing. His
+ grey hair is poured on his ſhoulders broad. In thunder are his mighty ſtrides. He often ſtood,
+ and ſaw behind, the wide-gleaming rolling of armour. A rock he ſeemed, grey over with ice, whoſe
+ woods are high in wind. Bright ſtreams leap from its head, and ſpread their foam on blaſts.
+
Now he came to Lubar's cave, where Fillan darkly ſlept. Bran ſtill lay on
+ the broken ſhield : the eagle-wing is ſtrewed by the winds. Bright, from withered furze, looked
+ forth the hero's ſpear. Then grief ſtirred the ſoul of the king, like whirlwinds blackening on a
+ lake. He
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ turned his ſudden ſtep, and leaned on his bending ſpear.
+
White-breasted Bran came bounding with joy to the known path of Fingal. He
+ came, and looked towards the cave, where the blue-eyed hunter lay, for he was wont to ſtride,
+ with morning, to the dewy bed of the roe. It was then the tears of the king came dawn, and all
+ his ſoul was dark. But as the riſing wind rolls away the ſtorm of rain, and leaves the white
+ ſtreams to the ſun, and high hills with their heads of graſs : ſo the returning war brightened
+ the mind of Fingal. He boundedDisplay note, on his
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſpear, over Lubar, and ſtruck his ecchoing ſhield. His
+ ridgy hoſt bend forward, at once, with all their pointed ſteel.
+
Nor Erin heard, with fear, the ſound : wide they came rolling along. Dark
+ Malthos, in the wing of war, looks forward from ſhaggy brows. Next roſe that beam of light
+ Hidalla ; then the ſide-long-looking gloom of Maronnan. Blue-ſhielded Clonar lifts the ſpear ;
+ Cormar ſhakes his buſhy locks on the wind. Slowly, from behind a rock, roſe the bright form of
+ Atha. Firſt appeared his two pointed ſpears, then the half of his burniſhed ſhield ; like the
+ riſing of a nightly meteor, over the vale of ghoſts. But when he ſhone all abroad : the hoſts
+ plunged, at once, into ſtrife. The gleaming waves of ſteel are poured on either ſide.
+
As meet two troubled ſeas, with the rolling of all their waves, when they
+ feel the wings of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ contending winds, in the rock-ſided firth of Lumon; along the
+ ecchoing hills is the dim courſe of ghoſts : from the blaſt fall the torn groves on the deep,
+ amidſt the foamy path of whales. So mixed the hoſts! Now Fingal; now Cathmor came abroad. The
+ dark tumbling of death is before them : the gleam of broken ſteel is rolled on their ſteps, as,
+ loud, the high-bounding kings hewed down the ridge of ſhields.
+
Maronnan fell, by Fingal, laid large acroſs a ſtream. The waters gathered by
+ his ſide, and leapt grey over his boſſy ſhield. Clonar is pierced by Cathmor: nor yet lay the
+ chief on earth. An oak ſeized his hair in his fall. His helmet rolled on the ground. By its
+ thong, hung his broad ſhield; over it wandered his ſtreaming blood. Tla-minDisplay note ſhall weep, in the hall, and ſtrike her heaving breaſt.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Nor did Oſſian forget the ſpear, in the
+ wing of his war. He ſtrewed the field with dead. Young Hidalla came. “Soft voice of ſtreamy
+ Clonra ! Why doſt thou lift the ſteel? O that we met, in the ſtrife of ſong, in thy own ruſhy
+ vale !” Malthos beheld him low, and darkened as he ruſhed along. On either ſide of a ſtream, we
+ bend in the ecchoing ſtrife. Heaven comes rolling down : around burſt the voices of ſqually
+ winds. Hills are clothed, at times, in fire.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Thunder rolls in wreaths of miſt. In darkneſs ſhrunk the foe
+ : Morven's warriors ſtood aghaſt. Still I bent over the ſtream, amidſt my whiſtling locks.
+
Then roſe the voice of Fingal, and the ſound of the flying foe. I ſaw the
+ king, at times, in lightning, darkly-ſtriding in his might. I ſtruck my ecchoing ſhield, and hung
+ forward on the ſteps of Alnecma : the foe is rolled before me, like a wreath of ſmoak.
+
The ſun looked forth from his cloud. The hundred ſtreams of Moi-lena ſhone.
+ Slow roſe the blue columns of miſt, againſt the glittering hill. “Where are the mighty kings ?Display note Nor by that ſtream, nor wood, are they ! I hear the clang of arms! Their ſtrife is in the
+ boſom of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ that miſt. Such is the contending of ſpirits in a nightly
+ cloud, when they ſtrive for the wintry wings of winds, and the rolling of the foam-covered
+ waves.
+
I rushed along. The grey miſt roſe. Tall, gleaming, they ſtood at Lubar.
+ Cathmor leaned againſt a rock. His half-fallen ſhield received the ſtream, that leapt from the
+ moſs above. Towards him is the ſtride of Fingal : he ſaw the hero's blood. His ſword fell ſlowly
+ to his ſide. He ſpoke, midſt his darkening joy.
+
“Yields the race of Borbar-duthul ? Or ſtill does he lift the ſpear? Not
+ unheard is thy name, at Atha, in the green dwelling of ſtrangers. It has come, like the breeze of
+ his deſart, to the ear of Fingal. Come to my hill of feaſts: the mighty fail, at times. No fire
+ am I to low-laid foes ; I rejoice not over the fall of the brave. To cloſeDisplay note the wound is mine: I have known
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the herbs of the hills. I ſeized their fair heads, on high,
+ as they waved by their ſecret ſtreams. Thou art dark and ſilent, king of Atha of ſtrangers.”
+
“By Atha of the ſtream,” he ſaid, “there riſes a moſſy rock. On its head is
+ the wandering of boughs, within the courſe of winds. Dark, in its face, is a cave, with its own
+ loud rill. There have I heard the tread of ſtrangersDisplay note, when they paſſed to my hall of ſhells. Joy roſe, like a flame, on my ſoul: I bleſt the
+ ecchoing rock. Here be my dwelling, in darkneſs; in my graſſy vale. From this I ſhall mount the
+ breeze, that purſues my thiſtle's beard; or look down, on blue-winding Atha, from its wandering
+ miſt.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Why ſpeaks the king of the tomb ?
+ Oſſian! the warrior has failed ! Joy meet thy ſoul, like a ſtream, Cathmor, friend of ſtrangers!
+ My ſon, I hear the call of years; they take my ſpear as they paſs along. Why does not Fingal,
+ they ſeem to ſay, reſt within his hall? Doſt thou always delight in blood? In the tears of the
+ ſad? No: ye dark-rolling years, Fingal delights not in blood. Tears are wintry ſtreams that waſte
+ away my ſoul. But, when I lie down to reſt, then comes the mighty voice of war. It awakes me, in
+ my hall, and calls forth all my ſteel. It ſhall call it forth no more; Oſſian, take thou thy
+ father's ſpear. Lift it, in battle, when the proud ariſe.
+
My fathers, Oſſian, trace my ſteps; my deeds are pleaſant to their eyes. Wherever I come forth
+ to battle, on my field, are their columns of miſt. But mine arm reſcued the feeble; the haughty
+ found my rage was fire. Never over the fallen did mine eye rejoice. For thisDisplay note, my fathers ſhall meet me, at the gates
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of their airy halls, tall, with robes of light, with
+ mildly-kindled eyes. But, to the proud in arms, they are darkened moons in heaven, which ſend the
+ fire of night, red-wandering over their face.”
+
“Father of heroes, Trenmor, dweller of eddying winds! I give thy ſpear to
+ Oſſian, let thine eye rejoice. Thee have I ſeen, at times, bright from between thy clouds; ſo
+ appear to my ſon, when he is to lift the ſpear: then ſhall he remember thy mighty deeds, though
+ thou art now but a blaſt.”
+
He gave the ſpear to my hand, and raiſed; at once, a ſtone on high, to ſpeak
+ to future times, with its grey head of moſs. Beneath he placed a ſwordDisplay note in earth, and one bright boſs from his ſhield. Dark in thought, a-while, he bends : his
+ words, at length, came forth.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “When thou, O ſtone, ſhall moulder down,
+ and loſe thee, in the moſs of years, then ſhall the traveller come, and whiſtling paſs away. Thou
+ know'ft not, feeble man, that fame once ſhone on Moi-lena. Here Fingal reſigned his ſpear, after
+ the laſt of his fields. Paſs away, thou empty ſhade; in thy voice there is no renown. Thou
+ dwelleſt by ſome peaceful ſtream ; yet a few years, and thou art gone. No one remembers thee,
+ thou dweller of thick miſt ! But Fingal ſhall be clothed with fame, a beam of light to other
+ times; for he went forth, in ecchoing ſteel, to ſave the weak in arms.”
+
Brightening in his fame, the king ſtrode to Lubar's ſounding oak, where it
+ bent, from its rock, over the bright-tumbling ſtream. Beneath it is a narrow plain, and the ſound
+ of the fount of the rock. Here the ſtandardDisplay note of Morven poured its wreaths on the wind, to mark the way of Ferad-artho, from his ſecret
+ vale. Bright, from his parted weſt, the ſun of heaven looked abroad. The hero ſaw his people, and
+ heard
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ their ſhouts of joy. In broken ridges round, they glittered
+ to the beam. The king rejoiced, as a hunter in his own green vale, when, after the ſtorm is
+ rolled away, he ſees the gleaming ſides of the rocks. The green thorn ſhakes its head in their
+ face; from their top look forward the roes.Display noteGrey, at his moſſy cave, is bent the aged form of Clonmal. The eyes of
+ the bard had failed. He leaned forward, on his ſtaff. Bright, in her locks, before him, Sul-malla
+ liſtened to the tale; the tale of the kings of Atha, in the days of old. The noiſe of battle had
+ ceaſed in his ear: he ſtopt, and raiſed the ſecret ſigh. The ſpirits of the dead, they ſaid,
+ often lightened along his ſoul. He ſaw the king of Atha low, beneath his bending tree.
+
“Why art thou dark,” ſaid the maid? “The ſtrife of arms is paſt. SoonDisplay note ſhall he come to thy cave, over thy winding ſtreams. The ſun looks from the rocks of the
+ weſt. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ miſts of the lake ariſe. Grey, they ſpread on that hill,
+ the ruſhy dwelling of roes. From the miſt ſhall my king appear ! Behold, he comes in his arms.
+ Come to the cave of Clonmal, O my beſt beloved !”
+
It was the ſpirit of Cathmor, ſtalking, large, a gleaming form. He ſunk by
+ the hollow ſtream, that roared between the hills. “It was but the hunter,” ſhe ſaid,“who ſearches
+ for the bed of the roe. His ſteps are not forth to war; his ſpouſe expects him with night. He
+ ſhall, whiſtling, return, with the ſpoils of the dark-brown hinds.” Her eyes were turned to the
+ hill; again the ſtately form came down. She roſe, in the midſt of joy. He retired again in miſt.
+ Gradual vaniſh his limbs of ſmoak, and mix with the mountain-wind. Then ſhe knew that he fell!
+ “King of Erin art thou low!” Let Oſſian forget her grief; it waſtes the ſoul of ageDisplay note.
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Evening came down on Moi-lena. Grey rolled the ſtreams of the land. Loud
+ came forth the voice of Fingal : the beam of oaks aroſe. The people gathered round with gladneſs
+ ; with gladneſs blended with ſhades. They ſidelong looked to the king, and beheld his unfiniſhed
+ joy. Pleaſant, from the way of the deſart, the voice of muſic came. It ſeemed, at firſt, the
+ noiſe of a ſtream, far-diſtant on its rocks. Slow it rolled along the hill, like the ruffled wing
+ of a breeze, when it takes the tufted beard of the rocks, in the ſtill ſeaſon of night. It was
+ the voice of Condan, mixed with Carril's trembling harp. They came, with blue-eyed Ferad-artho,
+ to Mora of the ſtreams.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ Sudden burſts the ſong from our bards,
+ on Lena : the hoſt ſtruck their ſhields midſt the ſound. Gladneſs roſe brightening on the king,
+ like the beam of a cloudy day, when it riſes, on the green hill, before the roar of winds. He
+ ſtruck the boſſy ſhield of kings; at once they ceaſe around. The people lean forward, from their
+ ſpears, towards the voice of their landDisplay note.
+
“Sons of Morven, ſpread the feaſt ; ſend the night away in ſong. Ye have
+ ſhone around me; and the dark ſtorm is paſt. My people are the windy rocks, from which I ſpread
+ my eagle
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ wings, when I ruſh forth to renown, and ſeize it on its
+ field. Oſſian, thou haſt the ſpear of Fingal : it is not the ſtaff of a boy with which he ſtrews
+ the thiſtle round, young wanderer of the field. No: it is the lance of the mighty, with which
+ they ſtretched forth their hands to death. Look to thy fathers, my ſon; they are awful beams.
+ With morning lead Ferad-artho forth to the ecchoing halls of Temora. Remind him of the kings of
+ Erin; the ſtately forms of old. Let not the fallen be forgot, they were mighty in the field. Let
+ Carril pour his ſong, that the kings may rejoice in their miſt. To-morrow I ſpread my ſails to
+ Selma's ſhaded walls; where ſtreamy Duthula winds through the ſeats of roes.”
Conlath was the youngeſt of Morni's ſons, and brother to the celebrated Gaul. He was in love
+ with Cuthóna the daughter of Rumar, when Toſcar the ſon of Kinfena, accompanied by Fercuth his
+ friend, arrived, from Ireland, at Mora, where Conlath dwelt. He was hoſpitably received, and
+ according to the cuſtom of the times, feaſted, three days, with Conlath. On the fourth he ſet
+ ſail, and coaſting the iſland of waves, one of the Hebrides, he ſaw Cuthona hunting,
+ fell in love with her, and carried her away, by force, in his ſhip. He was forced, by ſtreſs of
+ weather, into I-thona a deſart iſle. In the mean-time Conlath, hearing of the rape, ſailed after
+ him, and found him on the point of ſailing for the coaſt of Ireland. They fought; and they and
+ their followers fell by mutual wounds. Cuthona did not long ſurvive: for ſhe died of grief the
+ third day after. Fingal, hearing of their unfortunate death, ſent Stormal the ſon of Moran to
+ bury them, but forgot to ſend a bard to ſing the funeral ſong over their tombs. The ghoſt of
+ Conlath comes, long after, to Oſſian, to intreat him to tranſmit, to poſterity, his and
+ Cuthona's fame. For it was the opinion of the times, that the ſouls of the deceaſed were not
+ happy, till their elegies were compoſed by a bard.
Did not Oſſian hear a voice? or is it the ſound of days that are no more?
+ Often does the memory of former times come, like the evening ſun, on my ſoul. The noiſe of the
+ chace is renewed. In thought, I lift the ſpear. But Oſſian did hear a voice ! Who art thou, ſon
+ of night ? The children of the feeble are aſleep. The midnight wind is in my hall. Perhaps it is
+ the ſhield of Fingal that ecchoes to the blaſt. It hangs in Oſſian's hall. He feels it ſometimes
+ with his hands. Yes! I hear thee, my friend ! Long has thy voice been abſent from mine ear ! What
+ brings thee, on thy cloud, to Oſſian, ſon of generous Morni? Are the friends of the aged near
+ thee? Where is Oſcar, ſon of fame? He was often near thee, O Conlath, when the ſound of battle
+ aroſe.
Sleeps the ſweet voice of Cona, in the midſt of his ruſtling hall ? Sleeps
+ Oſſian in his hall, and his friends without their fame? The ſea rolls round dark I-thona. Display note Our
+ tombs are not ſeen in our iſle. How long ſhall our fame be unheard, ſon of reſounding Selma
+ ?
+
+
+
+ Ossian.
+
O that mine eyes could behold thee ! Thou ſitteſt, dim, on thy cloud! Art
+ thou like the miſt of Lano? An half-extinguiſhed meteor of fire? Of what are the ſkirts of thy
+ robe? Of what is thine airy bow? He is gone on his blaſt like the ſhade of a wandering cloud.
+ Come from thy wall, O harp! Let me hear thy ſound. Let the light of memory riſe on I-thona. Let
+ me behold again my friends ! And Oſſian does behold his friends, on the dark-blue iſle. The cave
+ of Thona appears, with its moſſy rocks and bending trees. A ſtream roars at its mouth. Toſcar
+ bends over its courſe, Fercuth is ſad by his ſide. CuthónaDisplay note ſits at a
+ diſtance, and weeps. Does the wind of
+
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+ the waves deceive me? Or do I hear them ſpeak ?
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
The night was ſtormy. From their hills the groaning oaks came down, The
+ ſea darkly-tumbled beneath the blaſt. The roaring waves climbed againſt our rocks. The lightning
+ came often and ſhewed the blaſted fern. Fercuth ! I ſaw the ghoſt who embroiled the nightDisplay note. Silent he ſtood, on that bank. His robe of miſt flew on the
+ wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man he ſeemed, and full of thought !
+
+
+
+ Fercuth.
+
It was thy father, O Toſcar. He foreſees ſome death among his race. Such was his appearance
+ on Cromla, before the great MaronnanDisplay note fell. Erin of hills of graſs! how pleaſant
+ are thy vales? Silence is near thy blue ſtreams. The ſun is on thy fields. Soft is the
+
+
+ [
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+ ſound of the harp in SelámaDisplay note. Lovely the cry of the hunter on Crómla. But we
+ are in dark I-thona, ſurrounded by the ſtorm. The billows lift their white heads above our
+ rocks. We tremble amidſt the night.
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
Whither is the ſoul of battle fled, Fercuth with locks of age? I have ſeen
+ thee undaunted in danger: thine eyes burning with joy in the fight. Whither is the ſoul of
+ battle fled? Our fathers never feared. Go: view the ſettling ſea : the ſtormy wind is laid. The
+ billows ſtill tremble on the deep. They ſeem to fear the blaſt. Go view the ſettling ſea.
+ Morning is grey on our rocks. The ſun will look ſoon from his eaſt; in all his pride of light! I
+ lifted up my ſails, with joy, before the halls of generous Conlath. My courſe was by a deſart
+ iſle : where Cuthona purſued the deer. I ſaw her, like that beam of the ſun that iſſues from the
+ cloud. Her hair was on her heaving breaſt. She, bending forward, drew the bow. Her white arm
+ ſeemed, behind her, like the ſnow of Cromla. Come to my ſoul, I ſaid, huntreſs
+
+ [
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+ of the deſart iſle! But ſhe waſtes her time in tears, She thinks of the
+ generous Conlath. Where can I find thy peace, Cuthona, lovely maid !
A distant ſteep bends over the ſea, with aged trees and moſſy rocks. The
+ billow rolls at its feet. On its ſide is the dwelling of roes. The people call it Mora. There
+ the towers of my love ariſe. There Conlath looks over the ſea for his only love. The daughters
+ of the chace returned. He beheld their downcaft eyes. “Where is the daughter of Rumar ?” But
+ they anſwered not. My peace dwells on Mora, ſon of the diſtant land !
+
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
Cuthona ſhall return to her peace : to the towers of generous Conlath. He
+ is the friend of Toſcar ! I have feaſted in his halls! Riſe, ye gentle breezes of Erin. Stretch
+ my ſails toward Mora's ſhores. Cuthona ſhall reſt on Mora : but the days of Toſcar muſt be ſad.
+ I ſhall ſit in my cave in the field of the ſun. The
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+ blaſt will ruſtle in my trees. I ſhall think it is Cuthona's
+ voice. But ſhe is diſtant far, in the halls of the mighty Conlath !
+
+
+
+ Cuthona.
+
Ha ! what cloud is that ? It carries the ghoſts of my fathers. I ſee the
+ ſkirts of their robes, like grey and watry miſt. When ſhall I fall, O Rumar ? Sad Cuthona
+ foreſees her death. Will not Conlath behold me, before I enter the narrow houſeDisplay note ?
+
+
+
+ Ossian.
+
He ſhall behold thee, O maid. He comes along the heaving ſea. The death of
+ Toſcar is dark on his ſpear. A wound is in his ſide ! He is pale at the cave of Thona. He ſhews
+ his ghaſtly wound. Where art thou with thy tears, Cuthona ? The chief of Mora dies. The viſion
+ grows dim, on my mind. I behold the chiefs no more ! But, O ye bards of future times, remember
+ the fall of Conlath with tears. He fell before his day. Sadneſs darkened in his hall. His mother
+ looked to his ſhield on the wall, and it was bloodyDisplay note. She
+ knew that her hero fell.
+
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+ Her ſorrow was heard on Mora. Art thou pale on thy rock, Cuthona, beſide
+ the fallen chiefs ? Night comes, and day returns, but none appears to raiſe their tomb. Thou
+ frighteneſt the ſcreaming fowls away. Thy tears for ever flow. Thou art pale as a watry cloud,
+ that riſes from a lake !
+
The ſons of green Selma came. They found Cuthona cold. They raiſed a tomb
+ over the heroes. She reſts at the ſide of Conlath. Come not to my dreams, O Conlath ! Thou haſt
+ received thy fame. Be thy voice far diſtant from my hall; that ſleep may deſcend at night. O
+ that I could forget my friends : till my footſteps ſhould ceaſe to be ſeen! till I come among
+ them with joy! and lay my aged limbs in the narrow houſe !
Fingal in his voyage to Lochlin, whither he had been invited by Starno the father of
+ Agandecca, touched at Berrathon, an iſland of Scandinavia, where he was kindly entertained by
+ Larthmor the petty king of the place, who was a vaſſal of the ſupreme kings of Lochlin. The
+ hoſpitality of Larthmor gained him Fingal's friendſhip, which that hero manifeſted, after the
+ impriſonment of Larthmor by his own ſon, by ſending Oſſian and Toſcar, the father of Malvina ſo
+ often mentioned, to reſcue Larthmor, and to puniſh the unnatural behaviour of Uthal. Uthal was
+ handſome, and, by the ladies, much admired. Nina-thoma, the beautiful daughter of Torthoma, a
+ neighbouring prince, fell in love and fled with him. He proved unconſtant; for another lady,
+ whoſe name is not mentioned, gaining his affections, he confined Nina-thoma to a deſart iſland
+ near the coaſt of Berrathon. She was relieved by Oſſian, who, in company with Toſcar, landing on
+ Berrathon, defeated the forces of Uthal, and killed him in a ſingle combat. Nina-thoma, whoſe
+ love not all the bad behaviour of Uthal could eraſe, hearing of his death, died of grief. In the
+ mean time Larthmor is reſtored, and Oſſian and Toſcar return in triumph to Fingal,
+
The poem opens with an elegy on the death of Malvina the daughter of Toſcar, and cloſes with
+ preſages of Oſſian's death.
Bend thy blue courſe, O ſtream, round the narrow plain ofDisplay note Lutha. Let the green woods hang over it, from their hills: the ſun look on it at noon.
+ The thiſtle is there on its rock, and ſhakes its beard to the wind. The flower hangs its heavy
+ head, waving, at times, to the gale. “Why doſt thou awake me, O gale,” it ſeems to ſay, “I am
+ covered with the drops of heaven? The time of my fading is near, the blaſt that ſhall ſcatter my
+ leaves. Tomorrow ſhall the traveller come ; he that ſaw me in my beauty ſhall come. His eyes will
+ ſearch the field, but they will not find me?” So ſhall they ſearch in vain, for the voice of
+ Cona, after it has failed in the field. The hunter ſhall come forth in the morning, and the voice
+ of my harp
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+ ſhall not be heard. “Where is the ſon of car-borne Fingal ?” The tear
+ will be on his cheek ! Then come thou, O Malvina, with all thy muſic, come. Lay Oſſian in the
+ plain of Lutha : let his tomb riſe in the lovely field.
+
Malvina! where art thou, with thy ſongs, with the ſoft ſound of thy ſteps? SonDisplay note of Alpin art thou near ? where is the daughter of Toſcar? “I paſſed, O ſon of Fingal, by
+ Tor-lutha's moſſy walls. The ſmoke of the hall was ceaſed. Silence was among the trees of the
+ hill. The voice of the chace was over. I ſaw the daughters of the bow. I aſked about Malvina, but
+ they anſwered not. They turned their faces away : thin darkneſs covered their beauty. They were
+ like ſtars, on a rainy hill, by night, each looking faintly thro' her miſt.”
+
PleasantDisplay note be thy reſt, O lovely beam! ſoon haſt thou ſet on our hills ! The ſteps of thy departure
+ were ſtately, like the moon on the blue, trembling wave. But thou haſt left us in darkneſs, firſt
+ of the maids of Lutha ! We ſit, at the rock, and there is no voice; no light but
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ the meteor of fire ! Soon haſt thou ſet, O Malvina, daughter of generous
+ Toſcar ! But thou riſeſt like the beam of the eaſt, among the ſpirits of thy friends, where they
+ ſit, in their ſtormy halls, the chambers of the thunder ! A cloud hovers over Cona. Its blue
+ curling ſides are high. The winds are beneath it, with their wings. Within it is the dwellingDisplay note of Fingal. There the hero ſits in darkneſs. His airy ſpear is in his hand. His ſhield
+ half covered with clouds, is like the darkened moon ; when one half ſtill remains in the wave,
+ and the other looks ſickly on the field !
+
His friends ſit around the King, on miſt ! They hear the ſongs of Ullin : he
+ ſtrikes the half-viewleſs harp. He raiſes the feeble voice. The leſſer heroes, with a thouſand
+ meteors, light the airy hall. Malvina riſes, in the midſt; a bluſh is on her cheek. She beholds
+ the unknown faces of her fathers. She turns aſide her humid eyes. “Art thou come ſo ſoon ?” ſaid
+ Fingal, “daughter of generous Toſcar.
+
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+ ]
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+ Sadneſs dwells in the halls of Lutha. My aged ſonDisplay note is ſad ! I hear the breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy locks. It comes to
+ the hall, but thou art not there. Its voice is mournful among the arms of thy fathers ! Go, with
+ thy ruſtling wing, O breeze! ſigh on Malvina's tomb. It riſes yonder beneath the rock, at the
+ blue ſtream of Lutha. The maidsDisplay note are departed to their place. Thou alone, O breeze, mourneſt there!”
+
But who comes from the duſky weſt, ſupported on a cloud? A ſmile is on his
+ grey, watry face. His locks of miſt fly on wind. He bends forward on his airy ſpear. It is thy
+ father, Malvina ! “Why ſhineft thou, ſo ſoon, on our clouds,” he ſays, “O lovely light of Lutha!
+ But thou wert ſad, my daughter. Thy friends had paſſed away. The ſons of little menDisplay note were in the hall. None remained of the heroes, but Oſſian king of ſpears !”
+
+ [
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+
+
And doſt thou remember Oſſian, car-borne ToſcarDisplay note, ſon of Conloch ? The battles of our youth were many. Our ſwords went together to the
+ field. They ſaw us coming like two falling rocks. The ſons of the ſtranger fled. “There come the
+ warriors of Cona !” they ſaid. “Their ſteps are in the paths of the flying!” Draw near, ſon of
+ Alpin, to the ſong of the aged. The deeds of other times are in my ſoul. My memory beams on the
+ days that are paſt. On the days of mighty Toſcar, when our path was in the deep. Draw near, ſon
+ of Alpin, to the laſt ſound of the voice of Cona !
+
The king of Morven commanded. I raiſed my ſails to the wind. Toſcar chief of
+ Lutha ſtood at my ſide. I roſe on the dark-blue wave, Our courſe was to ſea-ſurrounded BerrathonDisplay note, the iſle of many ſtorms. There dwelt, with his locks of age, the ſtately ſtrength of
+ Larthmor. Larthmor, who ſpread the feaſt of ſhells to Fingal, when he went to Starno's halls, in
+ the days of Agandecca. But when the chief was old, the pride of his ſon aroſe ; the pride of
+ fair-haired Uthal, the love of a thouſand maids. He bound
+
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+ ]
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+ the aged Larthmor, and dwelt in his ſounding halls !
+
Long pined the king in his cave, beſide his rolling ſea. Day did not come to
+ his dwelling ; nor the burning oak by night. But the wind of ocean was there, and the parting
+ beam of the moon. The red ſtar looked on the king, when it trembled on the weſtern wave. Snitho
+ came to Selma's hall : Snitho the friend of Larthmor's youth. He told of the king of Berrathon :
+ the wrath of Fingal aroſe. Thrice he aſſumed the ſpear, reſolved to ſtretch his hand to Uthal.
+ But the memoryDisplay note of his deeds roſe before the king. He ſent his ſon and Tofcar. Our joy was great on the
+ rolling ſea. We often half-unſheathed our ſwords. For never before had we fought alone, in
+ battles of the ſpear.
+
Night came down on the ocean. The winds departed on their wings. Cold and
+ pale is the moon. The red ſtars lift their heads on high. Our courſe is ſlow along the coaſt of
+ Berrathon. The white waves tumble on the rocks. “What voice is that,” ſaid Toſcar, “which comes
+ between the ſounds of the waves? It is ſoft but
+
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+ mournful, like the voice of departed bards. But I behold a maidDisplay note. She ſits on the rock alone. Her head bends on her arm of ſnow. Her dark hair is in the
+ wind. Hear, ſon of Fingal, her ſong, it is ſmooth as the gliding ſtream.” We came to the ſilent
+ bay, and heard the maid of night.
+
“How long will ye roll around me, blue-tumbling waters of ocean ? My
+ dwelling was not always in caves, nor beneath the whiſtling tree. The feaſt was ſpread in
+ Torthóma's hall. My father delighted in my voice. The youths beheld me in the ſteps of my
+ lovelineſs. They bleſſed the dark-haired Nina-thoma. It was then thou didſt come, O Uthal ! like
+ the ſun of heaven ! The ſouls of the virgins are thine, ſon of generous Larthmor ! But why doſt
+ thou leave me alone, in the midſt of roaring waters? Was my ſoul dark with thy death? Did my
+ white hand lift the ſword ? Why then haſt thou left me alone, king of high FinthormoDisplay note !”
+
The tear ſtarted from my eye, when I heard the voice of the maid. I ſtood
+ before her in my arms. I ſpoke the words of peace ! “Lovely
+
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+ ]
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+ dweller of the cave! what ſigh is in thy breaſt ? Shall Oſſian lift his
+ ſword in thy preſence, the deſtruction of thy foes? Daughter of Torthoma, riſe. I have heard the
+ words of thy grief. The race of Morven are around thee, who never injured the weak. Come to our
+ dark-boſomed ſhip! thou brighter than that ſetting moon ! Our courſe is to the rocky Berrathon,
+ to the ecchoing walls of Finthormo.” She came in her beauty ; ſhe came with all her lovely ſteps.
+ Silent joy brightened in her face; as when the ſhadows fly from the field of ſpring ; the
+ blue-ſtream is rolling in brightneſs, and the green buſh bends over its courſe !
+
The morning roſe with its beams. We came to Rothma's bay. A boar ruſhed from
+ the wood : my ſpear pierced his ſide, and he fell. I rejoiced over the bloodDisplay note. I foreſaw my growing fame. But now the ſound of Uthal's train came, from the high
+ Finthormo. They ſpread over the heath to the chace of the boar. Himſelf comes ſlowly on, in the
+ pride of his ſtrength. He lifts two pointed ſpears. On his ſide is the hero's
+
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+ ſword. Three youths carry his poliſhed bows. The bounding of five dogs is
+ before him. His heroes move on, at a diſtance, admiring the ſteps of the king. Stately was the
+ ſon of Larthmor ! but his ſoul was dark! Dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it foretels
+ the ſtorms !
+
We roſe on the heath before the king. He ſtopt in the midſt of his courſe.
+ His heroes gathered around. A gray-haired bard advanced. “Whence are the ſons of the ſtrangers !”
+ began the bard of ſong. “The children of the unhappy come to Berrathon; to the ſword of car-borne
+ Uthal. He ſpreads no feaſt in his hall. The blood of ſtrangers is on his ſtreams. If from Selma's
+ walls ye come, from the moſſy walls of Fingal, chuſe three youths to go to your king to tell of
+ the fall of his people. Perhaps the hero may come and pour his blood on Uthal's ſword. So ſhall
+ the fame of Finthormo ariſe, like the growing tree of the vale!”
+
“Never will it riſe, O bard,” I ſaid in the pride of my wrath. “He would
+ ſhrink from the preſence of Fingal, whofe eyes are the flames of death. The ſon of Comhal comes,
+ and kings vaniſh before him. They are rolled together, like miſt, by the breath of his rage.
+ Shall three tell to Fingal, that his people fell?
+
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+ Yes ! they may tell it, bard ! but his people ſhall fall with fame !”
+
I stood in the darkneſs of my ſtrength. Toſcar drew his ſword at my ſide.
+ The foe came on like a ſtream. The mingled ſound of death aroſe. Man took man, ſhield met ſhield
+ ; ſteel mixed its beams with ſteel. Darts hiſs thro' air. Spears ring on mails. Swords on broken
+ bucklers bound. As the noiſe of an aged grove beneath the roaring wind, when a thouſand ghoſts
+ break the trees by night, ſuch was the din of arms! But Uthal fell beneath my ſword. The ſons of
+ Berrathon fled. It was then I ſaw him in his beauty, and the tear hung in my eye! “Thou art fallenDisplay note, young tree,” I ſaid, “with all thy beauty round thee. Thou art fallen on thy plains, and
+ the field is bare. The winds come from the deſart! there is no ſound in thy leaves ! Lovely art
+ thou in death, ſon of car-borne Larthmor.”
+
Nina-thoma ſat on the ſhore. She heard the ſound of battle. She turned her
+ red eyes on
+
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+ Lethmal, the gray-haired bard of Selma. He alone had remained on the
+ coaſt, with the daughter of Torthoma, “Son of the times of old !” ſhe ſaid, “I hear the noiſe of
+ death. Thy friends have met with Uthal and the chief is low ! O that I had remained on the rock,
+ incloſed with the tumbling waves! Then would my ſoul be ſad, but his death would not reach my
+ ear. Art thou fallen on thy heath, O ſon of high Finthormo ! Thou didſt leave me on a rock, but
+ my ſoul was full of thee. Son of high Finthormo ! art thou fallen on thy heath ?”
+
She roſe pale in her tears. She ſaw the bloody ſhield of Uthal. She ſaw it
+ in Oſſian's hand. Her ſteps were diſtracted on the heath. She flew. She found him. She fell. Her
+ ſoul came forth in a ſigh. Her hair is ſpread on his face. My burſting tears deſcend. A tomb
+ aroſe on the unhappy. My ſong of woe was heard. “Reſt, hapleſs children of youth! Reſt at the
+ noiſe of that moſſy ſtream! The virgins will ſee your tomb, at the chace, and turn away their
+ weeping eyes. Your fame will be in ſong. The voice of the harp will be heard in your praiſe. The
+ daughters of Selma ſhall hear it: your renown ſhall be in other lands. Reſt, children of youth,
+ at the noiſe of the moſſy ſtream.”
+
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+
+
Two days we remained on the coaſt. The heroes of Berrathon convened. We
+ brought Larthmor to his halls. The feaſt of ſhells is ſpread. The joy of the aged was great. He
+ looked to the arms of his fathers. The arms which he left in his hall, when the pride of Uthal
+ roſe. We were renowned before Larthmor. He bleſſed the chiefs of Morven. He knew not that his ſon
+ was low, the ſtately ſtrength of Uthal ! They had told, that he had retired to the woods, with
+ the tears of grief. They had told it, but he was ſilent in the tomb of Rothma's heath.
+
On the fourth day we raiſed our ſails, to the roar of the northern wind.
+ Larthmor came to the coaſt. His bards exalted the ſong. The joy of the king was great, he looked
+ to Rothma's gloomy heath. He ſaw the tomb of his ſon. The memory of Uthal roſe. “Who of my
+ heroes,” he ſaid, “lies there? he ſeems to have been of the Kings of men. Was he renowned in my
+ halls, before the pride of Uthal roſe ?” Ye are ſilent, ſons of Berrathon! is the king of heroes
+ low ? My heart melts for thee, O Uthal ! though thy hand was againſt thy father. O that I had
+ remained in the cave! that my ſon had dwelt in Finthormo! I might have heard the
+
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+ tread of his feet, when he went to the chace of the boar. I might have
+ heard his voice on the blaſt of my cave. Then would my ſoul be glad : but now darkneſs dwells in
+ my halls.”
+
Such were my deeds, ſon of Alpin, when the arm of my youth was ſtrong. SuchDisplay note the actions of Toſcar, the car-borne ſon of Conloch. But Toſcar is on his flying cloud. I
+ am alone at Lutha. My voice is like the laſt ſound of the wind, when it forfakes the woods. But
+ Oſſian ſhall not be long alone. He fees the miſt that ſhall receive his ghoſt. He beholds the
+ miſt that ſhall form his robe, when he appears on his hills. The ſons of feeble men ſhall behold
+ me, and admire the ſtature of the chiefs of old. They ſhall creep to their caves. They ſhall look
+ to the ſky with fear: for my ſteps ſhall be in the clouds. Darkneſs ſhall roll on my ſide.
+
Lead, ſon of Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. The winds begin to riſe. The
+ dark wave of the lake reſounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora with its branches bare? It
+ bends, ſon of Alpin, in the ruſtling blaſt. My harp hangs on a blaſted branch. The ſound of its
+ ſtrings is mournful. Does the wind touch thee, O harp, or is it ſome paſſing ghoſt! It is the
+ hand of Malvina! Bring me the harp,
+
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+
+ ]
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+ ſon of Alpin. Another ſong ſhall riſe. My ſoul ſhall depart in the ſound.
+ My fathers ſhall hear it in their airy hall. Their dim faces ſhall hang, with joy, from their
+ clouds; and their hands receive their ſon. The aged oak bends over the ſtream. It ſighs with all
+ its moſs. The withered fern whiſtles near, and mixes, as it waves, with Oſſian's hair.
+
“Strike the harp and raiſe the ſong: be near, with all your wings, ye winds.
+ Bear the mournful ſound away to Fingal's airy hall. Bear it to Fingal's hall, that he may hear
+ the voice of his ſon. The voice of him that praiſed the mighty !”
+
“The blaſt of north opens thy gates, O king. I behold thee ſitting on miſt,
+ dimly gleaming in all thine arms. Thy form now is not the terror of the valiant. It is like a
+ watery cloud ; when we ſee the ſtars behind it, with their weeping eyes. Thy ſhield is the aged
+ moon : thy ſword a vapour half-kindled with fire. Dim and feeble is the chief, who travelled in
+ brightneſs before ! But thy ſtepsDisplay note are on the winds of the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ deſart, The ſtorms are darkening in thy hand. Thou takeſt the ſun in thy
+ wrath, and hideſt him in thy clouds. The ſons of little men are afraid. A thouſand ſhowers
+ deſcend. But when thou comeſt forth in thy mildneſs ; the gale of the morning is near thy courſe.
+ The ſun laughs in his blue fields. The grey ſtream winds in its vale, The buſhes ſhake their
+ green heads in the wind. The roes bound towards the deſart.”
+
“There is a murmur in the heath ! the ſtormy winds abate! ] hear the voice
+ of Fingal. Long has it been abſent from mine ear ! “Come, Oſſian, come away,” he ſays. “Fingal
+ has received his fame. We paſſed away, like flames that had ſhone for a ſeaſon. Our departure was
+ in renown. Though the plains of our battles are dark and ſilent ; our fame is in the ſour grey
+ ſtones. The voice of Oſſian has been heard. The harp has been ſtrung in Selma. “Come Oſſian, come
+ away,” he ſays, “come, fly with thy fathers on clouds.” I come, I come, thou king of men ! The
+ life of Oſſian fails. I begin to vaniſh on Cona. My ſteps are not ſeen in Selma. Beſide the ſtone
+ of Mora I ſhall fall aſleep. The winds whiſtling in my grey hair, ſhall not awaken me. Depart on
+ thy wings, O wind : thou canſt not diſturb the reſt of the bard.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The night is long, but his eyes are heavy, Depart, thou ruſtling
+ blaſt.”
+
“But why art thou ſad, ſon of Fingal ? Why grows the cloud of thy ſoul ? The
+ chiefs of other times are departed. They have gone without their fame. The ſons of future years
+ ſhall paſs away. Another race ſhall ariſe. The people are like the waves of ocean : like the
+ leaves of woody Morven, they paſs away in the ruſtling blaſt, and other leaves lift their green
+ heads on high.”
+
Did thy beauty laſt, O RynoDisplay note? Stood the ſtrength of car-borne Oſcar? Fingal himſelf
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ departed. The halls of his fathers forgot his ſteps. Shalt thou then
+ remain, thou aged bard! when the mighty have failed ? But my fame ſhall remain, and grow like the
+ oak of Morven ; which lifts its broad head to the ſtorm, and rejoices in the courſe of the wind !
Inquiries into the antiquities of nations afford more pleaſure than any
+ real advantage to mankind. The ingenious may form ſyſtems of hiſtory on probabilities and a few
+ facts; but at a great diſtance of time, their accounts muſt be vague and uncertain. The infancy
+ of ſtates and kingdoms is as deſtitute of great events, as of the means of tranſmitting them to
+ poſterity: The arts of poliſhed life, by which alone facts can be preſerved with certainty, are
+ the production of a well-formed community. It is then hiſtorians begin to write, and public
+ tranſactions to be worthy remembrance. The actions of former times are left in obſcurity, or
+ magnified by uncertain traditions, Hence it is that we find ſo
+
+ [
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+ much of the marvellous in the origin of every nation;
+ poſterity being always ready to believe any thing, however fabulous, that reflects honour on
+ their anceſtors.
+
The Greeks and Romans were remarkable for this weakneſs. They ſwallowed the
+ moſt abſurd fables concerning the high antiquities of their reſpective nations. Good hiſtorians,
+ however, roſe very early amongſt them, and tranſmitted, with luſtre, their great actions to
+ poſterity. It is to them that they owe that unrivalled fame they now enjoy, while the great
+ actions of other nations are involved in fables, or loſt in obſcurity. The Celtic nations afford
+ a ſtriking inſtance of this kind, They, though once the maſters of Europe from the mouth of the
+ river ObyDisplay note, in Ruſſia, to Cape Finiſterre, the weſtern point of Gallicia in
+ Spain, are very little mentioned in hiſtory. They truſted their fame to tradition and the ſongs
+ of their bards, which, by the viciſſitude of human affairs, are long ſince loſt. Their ancient
+ language is the only monument that remains of them ; and the traces of it being ſound in places
+ ſo widely diſtant from each other, ſerves only to ſhew the extent of their ancient power, but
+ throws very little light on their hiſtory.
+
+
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+ Of all the Celtic nations, that which poſſeſſed
+ old Gaul is the moſt renowned ; not perhaps on account of worth ſuperior to the reſt, but for
+ their wars with a people who had hiſtorians to tranſmit the fame of their enemies, as well as
+ their own, to poſterity. Britain was firſt peopled by them, according to the teſtimony of the
+ beſt authorsDisplay note ; its ſituation in reſpect to Gaul makes the opinion
+ probable ; but what puts it beyond all diſpute, is that the ſame cuſtoms and language prevailed
+ among the inhabitants of both in the days of Julius CæſarDisplay note.
+
The colony from Gaul poſſeſſed themſelves; at firſt, of that part of Britain
+ which was next to their own country ; and ſpreading northward, by degrees, as they increaſed in
+ numbers, peopled the whole iſland. Some adventurers paſſing over from thoſe parts of Britain that
+ are within ſight of Ireland, were the founders of the Iriſh nation: which is a more probable
+ ſtory than the idle fables of Mileſian and Gallician colonies. Diodorus SiculusDisplay note mentions it as a thing well known in his time, that the
+ inhabitants of Ireland were originally Britons, and his teſtimony is unqueſtionable, when we
+ conſider
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ that, for many ages, the language and cuſtoms of both
+ nations were the ſame.
+
Tacitus was of opinion that the ancient Caledonians were of German extract;
+ but even the ancient Germans themſelves were Gauls. The preſent Germans, properly ſo called, were
+ not the ſame with the ancient Celtæ. The manners and cuſtoms of the two nations were ſimilar ;
+ but their language different. The GermansDisplay note are the genuine deſcendants of the ancient Scandinavians, who
+ croſſed, in an early period, the Baltic. The CeltæDisplay note, anciently, ſent many colonies into
+ Germany, all of whom retained their own laws, language, and cuſtoms, till they were diſſipated,
+ in the Roman empire ; and it is of them, if any colonies came from Germany into Scotland, that
+ the ancient Caledonians were deſcended.
+
But whether the Caledonians were a colony of the Celtic Germans, or the ſame
+ with the Gauls that firſt poſſeſſed themſelves of Britain, is a matter of no moment at this
+ diſtance of time. Whatever their origin was, we find them very numerous in the time of Julius
+ Agricola, which is a preſumption that they were long before ſettled in the country, The form of
+ their government was a mixture of ariſtocracy and
+
+ [
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+ monarchy, as it was in all the countries where the Druids bore the
+ chief ſway. This order of men ſeems to have been formed on the ſame principles with the Dactyli
+ Idæi and Curetes of the ancients. Their pretended intercourſe with heaven, their magic and
+ divination were the ſame. The knowlege of the Druids in natural cauſes, and the properties of
+ certain things, the fruit of the experiments of ages, gained them a mighty reputation among the
+ people. The eſteem of the populace ſoon increaſed into a veneration for the order; which theſe
+ cunning and ambitious prieſts took care to improve, to ſuch a degree, that they, in a manner,
+ ingroſſed the management of civil, as well as religious, matters. It is generally allowed that
+ they did not abuſe this extraordinary power ; the preſerving their character of ſanctity was ſo
+ eſſential to their influence, that they never broke out into violence or oppreſſion. The chiefs
+ were allowed to execute the laws, but the legiſlative power was entirely in the hands of the
+ DruidsDisplay note. It was by their authority that the tribes were united, in times of the
+ greateſt danger, under one head. This temporary king, or VergobretusDisplay note, was choſen by them, and generally laid
+ down his office at the end of the war. Theſe prieſts
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ enjoyed long this extraordinary privilege among the
+ Celtic nations who lay beyond the pale of the Roman empire. It was in the beginning of the ſecond
+ century that their power among the Caledonians begun to decline. The traditions concerning
+ Trathal and Cormac, anceſtors to Fingal, are full of the particulars of the fall of the Druids: a
+ fingular fate, it muſt be owned, of prieſts, who had once eſtabliſhed their ſuperſtition !
+
The continual wars of the Caledonians againſt the Romans hindered the better
+ ſort from initiating themſelves, as the cuſtom formerly was, into the order of the Druids. The
+ precepts of their religion were confined to a few, and were not much attended to by a people
+ inured to war. The Vergobretus, or chief magiſtrate, was choſen without the concurrence of the
+ hierarchy, or continued in his office againſt their will. Continual power ſtrengthened his
+ intereſt among the tribes, and enabled him to ſend down, as hereditary to his poſterity, the
+ office he had only received himſelf by election.
+
On occaſion of a new war againſt the King of the World, as
+ tradition emphatically calls the Roman emperor, the Druids, to vindicate the honour of the order,
+ began to reſume their ancient privilege of chuſing the Vergobretus. Garmal, the ſon of Tarno,
+ being deputed by
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ them, came to the grandfather of the celebrated Fingal, who was then
+ Vergobretus, and commanded him, in the name of the whole order, to lay down his office. Upon his
+ refuſal, a civil war commenced, which ſoon ended in almoſt the total extinction of the religious
+ order of the Druids. A few that remained, retired to the dark receſſes of their groves, and the
+ caves they had formerly uſed for their meditations. It is then we find them in the circle of
+ ſtones, and unheeded by the world. A total diſregard for the order, and utter abhorrence of
+ the Druidical rites enſued. Under this cloud of public hate, all that had any knowlege of the
+ religion of the Druids became extinct, and the nation fell into the laft degree of ignorance of
+ their rites and ceremonies.
+
It is no matter of wonder then, that Fingal and his ſon Oſſian diſliked the
+ Druids, who were the declared enemies to their ſucceſſion in the ſupreme magiſtracy. It is a
+ fingular caſe, it muſt be allowed, that there are no traces of religion in the poems aſcribed to
+ Oſſian ; as the poetical compoſitions of other nations are fo cloſely connected with their
+ mythology. But gods are not neceſſary, when the poet has genius. It is hard to account for it to
+ thoſe who are not made acquainted with the manner of the old Scottiſh
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ bards. That race of men carried their notions of
+ martial honour to an extravagant pitch. Any aid given their heroes in battle, was thought to
+ derogate from their fame ; and the bards immediately transferred the glory of the action to him
+ who had given that aid.
+
Had the poet brought down gods, as often as Homer hath done, to aſſiſt his
+ heroes, his work had not conſiſted of eulogiums on men, but of hymns to ſuperior beings. Thoſe
+ who write in the Galic language ſeldom mention religion in their profane poetry ; and when they
+ profeſſedly write of religion, they never mix with their compoſitions, the actions of their
+ heroes, This cuſtom alone, even though the religion of the Druids had not been previouſly
+ extinguiſhed, may, in ſome meaſure, excuſe the author's ſilence concerning the religion of
+ ancient times.
+
To allege, that a nation is void of all religion, would betray ignorance of
+ the hiſtory of mankind. The traditions of their fathers, and their own obſervations on the works
+ of nature, together with that ſuperſtition which is inherent in the human frame, have, in all
+ ages, raiſed in the minds of men ſome idea of a ſuperior being. Hence it is, that in the darkeſt
+ times, and amongſt the moſt barbarous nations, the very populace themſelves had ſome faint
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ notion, at leaſt, of a divinity. The Indians, who worſhip no God,
+ believe that he exiſts. It would be doing injuſtice to the author of theſe poems, to think, that
+ he had not opened his conceptions to that primitive and greateſt of all truths. But let his
+ religion be what it will, it is certain he has not alluded to Chriſtianity, or any of its rites,
+ in his poems ; which ought to fix his opinions, at leaſt, to an æra prior to that religion.
+ Conjectures, on this ſubject, muſt ſupply the place of proof. The perſecution begun by
+ Dioclefian, in the year 303, is the moſt probable time in which the firſt dawning of Chriſtianity
+ in the north of Britain can be fixed. The humane and mild character of Conſtantius Chlorus, who
+ commanded then in Britain, induced the perſecuted Chriftians to take refuge under him. Some of
+ them, through a zeal to propagate their tenets, or through fear, went beyond the pale of the
+ Roman empire, and ſettled among the Caledonians; who were ready to hearken to their doctrines, if
+ the religion of the Druids was exploded long before.
+
These miſſionaries, either through choice, or to give more weight to the
+ doctrine they advanced, took poſſeſſion of the cells and groves of the Druids; and it was from
+ this retired life they had the name of CuldeesDisplay note, which in the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ language of the country ſignified ſequeſtered
+ perſons. It was with one of the Culdees that Oſſian, in his extreme old age, is
+ ſaid to have diſputed concerning the Chriftian religion. This diſpute, they ſay, is extant, and
+ is couched in verſe, according to the cuſtom of the times. The extreme ignorance on the part of
+ Oſſian, of the Chriſtian tenets, ſhews, that that religion had only been lately introduced, as it
+ is not eafy to conceive, how one of the firſt rank could be totally unacquainted with a religion
+ that had been known for any time in the country. The diſpute bears the genuine marks of
+ antiquity. The obſolete phraſes and expreſſions peculiar to the times, prove it to be no forgery.
+ If Oſſian then lived at the introduction of Chriſtianity, as by all appearance he did, his epoch
+ will be the latter end of the third, and beginning of the fourth century. Tradition here ſteps in
+ with a kind of proof.
+
The exploits of Fingal againſt CaraculDisplay note, the ſon of the king of the world, are among the firſt brave
+ actions of his youth. A complete poem, which relates to this ſubject, is printed in this
+ collection.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+
+
In the year 210 the emperor Severus, after returning from his expedition
+ againſt the Caledonians, at York fell into the tedious illneſs of which he afterwards died. The
+ Caledonians and Maiatæ, reſuming courage from his indiſpoſition, took arms in order to recover
+ the poſſeſſions they had loſt. The enraged emperor commanded his army to march into their
+ country, and to deſtroy it with fire and ſword. His orders were but ill executed, for his ſon,
+ Caracalla, was at the head of the army, and his thoughts were entirely taken up with the hopes of
+ his father's death, and with ſchemes to ſupplant his brother Geta. --- He ſcarcely had entered
+ the enemy's country, when news was brought him that Severus was dead. --- A ſudden peace is
+ patched up with the Caledonians, and, as it appears from Dion Caſſius, the country they had loſt
+ to Severus was reſtored to them.
+
The Caracul of Fingal is no other than Caracalla, who, as the ſon of
+ Severus, the Emperor of Rome, whoſe dominions were extended almoſt over the known world, was not
+ without reaſon called the Son of the King of the world. The ſpace of time between 211,
+ the year Severus died, and the beginning of the fourth century, is not ſo great, but Oſſian the
+ ſon of Fingal, might have ſeen the Chriſtians whom the
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ perſecution under Diocleſian had driven beyond the
+ pale of the Roman empire.
+
In one of the many lamentations on the death of Oſcar, a battle which he
+ fought againſt Caros, king of ſhips, on the banks of the winding CarunDisplay note, is mentioned among his great actions. It is
+ more than probable, that the Caros mentioned here, is the ſame with the noted uſurper Caraufius,
+ who aſſumed the purple in the year 287, and ſeizing on Britain, defeated the emperor Maximian
+ Herculius, in ſeveral naval engagements, which gives propriety to his being called the King
+ of Ships. The winding Carun is that ſmall river retaining ſtill the name of Carron,
+ and runs in the neighbourhood of Agricola's wall, which Carauſius repaired to obſtruct the
+ incurſions of the Caledonians. Several other paſſages in traditions allude to the wars of the
+ Romans ; but the two juſt mentioned clearly fix the epocha of Fingal to the third century ; and
+ this account agrees exactly with the Iriſh hiſtories, which place the death of Fingal, the ſon of
+ Comhal, in the year 283, and that of Oſcar and their own celebrated Cairbre, in the year 296.
+
Some people may imagine, that the alluſions to the Roman hiſtory might have
+ been derived
+
+ [
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+ by tradition, from learned men, more than from ancient poems. This
+ muſt then have happened at leaſt three ages ago, as theſe alluſions are mentioned often in the
+ compoſitions of thoſe times.
+
Every one knows what a cloud of ignorance and barbariſm overſpread the north
+ of Europe three hundred years ago. The minds of men, addicted to ſuperſtition, contracted a
+ narrowneſs that deſtroyed genius. Accordingly we find the compoſitions of thoſe times trivial and
+ puerile to the laſt degree. But let it be allowed, that, amidſt all the untoward circumſtances of
+ the age, a genius might ariſe, it is not eaſy to determine what could induce him to allude to the
+ Roman times. We find no fact to favour any deſigns which could be entertained by any man who
+ lived in the fifteenth century.
+
The ſtrongeſt objection to the antiquity of the poems now given to the
+ public under the name of Oſſian, is the improbability of their being handed down by tradition
+ through ſo many centuries. Ages of barbariſm ſome will ſay, could not produce poems abounding
+ with the diſintereſted and generous ſentiments ſo conſpicuous in the compoſitions of Oſſian; and
+ could theſe ages produce them, it is impoſſible but they muſt be loſt, or altogether corrupted in
+ a long ſucceſſion of barbarous generations.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+
+
These objections naturally ſuggeſt themſelves to men unacquainted with the
+ ancient ſtate of the northern parts of Britain. The bards, who were an inferior order of the
+ Druids, did not ſhare their bad fortune. They were ſpared by the victorious king, as it was
+ through their means only he could hope for immortality to his fame. They attended him in the
+ camp, and contributed to eſtabliſh his power by their ſongs. His great actions were magnified,
+ and the populace, who had no ability to examine into his character narrowly, were dazzled with
+ his fame in the rhimes of the bards. In the mean time, men aſſumed ſentiments that are rarely to
+ be met with in an age of barbariſm. The bards who were originally the diſciples of the Druids,
+ had their minds opened, and their ideas enlarged, by being initiated in the learning of that
+ celebrated order. They could form a perfect hero in their own minds, and aſcribe that character
+ to their prince. The inferior chiefs made this ideal character the model of their conduct, and by
+ degrees brought their minds to that generous ſpirit which breathes in all the poetry of the
+ times. The prince, flattered by his bards, and rivalled by his own heroes, who imitated his
+ character as deſcribed in the eulogies of his poets, endeavoured to excel his people in merit,
+
+
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+ as he was above them in ſtation. This emulation continuing, formed at
+ laſt the general character of the nation, happily compounded of what is noble in barbarity, and
+ virtuous and generous in a poliſhed people.
+
When virtue in peace, and bravery in war, are the characteriſtics of a
+ nation, their actions become intereſting, and their fame worthy of immortality. A generous ſpirit
+ is warmed with noble actions, and becomes ambitious of perpetuating them. This is the true ſource
+ of that divine inſpiration, to which the poets of all ages pretended. When they found their
+ themes inadequate to the warmth of their imaginations, they varniſhed them over with fables,
+ ſupplied by their own fancy, or furniſhed by abſurd traditions. Theſe fables, however ridiculous,
+ had their abettors; poſterity either implicitly believed them, or through a vanity natural to
+ mankind, pretended that they did. They loved to place the founders of their families in the days
+ of fable, when poetry, without the fear of contradiction, could give what characters ſhe pleaſed
+ of her heroes. It is to this vanity that we owe the preſervation of what remain of the more
+ ancient poems. Their poetical merit made their heroes famous in a country where heroiſm was much
+ eſteemed and admired. The poſterity of thoſe
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ heroes, or thoſe who pretended to be deſcended from
+ them, heard with pleaſure the eulogiums of their anceſtors ; bards were employed to repeat the
+ poems, and to record the connection of their patrons with chiefs ſo renowned. Every chief in
+ proceſs of time had a bard in his family, and the office became at laſt hereditary. By the
+ ſucceſſion of theſe bards, the poems concerning the anceſtors of the family were handed down from
+ generation to generation; they were repeated to the whole clan on ſolemn occaſions, and always
+ alluded to in the new compoſitions of the bards. This cuſtom came down to near our own times; and
+ after the bards were diſcontinued, a great number in a clan retained by memory, or committed to
+ writing, their compoſitions, and founded the antiquity of their families on the authority of
+ their poems.
+
The uſe of letters was not known in the north of Europe till long after the
+ inſtitution of the bards : the records of the families of their patrons, their own, and more
+ ancient poems were handed down by tradition. Their poetical compoſitions were admirably contrived
+ for that purpoſe. They were adapted to muſic; and the moſt perfect harmony was obſerved. Each
+ verſe was ſo connected with thoſe which preceded or followed it, that if one line had been
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ remembered in a ſtanza, it was almoſt impoſſible to forget the reſt.
+ The cadences followed in ſo natural a gradation, and the words were ſo adapted to the common turn
+ of the voice, after it is raiſed to a certain key, that it was almoſt impoſſible, from a
+ ſimilarity of ſound, to ſubſtitute one word for another. This excellence is peculiar to the
+ Celtic tongue, and is perhaps to be met with in no other language. Nor does this choice of words
+ clog the ſenſe or weaken the expreſſion. The numerous flections of conſonants, and variation in
+ declenſion, make the language very copious.
+
The deſcendants of the Celtæ, who inhabited Britain and its iſles, were not
+ ſingular in this method of preſerving the moſt precious monuments of their nation. The ancient
+ laws of the Greeks were couched in verſe, and handed down by tradition. The Spartans, through a
+ long habit, became ſo fond of this cuſtom, that they would never allow their laws to be committed
+ to writing. The actions of great men, and the eulogiums of kings and heroes, were preſerved in
+ the ſame manner. All the hiſtorical monuments of the old Germans were comprehended in their
+ ancient ſongsDisplay note! which were either hymns to their gods, or elegies in
+ praiſe of their heroes,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ and were intended to perpetuate the great events in
+ their nation which were carefully interwoven with them. This ſpecies of compoſition was not
+ committed to writing, but delivered by oral traditionDisplay note. The care they took to
+ have the poems taught to their children, the uninterrupted cuſtom of repeating them upon certain
+ occaſions, and the happy meaſure of the verſe, ſerved to preſerve them for a long time
+ uncorrupted. This oral chronicle of the Germans was not forgot in the eighth century, and it
+ probably would have remained to this day, had not learning, which thinks every thing, that is not
+ committed to writing, fabulous, been introduced. It was from poetical traditions that Garcillaſſo
+ compoſed his account of the Yncas of Peru. The Peruvians had loft all other monuments of their
+ hiſtory, and it was from ancient poems which his mother, a princeſs of the blood of the Yncas,
+ taught him in his youth, that he collected the materials of his hiſtory. If other nations then,
+ that had been often overrun by enemies, and had ſent abroad and received colonies, could, for
+ many ages, preſerve, by oral tradition, their laws and hiſtories uncorrupted, it is much more
+ probable that the ancient Scots, a people ſo free of intermixture
+
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+ with foreigners, and ſo ſtrongly attached to the memory of their
+ anceſtors, had the works of their bards handed down with great purity.
+
What is advanced, in this ſhort Diſſertation, it muſt be confeſſed, is mere
+ conjecture. Beyond the reach of records, is ſettled a gloom, which no ingenuity can penetrate.
+ The manners deſcribed, in theſe poems, ſuit the ancient Celtic times, and no other period, that
+ is known in hiſtory. We muſt, therefore, place the heroes far back in antiquity; and it matters
+ little, who were their contemporaries in other parts of the world. If we have placed Fingal in
+ his proper period, we do honour to the manners of barbarous times. He exercifed every manly
+ virtue in Caledonia, while Heliogabalus diſgraced human nature at Rome.
The hiſtory of thoſe nations, who originally poſſeſſed the north of Europe,
+ is leſs known than their manners. Deſtitute of the uſe of letters, they themſelves had not the
+ means of tranſmitting their great actions to remote poſterity. Foreign writers ſaw them only at a
+ diſtance, and deſcribed them as they found them. The vanity of the Romans induced them to
+ conſider the nations beyond the pale of their empire as barbarians; and conſequently their
+ hiſtory unworthy of being inveſtigated. Their manners and fingular character were matters of
+ curioſity, as they committed them to record. Some men, otherwiſe of great merit among ourſelves,
+ give into confined ideas on
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+ this ſubject. Having early imbibed their idea of
+ exalted manners from the Greek and Roman writers, they ſcarcely ever afterwards have the
+ fortitude to allow any dignity of character to any nation deſtitute of the uſe of letters.
+
Without derogating from the fame of Greece and Rome, we may conſider
+ antiquity beyond the pale of their empire worthy of ſome attention. The nobler paſſions of the
+ mind never ſhoot forth more free and unreſtrained than in the times we call barbarous. That
+ irregular manner of life, and thoſe manly purſuits from which barbarity takes its name, are
+ highly favorable to a ſtrength of mind unknown in poliſhed times. In advanced ſociety the
+ characters of men are more uniform and diſguiſed. The human paſſions lie in ſome degree concealed
+ behind forms, and artificial manners; and the powers of the ſoul, without an opportunity of
+ exerting them, loſe their vigor. The times of regular government, and poliſhed manners, are
+ therefore to be wiſhed for by the feeble and weak in mind. An unſettled ſtate, and thoſe
+ convulſions which attend it, is the proper field for an exalted character, and the exertion of
+ great parts. Merit there riſes always ſuperior ; no fortuitous event can raiſe the timid and mean
+ into power. To thoſe who look upon antiquity in this light,
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+ it is an agreeable proſpect ; and they alone can have real pleaſure
+ in tracing nations to their ſource.
+
The eſtabliſhment of the Celtic ſtates, in the north of Europe, is beyond
+ the reach of written annals. The traditions and ſongs to which they truſted their hiſtory, were
+ loſt, or altogether corrupted in their revolutions and migrations, which were ſo frequent and
+ univerſal, that no kingdom in Europe is now poſſefed by its original inhabitants. Societies were
+ formed, and kingdoms erected, from a mixture of nations, who, in proceſs of time, loſt all
+ knowlege of their own origin. If tradition could be depended upon, it is only among a people,
+ from all time, free from intermixture with foreigners. We are to look for theſe among the
+ mountains and inacceſfible parts of a country : places, on account of their barrenneſs,
+ uninviting to an enemy, or whoſe natural ſtrength enabled the natives to repel invaſions. Such
+ are the inhabitants of the mountains of Scotland. We, accordingly, find, that they differ
+ materially from thoſe who poſſeſs the low and more fertile part of the kingdom. Their language is
+ pure and original, and their manners are thoſe of an ancient and unmixed race of men. Conſcious
+ of their own antiquity, they long deſpiſed others, as a new and mixed
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+ people. As they lived in a country only fit for
+ paſture, they were free from that toil and buſineſs, which engroſs the attention of a commercial
+ people. Their amuſement conſiſted in hearing or repeating their ſongs and traditions, and theſe
+ intirely turned on the antiquity of their nation, and the exploits of their forefathers. It is no
+ wonder, therefore, that there are more remains of antiquity among them, than among any other
+ people in Europe. Traditions, however, concerning remote periods, are only to be regarded, in ſo
+ far as they co-incide with cotemporary writers of undoubted credit and veracity.
+
No writers began their accounts from a more early period, than the
+ hiſtorians of the Scots nation. Without records, or even tradition itſelf, they give a long liſt
+ of ancient kings, and a detail of their tranſactions, with a ſcrupulous exactneſs. One might
+ naturally ſuppoſe, that, when they had no authentic annals, they ſhould, at leaſt, have recourſe
+ to the traditions of their country, and have reduced them into a regular ſyſtem of hiſtory. Of
+ both they ſeem to have been equally deſtitute. Born in the low country, and ſtrangers to the
+ ancient language of their nation, they contented themſelves with copying from one another, and
+ retailing the ſame fictions, in a new colour and dreſs.
John Fordunn was the firſt who collected thoſe fragments of the Scots
+ hiſtory, which had eſcaped the brutal policy of Edward I. and reduced them into order. His
+ accounts, in ſo far as they concerned recent tranſactions, deſerved credit : beyond a certain
+ period, they were fabulous and unſatisfactory. Some time before Fordun wrote, the king of
+ England, in a letter to the pope, had run up the antiquity of his nation to a very remote æra.
+ Fordun, poſſeſſed of all the national prejudice of the age, was unwilling that his country ſhould
+ yield, in point of antiquity, to a people, then its rivals and enemies. Deſtitute of annals in
+ Scotland, he had recourſe to Ireland, which, according to the vulgar errors of the times, was
+ reckoned the firſt habitation of the Scots. He found, there, that the Iriſh bards had carried
+ their pretenſions to antiquity as high, if not beyond any nation in Europe. It was from them he
+ took thoſe improbable fictions, which form the firſt part of his hiſtory.
+
The writers that ſucceeded Fordun implicitly followed his ſyſtem, though
+ they ſometimes varied from him in their relations of particular tranſactions, and the order of
+ ſucceſſion of their kings. As they had no new lights, and were, equally with him, unacquainted
+ with the
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+ traditions of their country, their hiſtories contain
+ little information concerning the origin of the Scots. Even Buchanan himſelf, except the elegance
+ and vigour of his ſtile, has very little to recommend him. Blinded with political prejudices, he
+ ſeemed more anxious to turn the fictions of his predeceſſors to his own purpoſes, than to detect
+ their miſrepreſentations, or inveſtigate truth amidſt the darkneſs which they had thrown round
+ it. It therefore appears, that little can be collected from their own hiſtorians, concerning the
+ firſt migration of the Scots into Britain.
+
That this iſland was peopled from Gaul admits of no doubt. Whether colonies
+ came afterwards from the north of Europe is a matter of meer ſpeculation. When South-Britain
+ yielded to the power of the Romans, the unconquered nations to the north of the province were
+ diſtinguiſhed by the name of Caledonians. From their very name, it appears, that they
+ were of thoſe Gauls, who poſſeſſed themſelves originally of Britain. It is compounded of two
+ Celtic words, Caël ſignifying Celts, or Gauls, and
+ Dun or Don, a hill; ſo that Caël-don, or Caledonians, is as much as to
+ ſay, the Celts of the hill country. The Highlanders, to this day, call themſelves
+ Caël, their language Caëlic, or Galic, and their country
+
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+ Caëldoch, which the Romans ſoftened into
+ Caledonia. This, of itſelf, is ſufficient to demonſtrate, they are the genuine
+ deſcendents of the ancient Caledonians, and not a pretended colony of Scots, who ſettled
+ firſt in the north, in the third or fourth century.
+
From the double meaning of the word Caël, which ſignifies
+ ſtrangers, as well as Gauls,or Celts, ſome have imagined, that the
+ anceſtors of the Caledonians were of a different race from the reſt of the Britons, and that they
+ received their name upon that account. This opinion, ſay they, is ſupported by Tacitus, who, from
+ ſeveral circumſtances, concludes, that the Caledonians were of German extraction. A diſcuſſion of
+ a point ſo intricate, at this diſtance of time, could neither be fatisfaſtory nor important.
+
Towards the latter end of the third, and beginning of the fourth century, we
+ meet with the Scots in the north. PorphyriusDisplay note makes the firſt mention of them about that time. As
+ the Scots were not heard of before that period, moſt writers ſuppoſed them to have been a colony,
+ newly come to Britain, and that the Picts were the only genuine deſcendents of the
+ ancient Caledonians. This miſtake is eaſily removed. The
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+ Caledonians, in proceſs of time, became naturally
+ divided into two diſtinct nations, as poſſeſſing parts of the country, intirely different in
+ their nature and ſoil. The weſtern coaſt of Scotland is hilly and barren ; towards the eaſt the
+ country is plain, and fit for tillage. The inhabitants of the mountains, a roving and
+ uncontrouled race of men, lived by feeding of cattle, and what they killed in hunting. Their
+ employment did not fix them to one place. They removed from one heath to another, as ſuited beſt
+ with their convenience or inclination. They were not, therefore, improperly called, by their
+ neighbours, Scuite, or the wandering nation ; wiuch is evidently the
+ origin of the Roman name of Scoti.
+
On the other hand, the Caledonians, who poſſeſſed the eaſt coaſt of
+ Scotland, as the diviſion of the country was plain and fertile, applied themſelves to
+ agriculture, and raiſing of corn. It was from this, that the Galic name of the Picts
+ proceeded; for they are called, in that language, Cruithnich, i. e. the wheat or
+ corn-eaters. As the Picts lived in a country ſo different in its nature from that poſſeſſed
+ by the Scots, ſo their national character ſuffered a material change. Unobſtructed by mountains,
+ or lakes, their communication with one another was free and frequent.
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+ Society, therefore, became ſooner eſtabliſhed among them, than
+ among the Scots, and, conſequently, they were much ſooner governed by civil magiſtrates and laws.
+ This, at laſt, produced ſo great a difference in the manners of the two nations, that they began
+ to forget their common origin, and almoſt continual quarrels and animoſities ſubſiſted between
+ them. Theſe animoſities, after ſome ages, ended in the ſubverſion of the Pictiſh kingdom, but not
+ in the total extirpation of the nation, according to moſt of the Scots writers, who ſeemed to
+ think it more for the honour of their countrymen to annihilate, than reduce a rival people under
+ their obedience. It is certain, however, that the very name of the Picts was loſt, and thoſe that
+ remained were ſo completely incorporated with their conquerors, that they ſoon loſt all memory of
+ their own origin.
+
The end of the Pictiſh government is placed ſo near that period, to which
+ authentic annals reach, that it is matter of wonder, that we have no monuments of their language
+ or hiſtory remaining. This favours the ſyſtem I have laid down. Had they originally been of a
+ different race from the Scots, their language of courſe would be different. The contrary is the
+ caſe. The names of places in the Pictiſh dominions,
+
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+ and the very names of their kings, which are handed
+ down to us, are of Galic original, which is a convincing proof, that the two nations were, of
+ old, one and the ſame, and only divided into two governments, by the effect which their ſituation
+ had upon the genius of the people.
+
The name of Picts is ſaid to have been given by the Romans to the
+ Caledonians, who poſſeſſed the eaſt coaſt of Scotland, from their painting their bodies. The
+ ſtory is ſilly and the argument abſurd. But let us revere antiquity in her very follies. This
+ circumſtance made ſome imagine, that the Picts were of Britiſh extract, and a different race of
+ men from the Scots. That more of the Britons, who fled northward from the tyranny of the Romans,
+ ſettled in the low country of Scotland, than among the Scots of the mountains, may be eaſily
+ imagined, from the very nature of the country. It was they who introduced painting among the
+ Picts. From this circumſtance, affirm ſome antiquaries, proceeded the name of the latter, to
+ diſtinguiſh them from the Scots, who never had that art among them, and from the Britons, who
+ diſcontinued it after the Roman conqueſt.
+
The Caledonians, moſt certainly, acquired a conſiderable knowlege in
+ navigation, by their living on a coaſt interſected with many arms of
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+ the ſea, and, in iſlands, divided, one from another, by wide and
+ dangerous firths. It is, therefore, highly probable, that they, very early, found their way to
+ the north of Ireland, which is within ſight of their own country. That Ireland was firſt peopled
+ from Britain is, at length, a matter that admits of no doubt. The vicinity of the two iſlands;
+ the exact correſpondence of the ancient inhabitants of both, in point of manners and language,
+ are ſufficient proofs, even if we had not the teſtimony ofDisplay note authors of undoubted veracity to confirm it. The abettors of the
+ moſt romantic ſyſtems of Iriſh antiquities allow it; but they place the colony from Britain in an
+ improbable and remote æra. I ſhall eaſily admit, that the colony of the Firbolg,
+ confeſſedly the Belgæ of Britain, ſettled in the ſouth of Ireland, before the Caël, or
+ Caledonians, diſcovered the north; but it is not at all likely, that the migration of the Firbolg
+ to Ireland happened many centuries before the chriſtian æra.
+
The poem of Temora throws conſiderable light on this ſubject. The accounts
+ given in it agree ſo well with what the ancients have delivered, concerning the firſt population
+ and
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+ inhabitants of Ireland, that eyery unbiaſſed perſon
+ will confeſs them more probable, than the legends handed down, by tradition, in that country. It
+ appears, that, in the days of Trathal, grandfather to Fingal, Ireland was poſſeſſed by two
+ nations; the Firbolg or Belgæ of Britain, who inhabited the ſouth, and the
+ Caël, who paſſed over from Caledonia and the Hebrides to Ulfter. The two nations, as is uſual
+ among an unpoliſhed and lately ſettled people, were divided into ſmall dynaſties, ſubject to
+ petty kings, or chiefs, independent of one another. In this ſituation, it is probable, they
+ continued long, without any material revolution in the ſtate of the iſland, until Crothar, Lord
+ of Atha, a country in Connaught, the moſt potent chief of the Firbolg, carried away
+ Conlama, the daughter of Cathmin, a chief of the Caël, who poſſeſſed Ulſter.
+
Conlama had been betrothed ſome time before to Turloch, a chief of their own
+ nation. Turloch reſented the affront offered him by Crothar, made an irruption into Connaught,
+ and killed Cormul, the brother of Crothar, who came to oppoſe his progreſs. Crothar himſelf then
+ took arms, and either killed or expelled Turloch. The war, upon this, became general, between the
+ two nations: and the Caël were
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+ reduced to the laſt extremity. In this ſituation, they applied, for
+ aid, to Trathal king of Morven, who ſent his brother Conar, already famous for his great
+ exploits, to their relief. Conar, upon his arrival in Ulfter, was choſen king, by the unanimous
+ conſent of the Caledonian tribes, who poſſeſſed that country. The war was renewed with vigour and
+ ſucceſs; but the Firbolg appear to have been rather repelled than ſubdued. In ſucceeding reigns,
+ we learn from epiſodes in the ſame poem, that the chiefs of Atha made ſeveral efforts to become
+ monarchs of Ireland, and to expel the race of Conar.
+
To Conar ſucceeded his ſon Cormac, who appears to have reigned long. In his
+ latter days he ſeems to have been driven to the laſt extremity, by an inſurrection of the
+ Firbolg, who ſupported the pretenſions of the chiefs of Atha to the Iriſh throne.
+ Fingal, who then was very young, came to the aid of Cormac, totally defeated Colc-ulla, chief of
+ Atha, and re-eſtabliſhed Cormac in the ſole poſſeſſion of all Ireland. It was then he fell in
+ love with, and took to wife, Roscrana, the daughter of Cormac, who was the mother of Oſſian.
+
Cormac was ſucceeded in the Iriſh throne by his ſon, Cairbre; Cairbre by
+ Artho, his ſon, who was the father of that Cormac, in whoſe
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+ minority the invaſion of Swaran happened, which is the
+ ſubject of the poem of Fingal. The family of Atha, who had not relinquiſhed their
+ pretenflons to the Iriſh throne, rebelled in the minority of Cormac, defeated his adherents, and
+ murdered him in the palace of Temora. Cairbar, lord of Atha, upon this, mounted the throne. His
+ uſurpation ſoon ended with his life; for Fingal made an expedition into Ireland, and reſtored,
+ after various viciſſitudes of fortune, the family of Conar to the poſſeſſion of the kingdom. This
+ war is the ſubject of Temora; the events, though certainly heightened and embelliſhed by poetry,
+ ſeem, notwithſtanding, to have their ſoundation in true hiſtory.
+
Temora contains not only the hiſtory of the firſt migration of the
+ Caledonians into Ireland, it alſo preſerves ſome important facts, concerning the firſt ſettlement
+ of the Firbolg, or Belgæ of Britain, in that kingdom, under their leader
+ Larthon, who was anceſtor to Cairbar and Cathmor, who ſucceſſively mounted the Iriſh throne,
+ after the death of Cormac, the ſon of Artho. I forbear to tranſcribe the paſſage, on account of
+ its length. It is the ſong of Fonar, the bard; towards the latter end of the ſeventh book of
+ Temora. As the generations from Larthon to Cathmor, to whom the epiſode
+
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+ is addreſſed, are not marked, as are thoſe of the family of Conar,
+ the firſt king of Ireland, we can form no judgment of the time of the ſettlement of the Firbolg.
+ It is, however, probable, it was ſome time before the Caël, or Caledonians, ſettled in Ulfter.
+ One important fact may be gathered from this hiſtory, that the Iriſh had no king before the
+ latter end of the firſt century. Fingal lived, it is ſuppoſed, in the third century ; ſo Conar,
+ the firſt monarch of the Iriſh, who was his grand-uncle, cannot be placed farther back than the
+ cloſe of the firſt. To eſtabliſh this fact, is to lay, at once, aſide the pretended antiquities
+ of the Scots and Iriſh, and to get quit of the long liſt of kings which the latter give us for a
+ millennium before.
+
Of the affairs of Scotiand, it is certain, nothing can be depended upon,
+ prior to the reign of Fergus, the ſon of Erc, who lived in the fifth century. The true hiſtory of
+ Ireland begins ſomewhat later than that period, Sir James WareDisplay note, who was indefatigable in his reſearches after
+ the antiquities of his country, rejects, as mere fiction and idle romance, all that is related of
+ the ancient Iriſh, before the time of St. Patrick, and the reign of Leogaire. It is from
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+ this conſideration, that he begins his hiſtory at the
+ introduction of Chriſtianity, remarking, that all that is delivered down, concerning the times of
+ paganiſm, were tales of late invention, ſtrangely mixed with anachroniſms and inconſiſtencies.
+ Such being the opinion of Ware, who had collected with uncommon induſtry and zeal, all the real
+ and pretendedly antient manuſcripts, concerning the hiſtory of his country, we may, on his
+ authority, reject the improbable and ſelf-condemned tales of Keating and O'Flaherty. Credulous
+ and puerile to the laſt degree, they have diſgraced the antiquities they meant to eſtabliſh. It
+ is to be wiſhed, that ſome able Iriſhman, who underſtands the language and records of his
+ country, may redeem, ere it is too late, the genuine antiquities of Ireland, from the hands of
+ theſe idle fabuliſts.
+
By comparing the hiſtory in theſe poems with the legends of the Scots and
+ Iriſh writers, and, by afterwards examining both by the teſt of the Roman authors, it is eaſy to
+ diſcover which is the moſt probable. Probability is all that can be eſtabliſhed on the authority
+ of tradition, ever dubious and uncertain. But when it favours the hypotheſis laid down by
+ cotemporary writers of undoubted veracity, and, as it were, finiſhes the figure of which they
+ only drew the out-lines, it
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+ ought, in the judgment of ſober reaſon, to be preferred to
+ accounts framed in dark and diſtant periods, with little judgment, and upon no authority.
+
Concerning the period of more than a century, which intervenes between
+ Fingal and the reign of Fergus, the ſon of Erc or Arcath, tradition is dark and contradictory.
+ Some trace up the family of Fergus to a ſon of Fingal of that name, who makes a conſiderable
+ figure in Oſſian's poems. The three elder ſons of Fingal, Oſſian, Fillan, and Ryno, dying without
+ iſſue, the ſucceſſion, of courſe, devolved upon Fergus, the fourth ſon and his poſterity. This
+ Fergus, ſay ſome traditions, was the father of Congal, whoſe ſon was Arcath, the father of
+ Fergus, properly called the firſt king of Scots, as it was in his time the Caël, who
+ poſſeſſed the weſtern coaft of Scotland, began to be diſtinguiſhed, by foreigners, by the name of
+ Scots From thenceforward, the Scots and Picts, as diftinct nations, became objects of
+ attention to the hiſtorians of other countries. The internal ſtate of the two Caledonian kingdoms
+ has always continued, and ever muſt remain, in obſcurity and fable.
+
It is in this epoch we muſt fix the beginning of the decay of that ſpecies
+ of heroiſm, which ſubſiſted in the days of Fingal. There are three
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+ ſtages in human ſociety. The firſt is the reſult of
+ conſanguinity, and the natural affection of the members of a family to one another. The ſecond
+ begins when property is eſtabliſhed, and men enter into aſſociations for mutual defence, againſt
+ the invaſions and injuſtice of neighbours. Mankind ſubmit, in the third, to certain laws and
+ ſubordinations of government, to which they truſt the ſafety of their perſons and property. As
+ the firft is formed on nature, ſo, of courſe, it is the moſt diſintereſted and noble. Men, in the
+ laſt, have leiſure to cultivate the mind, and to reſtore it, with reflection, to a primæval
+ dignity of ſentiment. The middle ſtate is the region of complete barbariſm and ignorance. About
+ the beginning of the fifth century, the Scots and Picts were advanced into the ſecond ſtage, and,
+ conſequently, into thoſe circumſcribed ſentiments, which always diſtinguiſh barbarity. The events
+ which ſoon after happened did not at all contribute to enlarge their ideas, or mend their
+ national character.
+
About the year 425, the Romans, on account of domeſtic commotions, entirely
+ forſook Britain, finding it impoſſible to defend ſo diſtant a frontier, The Picts and Scots,
+ ſeizing this favourable opportunity, made incurſions into the deſerted province. The Britons,
+ enervated by
+
+ [
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+ the ſlavery of ſeveral centuries, and thoſe vices, which are
+ inſeparable from an advanced ſtate of civility, were not able to withſtand the impetuous, though
+ irregular attacks of a barbarous enemy. In the utmoſt diſtreſs, they applied to their old
+ maſters, the Romans, and (after the unfortunate ſtate of the Empire could not ſpare aid) to the
+ Saxons, a nation equally barbarous and brave, with the enemies of whom they were ſo much afraid.
+ Though the bravery of the Saxons repelled the Caledonian nations for a time, yet the latter found
+ means to extend themſelves, conſiderably, towards the ſouth. It is, in this period, we muſt place
+ the origin of the arts of Civil life among the Scots. The ſeat of government was removed from the
+ mountains to the plain and more fertile provinces of the South, to be near the common enemy, in
+ caſe of ſudden incurſions. Inſtead of roving through unfrequented wilds, in ſearch of
+ ſubſiſtance, by means of hunting, men applied to agriculture, and raiſing of corn. This manner of
+ life was the firſt means of changing the national character. The next thing which contributed to
+ it was their mixture with ſtrangers.
+
In the countries which the Scots had conquered from the Britons, it is
+ probable the moſt of the old inhabitants remained. Theſe
+
+ [
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+ incorporating with the conquerors, taught them
+ agriculture, and other arts, which they themſelves had received from the Romans. The Scots,
+ however, in number as well as power, being the moſt predominant, retained ſtill their language,
+ and as many of the cuſtoms of their anceſtors, as ſuited with the nature of the country they
+ poſſeſſed. Even the union of the two Caledonian kingdoms did not much affect the national
+ character. Being originally deſcended from the ſame ſtock, the manners of the Picts and Scots
+ were as ſimilar as the different natures of the countries they poſſefſed permitted.
+
What brought about a total change in the genius of the Scots nation, was
+ their wars, and other tranſactions with the Saxons. Several counties in the ſouth of Scotland
+ were alternately poſſeſſed by the two nations. They were ceded, in the ninth age, to the Scots,
+ and, it is probable, that moſt of the Saxon inhabitants remained in poſſeſſion of their lands.
+ During the ſeveral conqueſts and revolutions in England, many fled, for refuge, into Scotland, to
+ avoid the oppreſſion of foreigners, or the tyranny of domeſtic uſurpers ; in ſo much, that the
+ Saxon race formed perhaps near one half of the Scottiſh kingdom. The Saxon manners and language
+ daily gained ground, on the tongue and
+
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+ cuſtoms of the antient Caledonians, till, at laſt, the latter were
+ entirely relegated to inhabitants of the mountains, who were ſtill unmixed with ſtrangers.
+
It was after the acceſſion of territory which the Scots received, upon the
+ retreat of the Romans from Britain, that the inhabitants of the Highlands were divided into
+ clans. The king, when he kept his court in the mountains, was conſidered, by the whole nation, as
+ the chief of their blood. Their ſmall number, as well as the preſence of their prince, prevented
+ thoſe diviſions, which, afterwards, ſprung forth into ſo many ſeparate tribes. When the ſeat of
+ government was removed to the ſouth, thoſe who remained in the Highlands were, of courſe,
+ neglected. They naturally formed themſelves into ſmall ſocieties, independent of one another.
+ Each ſociety had its own regulus, who either was, or in the ſucceſſion of a few
+ generations, was regarded as chief of their blood. The nature of the country favoured an
+ inſtitution of this ſort. A few valleys, divided from one another by extenſive heaths and
+ impaſſible mountains, form the face of the Highlands. In theſe valleys the chiefs fixed their
+ reſidence. Round them, and almoſt within ſight of their dwellings, were the habitations of their
+ relations and dependents.
+
+
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+ The ſeats of the Highland chiefs
+ were neither diſagreeable nor inconvenient. Surrounded with mountains and hanging woods, they
+ were covered from the inclemency of the weather. Near them generally ran a pretty large river,
+ which, diſcharging itſelf not far off, into an arm of the ſea, or extenſive lake, ſwarmed with
+ variety of fiſh. The woods were ſtocked with wild-fowl ; and the heaths and mountains behind them
+ were the natural ſeat of the red-deer and roe. If we make allowance for the backward ſtate of
+ agriculture, the valleys were not unfertile ; affording, if not all the conveniencies, at leaſt
+ the neceſſaries of life. Here the chief lived, the ſupreme judge and law-giver of his own people
+ ; but his ſway was neither ſevere nor unjuſt. As the populace regarded him as the chief of their
+ blood, ſo he, in return, conſidered them as members of his family. His commands therefore, though
+ abſolute and decifive, partook more of the authority of a father, than of the rigor of a judge.
+ Though the whole territory of the tribe was conſidered as the property of the chief, yet his
+ vaſſals made him no other conſideration for their lands than ſervices, neither burdenſome nor
+ frequent. As he ſeldom went from home, he was at no expense. His table
+
+ [
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+ was ſupplied by his own herds, and what his numerous attendants
+ killed in hunting.
+
In this rural kind of magnificence, the Highland chiefs lived, for many
+ ages. At a diſtance from the ſeat of government, and ſecured, by the inacceſſibleneſs of their
+ country, they were free and independent. As they had little communication with ſtrangers, the
+ cuſtoms of their anceſtors remained among them, and their language retained its original purity.
+ Naturally fond of military fame, and remarkably attached to the memory of their anceſtors, they
+ delighted in traditions and ſongs, concerning the exploits of their nation, and eſpecially of
+ their own particular families. A ſucceſſion of bards was retained in every clan, to hand down the
+ memorable actions of their forefathers. As Fingal and his chiefs were the moſt renowned names in
+ tradition, the bards took care to place them in the genealogy of every great family. They became
+ famous among the people, and an object of fiction and poetry to the bards.
+
The bards erected their immediate patrons into heroes, and celebrated them
+ in their ſongs. As the circle of their knowledge was narrow, their ideas were confined in
+ proportion. A few happy expreſſions, and the manners they repreſent, may pleaſe thoſe who
+ underſtand the
+
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+ language; their obſcurity and inaccuracy would diſguſt
+ in a tranſlation. It was chiefly for this reaſon, that I have rejected wholly the works of the
+ bards in my publications. Oſſian acted in a more extenſive ſphere, and his ideas ought to be more
+ noble and univerſal ; neither gives he, I preſume, ſo many of thoſe peculiarities, which are only
+ underſtood in a certain period or country. The other bards have their beauties, but not in this
+ ſpecies of compoſition. Their rhimes, only calculated to kindle a martial ſpirit among the
+ vulgar, afford very little pleaſure to genuine taſte. This obſervation only regards their poems
+ of the heroic kind; in every inferior ſpecies of poetry they are more ſucceſsful. They expreſs
+ the tender melancholy of deſponding love, with ſimplicity and nature. So well adapted are the
+ ſounds of the words to the ſentiments, that, even without any knowledge of the language they
+ pierce and diſſolve the heart. Succeſsful love is expreſſed with peculiar tenderneſs and
+ elegance. In all their compoſitions, except the heroic, which was ſolely calculated to animate
+ the vulgar, they give us the genuine language of the heart, without any of thoſe affected
+ ornaments of phraſeology, which, tho' intended to beautify ſentiments, diveſt them of their
+ natural force. The ideas, it is confeſſed,
+
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+ are too local, to be admired, in another language ; to thoſe who
+ are acquainted with the manners they repreſent, and the ſcenes they deſcribe, they muſt afford
+ pleaſure and ſatiſfaction.
+
It was the locality of their deſcription and ſentiment, that, probably, has
+ kept them hitherto in the obſcurity of an almoſt loſt language. The ideas of an unpoliſhed period
+ are ſo contrary to the preſent advanced ſtate of ſociety, that more than a common mediocrity of
+ taſte is required, to reliſh them as they deſerve. Thoſe who alone are capable of transferring
+ ancient poetry into a modern language, might be better employed in giving originals of their own,
+ were it not for that wretched envy and meanneſs which affects to deſpiſe cotemporary genius. My
+ firſt publication was merely accidental. Had I then met with leſs approbation, my after-purſuits
+ would have been more profitable ; at leaft I might have continued to be ſtupid, without being
+ branded with dulneſs.
+
These poems may furniſh light to antiquaries, as well as ſome pleaſure to
+ the lovers of poetry. The firſt population of Ireland, its firſt kings, and ſeveral
+ circumſtances, which regards its connection of old with the ſouth and north of Britain, are
+ preſented in ſeveral epiſodes. The
+
+ [
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+ ſubject and cataſtrophe of the poem are founded upon
+ facts, which regarded the firſt peopling of that country, and the conteſts between the two
+ Britiſh nations, who originally inhabited that iſland. In a preceding part of this Diſſertation,
+ I have ſhewn how ſuperior the probability of this ſyſtem is to the undigeſted fictions of the
+ Iriſh bards, and the more recent and regular legends of both Iriſh and Scottiſh hiſtorians. I
+ mean not to give offence to the abettors of the high antiquities of the two nations, though I
+ have all along expreſſed my doubts, concerning the veracity and abilities of thoſe who deliver
+ down their antient hiſtory. For my own part, I prefer the national fame, ariſing from a few
+ certain facts, to the legendary and uncertain annals of ages of remote and obſcure antiquity. No
+ kingdom now eſtabliſhed in Europe can pretend to equal antiquity with that of the Scots,
+ inconſiderable as it may appear in other reſpects, even according to my ſyſtem, ſo that it is
+ altogether needleſs to fix its origin a fictitious millennium before.
+
Since the firſt publication of theſe poems, many inſinuations have been
+ made, and doubts ariſen, concerning their authenticity. Whether theſe ſuſpicions are ſuggeſted by
+ prejudice, or are only the effects of malice, I neither know nor
+
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+ care. Thoſe who have doubted my veracity have paid a compliment to
+ my genius ; and were even the allegation true, my ſelf-denial might have atoned for my fault.
+ Without vanity I ſay it, I think I could write tolerable poetry ; and I aſſure my antagoniſts,
+ that I ſhould not tranſlate what I could not imitate.
+
As prejudice is the effect of ignorance, I am not ſurprized at its being general. An age that
+ produces few marks of genius ought to be ſparing of admiration. The truth is, the bulk of mankind
+ have ever been led, by reputation more than taſte, in articles of literature. If all the Romans,
+ who admired Virgil, underſtood his beauties, he would have ſcarce deſerved to have come down to
+ us, through ſo many centuries. Unleſs genius were in faſhion, Homer himſelf might have written in
+ vain. He that wiſhes to come with weight, on the ſuperficial, muſt ſkim the ſurface, in their own
+ ſhallow way. Were my aim to gain the many, I wou'd write a madrigal ſooner than an heroic poem.
+ Laberius himſelf would be always ſure of more followers than Sophocles.
+
Some who doubt the authenticity of this work, with peculiar acuteneſs
+ appropriate them to the Iriſh nation. Tho' it is not eaſy to conceive how theſe poems can belong
+ to Ireland and to me, at
+
+ [
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+ once, [ ſhall examine the ſubject, without further
+ animadverſion on the blunder.
+
Of all the nations deſcended from the antient Celtæ, the Scots and
+ Iriſh are the moſt ſimilar in language, cuſtoms, and manners. This argues a more intimate
+ connection between them, than a remote deſcent from the great Celtic ſtock. It is evident, in
+ ſhort, that at ſome one period or other, they formed one ſociety, were ſubject to the ſame
+ government, and were, in all reſpects, one and the ſame people. How they became divided, which
+ the colony, or which the mother nation, I have in another work amply diſcuſſed. The firft
+ circumſtance that induced me to diſregard the vulgarly-received opinion of the Hibernian
+ extraction of the Scottiſh nation, was my obſervations on their antient language. That dialect of
+ the Celtic tongue, ſpoken in the north of Scotland, is much more pure, more agreeable to its
+ mother language, and more abounding with primitives, than that now ſpoken, or even that which has
+ been written for ſome centuries back, amongſt the moſt unmixed part of the Iriſh nation. A
+ Scotchman, tolerably converſant in his own language, underſtands an Iriſh compoſition, from that
+ derivative analogy which it has to the Galic of North Britain. An Iriſhman, on the other
+ hand, without the aid of ſtudy, can never underſtand
+
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+ a compoſition in the Galic tongue. This affords a proof, that the
+ Scotch Galic is the moſt original, and, conſequently, the language of a more ancient and unmixed
+ people. The Iriſh, however backward they may be to allow any thing to the prejudice of their
+ antiquity, ſeem inadvertently to acknowledge it, by the very appellation they give to the dialect
+ they ſpeak. They call their own language Caëlic, Eirinach, i. e. Caledonian
+ Iriſh, when, on the contrary, they call the dialect of North-Britain a Chaëlic, or
+ the Caledonian tongue, emphatically. A circumftance of this nature tends more to decide
+ which is the moſt antient nation, than the united teſtimonies of a whole legion of ignorant bards
+ and ſenachies, who, perhaps, never dreamed of bringing the Scots from Spain to Ireland, till ſome
+ one of them, more learned than the reſt, diſcovered, that the Romans called the firſt
+ Iberia, and the latter Hibernia. On ſuch a ſlight foundation were probably
+ built the romantic fictions, concerning the Mileſians of Ircland.
+
From internal proofs it ſufficiently appears, that the poems publiſhed under
+ the name of Oſſian, are not of Iriſh compoſition. The favourite chimæra, that Ireland is the
+ mother-country of the Scots, is totally ſubverted and ruined. The fictions concerning the
+ antiquities
+
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+ of that country, which were forming for ages, and
+ growing as they came down, on the hands of ſucceſſive ſenachies and fileas, are
+ found, at laſt, to be the ſpurious brood of modern and ignorant ages. To thoſe who know how
+ tenacious the Iriſh are, of their pretended Iberian deſcent, this alone is proof
+ ſufficient, that poems, ſo ſubverſive of their ſyſtem, could never be produced by an Hibernian
+ bard. But when we look to the language, it is ſo different from the Iriſh dialect, that it would
+ be as ridiculous to think, that Milton's Paradiſe Loſt could be wrote by a Scottiſh peaſant, as
+ to ſuppoſe, that the poems aſcribed to Oſſian were writ in Ireland.
+
The pretenſions of Ireland to Oſſian proceed from another quarter. There are
+ handed down, in that country, traditional poems, concerning the Fiona, or the heroes of
+ Fion Mac Comnal. This Fion, ſay the Iriſh annaliſts, was general of the militia
+ of Ireland, in the reign of Cormac, in the third century. Where Keating and O'Flaherty learned,
+ that Ireland had an embodied militia ſo early, is not eaſy for me to determine. Their
+ information certainly did not come from the Iriſh poems,concerning Fion. I have juſt now, in my
+ hands, all that remain, of thoſe
+
+ [
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+ compoſitions; but, unluckily for the antiquities of Ireland, they
+ appear to be the work of a very modern period. Every ſtanza, nay almoſt every line, affords
+ ſtriking proofs, that they cannot be three centuries old. Their alluſions to the manners and
+ cuſtoms of the fifteenth century, are ſo many, that it is matter of wonder to me, how any one
+ could dream of their antiquity. They are entirely writ in that romantic taſte, which prevailed
+ two ages ago. Giants, enchanted caſtles, dwarfs, palfreys, witches and magicians form the whole
+ circle of the poet's invention. The celebrated Fion could ſcarcely move from one hillock
+ to another, without encountering a giant, or being entangled in the circles of a magician.
+ Witches, on broomſticks, were continually hovering round him, like crows; and he had freed
+ enchanted virgins in every valley in Ireland. In ſhort, Fion, great as he was, paſſed a
+ diſagreeable life. Not only had he to engage all the miſchiefs in his own country, foreign armies
+ invaded him, aſſiſted by magicians and witches, and headed by Kings, as tall as the main-maſt of
+ a firſt rate. It muſt be owned, however, that Fion was not inferior to them in height.
+
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+
+
+ A chos air Cromleach, druim-ard,
+ Chos eile air Crom-meal dubh,
+ Thoga Fion le lamh mhoir
+ An d'uiſge o Lubhair na fruth.
+
+ With one foot on Cromleach his brow,
+ The other on Crommal the dark,
+ Fion took up with his large hand
+ The water from Lubar of the ſtreams.
+
Cromleach and Crommal were two mountains in the neighbourhood of one another,
+ in Ulſter, and the river Lubar ran through the intermediate valley. The property of ſuch
+ a monſter as this Fion, I ſhould never have diſputed with any nation. But the bard
+ himſelf, in the poem, from which the above quotation is taken, cedes him to Scotland.
+ Fion o Albin, fiol nan laoich !
+ FionfromAlbion, race of
+ heroes !
+
Were it allowable to contradict the authority of a bard, at this diſtance of time, I ſhould
+ have given as my opinion, that this enormous Fion was of the race of the Hibernian
+ giants, of Ruanus, or ſome other celebrated name, rather than
+
+ [
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+ a native of Caledonia, whoſe inhabitants, now at leaſt, are not
+ remarkable for their ſtature. As for the poetry, I leave it to the reader.
+
IfFion was ſo remarkable for his ſtature, his heroes had alſo
+ other extraordinary properties. In weight all the ſons of ſtrangers yielded to the
+ celebrated Ton-iofal ; and for hardneſs of ſkull, and, perhaps, for thickneſs too, the valiant
+ Oſcar ſtood unrivalled and alone. Oſſian himſelf had many ſingular and leſs delicate
+ qualifications, than playing on the harp; and the brave Cuthullin was of ſo diminutive a ſize, as
+ to be taken for a child of two years of age, by the gigantic Swaran. To illuſtrate this ſubject,
+ I ſhall here lay before the reader, the hiſtory of ſome of the Iriſh poems, concerning Fion Mac
+ Comnal. A tranflation of theſe pieces, if well executed, might afford ſatisfaction, in an
+ uncommon way, to the Public. But this ought to be the work of a native of Ireland. To draw forth,
+ from obſcurity, the poems of my own country, has waſted all the time I had allotted for the muſes
+ ; beſides, I am too diffident of my own abilities, to undertake ſuch a work. A gentleman in
+ Dublin accuſed me to the public, of committing blunders and abſurdities, in tranflating the
+ language of my own country, and
+
+ [
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+ that before any tranſlation of mine appearedDisplay note. How the gentleman came to ſee my blunders before I committed them, is not eaſy
+ to determine; if he did not conclude, that, as a Scotſman, and, of courſe deſcended of the
+ Mileſian race, I might have committed ſome of thoſe overſights, which, perhaps very unjuſtly, are
+ ſaid to be peculiar to them.
+
From the whole tenor of the Iriſh poems, concerning the Fiona, it
+ appears, that Fion Mac Comnal flouriſhed in the reign of Cormac, which is placed, by the
+ univerſal conſent of the ſenachies, in the third century. They even fix the death
+
+ [
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+ of Fingal in the year 286, yet his ſon Oſſian is made cotemporary
+ with St. Patrick, who preached the goſpel in Ireland about the middle of the fifth age. Oſſian,
+ though, at that time, he muſt have been two hundred and fifty years of age, had a daughter young
+ enough to become wife to the ſaint. On account of this family connection, Patrick of the
+ Pſalms, for ſo the apoſtle of Ireland is emphatically called in the poems, took great
+ delight in the company of Oſſian, and in hearing the great actions of his family. The ſaint
+ ſometimes threw off the aufterity of his profeſſion, drunk freely, and had his ſoul properly
+ warmed with wine, to receive with becoming enthuſiaſm, the poems of his father-in-law. One of the
+ poems begins with this piece of uſeful information,
+ Lo don rabh Padric na mhúr,
+ Gun Sailm air uidh, ach a gól,
+ Ghluais é thigh Oſſian mhic Fhion,
+ O fan leis bu bhinn a ghloir.
+
The title of this poem is Teantach mor na Fiona. It appears to have been founded on
+ the ſame ſtory with the battle of Lora. The circumſtances and cataſtrophe in both are
+ much the ſame; but
+
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+ the Iriſh Oſſian diſcovers the age in which
+ he lived, by an unlucky anachroniſm. After deſcribing the total route of Erragon, he very gravely
+ concludes with this remarkable anecdote, that none of the foe eſcaped, but a few, who were
+ permitted to go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. This circumſtance fixes the date of
+ the compofition of the piece ſome centuries after the famous croiſade; for, it is evident, that
+ the poet thought the time of the croiſade ſo ancient, that he confounds it with the age of
+ Fingal. Erragon, in the courſe of this poem, is often called,
+ Riogh Lochlin an do ſhloigh,
+ King of Denmark of two nations which alludes to the union of the
+ kingdoms of Norway and Denmark, a circumſtance which happened under Margaret de Waldemar, in the
+ cloſe of the fourteenth age. Modern, however, as this pretended Oſſian was, it is certain, he
+ lived before the Iriſh had dreamed of appropriating Fion, or Fingal, to
+ themſelves. He concludes the poem, with this reflection.
+ Na fagha fe comhthróm nan n' arm,
+ Erragon Mac Annir nan lánn glas
+
+
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+ 'San n' Albin ni n' abairtair Triath
+ Agus ghlaoite an n' Fhiona as.
+
+
“Had Erragon, ſon of Annir of gleaming ſwords, avoided the equal conteſt of arms, (ſingle
+ combat) no chief ſhould have afterwards been numbered in Albion, and the
+ heroes of Fion ſhould no more be named.”
+
The next poem that falls under our obſervation is Cath-cabhra, or,
+ The death of Oſcar. This piece is founded on the ſame ſtory which we have in the firft
+ book of Temora. So little thought the author of Cath-cabhra of making Oſcar his countryman, that,
+ in the courſe of two hundred lines, of which the poems conſiſts, he puts the following expreſſion
+ thrice in the mouth of the hero :
+
+ Albin an fa d' roina m' arach.
+ Albionwhere I was born and bred .
+
The poem contains almoſt all the incidents in the firſt book of Temora. In one circumſtance the
+ bard differs materially from Oſſian. Oſcar, after he was mortally wounded by Cairbar, was carried
+ by his people to a neighbouring hill, which commanded a proſpect of the ſea. A fleet appeared at
+ a diſtance, and the hero exclaims with joy,
+
+ [
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+
+ Loingeas mo ſhean-athair at' án
+ 'S iad a tiächd le cabhair chugain,
+ O Albin na n' ioma ſtuagh.
+
“It is the fleet of my grandfather, coming with aid to our field, from Albion of many waves !” —The teſtimony of this bard is ſufficient to confute the idle
+ fictions of Keating and O'Flaherty ; for, though he is far from being ancient, it is probable, he
+ flouriſhed a full century before theſe hiſtorians. He appears, however, to have been a much
+ better chriſtian than chronologer; for Fion, though he is placed two centuries before
+ St. Patrick, very devoutly recommends the ſoul of his grandſon to his Redeemer.
+
Duan a Gharibh Mac-Starn is another Iriſh poem in high repute. The grandeur of its
+ images, and its propriety of ſentiment, might have induced me to give a tranſlation of it, had
+ not I ſome expectations, which are now over, of ſeeing it in the collection of the Iriſh Oſſian's
+ poems, promiſed twelve years ſince, to the public. The author deſcends ſometimes from the region
+ of the ſublime to low and indecent deſcription; the laſt of which, the Iriſh tranſlator, no
+ doubt, will chooſe to leave in the obſcurity of the original. In this piece Cuthullin is uſed
+ with very little ceremony, for he is oft called, the dog of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Tara, in the county of Meath. This ſevere title of the
+ redoubtable Cuthullin, the moſt renowned of Iriſh champions, proceeded from the poet's
+ ignorance of etymology. Cu, voice, or commander, ſignifies alſo a
+ dog. The poet choſe the laſt, as the moſt noble appellation for his hero.
+
The ſubject of the poem is the ſame with that of the epic poem of Fingal.
+ Caribh Mac-Starn is the ſame with Oſſian's Swaran, the ſon of Starno. His ſingle combats
+ with, and his victory over all the heroes of Ireland, excepting the celebrated dog of
+ Tara, i. e. Cuthullin, afford matter for two hundred lines of tolerable poetry.
+ Caribh's progreſs in ſearch of Cuthullin, and his intrigue with the gigantic
+ Emir-bragal, that hero's wife, enables the poet to extend his piece to four hundred lines. This
+ author, it is true, makes Cuthullin a native of Ireland ; the gigantic Emir-bragal he calls the
+ guiding ſtar of the women of Ireland. The property of this enormous lady I ſhall not
+ diſpute with him, or any other. But, as he ſpeaks with great tenderneſs of the daughters of
+ the convent, and throws out ſome hints againſt the Engliſh nation, it is probable he lived
+ in too modern a period to be intimately acquainted with the genealogy of Cuthullin.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Another Iriſh Oſſian, for there were many, as appears from their difference
+ in language and ſentiment, ſpeaks very dogmatically of Fion Mac Comnal, as an Iriſhman.
+ Little can be ſaid for the judgment of this poet, and leſs for his delicacy of ſentiment. The
+ hiſtory of one of his epiſodes may, at once, ſtand as a ſpecimen of his want of both. Ireland, in
+ the days of Fion, happened to be threatened with an invaſion, by three great potentates,
+ the kings of Lochlin, Sweden, and France. lt is needleſs to inſiſt upon the impropriety of a
+ French invaſion of Ireland ; it is ſufficient for me to be faithful to the language of my author.
+ Fion, upon receiving intelligence of the intended invaſion, ſent Ca-olt, Oſſian, and
+ Oſcar, to watch the bay, in which, it was apprehended, the enemy was to land. Oſcar was the worſt
+ choice of a ſcout that could be made, for, brave as he was, he had the bad property of falling
+ very often aſleep on his poſt, nor was it poſſible to awake him, without cutting off one of his
+ fingers, or daſhing a large ſtone againſt his head. When the enemy appeared, Oſcar, very
+ unfortunately, was aſleep. Oſſian and Ca-olt conſulted about the method of wakening him, and
+ they, at laſt, fixed on the ſtone, as the leſs dangerous expedient.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+ Gun thog Caoilte a chlach, nach gán,
+ Agus a n' aigha' chican gun bhuail ;
+ Tri mil an tulloch gun chri', &c.
+ “Ca-olt took up a heavy ſtone, and ſtruck it againſt the hero's head. The hill ſhook for
+ three miles, as the ſtone rebounded and rolled away.”
+
Oſcar roſe in wrath, and his father
+ gravely defired him to ſpend his rage on his enemies, which he did to ſo good purpoſe, that he
+ ſingly routed a whole wing of their army. The confederate kings advanced, notwithſtanding, till
+ they came to a narrow paſs, poſſeſſed by the celebrated Ton-iofal. This name is very ſignificant
+ of the ſingular property of the hero who bore it. Ton-iofal, though brave, was ſo heavy and
+ unwieldy, that when he ſat down, it took the whole force of an hundred men to ſet him upright on
+ his feet again. Luckily for the preſervation of Ireland, the hero happened to be ſtanding when
+ the enemy appeared, and he gave ſo good an account of them, that Fion, upon his arrival,
+ found little to do, but to divide the ſpoil among his ſoldiers,
+
All theſe extraordinary heroes, Fion, Oſſian, Oſcar and Ca-olt, ſays the
+ poet, were
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+ Siol Erin na gorm lánn,
+ The ſons of Erinof blue ſteel.
+
Neither ſhall I much diſpute the matter with him : He has my conſent alſo to appropriate to
+ Ireland the celebrated Ton-iofal. I ſhall only ſay, that they are different perſons from thoſe of
+ the ſame name, in the Scotch poems ; and that, though the ſtupendous valour of the firſt is ſo
+ remarkable, they have not been equally lucky with the latter, in their poet. It is ſomewhat
+ extraordinary, that Fion, who lived ſome ages before St. Patrick, ſwears like a very
+ good chriſtian :
+ Air an Dia do chum gach caſe.
+ By God, who ſhaped every caſe.
+
It is worthy of being remarked, that, in the line quoted, Oſſian, who lived in St. Patrick's
+ days, ſeems to have underſtood ſomething of the Engliſh, a language not then ſubſiſting. A
+ perſon, more ſanguine for the honour of his country than I am, might argue, from this
+ circumſtance, that this pretendedly Iriſh Oſſian was a native of Scotland ; for my countrymen are
+ univerſally allowed to have an excluſive right to the ſecond-ſight.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
From the inſtances given, the reader may form a complete idea of the Iriſh compoſitions
+ concerning the Fiona, The greateſt part of them make the heroes of Fion,
+ Siol Albin a n'nioma caoile.
+ The race ofAlbionof many firths.
+
+
The reſt make them natives of Ireland. But, the truth is, that their authority is of little
+ conſequence on either ſide. From the inſtances I have given, they appear to have been the work of
+ a very modern period. The pious ejaculations they contain, their alluſions to the manners of the
+ times, fix them to the fifteenth century. Had even the authors of theſe pieces avoided all
+ alluſions to their own times, it is impoſſible that the poems could paſs for ancient, in the eyes
+ of any perſon tolerably converſant with the Iriſh tongue. The idiom is ſo corrupted and ſo many
+ words borrowed from the Engliſh, that the language muſt have made conſiderable progreſs in
+ Ireland before the poems were written.
+
It remains now to ſhew, how the Iriſh bards begun to appropriate the
+ Scottiſh Oſſian and his heroes to their own country. After the Engliſh conqueſt, many of the
+ natives of Ireland, averſe to a foreign yoke, either actually were in a ſtate of hoſtility with
+ the conquerors, or at leaſt, paid
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ little regard to their government. The Scots, in thoſe
+ ages, were often in open war, and never in cordial friendſhip with the Engliſh. The ſimilarity of
+ manners and language, the traditions concerning their common origin, and above all, their having
+ to do with the ſame enemy, created a free and friendly intercourſe between the Scottiſh and Iriſh
+ nations. As the cuſtom of retaining bards and ſenachies was common to both ; ſo each, no doubt,
+ had formed a ſyſtem of hiſtory, it matters not how much ſoever fabulous, concerning their
+ reſpective origin. It was the natural policy of the times, to reconcile the traditions of both
+ nations together, and, if poſſible, to reduce them from the ſame original ſtock.
+
The Saxon manners and language had, at that time, made great progreſs in the
+ ſouth of Scotland. The ancient language, and the traditional hiſtory of the nation, became
+ confined entirely to the inhabitants of the Highlands, then fallen, from ſeveral concurring
+ circumſtances, into the laſt degree of ignorance and barbariſm. The Iriſh, who, for ſome ages
+ before the conqueſt, had poſſeſſed a competent ſhare of that kind of learning, which then
+ prevailed in Europe, found it no difficult matter to impoſe their own fictions on the ignorant
+ Highland ſenachies. By flattering the vanity of the Highlanders, with
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ their long liſt of Heremonian kings and heroes, they, without
+ contradiction, aſſumed to themſelves the character of being the mother-nation of the Scots of
+ Britain. At this time, certainly, was eſtabliſhed that Hibernian ſyſtem of the original of the
+ Scots, which afterwards, for want of any other, was univerſally received. The Scots of the
+ low-country, who, by lofing the language of their anceſtors, loſt, together with it, their
+ national traditions, received, implicitly, the hiſtory of their country, from Iriſh refugees, or
+ from Highland ſenachies, perſuaded over into the Hibernian ſyſtem.
+
These circumſtances are far from being ideal. We have remaining many
+ particular traditions, which bear teſtimony to a fact, of itſelf abundantly probable. What makes
+ the matter inconteſtible is, that the antient traditional accounts of the genuine origin of the
+ Scots, have been handed down without interruption. Tho' a few ignorant ſenachies might be
+ perſuaded out of their own opinion, by the ſmoothneſs of an Iriſh tale, it was impoſſible to
+ eradicate, from among the bulk of the people, their own national traditions. Thefe traditions
+ afterwards ſo much prevailed, that the Highlanders continue totally unacquainted with the
+ pretended Hibernian extract of the Scots nation. Ignorant chronicle
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ writers, ſtrangers to the antient language of their country,
+ preſerved only from falling to the ground, ſo improbable a ſtory.
+
This ſubject, perhaps, is purſued further than it deſerves; but a diſcuſſion
+ of the pretenſions of Ireland, was become in ſome meaſure neceſſary. If the Iriſh poems,
+ concerning the Fiona, ſhould appear ridiculous, it is but juſtice to obferve, that they
+ are ſcarcely more ſo than the poems of other nations, at that period. On other ſubjects, the
+ bards of Ireland have diſplayed a genius for poetry. It was, alone, in matters of antiquity, that
+ they were monſtrous in their fables. Their love-ſonnets, and their elegies on the death of
+ perſons worthy or renowned, abound with ſimplicity, and a wild harmony of numbers. They become
+ more than an atonement for their errors, in every other ſpecies of poetry. But the beauty of
+ theſe pieces, depends ſo much on a certain curioſa felicitas of expreſſion in the
+ original, that they muſt appear much to diſadvantage in another language.
A critical dissertation on the poems of Ossian,the son of Fingal.
+
Among the monuments remaining of the ancient ſtate of nations, few are more
+ valuable than their poems or ſongs. Hiſtory, when it treats of remote or dark ages, is ſeldom
+ very inſtructive. The beginnings of ſociety, in every country, are involved in fabulous
+ confuſion; and though they were not, they would furniſh few events worth recording. But, in every
+ period of ſociety, human manners are a curious ſpectacle; and the moſt natural pictures of
+ ancient manners are exhibited in the ancient poems of nations. Theſe preſent to us what is much
+ more valuable than the hiſtory of ſuch tranſactions as a rude age can afford—the hiſtory
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image of human imagination and paſſion. They make
+ us acquainted with the notions and feelings of our fellow creatures in the moſt artleſs ages;
+ Diſcovering what objects they admired, and what pleaſures they purſued, before thoſe refinements
+ of ſociety had taken place, which enlarge, indeed, and diverſify the tranſactions, but diſguiſe
+ the manners of mankind.
+
Beſides this merit which ancient poems have with philoſophical obſervers of
+ human nature, they have another with perſons of taſte. They promiſe ſome of the higheſt beauties
+ of poetical writing. Irregular and unpoliſhed we may expect the production of uncultivated ages
+ to be; but abounding, at the ſame time, with that enthuſiaſm, that vehemence and fire, which are
+ the ſoul of poetry: for many circumſtances of thoſe times which we call barbarous, are favourable
+ to the poetical ſpirit. That ſtate, in which human nature ſhoots wild and free, though unfit for
+ other improvements, certainly encourages the high exertions of fancy and paſſion.
+
In the infancy of ſocieties, men live ſcattered and diſperſed in the midſt
+ of ſolitary rural ſcenes, where the beauties of nature are their chief entertainment. They meet
+ with many objects to them new and ſtrange; their wonder
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and ſurpriſe are frequently excited; and by
+ the ſudden changes of fortune occurring in their unſettled ſtate of life, their paſſions are
+ raiſed to the utmoſt; their paſſions have nothing to reſtrain them, their imagination has nothing
+ to check it. They diſplay themſelves to one another without diſguiſe, and converſe and act in the
+ uncovered ſimplicity of nature. As their feelings are ſtrong, ſo their language, of itſelf,
+ aſſumes a poetical turn. Prone to exaggerate, they deſcribe everything in the ſtrongeſt colours;
+ which of courſe renders their ſpeech pictureſque and figurative. Figurative language owes its
+ riſe chiefly to two cauſes; to the want of proper names for objects, and to the influence of
+ imagination and paſſion over the form of expreſſion. Both theſe cauſes concur in the infancy of
+ ſociety. Figures are commonly conſidered as artificial modes of ſpeech, deviſed by orators and
+ poets, after the world had advanced to a refined ſtate. The contrary of this is the truth. Men
+ never have uſed ſo many figures of ſtyle as in thoſe rude ages, when, beſides the power of a warm
+ imagination to ſuggeſt lively images, the want of proper and preciſe terms for the ideas they
+ would expreſs, obliged them to have recourſe to circumlocution, metaphor, compariſon, and all
+ thoſe ſubſtituted forms of expreſſion, which give a poetical air to language.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image An American chief, at this day, harangues at
+ the head of his tribe in a more bold and metaphorical ſtyle than a modern European would
+ adventure to uſe in an epic poem.
+
In the progreſs of ſociety, the genius and manners of men undergo a change
+ more favourable to accuracy than to ſprightlineſs and ſublimity. As the world advances, the
+ underſtanding gains ground upon the imagination; the underſtanding is more exerciſed; the
+ imagination, leſs. Fewer objects occur that are new or ſurpriſing. Men apply themſelves to trace
+ the cauſes of things; they correct and refine one another; they ſubdue or diſguiſe their
+ paſſions; they form their exterior manners upon one uniform ſtandard of politeneſs and civility.
+ Human nature is pruned according to method and rule. Language advances from ſterility to
+ copiouſneſs, and at the ſame time from fervor and enthuſiaſm, to correctneſs and preciſion. Style
+ becomes more chaſte, but leſs animated. The progreſs of the world in this reſpect reſembles the
+ progreſs of age in man. The powers of imagination are moſt vigorous and predominant in youth;
+ thoſe of the underſtanding ripen more ſlowly, and often attain not to their maturity till the
+ imagination begins to flag. Hence poetry, which is the child of imagination, is frequently
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image moſt glowing and animated in the firſt ages
+ of ſociety As the ideas of our youth are remembered with a peculiar pleaſure, on account of their
+ livelineſs and vivacity, ſo the moſt ancient poems have often proved the greateſt favourites of
+ nations.
+
Poetry has been ſaid to be more ancient than proſe; and, however paradoxical
+ ſuch an aſſertion may ſeem, yet, in a qualified ſenſe, it is true. Men certainly never converſed
+ with one another in regular numbers; but even their ordinary language would, in ancient times,
+ for the reaſons before aſſigned, approach to a poetical ſtyle; and the firſt compoſitions
+ tranſmitted to poſterity, beyond doubt, were, in a literal ſenſe, poems; that is, compoſitions in
+ which imagination had the chief hand, formed into ſome kind of numbers, and pronounced with a
+ muſical modulation or tone. Muſic or ſong has been found coeval with ſociety among the moſt
+ barbarous nations. The only ſubjects which could prompt men, in their firſt rude ſtate, to utter
+ their thoughts in compoſitions of any length, were ſuch as naturally aſſumed the tone of poetry;
+ praiſes of their gods, or of their anceſtors; commemorations of their own warlike exploits, or
+ lamentations over their miſfortunes.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image And, before writing was invented, no other
+ compoſitions, except ſongs or poems, could take ſuch hold of the imagination and memory, as to be
+ preſerved by oral tradition, and handed down from one race to another.
+
Hence we may expect to find poems among the antiquities of all nations. It
+ is probable, too, that an extenſive ſearch would diſcover a certain degree of reſemblance among
+ all the moſt ancient poetical productions, from whatever country they have proceeded. In a
+ ſimilar ſtate of manners, ſimilar objects and paſſions, operating upon the imaginations of men,
+ will ſtamp their productions with the ſame general character. Some diverſity will, no doubt, be
+ occaſioned by climate and genius. But mankind never bear ſuch reſembling features as they do in
+ the beginnings of ſociety. Its ſubſequent revolutions give riſe to the principal diſtinctions
+ among nations; and divert, into channels widely ſeparated, that current of human genius and
+ manners which deſcends originally from one ſpring. What we have been long accuſtomed to call the
+ oriental vein of poetry, becauſe ſome of the earlieſt poetical productions have come to us from
+ the eaſt, is probably no more oriental than Occidental: it is characteriſtical of an age rather
+ than a country,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and belongs, in ſome meaſure, to all nations
+ at a certain period. Of this the works of Oſſian ſeem to furniſh a remarkable proof.
+
Our preſent ſubject leads us to inveſtigate the ancient poetical remains,
+ not ſo much of the eaſt, or of the Greeks and Romans, as of the northern nations, in order to
+ diſcover whether the Gothic poetry has any reſemblance to the Celtic or Gaelic, which we are
+ about to conſider. Though the Goths, under which name we uſually comprehend all the Scandinavian
+ tribes, were a people altogether fierce and martial, and noted, to a proverb for their ignorance
+ of the liberal arts, yet they too, from the earlieſt times, had their poets and their ſongs.
+ Their poets were diſtinguiſhed by the title of Scalders, and their ſongs were termed
+ Vyſes. Display note Saxo Grammaticus
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image , a Daniſh hiſtorian of conſiderable note,
+ who flouriſhed in the thirteenth century, informs us, that very many of theſe ſongs, containing
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the ancient traditionary ſtories of the
+ country, were found engraven upon rocks in the old Runic character, ſeveral of which he, has
+ tranſlated into Latin, and inſerted into his hiſtory. But his verſions are plainly ſo
+ paraphiaſtical, and forced into ſuch an imitation of the ſtyle and the meaſures of the Roman
+ poets, that one can form no judgment from them of the native ſpirit of the original. A more
+ curious monument of the true Gothic poetry is preſerved by Olaus Wormius in his book de
+ Literatura Runica. It is an epicedium, or funeral ſong, compoſed by Regner Lodbrog, and
+ tranſlated by Olaus, word for word, from the original. This Lodbrog was a king of Denmark, who
+ lived in the eighth century, famous for his wars and victories; and at the ſame time an eminent
+ ſcalder, or poet. It was his miſfortune to fall at laſt into the hands of one of his
+ enemies, by whom he was thrown into priſon, and condemned to he deſtroyed by ſerpents. In this
+ ſituation he ſolaced himſelf with rehearſing all the exploits of his life. The poem is divided
+ into twenty-nine ſtanzas, of ten lines each; and every ſtanza begins with theſe words,
+ “Pugnavimus enſibus,” We have fought with our ſwords. Olauſ's verſion is in many places ſo
+ obſcure as to be hardly intelligible. I have ſubjoined the whole below, exactly as he has
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image publiſhed it; and ſhall tranſlate as much as
+ may give the Engliſh reader an idea of the ſpirit and ſtrain of this kind of poetry Display note .
“We have fought with our ſwords. I was young. when, towards the eaſt, in the bay of Oreon, we
+ made torrents of blood flow, to gorge the ravenous beaſt of prey, and the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image yellow-footed bird. There reſounded the hard
+ ſteel upon the lofty helmets of men. The whole ocean was one wound. The crow waded in the blood
+ of the ſlain. When we
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image had numbered twenty years, we lifted our
+ ſpears on high, and everywhere ſpread our renown. Eight barons we overcame in the eaſt, before
+ the port of Diminum; and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image plentifully we feaſted the eagle in that
+ ſlaughter. The warm ſtream of wounds ran into the ocean. The army fell before us. When we
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſteered our ſhips into the mouth of the
+ Viſtula, we ſent the Helſingians to the hall of Odin. Then did the ſword bite. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image waters were all one wound. The earth was dyed
+ red with the warm ſtream. The ſword rung upon the coats of mail, and clove the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bucklers in twain. None fled on that day,
+ till among his ſhips Heraudus fell. Than him no braver baron cleaves the ſea with ſhips; a
+ cheerful heart did he ever bring to the combat.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Then the hoſt threw away. their ſhields, when
+ the uplifted ſpear flew at the breaſt of heroes. The ſword bit the Scarflan rocks;
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bloody was the ſhield in battle, until Rafno
+ the king was ſlain. From the heads of warriors the warm ſweat ſtreamed down their
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image armour. The crows around the Indirian iſlands
+ had an ample prey. It were difficult to ſingle out one among ſo many deaths. At the riſing of the
+ ſun I beheld the ſpears piercing the bodies of foes, and the bows throwing forth their
+ ſteel-pointed arrows. Loud roared the ſwords in the plains of Lano.—The virgin long bewailed the
+ ſlaughter of that morning.”—In this ſtrain the poet continues to deſcribe ſeveral other military
+ exploits. The images are not much varied: the noiſe of arms, the ſtreaming of blood, and the
+ feaſting the birds of prey often recurring. He mentions the death of two of his ſons in battle;
+ and the lamentation he deſcribes as made for one of them is very ſingular. A Grecian or a Roman
+ poet would have introduced the virgins or nymphs of the wood bewailing the untimely fall of a
+ young hero. But, ſays our Gothic poet, “When Rogvaldus was ſlain, for him mourned all the hawks
+ of heaven,” as lamenting a benefactor who had ſo liberally ſupplied them with prey; “for boldly,”
+ as he adds, “in the ſtrife of ſwords did the breaker of helmets throw the ſpear of blood.”
+
The poem concludes with ſentiments of the higheſt bravery and contempt of
+ death. “What is more certain to the brave man than death,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image though amidſt the ſtorm of ſwords he ſtands
+ always ready to oppoſe it? He only regrets this life who hath never known diſtreſs. The timorous
+ man allures the, devouring eagle to the field of battle. The coward, wherever he comes, is
+ uſeleſs to himſelf. This I eſteem honourable, that the youth ſhould advance to the combat fairly
+ matched one againſt another; nor man retreat from man. Long was this the warrior's higheſt glory.
+ He who aſpires to the love of virgins, ought always to be foremoſt in the roar of arms. It
+ appears to me, of truth, that we are led by the Fates. Seldom can any overcome the appointment of
+ deſtiny. Little did I foreſee that Ella Display note was to have my life
+ in his hands, in that day when fainting I concealed my blood, and puſhed forth my ſhips into the
+ waves; after we had ſpread a repaſt for the beaſts of prey throughout the Scottiſh bays. But this
+ makes me always rejoice, that in the halls of our father Balder [or Odin] I know there are ſeats
+ prepared, where, in a ſhort time, we ſhall be drinking ale out of the hollow ſkulls of our
+ enemies. In the houſe of the mighty Odin, no brave man laments death. I come not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image with the voice of deſpair to Odin's hall. How
+ eagerly would all the ſons of Aſlauga now ruſh to war, did they know the diſtreſs of their
+ father, whom a multitude of venomous ſerpents tear! I have given to my children a mother who hath
+ filled their hearts with valor. I am faſt approaching to my end. A cruel death awaits me from the
+ viper's bite. A ſnake dwells in the midſt of my heart. I hope that the ſword of ſome of my ſons
+ ſhall yet be ſtained with the blood of Ella. The valiant youths will wax red with anger, and will
+ not ſit in peace. Fifty and one times have I reared the ſtandard in battle. In my youth I learned
+ to dye the ſword in blood: my hope was then that no king among men would be more renowned than
+ me. The goddeſſes of death will now ſoon call me; I muſt not mourn my death. Now I end my ſong.
+ The goddeſſes invite me away; they whom Odin has ſent to me from his hall. I will ſit upon a
+ lofty ſeat, and drink ale joyfully with the goddeſſes of death. The hours of my life are run out.
+ I will ſmile when I die.”
+
This is ſuch poetry as we might expect from a barbarous nation. It breathes
+ a moſt ferocious ſpirit. It is wild, harſh, and irregular; but at the ſame time animated and
+ ſtrong; the ſtyle,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image in the original, full of inverſions, and, as
+ we learn from ſome of Olauſ's notes, highly metaphorical and figured.
+
But when we open the works of Oſſian, a very different ſcene preſents
+ itſelf. There we find the fire and enthuſiaſm of the moſt early times, combined with an amazing,
+ degree of regularity and art. We find tenderneſs, and even delicacy of ſentiment, greatly
+ predominant over fierceneſs and barbarity. Our hearts are melted with the ſofteſt feelings, and
+ at the ſame time elevated with the higheſt ideas of magnanimity, generoſity, and true heroiſm.
+ When we turn from the poetry of Lodbrog to that of Oſſian, it is like paſſing from a ſavage
+ deſert into a fertile and cultivated country. How is this to be accounted for? or by what means
+ to be reconciled with the remote antiquity attributed to theſe poems? This is a curious point,
+ and requires to be illuſtrated.
+
That the ancient Scots were of Celtic original, is paſt all doubt. Their
+ conformity with the Celtic nations in language, manners, and religion, proves it to a full
+ demonſtration. The Celtæ, a great and mighty people, altogether diſtinct from the Goths and
+ Teutones, once extended their dominion over all the weſt of Europe; but ſeem to have had their
+ moſt full and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image complete eſtabliſhment in Gaul, Wherever the
+ Celtæ or Gauls are mentioned by ancient writers, we ſeldom fall to hear of their Druids and their
+ Bards; the inſtitution of which two orders was the capital diſtinction of their manners and
+ policy. The druids were their philoſophers and prieſts; the bards their poets and recorders of
+ heroic actions; and, both theſe orders of men ſeem to have ſubſiſted among them, as chief members
+ of the ſtate, from time immemorialDisplay note. We muſt not therefore imagine the Celtæ to have been
+ altogether a groſs and rude nation. They poſſeſſed from very remote ages a formed ſyſtem of
+ diſcipline and manners, which appears to have had a deep and laſting influence. Ammianus
+ Marcellinus gives them this expreſs teſtimony, that there flouriſhed among them the ſtudy of the
+ moſt laudable arts, introduced by the bards, whoſe office it was to ſing in heroic verſe the
+ gallant actions of illuſtrious men; and by the druids, who lived together in colleges, or
+ ſocieties, after the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Pythagorean manner, and, philoſophizing upon
+ the higheſt ſubjects, aſſerted the immortality of the human ſoul. Display noteThough Julius Cæſar, in his
+ account of Gaul, does not expreſſly mention the bards, yet it is plain that, under the title of
+ Druids, he comprehends that whole college or order; of which the bards, who, it is probable, were
+ the diſciples of the druids, undoubtedly made a part. It deſerves remark, that, according to his
+ account, the druidical inſtitution firſt took riſe in Britain, and paſſed from thence into Gaul;
+ ſo that they who aſpires to be thorough maſters of that learning, were wont to reſort to Britain.
+ He adds, too, that ſuch as were to be initiated among the druids, were obliged to commit to their
+ memory a great number of verſes, inſomuch that ſome employed twenty years in this courſe of
+ education; and that they did not think it lawful to record thoſe poems in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image writing, but ſacredly handed them down by
+ tradition from race to raceDisplay note.
+
So ſtrong was the attachment of the Celtic nations to their poetry and
+ bards, that, amidſt all the changes of their government and manners, even long after the order of
+ the druids was extinct, and the national religion altered, the bards continued to flouriſh; not
+ as a ſet of ſtrolling ſongſters, like the Greek Αοιδοι, or Rhapſodiſts, in Homer's time, but as
+ an order of men highly reſpected in the ſtate, and ſupported by a public eſtabliſhment. We find
+ them, according to the teſtimonies of Strabo and Diodorus, before the age of Auguſtus Cæſar; and
+ we find them remaining under the ſame name, and exerciſing the ſame functions as of old, in
+ Ireland, and in the north of Scotland, almoſt down to our own times. It is well known, that in
+ both theſe countries every Regulus or chief had his own bard, who was conſidered as an
+ officer of rank in his court; and had lands aſſigned him, which deſcended to his family. Of the
+ honour in which the bards were held, many inſtances occur in Oſſian's Poems. On all important
+ occaſions they were the ambaſſadors between contending chiefs; and their perſons were held
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſacred. “Cairbar feared to ſtretch his ſword
+ to the bards, though his ſoul was dark. 'Looſe the bards,' ſaid his brother Cathmor, 'they are
+ the ſons of other times. Their voice ſhall be heard in other ages, when the kings of Temora have
+ failed.'”
+
From all this, the Celtic tribes clearly appear to have been addicted in ſo
+ high a degree to poetry, and to have made it ſo much their ſtudy from the earlieſt times, as may
+ remove our wonder at meeting with a vein of higher poetical refinement among them, than was at
+ firſt to have been expected among nations whom we are accuſtomed to call barbarous. Barbarity, I
+ muſt obſerve, is a very equivocal term; it admits of many different forms and degrees; and
+ though, in all of them, it excludes poliſhed manners, it is, however, not inconſiſtent with
+ generous ſentiments and tender affections. Display note
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image What degrees of friendſhip, love, and heroiſm
+ may poſſibly be found to prevail in a rude ſtate of ſociety, no one can ſay. Aſtoniſhing
+ inſtances of them we know, from hiſtory, have ſometimes appeared; and a few characters,
+ diſtinguiſhed by thoſe high qualities, might lay a foundation for a ſet of manners being
+ introduced into the ſongs of the bards, more refined, it is probable, and exalted, according to
+ the uſual poetical licenſe, than the real manners of the country.
+
In particular, with reſpect to heroiſm; the great employment of the Celtic bards was to
+ delineate the characters, and ſing the praiſes of heroes. So Lucan;
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+ Vos quoque qui fortes animos, belloque peremptos,
+ Laudibus in longum vates diffunditis ævum
+ Plurima ſecuri fudiſtis carmina bardi.
+
Phars. l. 1.
+
Now when we conſider a college or order of men, who, cultivating poetry
+ throughout a long ſeries of ages, had their imaginations continually employed on the ideas of
+ heroiſm; who had all the poems and panegyrics, which were compoſed by their predeceſſors, handed
+ down to them with care; who rivalled and endeavored to outſtrip thoſe who had gone before them,
+ each in the celebration of his particular hero; is it not natural to think, that at length the
+ character of a hero would appear in their ſongs with the higheſt luſtre, and be adorned with
+ qualities truly noble? Some of the qualities indeed which diſtinguiſh a Fingal, moderation,
+ humanity, and clemency, would not probably be the firſt ideas of heroiſm occurring to a barbarous
+ people: but no ſooner had ſuch ideas begun to dawn on the minds of poets, than, as the human mind
+ eaſily opens to the native repreſentations of human perfection, they would be ſeized and
+ embraced; they would enter into their panegyrics; they would afford materials for ſucceeding
+ bards to work upon and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image improve; they would contribute not a little
+ to exalt the public manners. For ſuch ſongs as theſe, familiar to the Celtic warriors from their
+ childhood, and, throughout their whole life, both in war and in peace, their principal
+ entertainment, muſt have had a very conſiderable influence in propagating among them real
+ manners, nearly approaching to the poetical; and in forming even ſuch a hero as Fingal.
+ Eſpecially when we conſider, that among their limited objects of ambition, among the few
+ advantages which, in a ſavage ſtate, man could obtain over man, the chief was fame, and that
+ immortality which they expected to receive from their virtues and exploits, in ſongs of
+ bardsDisplay note.
+
Having made theſe remarks on the Celtic poetry and bards in general, I ſhall
+ next conſider the particular advantages which Oſſian poſſeſſed. He appears clearly to have lived
+ in a period which enjoyed all the benefit I juſt now mentioned of traditionary poetry. The
+ exploits of Trathal, Trenmor, and the other anceſtors of Fingal, are ſpoken of as familiarly
+ known.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Ancient bards are frequently alluded to. In
+ one remarkable paſſage Oſſian deſcribes himſelf as living in a ſort of claſſical age, enlightened
+ by the memorials of former times, which were conveyed in the ſongs of bards; and points at a
+ period of darkneſs and ignorance which lay beyond the reach of tradition. “His words,” ſays he,
+ “Came only by halves to our ears; they were dark as the tales of other times, before the light of
+ the ſong aroſe.” Oſſian himſelf appears to have been endowed by nature with an exquiſite
+ ſenſibility of heart; prone to that tender melancholy which is ſo often an attendant on great
+ genius: and ſuſceptible equally of ſtrong and of ſoft emotion. He was not only a profeſſed bard,
+ educated with care, as we may eaſily believe, to all the poetical art then known, and connected,
+ as he ſhews us himſelf, in intimate friendſhip with the other contemporary bards, but a warrior
+ alſo; and the ſon of the moſt renowned hero and prince of his age. This formed a conjunction of
+ circumſtances uncommonly favourable towards exalting the imagination of a poet. He relates
+ expeditions in which he had been engaged; he ſings of battles in which he had fought and
+ overcome; he had beheld the moſt illuſtrious ſcenes which that age could exhibit, both of heroiſm
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image in war and magnificence in peace. For however
+ rude the magnificence of thoſe times may ſeem to us, we muſt remember, that all ideas of
+ magnificence are comparative; and that the age of Fingal was an æra of diſtinguiſhed ſplendor in
+ that part of the world. Fingal reigned over a conſiderable territory; he was enriched with the
+ ſpoils of the Roman province; he was ennobled by his victories and great actions; and was in all
+ reſpects a perſonage of much higher dignity than any of the chieftains, or heads of clans, who
+ lived in the ſame country, after a more extenſive monarchy was eſtabliſhed,
+
The manners of Oſſian's age, ſo far as we can gather them from his writings,
+ were abundantly favourable to a poetical genius. The two diſpiriting vices, to which Longinus
+ imputes the decline of poetry, covetouſneſs and effeminacy, were as yet unknown. The cares of men
+ were few. They lived a roving indolent life; hunting and war their principal employments; and
+ their chief amuſements, the muſic of bards, and the feaſt of ſhells.” The great objects purſued
+ by heroic ſpirits, was “to receive their fame;” that is, to become worthy of being celebrated in
+ the ſongs of bards; and “to have their name on the four gray ſtones.” To die unlamented by a
+ bard, was deemed ſo great a miſfortune as
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image even to diſturb their ghoſts in another
+ ſtate. They wander in thick miſts beſide the reedy lake but never ſhall they riſe, without the
+ ſong, to the dwelling of winds.” After death, they expected to follow employments of the ſame
+ nature with thoſe which had amuſed them on earth; to fly with their friends on clouds, to purſue
+ airy deer, and to liſten to their praiſe in the mouths of bards. In ſuch times as theſe, in a
+ country where poetry had been ſo long cultivated, and ſo highly honoured, is it any wonder that,
+ among the race and ſucceſſion of bards, one Homer ſhould ariſe: a man, who, endowed with a
+ natural happy genius, favoured with peculiar advantages of birth and condition, and meeting, in
+ the courſe of his life, with a variety of incidents proper to fire his imagination, and to touch
+ his heart, ſhould attain a degree of eminence in poetry, worthy to draw the admiration of more
+ refined ages?
+
The compoſitions of Oſſian are ſo ſtrongly marked with characters of
+ antiquity, that although there were no external proof to ſupport that antiquity, hardly any
+ reader of judgment and taſte could heſitate in referring them to a very remote æra. There are
+ four great ſtages through which men ſucceſſively paſs in the progreſs of ſociety. The firſt and
+ earlieſt is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the life of hunters; paſturage ſucceeds to
+ this, as the ideas of property begin to take root; next agriculture; and, laſtly, commerce.
+ Throughout Oſſian's Poems we plainly find ourſelves in the firſt of theſe periods of ſociety;
+ during which hunting was the chief employment of men, and the principal method of their procuring
+ ſubſiſtence. Paſturage was not indeed wholly unknown; for we hear of dividing the herd in the
+ caſe of a divorce; but the alluſions to herds and to cattle are not many; and of agriculture we
+ find no traces. No cities appear to have been built in the territories of Fingal. No arts are
+ mentioned, except that of navigation and of working in ironDisplay note. Every thing preſents to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image us the moſt ſimple and unimproved manners. At
+ their feaſts, the heroes prepared their own repaſt; they ſat round the light of the burning oak;
+ the wind lifted their locks, and whiſtled through their open halls. Whatever was beyond the
+ neceſſaries of life was known to them only as the ſpoil of the Roman province; “the gold of the
+ ſtranger; the lights of the ſtranger; the ſteeds of the ſtranger; the children of the rein.”
+
This repreſentation of Oſſian's times muſt ſtrike us the more, as genuine
+ and authentick, when it is compared with a poem of later date, which Mr. Macpherſon has preſerved
+ in one of his notes. It is that in which five bards are repreſented as paſſing the evening in the
+ houſe of a chief, and each of them ſeparately giving his deſcription of the night. The night
+ ſcenery is beautiful; and the author has plainly imitated the ſtyle and manner of Oſſian; but he
+ has allowed ſome images to appear which betray a later period of ſociety. For we meet with
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image windows clapping, the herds of goats and cows
+ ſeeking ſhelter, the ſhepherd wandering, corn on the plain, and the wakeful hind rebuilding the
+ ſhocks of corn which had been overturned by the tempeſt. Whereas, in Oſſian's works, from
+ beginning to end, all is conſiſtent; no modern alluſion drops from him; but everywhere the ſame
+ face of rude nature appears; a country wholly uncultivated, thinly inhabited, and recently
+ peopled. The graſs of the rock, the flower of the heath, the thiſtle with its beard, are the
+ chief ornaments of his landſcapes. “The deſert,” ſays Fingal, “is enough for me, with all its
+ woods and deer.”
+
The circle of ideas and tranſactions is no wider than ſuits ſuch an age; nor
+ any greater diverſity introduced into characters, than the events of that period would naturally
+ diſplay. Valor and bodily ſtrength are the admired qualities. Contentions ariſe, as is uſual
+ among ſavage nations, from the ſlighteſt cauſes. To be affronted at a tournament, or to be
+ omitted in the invitation to a feaſt, kindles a war. Women are often carried away by force; and
+ the whole tribe, as in the Homeric times, riſe to avenge the wrong. The heroes ſhow refinement of
+ ſentiment indeed on ſeveral occaſions, but none of manners. They ſpeak of their paſt
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image actions with freedom, boaſt of their
+ exploits, and ſing their own praiſe. In their battles, it is evident, that drums, trumpets, or
+ bagpipes, were not known or uſed. They had no expedient for giving the military alarms but
+ ſtriking a ſhield, or raiſing a loud cry: and hence the loud and terrible voice of Fingal is
+ often mentioned as a neceſſary qualification of a great general; like the βοην αγαθος Μενελαος of Homer. Of military diſcipline or ſkill they appear to have
+ been entirely deſtitute. Their armies ſeem not to have been numerous; their battles were
+ diſorderly; and terminated, for the moſt part, by a perſonal combat, or wreſtling of the two
+ chiefs; after which, “the bard ſung the ſong of peace, and the battle ceaſed along the
+ field.”
+
The manner of compoſition bears all the marks of the greateſt antiquity. No
+ artful tranſitions, nor full and extended connexion of parts; ſuch as we find among the poets of
+ later times, when order and regularity of compoſition were more ſtudied and known: but a ſtyle
+ always rapid and vehement; narration conciſe, even to abruptneſs, and leaving ſeveral
+ circumſtances to be ſupplied by the reader's imagination. The language has all that figurative
+ caſt, which, as I before ſhowed, partly a glowing and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image undiſciplined imagination partly the
+ ſterility of language and the want of proper terms, have always introduced into the early ſpeech
+ of nations; and in ſeveral reſpects, it carries a remarkable reſemblance to the ſtyle of the Old
+ Teſtament. It deſerves particular notice, as one of the moſt genuine and deciſive characters of
+ antiquity, that very few general terms, or abſtract ideas, are to be met with in the whole
+ collection of Oſſian's works. The ideas of men, at firſt, were all particular. They had not words
+ to expreſs general conceptions. Theſe were the conſequences of more profound reflection, and
+ longer acquaintance with the arts of thought and of ſpeech. Oſſian, accordingly, almoſt never
+ expreſſes himſelf in the abſtract. His ideas extended little further than to the objects he ſaw
+ around him. A public, a community, the univerſe, were conceptions beyond his ſphere. Even a
+ mountain, a ſea, or a lake, which he has occaſion to mention, though only in a ſimile, are for
+ the moſt part particularized; it is the hill of Cromla, the ſtorm of the ſea of Malmor, or the
+ reeds of the lake of Lego. A mode of expreſſion which, while it is characteriſtical of ancient
+ ages, is at the ſame time highly favourable to deſcriptive poetry. For the ſame reaſons,
+ perſonification is a poetical figure not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image very common with Oſſian. Inanimate objects,
+ ſuch as winds, trees, flowers, he ſometimes perſonifies with great beauty. But the
+ perſonifications which are ſo familiar to later poets, of Fame, Time, Terror, Virtue, and the
+ reſt of that claſs, were unknown to our Celtic bard. Theſe were modes of conception too abſtract
+ for his age.
+
All theſe are marks ſo undoubted, and ſome of them, too ſo nice and
+ delicate, of the moſt early times, as put the high antiquity of theſe poems out of queſtion.
+ Eſpecially when we conſider, that if there had been any impoſture in this caſe, it muſt have been
+ contrived and executed in the Highlands of Scotland, two or three centuries ago; as up to this
+ period, both by manuſcripts, and by the teſtimony of a multitude of living witneſſes, concerning
+ the uncontrovertible tradition of theſe poems, they can clearly be traced. Now, this is a period
+ when that country enjoyed no advantages for a compoſition of this kind, which it may not be
+ ſuppoſed to have enjoyed in as great, if not in a greater degree, a thouſand years before. To
+ ſuppoſe that two or three hundred years ago, when we well know the Highlands to have been in a
+ ſtate of groſs ignorance and barbarity, there ſhould have ariſen in that country a poet, of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſuch exquiſite genius, and of ſuch deep
+ knowledge of mankind, and of hiſtory, as to diveſt himſelf of the ideas and manners of his own
+ age, and to give us a juſt and natural picture of a ſtate of ſociety ancienter by a thouſand
+ years; one who could ſupport this counterfeited antiquity through ſuch a large collection of
+ poems, without the leaſt inconſiſtency; and who, poſſeſſed of all this genius and art, had, at
+ the ſame time, the ſelf-denial of concealing himſelf, and of aſcribing his own works to an
+ antiquated bard, without the impoſture being detected; is a ſuppoſition that tranſcends all
+ bounds of credibility.
+
There are, beſides, two other circumſtances to be attended to, ſtill of
+ greater weight, if poſſible, againſt this hypotheſis. One is, the total abſence of religious
+ ideas from this work; for which the tranſlator has, in his preface, given a very probable
+ account, on the footing of its being the work of Oſſian. The druidical ſuperſtition was, in the
+ days of Oſſian, on the point of its final extinction; and, for particular reaſons, odious to the
+ family of Fingal; whilſt the Chriſtian faith was not yet eſtabliſhed. But had it been the work of
+ one to whom the ideas of Chriſtianity were familiar from his infancy, and who had ſuperadded to
+ them alſo the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bigoted ſuperſtition of a dark age and
+ country, it is impoſſible. but in ſome paſſage or other, the traces of them would have appeared.
+ The other circumſtance is, the entire ſilence which reigns with reſpect to all the great clans or
+ families which are now eſtabliſhed in the Highlands. The origin of theſe ſeveral clans is known
+ to be very ancient; and it is well known that there is no paſſion by which a native Highlander is
+ more diſtinguiſhed than by attachment to his clan, and jealouſy for its honour. That a Highland
+ bard, in forging a work relating to the antiquities of his country, ſhould have inſerted no
+ circumſtance which pointed out the riſe of his own clan, which aſcertained its antiquity, or
+ increaſed its glory, is, of all ſuppoſitions that can be formed, the moſt improbable; and the
+ ſilence on this head amounts to a demonſtration that the author lived before any of the preſent
+ great clans were formed or known.
+
Aſſuming it then, as well we may, for certainty, that the poems, now under
+ conſideration, are genuine venerable monuments of a very remote antiquity, I proceed to make ſome
+ remarks upon their general ſpirit and ſtrain. The two great characteriſtics of Oſſian's poetry
+ are, tenderneſs and ſublimity. It breathes nothing of the gay and cheerful kind; an air of
+ ſolemnity
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and ſeriouſneſs is diffuſed over the whole.
+ Oſſian is, perhaps, the only poet who never relaxes, or lets himſelf down into the light and
+ amuſing ſtrain which I readily admit to be no ſmall diſadvantage to him, with the bulk of
+ readers. He moves perpetually in the high region of the grand and the pathetic. One keynote is
+ ſtruck at the beginning, and ſupported to the end; nor is any ornament introduced, but what is
+ perfectly concordant with the general tone of melody. The events recorded, are all ſerious and
+ grave; the ſcenery throughout, wild and romantic. The extended heath by the ſeaſhore; the
+ mountains ſhaded with miſt; the torrent ruſhing through a ſolitary valley; the ſcattered oaks,
+ and the tombs of warriors overgrown with moſs; all produce a ſolemn attention in the mind, and
+ prepare it for great and extraordinary events. We find not in Oſſian an imagination that ſports
+ itſelf, and dreſſes out gay trifles to pleaſe the fancy. His poetry, more perhaps than that of
+ any other writer, deſerves to be ſtiled, The poetry of the heart. It is a heart
+ penetrated with noble ſentiments and with ſublime and tender paſſions; a heart that glows, and
+ kindles the fancy; a heart that is full, and pours itſelf forth. Oſſian did not write,, like
+ modern poets, to pleaſe readers and critics. He ſung from the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image love of poetry and ſong. His delight was to
+ think of the heroes among whom he had flouriſhed; to recall the affecting incidents of his life;
+ to dwell upon his paſt wars, and loves, and friendſhips: till, as he expreſſes it himſelf, “there
+ comes a voice to Oſſian, and awakes his ſoul. It is the voice of years that are gone; they roll
+ before me with all their deeds;” and under this true poetic inſpiration, giving vent to his
+ genius, no wonder we ſhould ſo often hear, and acknowledge, in his ſtrains, the powerful and
+ ever-pleaſing voice of nature.
+
+ —Arte, natura potentior omni—
+ Eſt Deus in nobis, agitante caleſcimus illo.
+
It is neceſſary here to obſerve, that the beauties of Oſſian's writings
+ cannot be felt by thoſe who have given them only a ſingle or haſty peruſal. His manner is ſo
+ different from that of the poets to whom we are moſt accuſtomed; his ſtyle is ſo conciſe, and ſo
+ much crowned with imagery; the mind is kept at ſuch a ſtretch in accompanying the author; that an
+ ordinary reader is at firſt apt to be dazzled and fatigued, rather than pleaſed. His poems
+ require to he taken up at intervals, and to be frequently reviewed; and then it is impoſſible but
+ his beauties muſt open to every reader who is capable of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſenſibility. Thoſe who have the higheſt
+ degree of it will reliſh them the moſt.
+
As Homer is, of all the great poets, the one whoſe manner, and whoſe times,
+ come the neareſt to Oſſian's, we are naturally led to run a parallel in ſome inſtances between
+ the Greek and Celtic bard. For though Homer lived more than a thouſand years before Oſſian, it is
+ not from the age of the world, but from the ſtate of ſociety that we are to judge of reſembling
+ times. The Greek has, in ſeveral points, a manifeſt ſuperiority. He introduces a greater variety
+ of incidents; he poſſeſſes a larger compaſs of ideas; has more diverſity in his characters; and a
+ much deeper knowledge of human nature. It was not to be expected, that in any of theſe
+ particulars Oſſian could equal Homer. For Homer lived in a country where ſociety was much farther
+ advanced; he had beheld many more objects; cities built and flouriſhing; laws inſtituted; order,
+ diſcipline, and arts, begun. His field of obſervation was much larger and more ſplendid: his
+ knowledge, of courſe, more extenſive; his mind alſo, it ſhall be granted, more penetrating. But
+ if Oſſian's ideas and objects be leſs diverſified than thoſe of Homer, they are all, however, of
+ the kind fitteſt for poetry: the bravery and generoſity of heroes, the tenderneſs of lovers,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the attachment of friends, parents, and
+ children. In a rude age and country, though the events that happen be few, the undiſſipated mind
+ broods over them more; they ſtrike the imagination, and fire the paſſions, in a higher degree;
+ and, of conſequence, become happier materials to a poetical genius, than the ſame events when
+ ſcattered through the wide circle of more varied action and cultivated life.
+
Homer is a more cheerful and ſprightly poet than Oſſian. You diſcern in him
+ all the Greek vivacity; whereas Oſſian uniformly maintains the gravity and ſolemnity of a Celtic
+ hero. This, too, is in a great meaſure to be accounted for from the different ſituations in which
+ they lived—partly perſonal, and partly national. Oſſian had ſurvived all his friends, and was
+ diſpoſed to melancholy by the incidents of his life. But, beſides this, cheerfulneſs is one of
+ the many bleſſings which we owe to formed ſociety. The ſolitary, wild ſtate, is always a ſerious
+ one. Bating the ſudden and violent burſts of mirth, which ſometimes break forth at their dances
+ and feaſts, the ſavage American tribes have been noted by all travellers for their gravity and
+ taciturnity. Somewhat of this taciturnity may be alſo be remarked in Oſſian. On all occaſions he
+ is frugal of his words; and never gives you more of an
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image image, or a deſcription, than is juſt
+ ſufficient to place it before you in one clear point of view. It is a blaze of lightning, which
+ flaſhes and vaniſhes. Homer is more extended in his deſcriptions, and fills them up with a
+ greater variety of circumſtances. Both the poets are dramatic; that is, they introduce their
+ perſonages frequently ſpeaking before us. But Oſſian is conciſe and rapid in his ſpeeches, as he
+ is in every other thing. Homer, with the Greek vivacity, had alſo ſome portion of the Greek
+ loquacity. His ſpeeches, indeed, are highly characteriſtical; and to them we are much indebted
+ for that admirable diſplay he has given of human nature. Yet, if he be tedious any where, it is
+ in theſe: ſome of them are trifling, and ſome of them plainly unſeaſonable. Both poets are
+ eminently ſublime; but a difference may be remarked in the ſpecies of their ſublimity. Homer's
+ ſublimity is accompanied with more impetuoſity and fire; Oſſian's with more of a ſolemn and awful
+ grandeur. Homer hurries you along; Oſſian elevates, and fixes you in aſtoniſhment. Homer is moſt
+ ſublime in actions and battles; Oſſian in deſcription and ſentiment. In the pathetic, Homer, when
+ he chooſes to exert it, has great power; but Oſſian exerts that power much oftener, and has the
+ character of tenderneſs far
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image more deeply imprinted on his works. No poet
+ knew better how to ſeize and melt the heart. With regard to dignity of ſentiment, the
+ pre-eminence muſt clearly he given to Oſſian. This is, indeed, a ſurpriſing circumſtance, that in
+ point of humanity, magnanimity, virtuous feelings of every kind, our rude Celtic bard ſhould be
+ diſtinguiſhed to ſuch a degree, that not only the heroes of Homer, but even thoſe of the polite
+ and refined Virgil, are left far behind by thoſe of Oſſian.
+
After theſe general obſervations on the genius and ſpirit of our author, I
+ now proceed to a nearer view and more accurate examination of his works; and as Fingal is the
+ firſt great poem in this collection, it is proper to begin with it. To refuſe the title of an
+ epic poem to Fingal, becauſe it is not, in every little particular, exactly conformable to the
+ practice of Homer and Virgil, were the mere ſqueamiſhneſs and pedantry of criticiſm. Examined
+ even according to Ariſtotle's rules, it will be found to have all the eſſential requiſites of a
+ true and regular epic; and to have ſeveral of them in ſo high a degree, as at firſt view to raiſe
+ our aſtoniſhment on finding Oſſian's compoſition ſo agreeable to rules of which he was entirely
+ ignorant. But our aſtoniſhment will ceaſe, when we conſider
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image from what ſource Ariſtotle drew thoſe rules.
+ Homer knew no more of the laws of criticiſm than Oſſian. But, guided by nature, he compoſed in
+ verſe a regular ſtory, founded on heroic actions, which all poſterity admired. Ariſtotle, with
+ great ſagacity and penetration, traced the cauſes of this general admiration. He obſerved what it
+ was in Homer's compoſition, and in the conduct of his ſtory, which gave it ſuch power to pleaſe;
+ from. this obſervation he deduced the rules which poets ought to follow, who would write and
+ pleaſe like Homer; and to a compoſition formed according to ſuch rules, he gave the name of an
+ epic poem. Hence his whole ſyſtem aroſe. Ariſtotle ſtudied nature in Homer. Homer and Oſſian both
+ wrote from nature. No wonder that among all the three, there ſhould be ſuch agreement and
+ conformity.
+
The fundamental rules delivered by Ariſtotle concerning an epic poem, are
+ theſe: that the action, which is the groundwork of the poem, ſhould be one, complete, and great;
+ that it ſhould be feigned, not merely hiſtorical; that it ſhould be enlivened with characters and
+ manners, and heightened by the marvellous.
+
But, before entering on any of theſe, it may perhaps be aſked, what is the
+ moral of Fingal? For, according to M. Boſſu, an epic poem is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image no other than an allegory contrived to
+ illuſtrate ſome, moral truth. The poet, ſays this critic, muſt begin with fixing on ſome maxim or
+ inſtruction, which he intends to inculcate on mankind. He next forms a fable, like one of Æſop's,
+ wholly with a view to the moral; and having thus ſettled and arranged his plan, he then looks
+ into traditionary hiſtory for names and incidents, to give his fable ſome air of probability.
+ Never did a more frigid, pedantic notion enter into the mind of a critic. We may ſafely
+ pronounce, that he who ſhould compoſe an epic poem after this manner, who ſhould firſt lay down a
+ moral and contrive a plan, before he had thought of his perſonages and actors, might deliver,
+ indeed, very ſound inſtruction, but would find very few readers. There cannot be the leaſt doubt
+ that the firſt object which ſtrikes an epic poet, which fires his genius, and gives him any idea
+ of his work, is the action or ſubject he is to celebrate. Hardly is there any tale, any ſubject,
+ a poet can chooſe for ſuch a work, but will afford ſome general moral inſtruction. An epic poem
+ is, by its nature, one of the moſt moral of all poetical compoſitions: but its moral tendency is
+ by no means to be limited to ſome commonplace maxim, which may be gathered from the ſtory. It
+ ariſes from the admiration of heroic actions,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image which ſuch a compoſition is peculiarly
+ calculated to produce; from the virtuous emotions which the characters and incidents raiſe,
+ whilſt we read it; from the happy impreſſions which all the parts ſeparately, as well as the
+ whole together, leave upon the mind. However, if a general moral be ſtill inſiſted on, Fingal
+ obviouſly furniſhes one, not inferior to that of any other poet, viz: that wiſdom and bravery
+ always triumph over brutal force: or another, nobler ſtill: that the moſt complete victory over
+ an enemy is obtained by that moderation and generoſity which convert him into a friend.
+
The unity of the epic action, which of all Ariſtotle's rules, is the chief
+ and moſt material, is ſo ſtrictly preſerved in Fingal, that it muſt be perceived by every reader.
+ It is a more complete unity than what ariſes from relating the actions of one man, which the
+ Greek critic juſtly cenſures as imperfect: it is the unity of one enterpriſe—the deliverance of
+ Ireland from the invaſion of Swaran; an enterpriſe which has ſurely the full heroic dignity. All
+ the incidents recorded bear a conſtant reference to one end; no double plot is carried on; but
+ the pa unite into a regular whole; and as the action is one and great, ſo it is an entire or
+ complete action. For we find, as the critic, farther
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image requires, a beginning, a middle, and an end;
+ a nodus, or intrigue, in the poem; difficulties occurring through Cuthullin's raſhneſs and bad
+ ſucceſs; thoſe difficulties gradually ſurmounted; and at laſt, the work conducted to that happy
+ concluſion which is held eſſential to epic poetry. Unity is, indeed, obſerved with greater
+ exactneſs in Fingal, than in almoſt any other epic compoſition. For not only is unity of ſubject
+ maintained, but that of time and place alſo. The autumn is clearly pointed out as the ſeaſon of
+ the action; and from beginning to end the ſcene is never ſhifted from the heath of Lena, along
+ the ſeaſhore. The duration of the action in Fingal, is much ſhorter than in the Iliad or Æneid;
+ but ſure there may be ſhorter as well longer heroic poems; and if the authority of Ariſtotle be
+ alſo required for this, he ſays expreſſly, that the epic compoſition is indefinite as to the time
+ of its duration. Accordingly, the action of the Iliad laſts only forty-ſeven days, whilſt that of
+ the Æneid is continued for more than a year.
+
Throughout the whole of Fingal, there reigns that grandeur of ſentiment,
+ ſtyle, and imagery, which ought ever to diſtinguiſh this high ſpecies of poetry. The ſtory is
+ conducted with no ſmall art. The poet goes not back to a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image tedious recital of the beginning of the war
+ with Swaran; but haſtening to the main action, he falls in exactly, by a moſt happy coincidence
+ of thought, with the rule of Horace:
+ Semper ad eventum feſtinat, et in medias res,
+ Non ſecus ac notas, auditorem rapit—
+ Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo.
De Arte Poet.
+
+
He invokes no muſe, for he acknowledged none. but his occaſional addreſſes
+ to Malvina have a finer effect than the invocation of any muſe. He ſets out with no formal
+ propoſition of his ſubject; but the ſubject naturally and eaſily unfolds itſelf; the poem opening
+ in an animated manner, with the ſituation of Cuthullin, and the arrival of a ſcout, who informs
+ him of Swaran's landing. Mention is preſently made of Fingal, and of the expected aſſiſtance from
+ the ſhips of the lonely iſle, in order to give farther light to the ſubject. For the poet often
+ ſhews his addreſs in gradually preparing us for the events he is to introduce; and, in
+ particular, the preparation for the appearance of Fingal, the previous expectations that are
+ raiſed, and the extreme magnificence, fully anſwering theſe expectations, with which the hero is
+ at length preſented to us, are all worked up with ſuch
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſkilful conduct as would do honour to any
+ poet of the moſt refined times. Homer's art in magnifying the character of Achilles, has been
+ univerſally admired. Oſſian certainly ſhews no leſs aft in aggrandizing Fingal. Nothing could be
+ more happily imagined for this purpoſe than the whole management of the laſt battle, wherein
+ Gaul, the ſon of Morni, had beſought Fingal to retire, and to leave him and his other chiefs the
+ honour of the day. The generoſity of the king in agreeing to this propoſal; the majeſty with
+ which he retreats to the hill, from whence he was to behold the engagement, attended by his
+ bards, and waving the lightning of his ſword; his perceiving the chiefs overpowered by numbers,
+ but, from unwillingneſs to deprive them of the glory of victory by coming in perſon to their
+ aſſiſtance, firſt ſending Ullin, the bard, to animate their courage, and at laſt, when the danger
+ becomes more preſſing, his riſing in his might, and interpoſing, like a divinity, to decide the
+ doubtful fate of the day; are all circumſtances contrived with ſo much art, as plainly diſcover
+ the Celtic bards to have been not unpractiſed in heroic poetry.
+
The ſtory which is the foundation of the Iliad, is in itſelf as ſimple as
+ that of Fingal. A quarrel
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ariſes between Achilles and Agamemnon
+ concerning a female ſlave; on which Achilles, apprehending himſelf to be injured, withdraws his
+ aſſiſtance from the reſt of the Greeks. The Greeks fall into great diſtreſs, and beſeech him to
+ be reconciled to them. He refuſes to fight for them in perſon, but ſends his friend Patroclus;
+ and upon his being ſlain, goes forth to revenge his death, and kills Hector. The ſubject of
+ Fingal is this: Swaran comes to invade Ireland; Cuthullin, the guardian of the young king, had
+ applied for his aſſiſtance to Fingal, who reigned in the oppoſite coaſt of Scotland. But before
+ Fingal's arrival, he is hurried by raſh counſel to encounter Swaran. He is defeated; he retreats,
+ and deſponds. Fingal arrives in this conjuncture. The battle is for ſome time dubious; but in the
+ end he conquers Swaran; and the remembrance of Swaran's being the brother of Agandecca, who, had
+ once ſaved his life, makes him diſmiſs him honourably. Homer, it is true, has filled up his ſtory
+ with a much greater variety of particulars than Oſſian; and in this has ſhown a compaſs of
+ invention ſuperior to that of the other poet. But it muſt not be forgotten that though Homer be
+ more circumſtantial, his incidents, however, are leſs diverſified in kind than thoſe of Oſſian.
+ War and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bloodſhed reign throughout the Iliad; and,
+ notwithſtanding all the fertility of Homer's invention, there is ſo much uniformity in his
+ ſubjects, that there are few readers, who, before the cloſe, are not tired with perpetual
+ fighting. Whereas in Oſſian, the mind is relieved by a more agreeable diverſity. There is a finer
+ mixture of war and heroiſm, with love and friendſhip—of martial, with tender ſcones, than is to
+ be met with, perhaps, in any other poet. The epiſodes, too, have great propriety—as natural, and
+ proper to that age and country: conſiſting of the ſongs of bards, which are known to have been
+ the great entertainment of the Celtic heroes in war, as well as in peace. Theſe ſongs are not
+ introduced at random; if you except the epiſode of Duchommar and Morna, in the firſt book, which,
+ though beautiful, is more unartful than any of the reſt, they have always ſome particular
+ relation to the actor who is intereſted, or to the events which are going on; and, whilſt they
+ vary the ſcene, they preſerve a ſufficient connection with the main ſubject by the fitneſs and
+ propriety of their introduction.
+
As Fingal's love to Agandecca influences ſome circumſtances of the poem,
+ particularly the honourable diſmiſſion of Swaran at the end; it was neceſſary that we ſhould be
+ let into this
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image part of the hero's ſtory. But as it lay
+ without the compaſs of the preſent action, it could be regularly introduced nowhere except in an
+ epiſode. Accordingly, the poet, with as much propriety as if Ariſtotle himſelf had directed the
+ plan, has contrived an epiſode for this purpoſe in the ſong of Carril, at the beginning of the
+ third book.
+
The concluſion of the poem is ſtrictly according to rule, and is every way
+ noble and pleaſing. Th reconciliation of the contending heroes, the conſolation of Cuthullin, and
+ the general felicity that crowns the action, ſoothe the mind in a very agreeable manner, and form
+ that paſſage from agitation and trouble, to perfect quiet and repoſe, which critics require as
+ the proper termination of the epic work. “Thus they paſſed the night in ſong, and brought back
+ the morning with joy. Fingal aroſe on the heath; and ſhook his glittering ſpear in his hand. He
+ moved firſt towards the plains of Lena; and we followed like a ridge of fire. Spread the ſail,
+ ſaid the king of Morven, and catch the winds that pour from Lena. We roſe on the waves with
+ ſongs; and ruſhed with joy through the foam of the ocean.” So much for the unity and general
+ conduct of the Epic action in Fingal.
With regard to that property of the ſubject which Ariſtotle requires, that
+ it ſhould be feigned, not hiſtorical, he muſt not be underſtood ſo ſtrictly is if he meant to
+ exclude all ſubjects which have any foundation in truth. For ſuch excluſion would both be
+ unreaſonable in itſelf, and what is more, would be contrary to the practice of Homer, who is
+ known to have founded his Iliad on hiſtorical facts concerning the war of Troy, which was famous
+ throughout all Greece. Ariſtotle means no more than that it is the buſineſs of a poet not to be a
+ more annaliſt of facts, but to embelliſh truth with beautiful, probable, and uſeful fictions; to
+ copy nature as he himſelf explains it, like painters, who preſerve a likeneſs, but exhibit their
+ objects more grand and beautiful than they are in reality. That Oſſian has followed this courſe,
+ and building upon true hiſtory, has ſufficiently adorned it with poetical fiction for
+ aggrandizing his characters and facts, will not, I believe, be queſtioned by moſt readers. At the
+ ſame time, the foundation which thoſe facts and characters had in truth, and the ſhare which the
+ poet had himſelf in the tranſactions which he records, muſt be conſidered as no ſmall advantage
+ to his work. For truth makes an impreſſion on the mind far beyond any fiction; and no man, let
+ his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image imagination be ever ſo ſtrong, relates any
+ events ſo feelingly as thoſe in which he has been intereſted; paints any ſcene ſo naturally as
+ one which he has ſeen; or draws any characters in ſuch ſtrong colours as thoſe which he has
+ perſonally known. It is conſidered as an advantage of the epic ſubject to be taken from a period
+ ſo diſtant, as, by being involved in the darkneſs of tradition, may give licenſe to fable. Though
+ Oſſian's ſubject may at firſt view appear unfavourable in this reſpect, as being taken from his
+ own times, yet, when we reflect that he lived to an extreme old age; that he relates what had
+ been tranſacted in another country, at the diſtance of many years, and after all that race of men
+ who had been the actors were gone off the ſtage; we ſhall find the objection in a great meaſure
+ obviated. In ſo rude an age, when no written records were known, when tradition was looſe, and
+ accuracy of any kind little attended to, what was great and heroic in one generation, eaſily
+ ripened into the marvellous in the next.
+
The natural repreſentation of human character in an epic poem is highly
+ eſſential to its merit; and, in reſpect of this, there can be no doubt of Homer's excelling all
+ the heroic poets who have ever wrote. But though Oſſian be much inferior to Homer in this
+ article, he will
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image be found to be equal at leaſt, if not
+ ſuperior to Virgil; and has, indeed, given all the diſplay of human nature, which the ſimple
+ occurrences of his times could be expected to furniſh. No dead uniformity of character prevails
+ in Fingal; but, on the contrary, the principal characters are not only clearly diſtinguiſhed, but
+ ſometimes artfully contraſted, ſo as to illuſtrate each other. Oſſian's heroes are like Homer's,
+ all brave; but their bravery, like thoſe of Homer's too, is of different kinds. For inſtance: the
+ prudent, the ſedate, the modeſt and circumſpect Connal, is finely oppoſed to the preſumptuous,
+ raſh, overbearing, but gallant and generous Calmar. Calmar hurries Cuthullin into action by his
+ temerity; and when he ſees the bad effects of his counſels, he will not ſurvive the diſgrace.
+ Connal, like another Ulyſſes, attends Cuthullin to his retreat, counſels and comforts him under
+ his miſfortune. The fierce, the proud, and the high-ſpirited Swaran, is admirably contraſted with
+ the calm, the moderate, and generous Fingal. The character of Oſcar is a favourite one throughout
+ the whole poems. The amiable warmth of the young warrior; his eager impetuoſity in the day of
+ action; his paſſion for fame; his ſubmiſſion to his father; his tenderneſs for Malvina; are the
+ ſtrokes of a maſterly
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pencil: the ſtrokes are few; but it is the
+ hand of nature, and attracts the heart. Oſſian's own character, the old man, the hero, and the
+ bard, all in one, preſents to us, through the whole work, a moſt reſpectable and venerable
+ figure, which we always contemplate with pleaſure. Cuthullin is a hero of the higheſt claſs:
+ daring, magnanimous, and exquiſitely ſenſible to honour. We become attached to his intereſt, and
+ are deeply touched with his diſtreſs; and after the admiration raiſed for him in the firſt part
+ of the poem, it is a ſtrong proof of Oſſian's maſterly genius, that he durſt adventure to produce
+ to us another hero, compared with whom, even the great Cuthullin ſhould be only an inferior
+ perſonage; and who ſhould riſe as far above him, as Cuthullin riſes above the reſt.
+
Here indeed, in the character and deſcription of Fingal, Oſſian triumphs
+ almoſt unrivalled; for we may boldly defy all antiquity to ſhow us any hero equal to Fingal.
+ Homer's Hector poſſeſſes ſeveral great and amiable qualities; but Hector is a ſecondary perſonage
+ in the Iliad, not the hero of the work. We ſee him only occaſionally; we know much leſs of him
+ than we do of Fingal; who, not only in this, epic poem, but in Temora, and throughout the reſt of
+ Oſſian's works, is preſented in all that variety of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image lights, which give the full diſplay of a
+ character. And though Hector faithfully diſcharges his duty to his country, his friends, and his
+ family, he is tinctured, however, with a degree of the ſame ſavage ferocity which prevails among
+ all the Homeric heroes: for we find him inſulting over the fallen Patroclus with the moſt cruel
+ taunts, and telling him, when he lies in the agonies of death, that Achilles cannot help him now;
+ and that in a ſhort time his body, ſtripped naked, and deprived of funeral honours, ſhall be
+ devoured by the vulturesDisplay note. Whereas, in the character of Fingal, concur almoſt
+ all the qualities that can ennoble human nature; that can either make us admire the hero, or love
+ the man. He is not only unconquerable in war, but he makes his people happy by his wiſdom in the
+ days of peace. He is truly too father of his people. He is known by the epithet or “Fingal of the
+ mildeſt look;” and diſtinguiſhed on every occaſion by humanity and generoſity. He is merciful to
+ his foes Display note; full of affection to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image his children; full of concern about his
+ friends; and never mentions Agandecca, his firſt love, without the utmoſt tenderneſs. He is the
+ univerſal Protector of the diſtreſſed; “None ever went ſad from Fingal.”—“O, Oſcar! bend the
+ ſtrong in arms; but ſpare the feeble hand. Be thou a ſtream of mighty tides againſt the foes of
+ thy people; but like the gale that moves the graſs to thoſe who aſk thine aid. So Trenmor lived;
+ ſuch Trathal was; and ſuch has Fingal been. My arm was the ſupport of the injured; the weak
+ reſted behind the lightning of my ſteel.” Theſe were the maxims of true heroiſm, to which he
+ formed his grandſon. His fame is repreſented as everywhere ſpread; the greateſt heroes
+ acknowledge his ſuperiority; his enemies tremble at his name; and the higheſt encomium that can
+ be beſtowed on one whom the poets would moſt exalt, is to ſay, that his ſoul was like the ſoul of
+ Fingal.
+
To do juſtice to the poet's merit, in ſupporting ſuch a character as this, I
+ muſt obſerve, what is not commonly attended to, that there is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image no part of poetical execution more
+ difficult, than to draw a perfect character in ſuch a manner as to render it diſtinct, and
+ affecting to the mind. Some ſtrokes of human imperfection and frailty, are what uſually give us
+ the moſt clear view, and the moſt ſenſible impreſſion of a character; becauſe they preſent to us
+ a man, ſuch as we have ſeen; they recall known features of human nature. When poets attempt to go
+ beyond this range, and deſcribe a faultleſs hero, they for the moſt part ſet before us a ſort of
+ vague, undiſtinguiſhable character, ſuch as the imagination cannot lay hold of, or realize to
+ itſelf as the object of affection. We know how much Virgil has failed in this particular. His
+ perfect hero, Æneas, is an unanimated, inſipid perſonage, whom we may pretend to admire, but whom
+ no one can heartily love. But what Virgil has failed in, Oſſian, to our aſtoniſhment, has
+ ſucceſſfully executed. His Fingal, though exhibited without any of the common human failings, is,
+ nevertheleſs, a real man; a character which touches and intereſts every reader. To this it has
+ much contributed that the poet has repreſented him as an old man; and by this has gained the
+ advantage of throwing around him a great many circumſtances, peculiar to that age, which paint
+ him to the fancy in a more diſtinct
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image light. He is ſurrounded with his family; he
+ inſtructs his children in the principles of virtue; he is narrative of his paſt exploits he is
+ venerable with the gray locks of age; he is frequently diſpoſed to moralize, like an old man, on
+ human vanity, and the proſpect of death. There is more art, at leaſt more felicity, in this, than
+ may at firſt be imagined. For youth and old are the two ſtates of human life, capable of being
+ placed in the moſt pictureſque lights. Middle age is more general and vague; and has fewer
+ circumſtances peculiar to the idea of it. And when any object is in a ſituation that admits it to
+ be rendered particular, and to be clothed with a variety of circumſtances, it always ſtands out
+ more clear and full of poetical deſcription.
+
Beſides human perſonages, divine or ſupernatural agents are often introduced
+ into epic poetry, forming what is called the machinery of it; which moſt critics hold to be an
+ eſſential part. The marvellous, it muſt he admitted, has always a great charm for the bulk of
+ readers. It gratifies the imagination, and affords room for ſtriking and ſublime deſcription. No
+ wonder, therefore, that all poets ſhould have a ſtrong propenſity towards it. But I muſt obſerve,
+ that nothing is more difficult than to adjuſt properly the marvellous with the probable. If a
+ poet
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſacrifice probability, and fill his work
+ with extravagant ſupernatural ſcenes, he ſpreads over it an appearance of romance and childiſh
+ fiction; he tranſports his readers from this world into a fantaſtic viſionary region; and loſes
+ that weight and dignity which ſhould reign in epic poetry. No work from which probability is
+ altogether baniſhed, can make a laſting or deep impreſſion. Human actions and manners are always,
+ the moſt intereſting objects which can be preſented to a human mind. All machinery, therefore, is
+ faulty, which withdraws theſe too much from view, or obſcures them under a cloud of incredible
+ fictions. Beſides being temperately employed, machinery ought always to have ſome foundation in
+ popular belief. A poet is by no means at liberty to invent what ſyſtem of the marvellous he
+ pleaſes; he muſt avail himſelf either of the religious faith, or the ſuperſtitious credulity of
+ the country wherein he lives; ſo as to give an air of probability to events which are moſt
+ contrary to the common courſe of nature.
+
In theſe reſpects, Oſſian appears to me to have been remarkably happy. He
+ has, indeed, followed the ſame courſe with Homer. For it is perfectly abſurd to imagine, as ſome
+ critics have done, that Homer's mythology was invented by
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image him “in conſequence of profound reflection
+ on the benefits it would yield to poetry.” Homer was no ſuch refining genius. He found the
+ traditionary ſtories, on which he built his Iliad, mingled with popular legends concerning the
+ intervention of the gods; and he adopted theſe becauſe they amuſed the fancy. Oſſian, in like
+ manner, found the tales of his country full of ghoſts and ſpirits; it is likely he believed them
+ himſelf; and he introduced them, becauſe they gave his poems that ſolemn and marvellous caſt
+ which ſuited his genius. This was the only machinery he could employ with propriety; becauſe it
+ was the only intervention of ſupernatural beings which agreed with the common belief of the
+ country. It was happy; becauſe it did not interfere in the leaſt with the proper diſplay of human
+ characters and actions; becauſe it had leſs of the incredible than moſt other kinds of poetical
+ machinery; and becauſe it ſerved to diverſify the ſcene, and to heighten the ſubject by an awful
+ grandeur, which is the great deſign of machinery.
+
As Oſſian's mythology is peculiar to himſelf, and makes a conſiderable
+ figure in his other poems, as well as in Fingal, it may be proper to make ſome obſervations on
+ it, independent of its ſubſerviency to epic compoſition. It turns
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image for the moſt part on the appearances of
+ departed ſpirits. Theſe, conſonantly to the notions of every rude age, are repreſented not as
+ purely immaterial, but as thin airy forms, which can be viſible or inviſible at pleaſure; their
+ voice is feeble, their arm is weak; but they are endowed with knowledge more than human. In a
+ ſeparate ſtate, they retain the ſame diſpoſitions which animated them in this life. They ride on
+ the wind; they bend their airy bows; and purſue deer formed of clouds. The ghoſts of departed
+ bards continue to ſing. The ghoſts of departed heroes frequent the fields of their former fame.
+ “They reſt together in their caves, and talk of mortal men. Their ſongs are of other worlds. They
+ come ſometimes to the ear of reſt, and raiſe their feeble voice.” All this preſents to us much
+ the ſame ſet of ideas concerning ſpirits, as we find in the eleventh book of the Odyſſey, where
+ Ulyſſes viſits the regions of the dead; and in the twenty-third book of the Iliad, the ghoſt of
+ Patroclus, after appearing to Achilles, vaniſhes preciſely like one of Oſſian's, emitting a
+ ſhrill, feeble cry, and melting away like ſmoke.
+
But though Homer's and Oſſian's ideas concerning ghoſts were of the ſame
+ nature, we cannot but obſerve, that Oſſian's ghoſts are drawn with much ſtronger and livelier
+ colours
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image than thoſe of Homer. Oſſian deſcribes ghoſts
+ with all the particularity of one who had ſeen and converſed with them, and whoſe imagination was
+ full of the impreſſion they had left upon it. He calls up thoſe awful and tremendous ideas which
+ the
+ —Simulacra modis pallentia miris are fitted to raiſe in the human mind; and
+ which, in Shakſpeare's ſtyle, “harrow up the ſoul.” Crugal's ghoſt, in particular, in the
+ beginning of the ſecond book of Fingal, may vie with any appearance of this kind, deſcribed by
+ any epic or tragic poet whatever. Moſt poets would have contented themſelves, with telling us,
+ that he reſembled, in every particular, the living Crugal; that his form and dreſs were the ſame,
+ only his face more pale and ſad; and that he bore the mark of the wound by which he fell. But
+ Oſſian ſets before our eyes a ſpirit from the inviſible world, diſtinguiſhed by all thoſe
+ features which a ſtrong, aſtoniſhed imagination would give to a ghoſt. “A dark red ſtream of fire
+ comes down from the hill. Crugal ſat upon the beam; he that lately fell by the band of Swaran,
+ ſtriving in the battle of heroes. His face is like the beam of the ſetting moon. His robes are of
+ the clouds of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the hill. His eyes are like two decaying
+ flames. Dark is the wound of his breaſt.—The ſtars dim twinkled through his form; and his voice
+ was like the ſound of a diſtant ſtream.” The circumſtance of the ſtars being beheld “dim
+ twinkling through his form,” is wonderfully pictureſque, and convoys the moſt lively impreſſion
+ of his thin and ſhadowy ſubſtance. The attitude in which he is afterward placed, and the ſpeech
+ put into his mouth, are full of that ſolemn and awful ſublimity, which ſuits the ſubject. “Dim,
+ and in tears he ſtood, and he ſtretched his pale hand over the hero. Faintly he raiſed his feeble
+ voice, like the gale of the reedy Lego.—My ghoſt, O Connal! is on my native hills; but my corſe
+ is on the ſands of Ulla. Thou ſhalt never talk with Crugal, or find his lone ſteps in the heath.
+ I am light as the blaſt of Cromla; and I move like the ſhadow of miſt. Connal, ſon of Colgar! I
+ ſee the dark cloud of death; it hovers over the plains of Lena. The ſons of green Erin Shall
+ fall. Remove from the field of ghoſts.—Like the darkened moon, he retired in the midſt of the
+ whiſtling blaſt.”
+
Several other appearances of ſpirits might be pointed out, as among the moſt
+ ſublime paſſages of Oſſian's poetry. The circumſtances of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image them are conſiderably diverſified, and the
+ ſcenery always ſuited to the occaſion. “Oſcar ſlowly aſcends the hill. The meteors of night ſet
+ on the heath before him. A diſtant torrent faintly roars. Unfrequent blaſts ruſh through aged
+ oaks. The half enlightened moon ſinks dim and red behind her hill. Feeble voices are heard on the
+ heath. Oſcar drew his ſword—.”Nothing can prepare the fancy more happily for the awful ſcene that
+ is to follow. “Trenmor came from his hill at the voice of his mighty ſon. A cloud, like the ſteed
+ of the ſtranger, ſupported his airy limbs. His robe is of the miſt of Lano, that brings death to
+ the people. His ſword is a green meteor, half extinguiſhed. His face is without form, and dark.
+ He ſighed thrice over the hero; and thrice the winds of the night roared around. Many were his
+ words to Oſcar.—He ſlowly vaniſhed, like a miſt that melts on the ſunny hill.” To appearances of
+ this kind, we can find no parallel among the Greek or Roman poets. They bring to mind that noble
+ deſcription in the book of Job: “In thoughts from the viſion of the night, when deep ſleep
+ falleth on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to ſhake. Then a ſpirit
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image paſſed before my face: the hair of my fleſh
+ ſtood up It ſtood ſtill: but I could not diſcern the form thereof. An image was before mine eyes.
+ There was ſilence; and I heard a voice—Shall mortal man be more juſt than God Display note?”
+
As Oſſian's ſupernatural beings are deſcribed with a ſurpriſing force of
+ imagination, ſo they are introduced with propriety. We have only three ghoſts in Fingal: that of
+ Crugal, which comes to warn the hoſt of impending deſtruction, and to adviſe them to ſave
+ themſelves by retreat; that of Evir-allen, the ſpouſe of Oſſian, which calls on him to riſe and
+ reſcue their ſon from danger; and that of Agandecca, which, juſt before the laſt engagement with
+ Swaran, moves Fingal to pity, by mourning for the approaching deſtruction of her kinſman and
+ people. In the other poems, ghoſts ſometimes appear, when invoked, to foretell futurity;
+ frequently, according to the notions of theſe times, they come as forerunners of miſfortune or
+ death, to thoſe whom they viſit; ſometimes they inform their friends at a diſtance of thier own
+ death; and ſometimes they are introduced to heighten the ſcenery on ſome great and ſolemn
+ occaſion.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image “A hundred oaks burn to the wind; and faint
+ light gleams over the heath. The ghoſts of Ardven paſs through the beam, and ſhow their dim and
+ diſtant forms. Comala is half unſeen on her meteor; and Hidallan is ſullen and dim.”—“The awful
+ faces of other times looked from the clouds of Crona.”—“Fercuth! I ſaw the ghoſt of night. Silent
+ he ſtood on that bank; his robe of miſt flew on the wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man
+ he ſeemed, and full of thought.”
+
The ghoſts of ſtrangers mingle not with thoſe of the natives. “She is ſeen:
+ but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the ſtrangerſ' land; and ſhe is ſtill
+ alone.” When the ghoſt of one whom we had formerly known is introduced, the propriety of the
+ living character is ſtill preſerved. This is remarkable in the appearance of Calmar's ghoſt, in
+ the poem entitled, The death of Cuthullin. He ſeems to forebode Cuthullin's death, and to beckon
+ him to his cave. Cuthullin reproaches him for ſuppoſing that he could be intimidated by ſuch
+ prognoſtics. “Why doſt thou bend thy dark eyes on me, ghoſt of the car-borne Calmar? Wouldſt thou
+ frighten me, O Matha's ſon! from the battles of Cormac? Thy hand was not feeble in war; neither
+ was thy voice for
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image peace. How art thou changed, chief of Lara!
+ if thou now doſt adviſe to fly! Retire thou to thy cave thou art not Calmar's ghoſt; lie
+ delighted in battle and his arm was like the thunder of heaven.” Calmar makes no return to this
+ ſeeming reproach: but “he retired in his blaſt with joy; for he had heard the voice of his
+ praiſe.” This is preciſely the ghoſt of Achilles in Homer; who, notwithſtanding all the
+ diſſatiſfaction he expreſſes with his ſtate in the region of the dead, as ſoon as he had heard
+ his ſon Neoptolemus praiſed for his gallant behavior, ſtrode away with ſilent joy to rejoin the
+ reſt of the ſhadesDisplay note.
+
It is a great advantage of Oſſian's mythology, that it is not local and
+ temporary, like that of moſt other ancient poets; which of courſe is apt to ſeem ridiculous,
+ after the ſuperſtitions have paſſed away on which it is founded. Oſſian's mythology is, to ſpeak
+ ſo, the mythology of human nature; for it is founded on what has been the popular belief, in all
+ ages and countries, and under all forms of religion, concerning the appearances of departed
+ ſpirits. Homer's machinery is always lively and amuſing; but far from being always ſupported with
+ proper
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image dignity. The indecent ſquabbles among his
+ gods ſurely do no honour to epic poetry. Whereas Oſſian's machinery has dignity upon all
+ occaſions. It is indeed a dignity of the dark and awful kind; but this is proper; becauſe
+ coincident with the ſtrain and ſpirit of the poetry. A light and gay mythology, like Homer's,
+ would have been perfectly unſuitable to the ſubjects on which Oſſian's genius was employed. But
+ though his machinery be always ſolemn, it is not, however, always dreary or diſmal; it as
+ enlivened, as much as the ſubject would permit, by thoſe pleaſant and beautiful appearances,
+ which he ſometimes introduces, of the ſpirits of the hill. Theſe are gentle ſpirits: deſcending
+ on ſunbeams, fair moving on the plain; their forms white and bright; their voices ſweet; and
+ their viſits to men propitious. The greateſt praiſe that can be given to the beauty of a living
+ woman, is to ſay, “She is fair as the ghoſt of the hill, when it moves in a ſunbeam at noon, over
+ the ſilence of Morven.” “The hunter ſhall hear my voice from his booth. He ſhall fear, but love
+ my voice. For ſweet ſhall my voice be for my friends; for pleaſant were they to me.”
+
Beſides ghoſts, or the ſpirits of departed men, we find in Oſſian ſome
+ inſtances of other
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image kinds of machinery. Spirits of a ſuperior
+ nature to ghoſts are ſometimes alluded to, which have power to embroil the deep; to call forth
+ winds and ſtorms, and pour them on the land of the ſtranger; to overturn foreſts, and to ſend
+ death among the people. We have prodigies too; a ſhower of blood; and when ſome diſaſter is
+ befalling at a diſtance, the ſound of death is heard on the ſtrings of Oſſian's harp: all
+ perfectly conſonant, not only to the peculiar ideas of northern nations, but to the general
+ current of a ſuperſtitious mention in all countries. The deſcription of Fingal's airy hall, in
+ the poem called Errathon, and of the aſcent of Malvina into it, deſerves particular notice, as
+ remarkably noble and magnificent. But, above all, the engagement of Fingal with the ſpirit of
+ Loda, in Carric-thura, cannot be mentioned without admiration. I forbear tranſcribing the
+ paſſage, as it muſt have drawn the attention of every one who has read the works of Oſſian. The
+ undaunted courage of Fingal, oppoſed to all the terrors of the Scandinavian god; the appearance
+ and the ſpeech of that awful ſpirit; the wound which he receives, and the ſhriek which he ſends
+ forth, “as, rolled into himſelf, he roſe upon the wind;” are full of the moſt amazing and
+ terrible majeſty. I know no paſſage more
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſublime in the writings of any uninſpired
+ author. The fiction is calculated to aggrandize the hero; which it does to a high degree: nor is
+ it ſo unnatural or wild a fiction as might at firſt be thought. According to the notions of thoſe
+ times, ſupernatural beings were material, and, conſequently, vulnerable. The ſpirit of Loda was
+ not acknowledged as a deity by Fingal; he did not worſhip at the ſtone of his power; he plainly
+ conſidered him as the god of his enemies only; as a local deity, whoſe dominion extended no
+ farther than to the regions where he was worſhipped; who had, therefore, no title to threaten
+ him, and no claim to his ſubmiſſion. We know there are poetical precedents of great authority,
+ for fictions fully as extravagant; and if Homer be forgiven for making Diomed attack and wound in
+ battle the gods whom that chief himſelf worſhipped, Oſſian ſurely is pardonable for making his
+ hero ſuperior to the god of a foreign territory Display note.
Notwithſtanding the poetical advantages which I have aſcribed to Oſſian's
+ machinery, I acknowledge it would have been much more beautiful and perfect had the author
+ diſcovered ſome knowledge of a Supreme Being. Although his ſilence on this head has been
+ accounted for by the learned and ingenious tranſlator in a very probable, manner, yet ſtill it
+ muſt be held a conſiderable diſadvantage to the poetry. For the moſt auguſt and lofty ideas that
+ can embelliſh poetry are derived from the belief of a divine adminiſtration of the univerſe; and
+ hence the invocation of a Supreme Being, or at leaſt of ſome ſuperior powers, who are conceived
+ as preſiding over human affairs, the ſolemnities of religious worſhip, prayers preferred, and
+ aſſiſtance implored on critical occaſions, appear
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image with great dignity in the works of almoſt
+ all poets, as chief ornaments of their compoſitions. The abſence of all ſuch religious ideas from
+ Oſſian's poetry is a ſenſible blank in it; the more to be regretted, as we can eaſily imagine
+ what an illuſtrious figure they would have made under the management of ſuch a genius as his; and
+ how finely they would have been adapted to many ſituations which occur in his works.
+
After ſo particular an examination of Fingal, it were needleſs to enter into
+ as full a diſcuſſion of the conduct of Temora, the other epic poem. Many of the ſame
+ obſervations, eſpecially with regard to the great characteriſtics of heroic poetry, apply to
+ both. The high merit, however, of Temora, requires that we ſhould not paſs it by without ſome
+ remarks.
+
The ſcene of Temora, as of Fingal, is laid in Ireland; and the action is of
+ a poſterior date. The ſubject is, an expedition of the hero to dethrone and puniſh a bloody
+ uſurper, and to reſtore the poſſeſſion of the kingdom to the poſterity of the lawful prince: an
+ undertaking worthy of the juſtice and heroiſm of the great Fingal. The action is one, and
+ complete. The Poem opens with the deſcent of Fingal on the coaſt, and the conſultation held among
+ the chiefs of the enemy. The murder of the young
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image prince Cormac, which was the cauſe of the
+ war, being antecedent to the epic action, is introduced with great propriety as an epiſode in the
+ firſt book. In the progreſs of the poem, three battles are deſcribed, which riſe in their
+ importance above, one another; the ſucceſs is various, and the iſſue for ſome time doubtful; till
+ at laſt, Fingal, brought into diſtreſs, by the wound of his great general Gaul, and the death of
+ his ſon Fillan, aſſumes the command himſelf; and, having ſlain the Iriſh king in ſingle combat,
+ reſtores the rightful heir to his throne.
+
Temora has perhaps leſs fire than the other epic poem; but in return it has
+ more variety, more tenderneſs, and more magnificence. The reigning idea, ſo often reſented to us,
+ of “Fingal, in the laſt of his fields, is venerable and affecting; nor could any more noble
+ concluſion be thought of, than the aged hero, after ſo many ſucceſſful achievements, taking his
+ leave of battles, and, with all the ſolemnities of thoſe times, reſigning his ſpear to his ſon.
+ The events are leſs crowded in Temora than in Fingal; actions and characters are more
+ particularly diſplayed: we are let into the tranſactions of both hoſts, and informed of the
+ adventures of the night as well as of the day. The ſtill, pathetic, and the romantic ſcenery of
+ ſeveral of the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image night adventures, ſo remarkably ſuited to
+ Oſſian's genius, occaſion a fine diverſity in the poem; and are happily contraſted with the
+ military operations of the day.
+
In moſt of our author's poems, the horrors of war are ſoftened by intermixed
+ ſcenes of love and friendſhip. In Fingal theſe are introduced as epiſodes: in Temora we have an
+ incident of this nature wrought into the body of the piece, in the adventure of Cathmor and
+ Sulmalla. This forms one of the moſt conſpicuous beauties of that poem. The diſtreſs of Sulmalla,
+ diſguiſed and unknown amongſt ſtrangers, her tender and anxious concern for the ſafety of
+ Cathmor, her dream, and her melting remembrance of the land of her fathers; Cathmor's emotion
+ when he firſt diſcovers her, his ſtruggles to conceal and ſuppreſs his paſſion, leſt it ſhould
+ unman him in the midſt of war, though “his ſoul poured forth in ſecret, when he beheld her
+ fearful eye,” and the laſt interview between them, when, overcome by her tenderneſs, he lets her
+ know he had diſcovered her, and confeſſes his paſſion; are all wrought up with the moſt exquiſite
+ ſenſibility and delicacy.
+
Beſides the characters which appeared in Fingal, ſeveral new ones are here
+ introduced; and though, as they are all the characters of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image warriors, bravery is the predominant
+ feature, they are nevertheleſs diverſified in a ſenſible and ſtriking manner. Foldath, for
+ inſtance, the general of Cathmor, exhibits the perfect picture of a ſavage chieftain; bold and
+ daring, but preſumptuous, cruel, and overbearing. He is diſtinguiſhed, on his firſt appearance,
+ as the friend of the tyrant Cairbar, “His ſtride is haughty; his red eye rolls in wrath.” In his
+ perſon and whole deportment he is contraſted with the mild and wiſe Hidalla, another leader of
+ the ſame army, on whoſe humanity and gentleneſs he looks with great contempt. He profeſſedly
+ delights in ſtrife and blood. He inſults over the fallen. He is imperious in his counſels, and
+ factious when they are not followed. He is unrelenting in all his ſchemes of revenge, even to the
+ length of denying the funeral ſong to the dead; which, from the injury thereby done to their
+ ghoſts, was in thoſe days conſidered as the greateſt barbarity. Fierce to the laſt, he comforts
+ himſelf in his dying moments with thinking that his ghoſt ſhall often leave its blaſt to rejoice
+ over the graves of thoſe he had ſlain. Yet Oſſian, ever prone to the pathetic, has contrived to
+ throw into his account of the death, even of this man, ſome tender
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image circumſtances, by the moving deſcription of
+ his daughter Dardulena, the laſt of his race.
+
The character of Foldath tends much to exalt that of Cathmor, the chief
+ commander, which is diſtinguiſhed by the moſt humane virtues. He all fraud and cruelty, is famous
+ for his hoſpitality to ſtrangers; open to every generous ſentiment, and to every ſoft and
+ compaſſionate feeling. he is ſo amiable as to divide the reader's attachment between him and the
+ hero of the poem; though our author has artfully managed it ſo as to make Cathmor himſelf
+ indirectly acknowledge Fingal's ſuperiority, and to appear ſomewhat apprehenſive of the event,
+ after the death of Fillan, which he knew would call forth Fingal in all his might. It is very
+ remarkable, that although Oſſian has introduced into his poems three complete heroes, Cuthullin,
+ Cathmor, and Fingal, he has, however, ſenſibly diſtinguiſhed each of their characters; Cuthullin
+ is particularly honourable; Cathmor particularly amiable; Fingal wiſe and great, retaining an
+ aſcendant peculiar to himſelf in whatever light he is viewed.
+
But the favourite figure in Temora, and the one moſt highly finiſhed, is
+ Fillan. His character is of that ſort for which Oſſian ſhews a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image particular fondneſs; an eager, fervent,
+ young warrior, fired with all the impatient enthuſiaſm for military glory peculiar to that time
+ of life. He had ſketched this in the deſcription of his own ſon Oſcar; but as he has extended it
+ more fully in Fillan, and as the character is ſo conſonant to the epic ſtrain, though, as far as
+ I remember, not placed in ſuch a conſpicuous light by any other epic poet, it may be worth while
+ to attend a little to Oſſian's management of it in this inſtance.
+
Fillan was the youngeſt of all the ſons of Fingal younger, it is plain, than
+ his nephew Oſcar, by whoſe fame and great deeds in war we may naturally ſuppoſe his ambition to
+ have been highly ſtimulated. Withal, as lie is younger, he is deſcribed as more raſh and fiery.
+ His firſt appearance is ſoon after Oſcar's death, when he was employed to watch the motions of
+ the foe by night. In a converſation with his brother Oſſian, on that occaſion, we learn that it
+ was not long ſince he began to lift the ſpear. “Few are the marks of my ſword in battle; but my
+ ſoul is fire.” He is with ſome difficulty reſtrained by Oſſian from going to attack the enemy;
+ and complains to him, that his father had never allowed him any opportunity of ſignalizing his
+ valor. “The king hath not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image remarked my ſword; I go forth with the
+ crowd; I return without my fame.” Soon after, when Fingal, according to cuſtom, was to appoint
+ one of his chiefs to command the army, and each was ſtanding forth, and putting in his claim to
+ this honour, Fillan is preſented in the following moſt pictureſque and natural attitude: “On his
+ ſpear ſtood the Son of Clatho, in the wandering of his locks. Thrice he raiſed his eyes to
+ Fingal; his voice thrice failed him as he ſpoke. Fillan could not boaſt of battles; at once he
+ ſtrode away. Bent over a diſtant ſtream he ſtood; the tear hung in his eye. He ſtruck, at times,
+ the thiſtle's head with his inverted ſpear.” No leſs natural and beautiful is the deſcription of
+ Fingal's paternal emotion on this occaſion. “Nor is he unſeen of Fingal. Sidelong he beheld his
+ ſon. He beheld him with burſting joy. He hid the big tear with his locks, and turned amidſt his
+ crowded ſoul.” The command, for that day, being given to Gaul, Fillan ruſhes amidſt the thickeſt
+ of the foe, ſaves Gaul's life, who is wounded by a random arrow, and diſtinguiſhes himſelf ſo in
+ battle, that “the days of old return on Fingal's mind, as he beholds the renown of his ſon. As
+ the ſun rejoices from the cloud, over the tree his beams have raiſed,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image whilſt it ſhakes its lonely head on the
+ heath, ſo joyful is the king over Fillan.” Sedate, however, and wiſe, he mixes the praiſe which
+ he beſtows on him with ſome reprehenſion of his raſhneſs. “My ſon, I ſaw thy deeds, and my ſoul
+ was glad. Thou art brave, ſon of Clatho, but headlong in the ſtrife. So did not Fingal advance,
+ though he never feared a foe. Let thy people be a ridge behind thee; they are thy ſtrength in the
+ field. Then ſhalt thou be long renowned, and behold the tombs of thy fathers.”
+
On the next day, the, greateſt and the laſt of Fillan's life, the charge is
+ committed to him of leading on the hoſt to battle. Fingal's ſpeech to his troops on this occaſion
+ is full of noble ſentiment; and, where he recommends his ſon to their care, extremely touching.
+ “A young beam is before you: few are his ſteps to war. They are few, but he is valiant; defend my
+ dark-haired ſon. Bring him back with joy; hereafter he may ſtand alone. His form is like his
+ fathers; his ſoul is a flame of their fire.” When the battle begins, the poet puts forth his
+ ſtrength to deſcribe the exploits of the young hero; who, at laſt encountering and killing with
+ his own hand Foldath, the oppoſite general, attains the pinnacle of glory. In what
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image follows, when the fate of Fillan is drawn
+ near, Oſſian, if anywhere, excels himſelf. Foldath being ſlain, and a general rout begun, there
+ was no reſource left to the enemy but in the great Cathmore himſelf, who in this extremity
+ deſcends from the hill, where, according to the cuſtom of thoſe princes, he ſurveyed the battle.
+ Obſerve how this critical event is wrought up by the poet. “Wide-ſpreading over echoing Lubar,
+ the flight of Bolga is rolled along. Fillan hung forward on their ſteps, and ſtrewed the heath
+ with dead. Fingal rejoiced over his ſon.—Blue-ſhielded Cathmor roſe.—Son of Alpin, bring the
+ harp! Give Fillan's praiſe to the wind: raiſe high his praiſe in my hall, while yet he ſhines in
+ war. Leave, blue-eyed Clatho! leave thy hall; behold that early beam of thine! The hoſt is
+ withered in its courſe. No farther look—it is dark—light trembling from the harp, ſtrike,
+ virgins! ſtrike the ſound.” The ſudden interruption and ſuſpenſe of the narration on Cathmor's
+ riſing from his hill, the abrupt burſting into the praiſe of Fillan, and the paſſionate
+ apoſtrophe to his mother Clatho, are admirable efforts of poetical art, in order to intereſt us
+ in Fillan's danger; and the whole is heightened by the immediate following ſimile,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image one of the moſt magnificent and ſublime that
+ is to be met with in any poet, and which, if it had been found in Homer, would have been the
+ frequent ſubject of admiration to critics: “Fillan is like a ſpirit of heaven, that deſcends from
+ the ſkirt of big blaſt. The troubled ocean feels his ſteps as he ſtrides from wave to wave. His
+ path kindles behind him; iſlands ſhake their heads on the heaving ſeas.”
+
But the poet's art is not yet exhauſted. The fall of this noble young,
+ warrior, or, in Oſſian's ſtyle, the extinction of this beam of heaven, could not be rendered too
+ intereſting and affecting. Our attention is naturally drawn towards Fingal. He beholds front his
+ hill the riſing of Cathmor, and the danger of his ſon. But what ſhall he do? “Shall Fingal riſe
+ to his aid, and take the ſword of Luno? What then ſhall become of thy fame, ſon of white-boſomed
+ Clatho? Turn not thine eves from Fingal, daughter of Iniſtore! I ſhall not quench thy early beam.
+ No cloud of mine ſhall riſe, my ſon, upon thy ſoul of fire.” Struggling between concern for the
+ fame, and fear for the ſafety of his ſon, be withdraws from the ſight of the engagement, and
+ deſpatches Oſſian in haſte to the field,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image with this affectionate and delicate
+ injunction: “Father of Oſcar!” addreſſing him by a title which on this occaſion has the higheſt
+ propriety: “Father of Oſcar! lift the ſpear, defend the young in arms. But conceal thy ſteps from
+ Fillan's eyes. He muſt not know that I doubt his ſteel.” Oſſian arrived too late. But unwilling
+ to deſcribe Fillan vanquiſhed, the poet ſuppreſſes all the circumſtances of the combat with
+ Cathmor; and only ſhews us the dying hero. We ſee him animated to the end with the ſame martial
+ and ardent ſpirit; breathing his laſt in bitter regret for-being ſo early cut off from the field
+ of glory. “Oſſian, lay me in that hollow rock. Raiſe no ſtone above me, leſt one ſhould aſk about
+ my fame. I am fallen in the firſt of my fields; fallen without renown. Let thy voice alone ſend
+ joy to my flying ſoul. Why ſhould the bard know where dwells the early-fallen Fillan?” He who,
+ after tracing the circumſtances of this ſtory, ſhall deny that our bard is poſſeſſed of high
+ ſentiment and high art, muſt be ſtrangely prejudiced indeed. Let him read the ſtory of Pallas in
+ Virgil, which is of a ſimilar kind; and after all the praiſe he may juſtly beſtow on the elegant
+ and finiſhed deſcription of that amiable author, let him ſay which of the two poets unfold moſt
+ of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the human ſoul. I waive inſiſting on any
+ more of the particulars in Temora; as my aim is rather to lead the reader into the genius and
+ ſpirit of Oſſian's poetry, than to dwell on all his beauties.
+
The judgment and art diſcovered in conducting works of ſuch length as Fingal
+ and Temora, diſtinguiſh them from the other poems in this collection. The ſmaller pieces,
+ however, contain particular beauties, no leſs eminent. They are hiſtorical poems, generally of
+ the elegiac kind; and plainly diſcover themſelves to be the work of the ſame author. One
+ conſiſtent face of manners is everywhere preſented to us; one ſpirit of poetry reigns; the
+ maſterly hand of Oſſian appears throughout; the ſame rapid and animated ſtyle; the ſame ſtrong
+ colouring of imagination, and the ſame glowing ſenſibility of heart. Beſides the unity which
+ belongs to the compoſitions of one man, there is moreover a certain unity of ſubject, which very
+ happily connects all theſe poems. They form the poetical hiſtory of the age, of Fingal, The ſame
+ race of heroes whom we had met with in the greater poems, Cuthullin, Oſcar, Connar, and Gaul,
+ return again upon the ſtage; and Fingal himſelf is always the principal figure, preſented on
+ every occaſion, with equal
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image magnificence, nay, riſing upon us to the
+ laſt. The circumſtances of Oſſian's old age and blindneſs, his ſurviving all his friends, and his
+ relating their great exploits to Malvina, the ſpouſe or miſtreſs of his beloved ſon Oſcar,
+ furniſh the fineſt poetical ſituations that fancy could deviſe for that tender pathetic which
+ reigns in Oſſian's poetry.
+
On each of theſe poems there might be room for ſeparate obſervations, with
+ regard to he conduct and diſpoſitions of the incidents, as well as to the beauty of the
+ deſcriptions and ſentiments. Carthon is a regular and highly finiſhed piece. The main ſtory is
+ very properly introduced by Cleſſamore's relation of the adventure of his youth; and this
+ introduction is finely heightened by Fingal's ſong of mourning over Moina; in which Oſſian, ever
+ fond of doing honour to his father, has contrived to diſtinguiſh him for being an eminent poet,
+ as well as warrior. Fingal's ſong upon this occaſion, when “his thouſand bards leaned forwards
+ from their ſeats, to hear the voice of the king,” is inferior to no paſſage in the whole book;
+ and with great judgement put in his mouth, as the ſeriouſneſs, no leſs than the ſublimity of the
+ ſtrain, is peculiarly ſuited to the hero's character. In Darthula are
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image aſſembled almoſt all the tender images that
+ can touch the heart of man, friendſhip, love, the affections of parents, ſons, and brothers, the
+ diſtreſs of the aged, and the unavailing bravery of the young. The beautiful addreſs to the moon,
+ with which the poem opens, and the tranſition from thence to the ſubject, moſt happily prepare
+ the mind for that train of affecting events that is to follow. The ſtory is regular, dramatic,
+ intereſting to the laſt. He who can read it without emotion may congratulate himſelf, if he
+ pleaſes, upon being completely armed againſt ſympathetic ſorrow. As Fingal had no occaſion of
+ appearing in the action of this poem, Oſſian makes a very artful tranſition from his narration,
+ to what was paſſing in the halls of Selma. The ſound heard there on the ſtrings of his harp, the
+ concern which Fingal ſhews on bearing it, and the invocation of the ghoſts of their fathers, to
+ receive the heroes falling in a diſtant land, are introduced with great beauty of imagination to
+ increaſe the ſolemnity, and to diverſify the ſcenery of the poem.
+
Carric-thura is full of the moſt ſublime dignity; and has this advantage, of
+ being more cheerful in the ſubject, and more happy in the cataſtrophe, than moſt of the other
+ poems: though tempered at the ſame time with epiſodes
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image in that ſtrain of tender melancholy which
+ ſeems to have been the great delight of Oſſian and the bards of his age. Lathmon is peculiarly
+ diſtinguiſhed by high generoſity of ſentiment. This is carried ſo far, particularly in the
+ refuſal of Gaul, on one ſide, to take the advantage of a ſleeping foe; and of Lathmon, on the
+ other, to overpower by numbers the two young warriors as to recall into one's mind the manners of
+ chivalry; ſome reſemblance to which may perhaps be ſuggeſted by other incidents in this
+ collection of poems. Chivalry, however, took riſe in an age and country too remote from thoſe of
+ Oſſian, to admit the ſuſpicion that the one could have borrowed any thing from the other. So far
+ as chivalry had any real exiſtence, the ſame military enthuſiaſm which gave birth to it in the
+ feudal times, might, in the days of Oſſian, that is, in the infancy of a riſing ſtate, through
+ the operation of the ſame cauſe, very naturally produce effects of the ſame kind on the minds and
+ manners of men. So far as chivalry was an ideal ſyſtem, exiſting only in romance, it will not be
+ thought ſurpriſing, when we reflect on the account before given of the Celtic bards, that this
+ imaginary refinement of heroic manners ſhould be found among them, as much, at leaſt, as among
+ the Trobadores, or ſtrolling
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Provençal Bards, in the 10th or 11th
+ century; whoſe ſongs, it is ſaid, firſt gave riſe to thoſe romantic ideas of heroiſm, which for
+ ſo long a time enchanted EuropeDisplay note. Oſſian's heroes have all the
+ gallantry and generoſity of thoſe fabulous knights, without their extravagance; and his love
+ ſcenes have native tenderneſs, without any mixture of thoſe forced and unnatural conceits which
+ abound in the old romances. The adventures related by our poet which reſemble the moſt thoſe of
+ romance, concern women who follow their lovers to war diſguiſed in the armour of men; and theſe
+ are ſo managed as to produce, in the diſcovery, ſeveral of the moſt intereſting ſituations; one
+ beautiful inſtance of which may be ſeen in Carric-thura, and another in Calthon and Colmal.
+
Oithona preſents a ſituation of a different nature. In the abſence of her
+ lover Gaul, ſhe had been carried off and raviſhed by Dunrommath. Gaul diſcovers the place where
+ ſhe is kept concealed, and comes to revenge her. The meeting of the two lovers, the ſentiments
+ and the behavior of Oithona on that occaſion, are deſcribed with ſuch tender and exquiſite
+ propriety, as does the greateſt honour both to the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image heart and to the delicacy of our author; and
+ would have been admired in any poet of the moſt refined age. The conduct of Cruma muſt ſtrike
+ every reader as remarkably judicious and beautiful. We are to be prepared for the death of
+ Malvina, which is related in the ſucceeding poem. She is therefore introduced in perſon; “ſhe has
+ heard a voice in her dream; She feels the fluttering of her ſoul:” and in a moſt moving
+ lamentation addreſſed to her beloved Oſcar, ſhe ſings her own death-ſong. Nothing could be
+ calculated with more art to ſooth and comfort her than the ſtory which Oſſian relates. In the
+ young and brave Fovargormo, another Oſcar is introduced: his praiſes are ſung; and the happineſs
+ is ſet before her of thoſe who die in their youth “when their renown is around them; before the
+ feeble behold them in the hall, and ſmile at their trembling hands.”
+
But nowhere does Oſſian's genius appear to greater advantage, than in
+ Berrathon, which is reckoned the concluſion of his ſongs, “The laſt ſound of the voice of
+ Cona.”
The whole train of ideas is admirably ſuited to the ſubject. Every thing is
+ full of that inviſible world, into which the aged bard believes himſelf now ready to enter. The
+ airy ball of Fingal preſents itſelf to his view; “he ſees the cloud that ſhall receive his ghoſt;
+ he beholds the miſt that ſhall form his robe when he appears on his hill;” and all the natural
+ objects around him ſeem to carry the preſages of death. “The thiſtle ſhakes its beard to the
+ wind. The flower hangs its heavy head; it ſeems to any, I am covered with the drops of heaven;
+ the time of my departure is near, and the blaſt that ſhall ſcatter my leaves.” Malvina's death is
+ hinted to him in the moſt delicate manner by the ſon of Alpin. His lamentation over her, her
+ apotheoſis, or aſcent to the habitation of heroes, and the introduction to the ſtory which
+ follows from the mention which Oſſian ſuppoſes the father of Malvina to make of him in the ball
+ of Fingal, are all in the higheſt ſpirit of poetry. “And doſt thou remember Oſſian, O Toſcar, ſon
+ of Conloch? The battles of our youth were many; our ſwords went together to the field.” Nothing
+ could be more proper than to end his ſongs with recording an exploit of the father of that
+ Malvina, of whom his heart was now ſo full; and who, from firſt to laſt, had
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image been ſuch a favourite object throughout all
+ his poems.
+
The ſcene of moſt of Oſſian's poems is laid in Scotland, or in the coaſt of
+ Ireland, oppoſite to the territories of Fingal. When the ſcene is in Ireland, we perceive no
+ change of manners from thoſe of Oſſian's native country. For as Ireland was undoubtedly peopled
+ with Celtic tribes, the language, cuſtoms, and religion of both nations were the ſame. They had
+ been ſeparated from one another by migration, only a few generations, as it ſhould ſeem, before
+ our poet's age; and they ſtill maintained a cloſe and frequent intercourſe. But when the poet
+ relates the expeditions of any of his heroes to the Scandinavian coaſt, or to the iſlands of
+ Orkney, which were then part of the Scandinavian territory, as he does in Carric-thura, Sul-malla
+ of Lumon, and Cathloda, the caſe is quite altered. Thoſe countries were inhabited by nations of
+ the Teutonic deſcent, who, in their manners and religious rites, differed widely from the Celtæ;
+ and it is curious and remarkable, to find this difference clearly pointed out in the poems of
+ Oſſian. His deſcriptions bear the native marks of one who was preſent in the expeditions which he
+ relates, and who deſcribes what he had ſeen with his own eyes. No ſooner are we carried to
+ Lochlin, or
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the iſlands of Iniſtore, than we perceive we
+ are in a foreign region. New objects begin to appear. We meet everywhere with the ſtones and
+ circles of Loda, that is, Odin, the great Scandinavian deity. We meet with the divinations and
+ enchantments for which it is well known thoſe northern nations were early famous. “There, mixed
+ with the murmur of waters, roſe the voice of aged men, who called the forms of night to aid them
+ in their war;” whilſt the Caledonian chiefs, who aſſiſted them, are deſcribed as ſtanding at a
+ diſtance, heedleſs of their rites. That ferocity of manners which diſtinguiſhed thoſe nations,
+ alſo becomes conſpicuous. In the combats of their chiefs there is a peculiar ſavageneſs; even
+ their women are bloody and fierce. The ſpirit. and the very ideas of Regner Lodbrog, that
+ northern ſcalder, whom I formerly quoted, occur to us again. “The hawks,” Oſſian makes one of the
+ Scandinavian chiefs ſay, “ruſh from all their winds; they are wont to trace my courſe. We
+ rejoiced three days above the dead, and called the hawks of heaven, They came from all their
+ winds, to feaſt on the foes of Annir.”
+
Diſmiſſing now the ſeparate conſideration of any of our author's works, I
+ proceed to make ſome obſervations on his manner of writing,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image under the general heads of Deſcription,
+ Imagery, and Sentiment.
+
A poet of original genius is always diſtinguiſhed by his talent for
+ deſcription Display note A ſecond-rate writer
+ diſcerns nothing new or peculiar in the object he means to deſcribe. His conceptions of it are
+ vague and looſe; his expreſſions feeble; and of courſe the object is preſented to us
+ indiſtinctly, and as through a cloud. But a true poet makes us imagine that we ſee it before our
+ eyes; he catches the diſtinguiſhing features; he gives it the colours of life and reality; he
+ places it in ſuch a light that a painter could copy after him. This happy talent is chiefly owing
+ to a lively imagination, which firſt receives a ſtrong impreſſion of the object; and then, by a
+ proper ſelection of capital pictureſque circumſtances employed in deſcribing it, tranſmits that
+ impreſſion in its full force to the imaginations of others. That Oſſian poſſeſſes this
+ deſcriptive power in a high degree, we have a clear proof, from the effect which his deſcriptions
+ produce upon the imaginations of thoſe who read him with any degree of attention, or taſte. Few
+ poets are more intereſting. We contract an intimate
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image acquaintance with his principal heroes. The
+ characters, the manners, the face of the country, become familiar; we even think we could draw
+ the figure of his ghoſt. In a word, whilſt reading him we are tranſported as into a new region,
+ and dwell among his objects as if they were all real.
+
It were eaſy to point out ſeveral inſtances of exquiſite painting in the
+ works of our author. Such, for inſtance, is the ſcenery with which Temora opens, and the attitude
+ in which Cairbar is there preſented to us; the deſcription of the young prince Cormac, in the
+ ſame book; and the ruins of Balclutha, in Cartho. “I have ſeen the walls of Balclutha, but they
+ were deſolate. The fire had reſounded in the balls: and the voice of the people is heard no more.
+ The ſtream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thiſtle ſhook there
+ its lonely head; the moſs whiſtled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows; the rank
+ graſs of the wall waved round his head. Deſolate is the dwelling of Moina; ſilence is in the
+ houſe of her fathers.” Nothing alſo can be more natural and lively than the manner in which
+ Carthon afterward deſcribes how the conflagration of his city affected him when a child: “Have I
+ not ſeen the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image fallen Balclutha? And ſhall I feaſt with
+ Comhal's ſon? Comhal! who threw his fire in the midſt of my father's hall! I was young, and knew
+ not the cauſe why the virgins wept. The columns of ſmoke pleaſed mine eye, when they aroſe above
+ my walls: I often looked back with gladneſs, when my friends fled above the hill. But when the
+ years of my youth came on, I beheld the moſs of my fallen walls. My ſigh aroſe with the morning;
+ and my tears deſcended with night. Shall I not fight, I ſaid to my ſoul, againſt the children of
+ my foes? And I will fight, O bard! I feel the ſtrength of my ſoul.” In the ſame poem, the
+ aſſembling of the chiefs round Fingal, who had been warned of ſome impending danger by the
+ appearance of a prodigy, is deſcribed with ſo many pictureſque circumſtances, that one imagines
+ himſelf preſent in the aſſembly. “The king alone beheld the terrible ſight, and he foreſaw the
+ death of his people. He came in ſilence to his hall, and took his father's ſpear: the mail
+ rattled on his breaſt. The heroes roſe around. They looked in ſilence on each other, marking the
+ eyes of Fingal. They ſaw the battle in his face. A thouſand ſhields are placed at once on their
+ arms; and they drew a thouſand ſwords. The hall of Selma
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image brightened around. The clang of arms
+ aſcends. The gray dogs howl in their place. No word is among the mighty chiefs. Each marked the
+ eyes of the king; and half aſſumed his ſpear.”
+
It has been objected to Oſſian, that his deſcriptions of military actions
+ are imperfect, and much leſs diverſified by the circumſtances than thoſe of Homer. This is in
+ ſome meaſure true. The amazing fertility of Homer's invention, is nowhere ſo much diſplayed as in
+ the incidents of his battles, and in the little hiſtory pieces he gives of the perſons ſlain.
+ Nor, indeed, with regard to the talent of deſcription, can too much be ſaid in praiſe of Homer.
+ Every thing is alive in his writings. The colours with which he paints are thoſe of nature. But
+ Oſſian's genius was of a different kind from Homer's. It led him to hurry towards grand objects,
+ rather than to amuſe himſelf with particulars of leſs importance. He could dwell on the death of
+ a favourite hero; but that of a private man ſeldom ſtopped his rapid courſe. Homer's genius was
+ more comprehenſive than Oſſian's. It included a wider circle of objects; and could work up any
+ incident into deſcription. Oſſian's was more limited; but the region within which it
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image chiefly exerted itſelf was the higheſt of
+ all, the region of the pathetic and the ſublime.
+
We muſt not imagine, however, that Oſſian's battles conſiſt only of general
+ indiſtinct deſcription. Such beautiful incidents are ſometimes introduced, and the circumſtances
+ of the perſons ſlain ſo much diverſified, as ſhow that be could have embelliſhed his military
+ ſcenes with an abundant variety of particulars, if his genius had led him to dwell upon them.
+ “One man is ſtretched in the duſt of his native land; he fell, where often he had ſpread the
+ feaſt, and often raiſed the voice of the harp.” The maid of Iniſtore is introduced in a moving
+ apoſtrophe, as weeping for another; and a third, “as rolled in the duſt he lifted his faint eyes
+ to the king,” is remembered and mourned by Fingal as the friend of Agandecca. The blood pouring
+ from the wound of one who was ſlain by night, is heard “hiſſing on the half-extinguiſhed oak,”
+ which had been kindled for giving light. Another climbing up a tree to eſcape from his foe, is
+ pierced by his ſpear from behind; ſhrieking, panting he fell; whilſt moſs and withered branches
+ purſue his fall, and ſtrew the blue arms of Gaul. Never was a finer picture drawn of the ardour
+ of two
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image youthful warriors than the following: “I ſaw
+ Gaul in his armour, and my ſoul was mixed with his; for the fire of the battle was in his eyes,
+ lie looked to the foe with joy. We ſpoke the words of friendſhip in ſecret; and the lightning of
+ our ſwords poured together. We drew them behind the wood, and tried the ſtrength of our arms on
+ the empty air.`
+
Oſſian is always conciſe in his deſcriptions, which adds much to their
+ beauty and force. For it is a great miſtake to imagine, that a crowd of particulars, or a very
+ fall and extended ſtyle, is of advantage to deſcription. On the contrary, ſuch a diffuſe manner
+ for the moſt part weakens it. Any one redundant circumſtance is a nuiſance. It encumbers and
+ loads the fancy, and renders the main image indiſtinct. “Obſtat,” as Quintilian ſays with regard
+ to ſtyle, “quicquid non adjuvat.” To be conciſe in deſcription, is one thing: and to be general,
+ is another. No deſcription that reſts in generals can poſſibly be good; it can convey no lively
+ idea; for it is of particulars only that we have a diſtinct conception. But, at the ſame time, no
+ ſtrong imagination dwells long upon any one particular; or heaps together a maſs of trivial ones.
+ By the happy choice of ſome one, or of a few that are the moſt ſtriking, it preſents
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the image more complete, ſhews us more at
+ one glance than a feeble imagination is able to do, by turning its object round and round into a
+ variety of lights. Tacitus is of all proſe writers the moſt conciſe. He has even a degree of
+ abruptneſs reſembling our author: yet no writer is more eminent for lively deſcription. When
+ Fingal, after having conquered the haughty Swaran, propoſes to diſmiſs him with honour: “Raiſe
+ to-morrow thy white ſails to the wind, thou brother of Agandecca!” he conveys, by thus addreſſing
+ his enemy, a ſtronger impreſſion of the emotions then paſſing within his mind, than if whole
+ paragraphs had been ſpent in deſcribing the conflict between reſentment againſt Swaran and the
+ tender remembrance of his ancient love. No amplification is needed to give us the moſt full idea
+ of a hardy veteran, after the few following words: “His ſhield is marked with the ſtrokes of
+ battle; his red eye deſpiſes danger.” When Oſcar left alone, was ſurrounded by foes, “he ſtood,”
+ it is ſaid, “growing in his place, like the flood of the narrow vale;” a happy repreſentation of
+ one, who, by daring intrepidity in the midſt of danger, ſeems to increaſe in his appearance, and
+ becomes more formidable every moment, like the ſudden riſing of the torrent hemmed in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image by the valley. And a whole crowd of ideas,
+ concerning the circumſtances of domeſtic ſorrow, occaſioned by a young warrior's firſt going
+ forth to battle, is poured upon the mind by theſe words: “Calmar leaned on his father's ſpear;
+ that ſpear which he brought from Lara's hall, when the ſoul of his mother was ſad.”
+
The conciſeneſs of Oſſian's deſcriptions is the more proper, on account of
+ his ſubjects. Deſcriptions of gay and ſmiling ſcenes may, without any diſadvantage, be amplified
+ and prolonged. Force is not the predominant quality expected in theſe. The deſcription may be
+ weakened by being diffuſe, yet, notwithſtanding, may be beautiful ſtill; whereas, with reſpect to
+ grand, ſolemn, and pathetic ſubjects, which are Oſſian's chief field, the caſe is very different.
+ In theſe, energy is above all things required. The imagination muſt be ſeized at once, or not at
+ all; and is far more deeply impreſſed by one ſtrong and ardent image, than by the anxious
+ minuteneſs of labored illuſtration.
+
But Oſſian's genius, though chiefly turned towards the ſublime and pathetic,
+ was not confined to it. In ſubjects alſo of grace and delicacy, he diſcovers the hand of a
+ maſter. Take for an example the following elegant deſcription of Agandecca, wherein the
+ tenderneſs of Tibullus
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſeems united with the majeſty of Virgil.
+ “The daughter of the ſnow overheard, and left the hall of her ſecret ſigh. She came in all her
+ beauty; like the moon from the cloud of the eaſt. Lovelineſs was around her as light. Her ſteps
+ were like the muſic of ſongs. She ſaw the youth and loved him. He was the ſtolen ſigh of her
+ ſoul. Her blue eyes rolled on him in ſecret; and ſhe bleſt the chief of Morven.” Several other
+ inſtances might be produced of the feelings of love and friendſhip, painted by our author with a
+ moſt natural and happy delicacy.
+
The ſimplicity of Oſſian's manner adds great beauty to his deſcriptions, and
+ indeed to his whole poetry. We meet with no affected ornaments; no forced refinement; no marks
+ either in ſtyle or thought of a ſtudied endeavor to ſhine or ſparkle. Oſſian appears everywhere
+ to be prompted by his feelings; and to ſpeak from the abundance of his heart. I remember no more
+ than one inſtance of what may be called a quaint thought in this whole collection of his works.
+ It is in the firſt book of Fingal, where, from the tombs of two lovers, two lonely yews are
+ mentioned to have ſprung, “whoſe branches wiſhed to meet on high.” This ſympathy of the trees
+ with the lovers, may be reckoned to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image border on an Italian conceit; and it is
+ ſomewhat curious to find this ſingle inſtance of that ſort of wit in our Celtic poetry.
+
The “joy of grief” is one of Oſſian's remarkable expreſſions, ſeveral times
+ repeated. If any one ſhall think that it needs to be juſtified by a precedent, he may find it
+ twice uſed by Homer: in the Iliad, when Achilles is viſited by the ghoſt of Patroclus; and in the
+ Odyſſey, when Ulyſſes meets his mother in the ſhades. On both theſe occaſions, the heroes, melted
+ with tenderneſs, lament their not having it in their power to throw their arms round the ghoſt,
+ “that we might,” ſay they, “in mutual embrace, enjoy the delight of grief. “
+ Κρυεροιο τοταρπωμεσθα γοαιο.Display note
+
But in truth, the expreſſion ſtands in need of no defence from authority;
+ for it is a natural and juſt expreſſion; and conveys a clear idea of that gratification which a
+ virtuous heart often feels in the indulgence of a tender melancholy. Oſſian makes a very proper
+ diſtinction between this gratification and the deſtructive effect of overpowering grief. “There
+ is a joy in grief when peace dwells in the breaſts of the ſad. But ſorrow waſtes the mournful, O
+ daughter of Toſcar, and their days are few.” To “give the joy of grief,” generally ſignifies to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image raiſe the ſtrain of ſoft and grave muſic;
+ and finely characterizes the taſte of Oſſian's age and country. In thoſe days, when the ſongs of
+ bards were the great delight of heroes, the tragic muſe was hold in chief honour: gallant actions
+ and virtuous ſufferings, were the choſen theme; preferably to that light and trifling ſtrain, of
+ poetry and muſic, which promotes light and trifling manners, and ſerves to emaſculate the mind.
+ “Strike the harp in my hall,” ſaid the great Fingal, in the midſt of youth and victory; “ſtrike
+ the harp in my hall, and let Fingal hear the ſong. Pleaſant is the joy of grief! It is like the
+ ſhower O of ſpring, when it ſoftens the branch of the oak; and the young leaf lifts its green
+ head. Sing on, O bards! To-morrow we lift the ſail.”
+
Perſonal epithets have been much uſed by all the poets of the moſt ancient
+ ages; and when well choſen, not general and unmeaning, they contribute not a little to render the
+ ſtyle deſcriptive and animated. Beſides epithets founded on bodily diſtinctions, akin to many of
+ Homer's, we find in Oſſian ſeveral which are remarkably beautiful and poetical. Such as Oſcar of
+ the future fights, Fingal of the mildeſt look, Carril of other times, the mildly bluſhing
+ Evir-allin: Bragela, the lonely ſun-beam of Dunſcaich; a Culdee, the ſon of the ſecret cell.
But of all the ornaments employed in deſcriptive poetry, compariſons or
+ ſimiles are the moſt ſplendid. Theſe chiefly form what is called the imagery of a poem; and as
+ they abound go much in the works of Oſſian, and are commonly among the favourite paſſages of all
+ poets, it may be expected that I ſhould be ſomewhat particular in my remarks upon them.
+
A poetical ſimile always ſuppoſes two objects brought together, between which
+ there is ſome near relation or connection in the fancy. What that relation ought to be, cannot be
+ preciſely defined. For various, almoſt numberleſs, are the analogies formed among objects, by a
+ ſprightly imagination. The relation of actual ſimilitude, or likeneſs of appearance, is far from
+ being the only foundation of poetical compariſon. Sometimes a reſemblance in the effect produced
+ by two objects, is made the connecting principle: ſometimes a reſemblance in one diſtinguiſhing
+ property or circumſtance. Very often two objects are brought together in a ſimile, though they
+ reſemble one another, ſtrictly ſpeaking, in nothing, only becauſe they raiſe in the mind a train
+ of ſimilar, and what may be called concordant, ideas; ſo that the remembrance of the one, when
+ recalled, ſerves to quicken and heighten the impreſſion made by the other. Thus, to give an
+ inſtance from our
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image poet, the pleaſure with which an old man
+ looks back on the exploits of his youth, has certainly no direct reſemblance to the beauty of a
+ fine evening; further than that both agree in producing a certain calm, placid joy. Yet Oſſian
+ has founded upon this, one of the moſt beautiful compariſons that is to be met with in any poet.
+ “Wilt thou not liſten, ſon of the rock, to the ſong of Oſſian? My ſoul is full of other times;
+ the joy of my youth returns. Thus the ſun appears in the weſt, after the ſteps of his brightneſs
+ have moved behind a ſtorm. The green hills lift their dewy heads. The blue ſtreams rejoice in the
+ vale. The aged hero comes forth on his ſtaff; and his gray hair glitters in the beam.” Never was
+ there a finer group of objects. It raiſes a ſtrong conception of the old man's joy and elation of
+ heart, by diſplaying a ſcene which produces in every ſpectator a correſponding train of pleaſing
+ emotions; the declining ſun looking forth in his brightneſs after a ſtorm; the cheerful face of
+ all nature; and the ſtill life finely animated by the circumſtance of the aged hero, with his
+ ſtaff and his gray locks: a circumſtance both extremely pictureſque, in itſelf, and peculiarly
+ ſuited to the main object of the compariſon. Such analogies and aſſociations of ideas as theſe,
+ are highly pleaſing to the fancy. They give
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image opportunity for introducing many a fine
+ poetical picture. They diverſify the ſcene; they aggrandize the ſubject; they keep the
+ imagination awake and ſprightly. For as the judgment is principally exerciſed in diſtinguiſhing
+ objects, and remarking the differences among thoſe which ſeem alike, ſo the higheſt amuſement of
+ the imagination is to trace likeneſſes and agreements among thoſe which ſeem different.
+
The principal rules which reſpect poetical compariſons are, that they be
+ introduced on proper occaſions, when the mind is diſpoſed to reliſh them; and not in the midſt of
+ ſome ſevere and agitating paſſion, which cannot admit this play of fancy; that they be founded on
+ a reſemblance neither. too near and obvious, ſo as to give little amuſement to the imagination in
+ tracing it, nor too faint and remote, ſo as to he apprehended with difficulty; that they ſerve
+ either to illuſtrate the principal object, and to render the conception of it more clear and
+ diſtinct; or, at leaſt, to heighten and embelliſh it, by a ſuitable aſſociation of imagesDisplay note.
+
Every country has a ſcenery peculiar to itſelf; and the imagery of a good
+ poet will exhibit it. For as he copies after nature, his alluſions
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image will of courſe be taken from thoſe objects
+ which he ſees around him, and which have often ſtruck his fancy. For this reaſon, In order to
+ judge of the propriety of poetical imagery, we ought to be in ſome meaſure acquainted with the
+ natural hiſtory of the country where the ſcene of the poem is laid. The introduction of foreign
+ images betrays a poet, copying not from nature, but from other writers. Hence ſo many lions, and
+ tigers, and eagles, and ſerpents, which we meet, with in the ſimiles of modern poets; as if theſe
+ animals had acquired ſome right to a place in poetical compariſons for ever, becauſe employed by
+ ancient authors. They employed them with propriety, as objects generally known in their, country,
+ but they are abſurdly uſed for illuſtration by us, who know them only at ſecond hand, or by
+ deſcription. To moſt readers of modern poetry, it were more to the purpoſe to deſcribe lions or
+ tigers by ſimiles taken from men, than to compare men to lions. Oſſian is very correct in this
+ particular. His imagery is, without exception, copied from that face of nature which be ſaw
+ before his eyes; and by conſequence may be expected to be lively. We meet with no Grecian or
+ Italian ſcenery; but with the miſts and clouds, and ſtorms, of a northern mountainous region.
No poet abounds more in ſimiles than Oſſian. There are in this collection as
+ many, at leaſt, as in the whole Iliad and Odyſſey of Homer. I am indeed inclined to think, that
+ the works of both poets are too much crowded with them. Similes are ſparkling ornaments; and,
+ like all things that ſparkle, are apt to dazzle and tire us by their luſtre. But if Oſſian's
+ ſimiles be too frequent, they have this advantage, of being commonly ſhorter than Homer's; they
+ interrupt his narration leſs; he juſt glances aſide to ſome reſembling, object, and inſtantly
+ returns to his former track. Homer's ſimiles include a wider range of objects; but, in return,
+ Oſſian's, are, without exception, taken from objects of dignity, which cannot be ſaid for all
+ thoſe which Homer employs. The ſun, the moon, and the ſtars, clouds and meteors, lightning and
+ thunder, ſeas and whales, rivers, torrents, winds, ice, rain, ſnow, dews, miſt, fire and ſmoke,
+ trees and foreſts, heath and graſs and flowers, rocks and mountains, muſic and ſongs, light and
+ darkneſs, ſpirits and ghoſts; theſe form the circle within which Oſſian's compariſons generally
+ run. Some, not many, are taken from birds and beaſts: as eagles, ſea-fowl, the horſe, the deer,
+ and the mountain bee; and a very few from ſuch operations of art as were then known.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Homer has diverſified his imagery, by many
+ more alluſions to the animal world; to lions, bulls, goats, herds of cattle, ſerpents, inſects;
+ and to various occupations of rural and paſtoral life. Oſſian's defect in this article, is
+ plainly owing to the deſert, uncultivated ſtate of his country, which ſuggeſted to him few images
+ beyond natural inanimate objects, in their rudeſt form. The birds and animals of the country were
+ probably not numerous; and his acquaintance with them was ſlender, as they were little ſubjected
+ to the uſes of man.
+
The great objection made to Oſſian's imagery, is its uniformity, and the too
+ frequent repetition of the ſame compariſon. In a work ſo thick-ſown with ſimiles one could not
+ but expect to find images of the ſame kind ſometimes ſuggeſted to the poet by reſembling objects;
+ eſpecially to a poet like Oſſian, who wrote from the immediate impulſe of poetical enthuſiaſm,
+ and without much preparation of ſtudy or labor. Fertile as Homer's imagination is acknowledged to
+ be, who does not know how often his lions, and bulls, and flocks of ſheep, recur with little or
+ no variation; nay, ſometimes, in the very ſame words? The objection made to Oſſian is, however,
+ founded, in a great meaſure, upon a miſtake. It has been ſuppoſed
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image by inattentive readers, that wherever the
+ moon, the cloud, or the thunder, returns in a ſimile, it is the ſame ſimile, and the ſame moon,
+ or cloud, or thunder, which they had met with a few pages before. Whereas very often the ſimiles
+ are widely different. The object, from whence they are taken, is indeed in ſubſtance the ſame;
+ but the image is new; for the appearance of the object is changed; it is preſented to the fancy
+ in another attitude: and clothed with new circumſtances, to make it ſuit the different
+ illuſtration for which it is employed. In this lies Oſſian's great art; in ſo happily varying the
+ form of the few natural appearances with which he was acquainted, as to make them correſpond to a
+ great many different objects.
+
Let us take for one inſtance the moon, which is very frequently introduced
+ in his compariſons; as in northern climates, where the nights are long, the moon is a greater
+ object of attention than in the climate of Homer; and let us view how much our poet has
+ diverſified its appearance. The ſhield of it warrior is like “the darkened moon when it moves a
+ dun circle through the heavens.” The face of a ghoſt, wan and ale, is like “the beam of the
+ ſetting moon.” And a different appearance of a ghoſt, thin and indiſtinct, is like “the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image new moon ſeen through the gathered miſt,
+ when the ſky pours down its flaky ſnow, and the world is ſilent and dark;” or, in a different
+ form ſtill, is like “the watery beam of the moon, when it ruſhes from between two clouds, and the
+ midnight ſhower is on the field.” A very oppoſite uſe is made of the moon in the deſcription of
+ Agandecca: “She came in all her beauty, like the moon from the cloud of the eaſt.” Hope ſucceeded
+ by diſappointment, is “joy riſing on her face and ſorrow returning again, like a thin cloud on
+ the moon.” But when Swaran, after his defeat, is cheered by Fingal's generoſity, “his face
+ brightened like the full moon of heaven, when the clouds vaniſh away, and leave her calm and
+ broad in the midſt of the ſky.” Venvela is “bright as the moon when it trembles o'er the weſtern
+ wave;” but the ſoul of the guilty Uthal is “dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it
+ foretells the ſtorm.” And by a very fanciful and uncommon alluſion, it is ſaid of Cormac, who was
+ to die in his early years, “Nor long ſhalt thou lift the ſpear, mildly-ſhining beam of youth!
+ Death ſtands dim behind thee, like the darkened half of the moon behind its growing light.”
Another inſtance of the ſame nature may be taken from miſt, which, as being
+ a very familiar appearance in the country of Oſſian, he applies to a variety of purpoſes, and
+ purſues through a great many forms. Sometimes, which one would hardly expect, he employs it to
+ heighten the appearance of a beautiful object. The hair of Morna is “like the miſt of Cromla,
+ when it curls on the rock, and ſhines to the beam of the weſt.” “The ſong comes with its muſic to
+ melt and pleaſe the ear. It is like ſoft miſt, that riſing from the lake pours on the ſilent
+ vale. The green flowers are filled with dew. The ſun returns in its ſtrength, and, the miſt is
+ goneDisplay note.” But, for the moſt part, miſt is employed as a
+ ſimilitude of ſome diſagreeable or terrible object. “The ſoul of Nathos was ſad, like the ſun in
+ the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image day of miſt, when his face is watery and
+ dim.”—“The darkneſs of old age comes like the miſt of the deſert.” The face of a ghoſt is “pale
+ as the miſt of Cromla.”—“The gloom of battle is rolled along as miſt that is poured on the
+ valley, when ſtorms invade the ſilent ſunſhine of heaven.” Fame, ſuddenly departing, is likened
+ to “miſt that flies away before the ruſtling wind of the vale.” A ghoſt, ſlowly vaniſhing, to
+ “miſt that melts by degrees on the ſunny hill.” Cairbar, after his treacherous aſſaſſination of
+ Oſcar, is compared to a peſtilential fog. “I love a foe like Cathmor,” ſays Fingal, “his ſoul is
+ great; his arm is ſtrong; his battles are full of fame. But the little ſoul is like a vapor that
+ hovers round the marſhy lake. It never riſes on the green hill, leſt the winds meet it there. Its
+ dwelling is in the cave; and it ſends forth the dart of death.” This is a ſimile highly finiſhed.
+ But there is another which is ſtill more ſtriking, founded alſo on miſt, in the fourth book of
+ Temora. Two factious chiefs are contending: Cathmor, the king, interpoſes, rebukes, and ſilences
+ them. The poet intends to give us the higheſt idea of Cathmor's ſuperiority; and moſt effectually
+ accompliſhes his intention by the following happy image. “They ſunk
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image from the king on either ſide, like two
+ columns of morning miſt, when the ſun riſes between them on his glittering rocks. Dark is their
+ rolling on either ſide; each towards its reedy pool.” Theſe inſtances may ſufficiently ſhow with
+ what richneſs of imagination Oſſian's compariſons abound, and, at the ſame time, with what
+ propriety of judgment they are employed. If his field was narrow, it muſt be admitted to have
+ been as well cultivated as its extent would allow.
+
As it is uſual to judge of poets from a compariſon of their ſimiles more
+ than of other paſſages, it will, perhaps, be agreeable to the reader, to ſee how Homer and Oſſian
+ have conducted ſome images of the ſame kind. This might be ſhown in many inſtances. For as the
+ great objects of nature are common to the poets of all nations, and make the general ſtorehouſe
+ of all imagery, the groundwork of their compariſons muſt, of courſe, be Frequently the ſame. I
+ ſhall ſelect only a few of the moſt conſiderable from both poets. Mr. Pope's tranſlation of Homer
+ can be of no uſe to us here. The parallel is altogether unfair between proſe and the impoſing
+ harmony of flowing numbers. It is only by viewing Homer in the ſimplicity of a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image proſe tranſlation, that we can form any
+ compariſon between the two bards.
+
The ſhock of two encountering armies, the noiſe and the tumult of battle,
+ afford one of the moſt grand and awful ſubjects of deſcription; on which all epic poets have
+ exerted their ſtrength. Let us firſt hear Homer. The following deſcription is a favourite one,
+ for we find it twice repeated in the ſame wordsDisplay note. “When now the conflicting hoſts joined in the
+ field of battle, then were mutually oppoſed ſhields, and ſwords, and the ſtrength of armed men.
+ The boſſy bucklers were daſhed againſt each other. The univerſal tumult roſe. There were mingled
+ the triumphant ſhouts and the dying groans of the victors and the vanquiſhed. The earth ſtreamed
+ with blood. As when winter torrents, ruſhing from the mountains, pour into a narrow valley their
+ violent waters. They iſſue from a thouſand ſprings, and mix in the hollowed channel. The diſtant
+ ſhepherd hears on the mountain their roar from afar. Such was the terror and the ſhout of the
+ engaging armies.” In another paſſage, the poet, much in the manner of Oſſian, heaps ſimile on
+ ſimile, to expreſs the vaſtneſs of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the idea with which his imagination ſeems to
+ labor. “With a mighty ſhout the hoſts engage. Not ſo loud roars the wave of ocean, when driven
+ againſt the ſhore by the whole force of the boiſterous north; not ſo loud in the woods of the
+ mountain, the noiſe of the flame, when riſing in its fury to conſume the foreſt; not ſo loud the
+ wind among the lofty oaks, when the wrath of the worm rages; as was the clamor of the Greeks and
+ Trojans, when, roaring terrible, they ruſhed againſt each other.”Display note
+
To theſe deſcriptions and ſimiles, we may oppoſe the following from Oſſian,
+ and leave the reader to judge between them. He will find images of the ſame kind employed;
+ commonly leſs extended; but thrown forth with a glowing rapidity which characterizes our poet.
+ “As autumn's dark ſtorms pour from two echoing hills, towards each other approached the heroes.
+ As two dark ſtreams from high rocks meet and mix, and roar on the plains; loud, rough, and dark
+ in battle, meet Lochlin and Iniſfail. Chief mixed his ſtrokes with chief, and man with man. Steel
+ clanging, ſounded on ſteel. Helmets are cleft on high; blood
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image burſts and ſmokes around.—As the troubled
+ noiſe of the ocean, when roll the waves on high; as the laſt peal of the thunder of heaven; ſuch
+ is the noiſe of battle.” “As roll a thouſand waves to the rock, ſo Swaran's beſt came on; as
+ meets a rock a thouſand waves, ſo Iniſfail met Swaran. Death raiſes all his voices around, and
+ mixes with the ſound of ſhields.—The field echoes from wing to wing, as a hundred hammers that
+ riſe by turns on the red ſon of the furnace.”—“As a hundred winds on Morven; as the ſtreams of a
+ hundred hills; as clouds fly ſucceſſive over heaven or as the dark ocean aſſaults the ſhore of
+ the deſert ſo roaring, ſo vaſt, ſo terrible, the armies mixed on Lena's echoing heath.” In
+ ſeveral of theſe images there is a remarkable ſimilarity to Homer's: but what follows is ſuperior
+ to any compariſon that Homer uſes on this ſubject. “The groan of the people ſpread over the
+ hills; it was like the thunder of night, when the cloud burſts on Cona, and a thouſand ghoſts
+ ſhriek at once on the hollow wind.” Never was an image of, more awful ſublimity employed to
+ heighten the terror of battle.
+
Both poets compare the appearance of an army approaching, to the gathering
+ of dark
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image clouds. “As when a ſhepherd,” ſays Homer,
+ “beholds from the rock a cloud borne along the ſea by the weſtern wind; black as pitch it appears
+ from afar ſailing over the ocean, and carrying the dreadful ſtorm. He ſhrinks at the ſight, and
+ drives his flock into the cave: ſuch, under the Ajaces, moved on the dark, the thickened phalanx
+ to the war.”Display note —“They came,” ſays Oſſian, “over the deſert like ſtormy clouds,
+ when the winds roll them over the heath; their edges are tinged with lightning; and the echoing
+ groves foreſee the ſtorm.” The edges of the clouds tinged with lightning, is a ſublime idea: but
+ the ſhepherd and his flock render Homer's ſimile more pictureſque. This is frequently the
+ difference between the two poets. Oſſian gives no more than the main image, ſtrong and full:
+ Homer adds circumſtances and appendages, which amuſe the fancy by enlivening the ſcenery.
+
Homer compares the regular appearance of an army, to “clouds that are
+ ſettled on the mountain-top, in the day of calmneſs, when the ſtrength of the north wind
+ ſleepsDisplay note.” Oſſian, with full as much propriety, compares the appearance of a
+ diſordered army, to “the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image mountain cloud, when the. blaſt hath entered
+ its womb, and ſcatters the curling gloom on every ſide.” Oſſian's clouds aſſume a great many
+ forms, and, as we might expect from his climate, are a fertile ſource of imagery to him. “The
+ warriors followed their chiefs like the gathering of the rainy clouds behind the red meteors of
+ heaven.” An army retreating without coming to action, is likened to “clouds, that having long
+ threatened rain, retire ſlowly behind the hills.” The picture of Oithona, after ſhe had
+ determined to die, is lively and delicate. “Her ſoul was reſolved, and the tear was dried from
+ her wildly-looking eye. A troubled joy roſe on her mind, like the red path of the lightning on a
+ ſtormy cloud.” The image alſo of the gloomy Cairbar, meditating, in ſilence, the aſſaſſination of
+ Oſcar, until the moment came when his deſigns were ripe for execution, is extremely noble and
+ complete in all its parts. “Cairbar heard their words in ſilence, like the cloud of a ſhower; it
+ ſtands dark on Cromla till the lightning burſts its ſide. The valley gleams with red light; the
+ ſpirits of the ſtorm rejoice. So ſtood the ſilent king of Temora; at length his words are
+ heard.”
Homer's compariſon of Achilles to the Dog-Star, is very ſublime. “Priam
+ beheld him ruſhing along the plain, ſhining in his armour, like the ſtar of autumn bright are its
+ beams, diſtinguiſhed amidſt the multitude of ſtars in the dark hour of night. It riſes in its
+ ſplendor; but its ſplendor is fatal; betokening to miſerable men the deſtroying heatDisplay note.” The firſt appearance of Fingal is, in like manner, compared by
+ Oſſian to a ſtar or meteor. “Fingal, tall in his ſhip, ſtretched his bright lance before him.
+ Terrible was the gleam of his ſteel; it was like the green meteor of death, ſetting in the heath
+ of Malmor, when the traveller is alone, and the broad moon is darkened in heaven.” The hero's
+ appearance in Homer is more magnificent; in Oſſian, more terrible.
+
A tree cut down, or overthrown by a ſtorm, is a ſimilitude frequent among
+ poets for deſcribing the fall of a warrior in battle. Homer employs it often. But the moſt
+ beautiful, by far, of his compariſons, founded on this object, indeed one of the moſt beautiful
+ in the whole Iliad, is that on the death of Euphorbus. “As the young and verdant olive, which a
+ man hath reared with care in a lonely field, where
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the ſprings of water bubble around it; it is
+ fair and flouriſhing; it is fanned by the breath of all the winds, and loaded with white
+ bloſſoms; when the ſudden blaſt of a whirlwind deſcending, roots it out from its bed, and
+ ſtretches it on the duſt Display note.” To this, elegant as it is, we may oppoſe the following ſimile of
+ Oſſian's, relating to the death of the three ſons of Uſnoth. “They fell, like three young oaks
+ which ſtood alone on the hill. The traveller ſaw the lovely trees, and wondered how they grew ſo
+ lonely. The blaſt of the deſert came by night, and laid their green heads low. Next day he
+ returned; but they were withered, and the heath was bare.” Malvina's alluſion to the ſame object,
+ in her lamentation over Oſcar, is ſo exquiſitely tender, that I cannot forbear giving it a place
+ alſo. “I was a lovely tree in thy preſence, Oſcar! with all my branches round me. But thy death
+ came, like a blaſt from the deſert, and laid my green head low. The ſpring returned with its
+ ſhowers; but no leaf of mine aroſe.” Several of Oſſian's ſimiles, taken from trees, are
+ remarkably beautiful, and diverſified with well-choſen circumſtances ſuch as that upon the death
+ of Ryno and Orla: They have fallen
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image like the oak of the deſert; when it lies
+ acroſs a ſtream, and withers in the wind of the mountains.” Or that which Oſſian applies to
+ himſelf: “I, like an ancient oak in Morven, moulder alone in my place; the blaſt hath lopped my
+ branches away; and I tremble at the winds of the north.”
+
As Homer exalts his heroes by comparing them to gods, Oſſian makes the ſame
+ uſe of compariſons taken from ſpirits and ghoſts. “Swaran roared in battle, like the ſhrill
+ ſpirit of a ſtorm, that ſits dim on the clouds of Gormal, and enjoys the death of the mariner.”
+ His people gathered round Erragon, “like ſtorms around the ghoſt of night, when he calls them
+ from the top of Morven, and prepares to pour them on the land of the ſtranger.”—“They fell before
+ my ſon like groves in the deſert, when an angry ghoſt ruſhes through night, and takes their green
+ heads in his hand.” In ſuch images, Oſſian appears in his ſtrength; for very ſeldom have
+ ſupernatural beings been painted with ſo much ſublimity, and ſuch force of imagination, as by
+ this poet. Even Homer, great as he is, muſt yield to him in ſimiles formed upon theſe. Take, for
+ inſtance, the following, which is the moſt remarkable of this kind in the Iliad.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image “Meriones followed Idomeneus to battle, like
+ Mars, the deſtroyer of men, when lie ruſhes to war. Terror, his beloved ſon, ſtrong and fierce,
+ attends him; who fills with diſmay the moſt valiant hero. They come from Thrace armed againſt the
+ Ephyrians and Phlegyans; nor do they regard the prayers of either, but diſpoſe of ſucceſs at
+ their willDisplay note.” The idea here is undoubtedly noble, but obſerve what a figure
+ Oſſian ſets before the aſtoniſhed imagination, and with what ſublimely terrible circumſtances he
+ has heightened it. “He ruſhed, in the ſound of his arms, like the dreadful ſpirit of Loda, when
+ he comes in the roar of a thouſand ſtorms, and ſcatters battles from his eyes. He ſits on a cloud
+ over Lochlin's ſeas. His mighty hand is on his ſword. The wind lifts his flaming locks. So
+ terrible was Cuthullin in the day of his fame.”
+
Homer's compariſons relate chiefly to martial ſubjects, to the appearances
+ and motions of armies, the engagement and death of heroes, and the various incidents of war. In
+ Oſſian, we find a greater variety of other ſubjects, illuſtrated by ſimiles, particularly the
+ ſongs of bards, the beauty of women, the different circumſtances of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image old age, ſorrow, and private diſtreſs; which
+ give occaſion to much beautiful imagery. What, for inſtance, can be more delicate and moving,
+ than the following ſimile of Oithona's, in her lamentation over the diſhonour ſhe had ſuffered
+ “Chief of Strumon.” replied the ſighing maid, why didſt thou come over the dark blue wave to
+ Nuath's mournful daughter? Why did not I paſs away in ſecret, like the flower of the rock, that
+ lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrews its withered leaves on the blaſt?” The muſic of bards, a
+ favourite object with Oſſian, is illuſtrated by a variety of the moſt beautiful appearances that
+ are to be found in nature. It is compared to the calm ſhower of ſpring; to the dews of the
+ morning on the hill of roes; to the face of the blue and ſtill lake. Two ſimiles on this ſubject
+ I ſhall quote, becauſe they would do honour to any of the moſt celebrated claſſics. The one is:
+ “Sit thou on the heath, O bard! and let us hear thy voice; it is pleaſant as the gale of the
+ ſpring that ſighs on the hunter's ear, when he awakens from dreams of joy, and has heard the
+ muſic of the ſpirits of the hill.” The other contains a ſhort but exquiſitely tender image,
+ accompanied with the fineſt poetical painting. “The muſic of Carril was like the memory of joys
+ that are paſt,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pleaſant, and mournful to the ſoul. The
+ ghoſts of departed bards heard it from Slimora's ſide. Soft ſounds ſpread along the wood; and the
+ ſilent valleys of night rejoice.” What a figure would ſuch imagery and ſuch ſcenery have made,
+ had they been preſented to us adorned with the ſweetneſs and harmony of the Virgilian
+ numbers!
+
I have choſen all along to compare Oſſian with Homer, rather than Virgil,
+ for an obvious reaſon. There is a much nearer correſpondence between the times and manners of the
+ two former poets. Both wrote in an early period of ſociety; both are originals; both are
+ diſtinguiſhed by ſimplicity, ſublimity, and fire. The correct elegances of Virgil, his artful
+ imitation of Homer, the Roman ſtatelineſs which he everywhere maintains, admit no parallel with
+ the abrupt boldneſs and enthuſiaſtic warmth of the Celtic bard. In one article, indeed, there is
+ a reſemblance. Virgil is more tender than Homer, and thereby agrees more with Oſſian; with this
+ difference, that the feelings of the one are more gentle and poliſhed—thoſe of the other more
+ ſtrong: the tenderneſs of Virgil ſoftenſ—that of Oſſian diſſolves and overcomes the heart.
+
A reſemblance may be ſometimes obſerved between Oſſian's Compariſons and
+ thoſe
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image employed by the ſacred writers. They abound
+ much in this figure, and they uſe it with the utmoſt proprietyDisplay note. The imagery of Scripture exhibits a ſoil
+ and climate altogether different from thoſe of Oſſian: a warmer country, a more ſmiling face of
+ nature, the arts of agriculture and of rural life much farther advanced. The wine-preſs and the
+ threſhing-floor are often preſented to us; the cedar and the palm-tree, the fragrance of perfumes
+ the voice of the turtle, and the beds of lilies. The ſimiles are, like Oſſian's, generally ſhort,
+ touching on one point of reſemblance, rather than ſpread out into little epiſodes. In the
+ following example may be perceived what inexpreſſible grandeur poetry receives from the
+ intervention of the Deity. “The nations ſhall ruſh like the ruſhing of many waters; but God ſhall
+ rebuke them, and they ſhall fly far off, and ſhall be chaſed as the chaff of the “mountains
+ before the wind, and like the down of the thiſtle before the whirlwindDisplay note.”
+
Beſides formal compariſons, the poetry of Oſſian is embelliſhed with many
+ beautiful metaphors; ſuch as that remarkably fine one
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image applied to Deugala: “She was covered with
+ the light of beauty; but her heart was the houſe of pride.” This mode of expreſſion, which
+ ſuppreſſes the mark of compariſon, and ſubſtitutes a figured deſcription in room of the object
+ deſcribed, is a great enlivener of ſtyle. It denotes that glow and rapidity of fancy, which,
+ without pauſing to form a regular ſimile, paints the object at one ſtroke. “Thou art to me the
+ beam of the caſt, riſing in a land unknown.”—“In peace, thou art the gale of ſpring; In war, the
+ mountain ſtorm.”—“Pleaſant be thy reſt, O lovely beam! ſoon haſt thou ſet on our hills! The ſteps
+ of thy departure were ſtately, like the moon on the blue trembling wave. But thou haſt left us in
+ darkneſs, firſt of the maids of Lutha!—Soon haſt thou ſet, Malvina! but thou riſeſt, like the
+ beam of the eaſt, among the ſpirits of thy friends, where they ſit in their ſtormy halls, the
+ chambers of the thunder.” This is correct, and finely ſupported. But in the following inſtance,
+ the metaphor, though very beautiful at the beginning, becomes imperfect before it cloſes, by
+ being improperly mixed with the literal ſenſe. “Trathal went forth with the ſtream of his people:
+ but they met a rock; Fingal ſtood unmoved; broken, they rolled back from his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſide. Nor did they roll in ſafety; the Spear
+ of the king purſued their flight.”
+
The hyperbole is a figure which we might expect to find often employed by
+ Oſſian; as the undiſciplined imagination of early ages generally prompts exaggeration, and
+ carries its objects to exceſs; whereas longer experience, and farther progreſs in the arts of
+ life, chaſten men's ideas and expreſſions. Yet Oſſian's hyperboles appear not, to me, either ſo
+ frequent or ſo harſh as might at firſt have been looked for; an advantage owing, no doubt, to the
+ more cultivated ſtate in which, as was before ſhown, poetry ſubſiſted among the ancient Celtæ,
+ than among moſt other barbarous nations. One of the moſt exaggerated deſcriptions in the whole
+ work, is what meets us at the beginning of Fingal, where the ſcout makes his report to Cuthullin
+ of the landing of the foe. But this is ſo far from deſerving cenſure, that it merits praiſe, as
+ being on that occaſion natural and proper. The ſcout arrives, trembling and full of fears; and it
+ is well known that no paſſion diſpoſes men to hyperbolize more than terror. It both annihilates
+ themſelves in their own apprehenſion, and magnifies every object which they view through the
+ medium of a troubled imagination. Hence all thoſe indiſtinct images of formidable
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image greatneſs, the natural marks of a diſturbed
+ and confuſed mind, which occur in Moran's deſcription of Swaran's appearance, and in his relation
+ of the conference which they held together; not unlike the report which the affrighted Jewiſh
+ ſpies made to their leader, of the land of Canaan. “The land through which we have gone to ſearch
+ it, is a land that eateth up the inhabitants thereof; and all the people that we ſaw in it are
+ men of a great ſtature: and there ſaw we giants, the ſons of Anak, which come of the giants; and
+ we were in our own ſight as graſſhoppers, and ſo we were in their ſightDisplay note.”
+
With regard to perſonifications, I formerly obſerved that Oſſian was
+ ſparing, and I accounted for his being ſo. Allegorical perſonages he has none; and their abſence
+ is not to be regretted. For the intermixture of thoſe ſhadowy beings, which have not the ſupport
+ even of mythological or legendary belief, with human actors, ſeldom produces a good effect. The
+ fiction becomes too viſible and fantaſtic; and overthrows that impreſſion of reality, which the
+ probable recital of human actions is calculated to make upon the mind. In the ſerious and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pathetic ſcenes of Oſſian, eſpecially,
+ allegorical characters would have been as much out of place as in tragedy; ſerving only
+ unſeaſonably to uſe the fancy, whilſt they ſtopped the current and weakened the force of
+ paſſion.
+
With apoſtrophes, or addreſſes to perſons abſent or dead, which have been
+ in, all ages the language of paſſion, our poet abounds; and they are among his higheſt beauties.
+ Witneſs the apoſtrophe, in the firſt book of Fingal, to the maid of Iniſtore, whoſe lover had
+ fallen in battle; and that inimitably fine one of Cuthullin to Bragela, at the concluſion of the
+ ſame book. He commands his harp to be ſtruck in her praiſe; and the mention of Bragela's name
+ immediately ſuggeſting to him a crowd of tender ideaſ—“Doſt thou raiſe thy fair face from the
+ rocks,” he exclaims, “to find the ſails of Cuthullin? The ſea is rolling far diſtant, and its
+ white foam ſhall deceive thee for my ſails.” And now his imagination being wrought up to conceive
+ her as, at that moment, really in this ſituation, he becomes afraid of the harm ſhe may receive
+ from the inclemency of the night; and with an enthuſiaſm happy and affecting, though beyond the
+ cautious ſtrain of modern poetry, “Retire,” he proceeds, “retire, for it is night, my love, and
+ the dark
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image winds ſigh in thy hair. Retire to the hall
+ of my feaſts, and think of the times that are paſt: for I will not return until the ſtorm of war
+ has ceaſed. O, Connal! ſpeak of wars and arms, and ſend her from my mind; for lovely with her
+ raven hair is the white-boſomed daughter of Sorglan.” This breathes all the native ſpirit of
+ paſſion and tenderneſs.
+
The addreſſes to the ſun, to the moon, and to the evening ſtar, muſt draw
+ the attention of every reader of taſte, as among the moſt ſplendid ornaments of this collection.
+ The beauties of each are too great and too obvious to need any particular comment. In one paſſage
+ only of the addreſs to the moon, there appears ſome obſcurity. “Whither doſt thou retire from thy
+ courſe when the darkneſs of they countenance grows? Haſt thou thy hall like Oſſian? Dwelleſt thou
+ in the ſhadow of grief? Have thy ſiſters fallen from heaven? Are they who rejoiced with thee, at
+ night, no more? Yes, they have fallen, fair light! and thou doſt often retire to mourn.” We may
+ be at a loſs to comprehend, at firſt view, the ground of thoſe ſpeculations of Oſſian concerning
+ the moon: but when all the circumſtances are attended to, they will appear to flow naturally from
+ the preſent ſituation of his mind.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image A mind under the domination of any ſtrong
+ paſſion, tinctures with its own diſpoſition every object which it beholds. The old bard, with his
+ heart bleeding for the loſs of all his friends, is meditating on the different phaſes of the
+ moon. Her waning and darkneſs preſent to his melancholy imagination the image of ſorrow; and
+ preſently the idea ariſes, and is indulged, that like himſelf, ſhe retires to mourn over the loſs
+ of other moons, or of ſtars, whom he calls her ſiſters, and fancies to have once rejoiced with
+ her at night, now fallen from heaven. Darkneſs ſuggeſted the idea of mourning, and mourning
+ ſuggeſted nothing ſo naturally to Oſſian as the death of beloved friends. An inſtance preciſely
+ ſimilar, of this influence of paſſion, may be ſeen in a paſſage, which has always been admired,
+ of Shakſpeare's King Lear. The old man, on the point of diſtraction through the inhumanity of his
+ daughters, ſees Edgar appear, diſguiſed as a beggar and a madman.
+
+ Lear.
+ Didſt thou give all to thy daughters?
+ `And art thou come to this?
+ Couldſt thou leave nothing? Didſt thou give them all?
+
+ Kent.
+
He hath no daughters, ſir.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Lear.
+ Death, traitor! nothing could have ſubdued nature
+ To ſuch a lowneſs, but his unkind daughters.
+
King Lear, Act 3. Scene 5.
+
The apoſtrophe to the winds, in the opening of Dar-thula, is in the higheſt
+ ſpirit of poetry. “But the winds deceive me, O Dar-thula! and deny the woody Etha to thy ſails.
+ Theſe are not the mountains, Nathos, nor is that roar of thy climbing waves. The halls of Cairbar
+ are near, and the towers of the foe lift their heads. Where have ye been, ye ſouthern winds! when
+ the ſons of thy love were deceived? But ye have been ſporting on plains, and purſuing the
+ thiſtle's beard. O that ye had been ruſtling in the ſails of Nathos, till the hills of Etha roſe!
+ till they roſe in the clouds, and ſaw their coming chief.” This paſſage is remarkable for the
+ reſemblance it bears to an expoſtulation with the wood nymphs, on their abſence at a critical
+ time; which, as a favourite poetical idea, Virgil has copied from Theocritus, and Milton has very
+ happily imitated from both.
+
+ Where were ye, nymphs! when the remorſeleſs deep
+ Cloſed o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ For neither were ye playing on the ſteep
+ Where your old bards, the famous Druids, he!
+ Nor on the ſhaggy top of Mona, high,
+ Nor yet where Deva ſpreads her wizard ſtreamDisplay note.
+
Having now treated fully of Oſſian's talents, with reſpect to deſcription
+ and imagery, it only remains to make ſome obſervations on his ſentiments. No ſentiments can be
+ beautiful without being proper; that is, ſuited to the character and ſituation of thoſe who utter
+ them. In this reſpect Oſſian is as correct as moſt writers. His characters, as above deſcribed,
+ are, in general, well ſupported; which could not have been the caſe, had the ſentiments been
+ unnatural or out of place. A variety of perſonages, of different ages, ſexes, and conditions, are
+ introduced into his poems; and they ſpeak and act with a propriety of ſentiment and behavior
+ which it is ſurpriſing to find in ſo rude an age. Let the poem of Dar-thula, throughout, be taken
+ as an example.
+
But it is not enough that ſentiments be natural and proper. In order to
+ acquire any high
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image degree of poetical merit, they muſt alſo be
+ ſublime and pathetic.
+
The ſublime is not confined to ſentiment alone. It belongs to deſcription
+ alſo; and whether in deſcription or in ſentiment, imports ſuch ideas preſented to the mind, as
+ raiſe it to an uncommon degree of elevation, and fill it with admiration and aſtoniſhment. This
+ is the higheſt effect either of eloquence or poetry; and, to produce this effect, requires a
+ genius glowing with the ſtrongeſt and warmeſt conception of ſome object, awful, great, or
+ magnificent. That this character of genius belongs to Oſſian, may, I think, ſufficiently appear
+ from many of the paſſages I have already had occaſion to quote. To produce more inſtances were
+ ſuperfluous. If the engagement of Fingal with the ſpirit of Loda, in Carric-thura; if the
+ encounters of the armies, in Fingal; if the addreſs to the ſun, in Carthon; if the ſimiles
+ founded upon ghoſts and ſpirits of the night, all formerly mentioned, be not admitted as
+ examples, and illuſtrious ones too, of the true poetical ſublime, I confeſs myſelf entirely
+ ignorant of this quality in writing.
+
All the circumſtances, indeed, of Oſſian's compoſition, are favourable to
+ the ſublime,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image more perhaps than to any other ſpecies of
+ beauty. Accuracy and correct. neſs, artfully connected narration, exact method and proportion. of
+ parts, we may look for in poliſhed times. The gay and the beautiful will appear to more advantage
+ in the midſt of ſmiling ſcenery and pleaſurable themes; but, amidſt the rude ſcenes of nature,
+ amidſt rocks and torrents, and whirlwinds and battles, dwells the ſublime. It is the thunder and
+ the lightning of genius. It is the offſpring of nature, not of art. It is negligent of all the
+ leſſer graces, and perfectly conſiſtent with a certain noble diſorder. It aſſociates naturally
+ with that grave and ſolemn ſpirit which diſtinguiſhes our author. For the ſublime is an awful and
+ ſerious emotion; and is heightened by all the Images of trouble, and terror, and darkneſs.
+
+ Ipſe pater, media nimborum in nocte, coruſcâ
+ Fulmina molitur dextra; quo maxima motu
+ Terra tremit; fugere feræ; et mortalia corda
+ Per gentes, humilis ſtravit pavor; ille, flagranti
+ Aut Atho, aut Rhodopen, aut alta Ceraunia telo
+ Dejicit.—
—Virg. Georg. I.
+
Simplicity and conciſeneſs are never-failing characteriſtics of the ſtyle of
+ a ſublime writer. He reſts on the majeſty of his ſentiments, not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image on the pomp of his expreſſions. The main
+ ſecret of being ſublime is to ſay great things in few, and in plain words: for every ſuperfluous
+ decoration degrades a ſublime idea. The mind riſes and ſwells, when a lofty deſcription or
+ ſentiment is preſented to it in its native form. But no ſooner does the poet attempt to ſpread
+ out this ſentiment, or deſcription, and to deck it round and round with glittering ornaments,
+ than the mind begins to fall from its high elevation; the tranſport is over; the beautiful may
+ remain, but the ſublime is gone. Hence the conciſe and ſimple ſtyle of Oſſian gives great
+ advantage to his ſublime conceptions, and aſſiſts them in ſeizing the imagination with full
+ powerDisplay note.
Sublimity, as belonging to ſentiment, coincides, in a great meaſure, with
+ magnanimity, heroiſm, and generoſity of ſentiment. Whatever diſcovers human nature in its
+ greateſt elevation; whatever beſpeaks a high effort of ſoul, or ſhews a mind ſuperior to
+ pleaſures, to dangers, and to death, forms what may be called the moral of ſentimental ſublime.
+ For this Oſſian is eminently diſtinguiſhed. No poet maintains a higher tone of virtuous and noble
+ ſentiment throughout all his works. Particularly in all the ſentiments of Fingal there is a
+ grandeur and loftineſs, proper to ſwell the mind with the higheſt ideas of human perfection.
+ Wherever he appears, we behold the hero. The objects which he purſues are always truly great: to
+ bend the proud; to protect the injured; to defend his friends; to overcome his enemies by
+ generoſity more than by force. A portion of the ſame ſpirit actuates all the other heroes. Valor
+ reigns; but it is a generous valor, void of cruelty, animated by honour, not by hatred. We behold
+ no debaſing paſſions
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image among Fingal's warriors; no ſpirit of
+ avarice or of inſult; but a perpetual contention for fame; a deſire of being diſtinguiſhed and
+ remembered for gallant actions; a love of juſtice; and a zealous attachment to their friends and
+ their country. Such is the ſtrain of ſentiment in the works of Oſſian.
+
But the ſublimity of moral ſentiments, if they wanted the ſoftening of the
+ tender, would be in hazard of giving a hard and ſtiff air to poetry. It is not enough to admire.
+ Admiration is a cold feeling, in compariſon of that deep intereſt which the heart takes in tender
+ and pathetic ſcenes; where, by a myſterious attachment to the objects of compaſſion, we are
+ pleaſed and delighted, even whilſt we mourn. With ſcenes of this kind Oſſian abounds; and his
+ high merit in theſe is inconteſtible. He may be blamed for drawing tears too often from our eyes;
+ but that he has the power of commanding them, I believe no man, who as the leaſt ſenſibility,
+ will queſtion. The general character of his poetry is the heroic mixed with the elegiac ſtrain;
+ admiration tempered with pity. Ever fond of giving, as he expreſſes it, “the joy of grief,” it is
+ viſible that, on all moving ſubjects, he delights to exert his genius; and, accordingly, never
+ were there finer
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pathetick ſituations than what his works
+ preſent. His great art in managing them lies in giving vent to the ſimple and natural emotions of
+ the heart. We meet with no exaggerated declamation; no ſubtile refinements on ſorrow; no
+ ſubſtitution of deſcription in place of paſſion. Oſſian felt ſtrongly himſelf; and the heart,
+ when uttering its native language, never fails, by powerful ſympathy, to affect the heart. A
+ great variety of examples might be produced. We need only open the book to find them everywhere.
+ What, for inſtance, can be more moving than the lamentations of Oithona, after her miſfortune?
+ Gaul, the ſon of Morni, her lover, ignorant of what ſhe had ſuffered, comes to her reſcue. Their
+ meeting is tender in the higheſt degree. He propoſes to engage her foe, in ſingle combat, and
+ gives her in charge what ſhe is to do if he himſelf ſhall fall. “And ſhall the daughter of Nuath
+ live?” ſhe replied, with a burſting ſigh. “Shall I live in Tromathon, and the ſon of Morni low?
+ My heart is not of that rock; nor my ſoul careleſs as that ſea, which lifts its blue waves to
+ every wind, and rolls beneath the ſtorm. The blaſt, which ſhall lay thee low, ſhall ſpread the
+ branches of Oithona, on earth. We ſhall wither together, ſon of car-borne Morni! The narrow houſe
+ is pleaſant to me;
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and the gray ſtone of the dead; for never
+ more will I leave my rocks, ſea-ſurrounded Tromathon!—Chief of Strumon! why comeſt thou over the
+ waves to Nuath's mournful daughter? Why did I not paſs away in ſecret, like the flower of the
+ rocks that lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrews its withered leaves on the blaſt? Why didſt
+ thou come, O Gaul I to bear my departing ſigh?—O, had I dwelt at Duvranna, in the bright beam of
+ my fame! Then had my years come on with joy: and the virgins would bleſs my ſteps. But I fall in
+ youth, ſon of Morni! and my father ſhall bluſh in his hall!”
+
Oithona mourns like a woman: in Cuthullin's expreſſions of grief after his
+ defeat, we behold the ſentiments of a hero—generous, but deſponding. The ſituation is remarkably
+ fine. Cuthullin, rouſed from his cave by the noiſe of battle, ſees Fingal victorious in the
+ field. He is deſcribed as kindling at the ſight. “His hand is on the ſword of his fathers; his
+ red-rolling eyes on the foe. He thrice attempted to ruſh to battle; and thrice did Connal ſtop
+ him;” ſuggeſting that Fingal was routing the foe; and that he ought not, by the ſhow of
+ ſuperfluous aid, to deprive the king of any part
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image of the honour of a victory, which was owing
+ to him alone. Cuthullin yields to this generous ſentiment; but we ſee it ſtinging him to the
+ heart with the ſenſe of his own diſgrace. “Then, Carril, go,” replied the chief, “and greet the
+ king of Morven. When Lochlin fails away like a ſtream after rain, and the noiſe of the battle is
+ over, then be thy voice ſweet in his ear, to praiſe the king of ſwords. Give him the ſword of
+ Caithbat; for Cuthullin is worthy no more to lift the arms of his fathers. But, O ye ghoſts of
+ the lonely Cromla! ye ſouls of chiefs that are no more! be ye the companions of Cuthullin, and
+ talk to him in the cave of his ſorrow. For never more ſhall I be renowned among the mighty in the
+ land. I am like a beam that has ſhone: like a miſt that has fled away; when the blaſt of the
+ morning came, and brightened the ſhaggy ſide of the hill. Connal! talk of arms no more: departed
+ is my fame. My ſighs ſhall be on Cromla's wind; till my footſteps ceaſe to be ſeen. And thou,
+ white-boſomed Bragela! mourn over the fall of my fame: for vanquiſhed, I will never return to
+ thee, thou ſunbeam of Dunſcaich!”
+
+ —Æſtuat ingens
+ Uno in corde pudor, luctuſque, et conſcia virtus.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Beſides ſuch extended pathetic ſcenes, Oſſian frequently pierces the heart
+ by a ſingle unexpected ſtroke. When Oſcar fell in battle, “No father mourned his ſon ſlain in
+ youth; no brother, his brother of love; they fell without tears, for the chief of the people was
+ low.” In the admirable interview of Hector with Andromache, in the ſixth Iliad, the circumſtance
+ of the child in his nurſe's arms, has often been remarked as adding much to the tenderneſs of the
+ ſcene. In the following paſſage, relating to the death of Cuthullin, we find a circumſtance that
+ muſt ſtrike the imagination with ſtill greater force. “And is the ſon of Semo fallen?” ſaid
+ Carril, with a ſigh. “Mournful are Tura's walls, and ſorrow dwells at Dunſcaich. Thy ſpouſe is
+ left alone in her youth; the ſon of thy love is alone. He ſhall come to Bragela, and aſk her why
+ ſhe weeps? He ſhall lift his eyes to the wall, and ſee his father's ſword. Whoſe ſword is that?
+ he will ſay; and the ſoul of his mother is ſad.” Soon after Fingal had ſhown all the grief of a
+ father's heart for Ryno, one of his ſons, fallen in battle, he is calling, after his accuſtomed
+ manner, his ſons to the chaſe. “Call,” ſays he, “Fillan and Ryno.—But he is not here.—My ſon
+ reſts on the bed
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image of death.” This unexpected ſtart of anguiſh
+ is worthy of the higheſt tragic poet.
+ If ſhe come in, ſhe'll ſure ſpeak to my wife—
+ My wife!—my wife!—What wife!—I have no wife—
+ Oh, inſupportable! Oh, heavy hour!
Othello, Act 5. Scene
+ 7.
+
The contrivance of the incident in both poets is ſimilar: but the
+ circumſtances are varied with judgment. Othello dwells upon the name of wife, when it had fallen
+ from him, with the confuſion and horror of one tortured with guilt. Fingal, with the dignity of a
+ hero, corrects himſelf, and ſuppreſſes his riſing grief.
+
The contraſt which Oſſian frequently makes between his preſent and his
+ former ſtate, diffuſes over his whole poetry a ſolemn pathetic air, which cannot fail to make
+ impreſſion on every heart. The concluſion of the ſongs of Selma is particularly calculated for
+ this purpoſe. Nothing can be more poetical and tender, or can leave upon the mind a ſtronger and
+ more affecting idea of the venerable and aged bard. “Such were the words of the bards in the days
+ of the ſong; when the king heard the muſic of harps, and the tales of other times. The chiefs
+ gathered from all their
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image hills, and heard the lovely ſound. They
+ praiſed the voice of Cona Display note; the firſt among a thouſand
+ bards. But age is now on my tongue, and my ſoul has failed. I hear, ſometimes, the ghoſts of
+ bards, and learn their pleaſant ſong. But memory fails on my mind; I hear the call of years. They
+ ſay, as they paſs along, Why does Oſſian ſing? Soon ſhall he lie in the narrow houſe, and no bard
+ ſhall raiſe his fame. Roll on, ye dark-brown years! for ye bring no joy in your courſe. Let the
+ tomb open to Oſſian, for his ſtrength has failed. The ſons of the ſong are gone to reſt. My voice
+ remains, like a blaſt, that roars lonely on the ſea-rur-rounded rock, after the winds are laid.
+ The dark moſs whiſtles there, and the diſtant mariner ſees the waving trees.”
+
Upon the whole, if to feel ſtrongly, and to deſcribe naturally, be the two
+ chief ingredients in poetical genius, Oſſian muſt, after fair examination, be held to poſſeſs
+ that genius in a high degree. The queſtion is not, whether a few improprieties may be pointed out
+ in his works?-whether this or that paſſage might not have been worked up with more art and ſkill,
+ by ſome writer of happier times? A thouſand ſuch
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image cold and frivolous criticiſms are altogether
+ indeciſive as to his genuine merit. But has he the ſpirit, the fire the inſpiration of a poet?
+ Does he utter the voice of nature? Does he elevate by his ſentiments? Does lie intereſt by his
+ deſcription? Does be paint to the heart as well as to the fancy? Does he make his readers glow,
+ and tremble, and weep? Theſe are the great characteriſtics of true poetry. Where theſe are found,
+ he muſt be a minute critic, indeed, who can dwell, upon ſlight defects. A few beauties of this
+ high kind tranſcend whole volumes of faultleſs mediocrity. Uncouth and abrupt Oſſian may
+ ſometimes appear, by reaſon of his conciſeneſs; but he is ſublime, he is pathetic, in an eminent
+ degree. If he has not the extenſive knowledge, the regular dignity of narration, the fulneſs and
+ accuracy of deſcription, which we find in Homer and Virgil, yet in ſtrength of imagination, in
+ grandeur of ſentiment, in native majeſty of paſſion, he is fully their equal. If he flows not
+ always like a clear ſtream, yet he breaks forth often like a torrent of fire. Of art, too, he is
+ far from being deſtitute; and his imagination is remarkable for delicacy as well as ſtrength.
+ Seldom or never is he either trifling or tedious; and if he be thought too melancholy, yet he is
+ always
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image moral. Though his merit were in other
+ reſpects much leſs than it is, this alone ought to entitle him to high regard, that his writings
+ are remarkably favourable to virtue. They awake the tendereſt ſympathies, and inſpire the moſt
+ generous emotions. No reader can riſe from him without being warmed with the ſentiments of
+ humanity, virtue, and honour.
+
Though unacquainted with the original language, there is no one but muſt
+ judge the tranſlation to deſerve the higheſt praiſe, on account of its beauty and elegance. Of
+ its faithfulneſs and accuracy, I have been aſſured by perſons ſkilled in the Gaelic tongue, who
+ from their youth were acquainted with many of theſe poems of Oſſian. To tranſfuſe ſuch ſpirited
+ and fervid ideas from one language into another; to tranſlate literally, and yet with ſuch a glow
+ of poetry; to keep alive ſo much paſſion, and ſupport ſo much dignity throughout; is one of the
+ moſt difficult works of genius, and proves the tranſlator to have been animated with no ſmall
+ portion of Oſſian's ſpirit.
+
The meaſured proſe which he has employed, poſſeſſes conſiderable advantages
+ above any ſort of verſification he could have choſen. While it pleaſes and fills the ear with a
+ variety of harmonious cadences, being, at the ſame time,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image freer from conſtraint in the choice and
+ arrangement of words, it allows the ſpirit of the original to be exhibited, with more juſtneſs,
+ force, and ſimplicity. Elegant, however, and maſterly, as Mr. Macpherſon's tranſlation is, we
+ muſt never forget, whilſt we read it, that we are putting the merit of the original to a ſevere
+ teſt. For we are examining a poet ſtripped of his native dreſs; diveſted of the harmony of his
+ own numbers. We know how much grace and energy the works of the Greek and Latin poets receive
+ from the charm of verſification in their original languages. If then, deſtitute of this
+ advantage, exhibited in a literal verſion, Oſſian ſtill has power to pleaſe as a poet; and not to
+ pleaſe only, but often to command, to tranſport, to melt the heart; we may very ſafely infer that
+ his productions are the off-ſpring of a true and uncommon genius; and we may proudly aſſign him a
+ place among thoſe whoſe works are to laſt for ages.
Cairbar, the ſon of Borbar-duthul, lord of Atha in Connaught the moſt potent chief of the
+ race of the Firbolg, having murdered, at Temora the royal palace, Cormac the ſon of Artho, the
+ young king of Ireland, uſurped the throne. Cormac was lineally deſcended from Conar the ſon of
+ Trenmor, the great grandfather of Fingal, king of thoſe Caledonians who inhabited the weſtern
+ coaſt of Scotland. Fingal reſented the behaviour of Cairbar, and reſolved to paſs over into
+ Ireland, with an army, to re-eſtabliſh the royal family on the Iriſh throne. Early intelligence
+ of his deſigns coming to Cairbar, he aſſembled ſome of his tribes in Ulſter, and at the ſame time
+ ordered his brother Cathmor to follow him ſpeedily with an army, from Temora. Such was the
+ ſituation of affairs when the Caledonian invaders appeared on the coaſt of Ulſter.
+
The poem opens in the morning. Cairbar is repreſented as retired from the reſt of the army,
+ when one of his ſcouts brought him news of the landing of Fingal. He aſſembles a council of his
+ chiefs. Foldath the chief of Morna haughtily deſpiſes the enemy ; and is reprimanded warmly by
+ Malthos. Cairbar, after hearing their debate, orders a feaſt to be prepared, to which, by his
+ bard Olla, he invites Oſcar the ſon of Oſſian ; reſolving to pick a quarrel with that hero, and
+ ſo have ſome pretext for killing him. Oſcar came to the feaſt; the quarrel happened ; the
+ followers of both fought, and Cairbar and Oſcar fell by mutual wounds. The noiſe of the battle
+ reached Fingal's army. The king came on, to the relief of Oſcar, and the Iriſh fell back to the
+ army of Cathmor, who was advanced to the banks of the river Lubar, on the heath of Moilena.
+ Fingal, after mourning over his grandſon, ordered Ullin the chief of his bards to carry his body
+ to Morven, to be there interred. Night coming on, Althan, the ſon of Conachar, relates to the
+ king the particulars of the murder of Cormac. Fillan, the ſon of Fingal, is ſent to obſerve the
+ motions of Cathmar by night, which concludes the action of the firſt day. The ſcene of this book
+ is a plain, near the hill of Mora, which roſe on the borders of the heath of Moilena, in Ulſter.
The blue waves of Erin roll in light. The mountains are covered with day.
+ Trees ſhake their duſky heads, in the breeze. Grey torrents pour their noiſy ſtreams. Two green
+ hills, with aged oaks, ſurround a narrow plain. The blue courſe of a ſtream is there. On its
+ banks ſtood CairbarDisplay note of Atha. His ſpear ſupports the king : the red eye of his fear is ſad. Cormac riſes in
+ his ſoul, with all his ghaſtly wounds.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The grey form of the youth appears in darkneſs. Blood pours from
+ his airy ſide. Cairbar thrice threw his ſpear on earth. Thrice he ſtroaked his beard. His ſteps
+ are ſhort. He often ſtops. He toſſes his ſinewy arms. He is like a cloud in the deſart, varying
+ its form to every blaſt. The valleys are ſad around, and fear, by turns, the ſhower ! The king,
+ at length, reſumed his ſoul. He took his pointed ſpear, He turned his eye to Moi-lena, The ſcouts
+ of blue ocean came. They came with ſteps of fear, and often looked behind. Cairbar knew that the
+ mighty were near ! He called his gloomy chiefs.
+
The ſounding ſteps of his warriors came. They drew, at once, their ſwords.
+ There MorlathDisplay note ſtood with darkened face. Hidalla's long hair ſighs in wind. Red-haired Cormar bends on
+ his ſpear, and rolls his ſide-long-looking eyes. Wild is the look of Malthos from beneath too
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhaggy brows. Foldath ſtands, like an oozy rock, that covers its
+ dark ſides with foam. His ſpear is like Slimora's fir, that meets the wind of heaven. His ſhield
+ is marked with the ſtrokes of battle. His red eye deſpiſes danger. Theſe and a thouſand other
+ chiefs ſurrounded the king of Erin, when the ſcout of ocean came, MorannalDisplay note, from ſtreamy Moi-lena. His eyes hang forward from his face. His lips are trembling,
+ pale!
+
“Do the chiefs of Erin ſtand,” he ſaid, “ſilent as the grove of evening?
+ Stand they, like a ſilent wood, and Fingal on the coaſt ? Fingal, who is terrible in battle, the
+ king of ſtreamy Morven ! “Haſt thou ſeen the warrior?” ſaid Cairbar with a ſigh. “Are his heroes
+ many on the coaſt ? Lifts he the ſpear of battle? Or comes the king in peace?” In peace he comes
+ not, king of Erin. I have ſeen his forward ſpearDisplay note. It is a meteor of death. The blood of thouſands
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ is on its ſteel. He came firſt to the ſhore, ſtrong in the grey
+ hair of age. Full roſe his ſinewy limbs, as he ſtrode in his might. That ſword is by his ſide,
+ which gives no ſecondDisplay note wound. His ſhield is terrible, like the bloody moon, aſcending through a ſtorm. Then came
+ Oſſian king of ſongs. Then Morni's ſon, the firſt of men. Connal leaps forward on his ſpear.
+ Dermid ſpreads his dark-brown locks. Fillan bends his bow, the young hunter of ſtreamy Moruth.
+ But who is that before them, like the terrible courſe of a ſtream ! It is the ſon of Oſſian,
+ bright between his locks! His long hair falls on his back. His dark brows are half-incloſed in
+ ſteel. His ſword hangs looſe on his ſide. His ſpear glitters as he moves. I fled from his
+ terrible eyes, king of high Temora !”
+
“Then fly, thou feeble man,” ſaid Foldath's gloomy wrath. “Fly to the grey
+ ſtreams of thy land, ſon of the little ſoul ! Have not I ſeen that Oſcar? I beheld the chief in
+ war. He is of the mighty in danger : but there are others who lift the ſpear. Erin has many ſons
+ as brave, king
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Temora of Groves ! Let Foldath meet him in his ſtrength. Let
+ me ſtop this mighty ſtream. My ſpear is covered with blood. My ſhield is like the wall of
+ Tura!”
+
“Shall FoldathDisplay note alone meet the foe?” replied the dark-browed Malthos. “Are they not on our coaft, like
+ the waters of many ſtreams? Are not theſe the chiefs, who vanquiſhed Swaran, when the ſons of
+ green Erin fled ? Shall Foldath meet their braveſt hero ? Foldath of the heart of pride ! take
+ the ſtrength of the people! and let Malthos come. My ſword is red with ſlaughter, but who has
+ heard my wordsDisplay note ?”
+
“Sons of green Erin,” ſaid HidallaDisplay note, “let not Fingal hear your words. The foe might rejoice, and his arm be ſtrong in the
+ land. Ye are brave, O warriors! Ye are tempeſts in war. Ye are, like ſtorms, which meet the rocks
+ without fear, and overturn the woods. But let us move
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in our ſtrength, ſlow as a gathered cloud ! Then ſhall the mighty
+ tremble ; the ſpear ſhall fall from the hand of the valiant. We ſee the cloud of death, they will
+ ſay, while ſhadows fly over their face. Fingal will mourn in his age. He ſhall behold his flying
+ fame. The ſteps of his chiefs will ceaſe in Morven. The moſs of years ſhall grow in Selma.”
+
Cairbar heard their words, in ſilence, like the cloud of a ſhower : it
+ ſtands dark on Cromla, till the lightning burſts its ſide. The valley gleams with heaven's flame
+ ; the ſpirits of the ſtorm rejoice. So ſtood the ſilent king of Temora; at length his words broke
+ forth. “Spread the feaſt on Moi-lena. Let my hundred bards attend. Thou, red-hair'd Olla, take
+ the harp of the king. Go to Oſcar chief of ſwords. Bid Oſcar to our joy. To-day we feaſt and hear
+ the ſong : to-morrow break the ſpears! Tell him that I have raiſed the tomb of CatholDisplay note ; that bards gave his friend to the winds. Tell him that Cairbar has heard of his fame,
+ at the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtream of reſounding CarunDisplay note. CathmorDisplay note my brother is not here. He is not here with his thouſands, and our arms are weak. Cathmor
+ is a foe to ſtrife at the feaſt! His ſoul is bright as that ſun! But Cairbar muſt fight with
+ Oſcar, chiefs of woody Temora! His words for Cathol were many : the wrath of Cairbar burns. He
+ ſhall fall on Moi-lena. My fame ſhall riſe in blood.”
+
Their faces brightened round with joy. They ſpread over Moilena. The feaſt
+ of ſhells is prepared. The ſongs of bards ariſe. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ chiefs of Selma heard their joyDisplay note. We thought that mighty Cathmor came. Cathmor the friend of ſtrangers! the brother of
+ red-haired Cairbar. Their ſouls were not the ſame. The light of heaven was in the boſom of
+ Cathmor. His towers roſe on the banks of Atha : ſeven paths led to his halls. Seven chiefs ſtood
+ on the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ paths, and called the ſtranger to the feaſt! But Cathmor dwelt
+ in the wood, to ſhun the voice of praiſe !
+
Olla came with his ſongs. Oſcar went to Cairbar's feaſt. Three hundred
+ warriors ſtrode, along Moi-lena of the ſtreams. The grey dogs bounded on the heath : Their
+ howling reached afar. Fingal ſaw the departing hero. The ſoul of the king was ſad. He dreaded
+ Cairbar's gloomy thoughts, amid the feaſt of ſhells. My ſon raiſed high the ſpear of Cormac. An
+ hundred bards met him with ſongs. Cairbar concealed with ſmiles the death, that was dark in his
+ ſoul. The feaſt is ſpread. The ſhells reſound. Joy brightens the face of the hoſt. But it was
+ like the parting beam of the ſun, when he is to hide his red head, in a ſtorm !
+
Cairbar riſes in his arms. Darkneſs gathers on his brow. The hundred harps
+ ceaſe at once. The clangDisplay note of ſhields is heard. Far diſtant on the heath Olla raiſed a ſong of woe. My ſon knew the
+ ſign of death; and riſing ſeized his ſpear. “Oſcar,” ſaid the dark-red
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Cairbar, “I behold the ſpearDisplay note of Erin. The ſpear of TemoraDisplay note glitters in thy hand, ſon of woody Morven! It was the pride of an hundredDisplay note kings. The death of heroes of old. Yield it, ſon of Oſſian, yield it to car-borne Cairbar
+ !”
+
“Shall I yield,” Oſcar replied, “the gift of Erin's injured king: the gift
+ of fair-haired Cormac, when Oſcar ſcattered his foes? I came to Cormac's halls of joy, when
+ Swaran fled from Fingal. Gladneſs roſe in the face of youth. He gave the ſpear of Temora. Nor did
+ he give it to the feeble : neither to the weak in ſoul. The darkneſs of thy face is no ſtorm to
+ me: nor are thine eyes the flame of death. Do I fear thy clanging ſhield? Tremble I at Olla's
+ ſong ? No : Cairbar, frighten the feeble : Oſcar is a rock!”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“Wilt thou not yield the ſpear ?” replied the rifing pride of Cairbar. “Are
+ thy words ſo mighty, becauſe Fingal is near ? Fingal with aged locks, from Morven's hundred
+ groves ! He has fought with little men. But he muſt vaniſh before Cairbar, like a thin pillar of
+ miſt before the winds of AthaDisplay note!” “Were he who fought with little men, near Atha's haughty chief: Atha's chief would
+ yield green Erin to avoid his rage ! Speak not of the mighty, O Cairbar! Turn thy ſword on me.
+ Our ſtrength is equal : but Fingal is renowned ! the firſt of mortal men!”
+
Their people ſaw the darkening chiefs. Their crowding ſteps are heard
+ around. Their eyes roll in fire. A thouſand ſwords are half unſheathed. Red-haired Olla raiſed
+ the ſong of battle. The trembling joy of Oſcar's ſoul aroſe : the wonted joy of his ſoul when
+ Fingal's horn was heard. Dark as the ſwelling wave of ocean before the rifing winds, when it
+ bends its head near the coaſt, came on the hoſt of Cairbar !
+
Daughter of ToſcarDisplay note ! why that tear? He is not fallen yet. Many were the deaths of his arm before my hero
+ fell !
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Behold they fall before my ſon, like groves
+ in the deſart; when an angry ghoſt ruſhes through night, and takes their green heads in his hand
+ ! Morlath falls. Maronnan dies. Conachar trembles in his blood! Cairbar ſhrinks before Oſcar's
+ ſword! He creeps in darkneſs behind a ſtone. He lifts the ſpear in ſecret ; he pierces my Oſcar's
+ ſide ! He falls forward on his ſhield : his knee ſuſtains the chief. But ſtill his ſpear is in
+ his hand. See gloomy CairbarDisplay note falls! The ſteel pierced his forehead, and
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ divided his red hair behind. He lay, like a ſhattered rock,
+ which Cromla ſhakes from its ſhaggy ſide; when the green-vallied Erin ſhakes its mountains, from
+ ſea to ſea!
+
But never more ſhall Oſcar riſe! He leans on his boſſy ſhield. His ſpear is
+ in his terrible hand. Brin's ſons ſtand diſtant and dark. Their ſhouts ariſe, like crouded
+ ſtreams. Moi-lena ecchoes wide. Fingal heard the ſound. He took the ſpear of Selma. His ſteps are
+ before us on the heath. He ſpoke the words of woe.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “I hear the noiſe of war. Young Oſcar is alone. Riſe, ſons of
+ Morven : join the hero's ſword!”
+
Ossian ruſhed along the heath. Fillan bounded over Moi-lena. Fingal ſtrode
+ in his ſtrength. The light of his ſhield is terrible. The ſons of Erin ſaw it far diſtant. They
+ trembled in their ſouls. They knew that the wrath of the king aroſe : and they foreſaw their
+ death. We firſt arrived. We fought. Erin's chiefs withſtood our rage. But when the king came, in
+ the ſound of his courſe, what heart of ſteel could ſtand! Erin fled over Moi-lena. Death purſued
+ their flight. We ſaw Oſcar on his ſhield. We ſaw his blood around. Silence darkened every face.
+ Each turned his back and wept. The king ſtrove to hide his tears. His grey beard whiſtled in the
+ wind. He bends his head above the chief. His words are mixed with ſighs.
+
“Art thou fallen, O Oſcar, in the midſt of thy courſe? the heart of the aged
+ beats over thee! He ſees thy coming wars! The wars which ought to come he ſees ! They are cut off
+ from thy fame! When ſhall joy dwell at Selma? When ſhall grief depart from Morven? My ſons fall
+ by degrees: Fingal is the laſt of his race. My fame begins to paſs away. Mine
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ age will be without friends. I ſhall ſit a grey cloud in my
+ hall. I ſhall not hear the return of a ſon, in his ſounding arms. Weep, ye heroes of Morven !
+ never more ſhall Oſcar rife !”
+
And they did weep, O Fingal ! Dear was the hero to their ſouls. He went out
+ to battle, and the foes vaniſhed. He returned, in peace, amidſt their joy. No father mourned his
+ ſon ſlain in youth : no brother his brother of love. They fell, without tears, for the chief of
+ the people is low! BranDisplay note is howling at his feet : gloomy Luäth is ſad, for he had often led them to the chace; to
+ the bounding roe of the deſart !
+
When Oſcar ſaw his friends around, his heaving breaſt aroſe. “The groans,”
+ he ſaid, “of aged chiefs: The howling of my dogs: The ſudden burſts of the ſong of grief, have
+ melted Oſcar's ſoul. My ſoul, that never melted before. It was like the ſteel of my ſword.
+ Oſſian, carry me to my hills! Raiſe the ſtones of my renown. Place the horn of a deer : place my
+ ſword by my ſide. The torrent hereafter may raiſe the earth : the hunter may find the ſteel and
+ ſay, “This has been Oſcar's ſword, the pride of other years!” “Falleſt thou, ſon of my fame !
+ Shall I never ſee thee, Oſcar ! When
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ others hear of their ſons; ſhall I not hear of thee? The moſs is
+ on thy four grey ſtones. The mournful wind is there. The battle ſhall be fought without thee.
+ Thou ſhalt not purſue the dark-brown hinds. When the warrior returns from battles, and tells of
+ other lands; “I have ſeen a tomb,” he will ſay, “by the roaring ſtream, the dark dwelling of a
+ chief. He fell by car-borne Oſcar, the firſt of mortal men,” I, perhaps, ſhall hear his voice. A
+ beam of joy will riſe in my ſoul.”
+
Night would have deſcended in ſorrow, and morning returned in the ſhadow of
+ grief. Our chiefs would have ſtood, like cold dropping rocks on Moi-lena, and have forgot the war
+ ; did not the king diſperſe his grief, and raiſe his mighty voice. The chiefs, as new-wakened
+ from dreams, lift up their heads around.
+
“How long on Moi-lena ſhall we weep? How long pour in Erin our tears? The mighty will not
+ return. Oſcar ſhall not rife in his ſtrength. The valiant muſt fall in their day, and be no more
+ known on their hills. Where are our fathers, O warriors ! the chiefs of the times of old ? They
+ have ſet like ſtars that have ſhone. We only hear the ſound of their praiſe. But they were
+ renowned in their years: the terror of other times. Thus ſhall we paſs away, in the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ day of our fall. Then let us be renowned when we may ; and
+ leave our fame behind us, like the laſt beams of the ſun, when he hides his red head in the weſt.
+ The traveller mourns his abſence, thinking of the flame of his beams. Ullin my aged bard! take
+ thou the ſhip of the king. Carry Oſcar to Selma of harps. Let the daughters of Morven weep. We
+ muſt fight in Erin, for the race of fallen Cormac. The days of my years begin to fail. I feel the
+ weakneſs of my arm. My fathers bend from their clouds, to receive their grey-hair'd ſon. But,
+ before I go hence, one beam of fame ſhall rife. My days ſhall end, as my years begun, in fame. My
+ life ſhall be one ſtream of light to bards of other times!”
+
Ullin rais'd his white ſails. The wind of the ſouth came forth. He bounded
+ on the waves toward Selma. I remained in my grief, but my words were not heard. The feaſt is
+ ſpread on Moi-lena. An hundred heroes reared the tomb of Cairbar. No ſong is raiſed over the
+ chief. His ſoul had been dark and bloody. The bards remembered the fall of Cormac ! what could
+ they ſay in Cairbar's praiſe ?
+
Night came rolling down. The light of an hundred oaks aroſe, Fingal ſat
+ beneath a tree.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Old AlthanDisplay note ſtood in the midſt. He told the tale of fallen Cormac. Althan the ſon of Conachar, the
+ friend of car-borne Cuthullin. He dwelt with Cormac in windy Temora, when Semo's ſon fell at
+ Lego's ſtream. The tale of Althan was mournful. The tear was in his eye, when he ſpoke.
+
Display note“The ſetting ſon was yellow on DoraDisplay note. Grey evening began to deſcend. Temora's woods ſhook with the blaſt of the unconſtant
+ wind. A cloud gathered in the weſt. A red ſtar looked from behind its edge. I ſtood in the wood
+ alone. I ſaw a ghoſt on the darkening air! His ſtride extended from hill to hill. His ſhield was
+ dim on his ſide. It was the ſon of Semo. I knew the warrior's face. But he paſſed away in his
+ blaſt; and all was dark around ! My ſoul was ſad. I went to the hall of ſhells. A thouſand lights
+ aroſe. The hundred bards had ſtrung the harp. Cormac ſtood in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the midſt, like the morning ſtar, when it rejoices on the
+ eaſtern hill, and its young beams are bathed in ſhowers. Bright and ſilent is its progreſs aloft,
+ but the cloud, that ſhall hide it, is near! The ſword of ArthoDisplay note was in the hand of the king. He looked with joy on its poliſhed ſtuds: thrice he
+ attempted to draw it, and thrice he failed; his yellow locks are ſpread on his ſhoulders : his
+ cheeks of youth are red. I mourned over the beam of youth, for he was ſoon to ſet!”
+
“Althan!” he ſaid, with a ſmile, “didſt thou behold my father? Heavy is the
+ ſword of the king; ſurely his arm was ſtrong. O that I were like him in battle, when the rage of
+ his wrath aroſe! then would I have met, with Cuthullin, the car-borne ſon of Cantéla! But years
+ may come on, O Althan ! and my arm be ſtrong. Haſt thou heard of Semo's ſon, the ruler of high
+ Temora? He might have returned with his fame. He promiſed to return to-night. My bards wait him
+ with ſongs. My feaſt is ſpread in the hall of kings.”
+
I heard Cormac in ſilence, My tears began to flow. I hid them with my aged
+ locks., The king perceived my grief. “Son of Conachar !”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ he ſaid, “is the ſon of SemoDisplay note low? Why burſts the ſigh in ſecret ? Why deſcends the tear? Comes the car-borne Torlath?
+ Comes the ſound of red-haired Cairbar? They come ! for I behold thy grief. Moſſy Tura's chief is
+ low ! Shall I not ruſh to battle ? But I cannot lift the ſpear ! O had mine arm the ſtrength of
+ Cuthullin, ſoon would Cairbar fly ; the fame of my fathers would be renewed; and the deeds of
+ other times!”
+
He took his bow. The tears flow down, from both his ſparkling eyes. Grief
+ ſaddens round. The bards bend forward, from their hundred harps. The lone blaſt touched their
+ trembling ſtrings. The ſoundDisplay note is ſad and low ! A voice is heard at a diſtance, as of one in grief. It was Carril of
+ other times, who came from dark SlimoraDisplay note. He told of the fall of Cuthullin. He told of his mighty deeds. The people were ſcattered
+ round his tomb. Their arms lay on
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the ground. They had forgot the war, for he, their fire, was
+ ſeen no more
+
“But who,” ſaid the ſoft-voiced Carril, “who come like bounding roes? Their
+ ſtature is like young trees in the valley, growing in a ſhower ! Soft and ruddy are their cheeks
+ ! Fearleſs ſouls look forth from their eyes! Who but the ſons of UſnothDisplay note, chief of ſtreamy Etha ? The people riſe on every ſide, like the ſtrength of an
+ half-extinguiſhed fire, when the winds come, ſudden, from the deſart, on their ruſtling wings.
+ Sudden glows the dark brow of the hill; the paſſing mariner lags, on his winds. The ſound of Caithbat'sDisplay note ſhield was heard.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The warriors ſaw CuthullinDisplay note in Nathos. So rolled his ſparkling eyes! his ſteps were ſuch on heath ! Battles are
+ fought at Lego. The ſword of Nathos prevails. Soon ſhalt thou behold him in thy halls, king of
+ Temora of groves !”
+
“Soon may I behold the chief!” replied the blue-eyed king. “But my ſoul is
+ ſad for Cuthullin. His voice was pleaſant in mine ear. Often have we moved, on Dora, to the chace
+ of the dark-brown hinds. His bow was unerring on the hills. He ſpoke of mighty men. He told of
+ the deeds of my fathers. I felt my riſing joy. But ſit thou at the feaſt, O Carril, I have often
+ heard thy voice. Sing in praiſe of Cuthullin. Sing of Nathos of EthaDisplay note!
+
Day roſe on Temora, with all the beams of the eaſt. Crathin came to the hall, the ſon of old GellámaDisplay note. “I behold,” he ſaid, “a cloud in the deſart, king of Erin! a cloud it ſeemed at firſt,
+ but now a croud of men! One ſtrides before them in his ſtrength. His red hair flies in wind. His
+ ſhield glitters to the beam of the eaſt. His ſpear is in his hand.” “Call him to the feaſt
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Temora,” replied the brightening king. “My hall is the houſe
+ of ſtrangers, ſon of generous Gelláma ! It is perhaps the chief of Etha, coming in all his
+ renown, Hail, mightyDisplay note ſtranger! art thou of the friends of Cormac? But Carril, he is dark, and unlovely. He
+ draws his ſword. Is that the ſon of Uſnoth, bard of the times of old?”
+
“It is not the ſon of Uſnoth !” ſaid Carril. “It is Cairbar thy foe. Why
+ comeſt thou in thy arms to Temora ? chief of the gloomy brow. Let not thy ſword riſe againſt
+ Cormac! Whither doſt thou turn thy ſpeed ?” He paſſed on in darkneſs. He ſeized the hand of the
+ king. Cormac foreſaw his death ; the rage of his eyes aroſe. “Retire, thou chief of Atha ! Nathos
+ comes with war. Thou art bold in Cormac's hall, for his arm is weak.” The ſword entered the ſide
+ of the king. He fell in the halls of his fathers. His fair hair is in the duſt. His blood is
+ ſmoaking round.
+
Art thou fallen in thy hallsDisplay note?” ſaid Carril. “O ſon of noble Artho. The ſhield of Cuthullin was not near. Nor the ſpear
+ of thy father. Mournful are the mountains of Erin, for the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ chief of the people is low ! Bleſt be thy ſoul, O Cormac ! Thou
+ art darkened in thy youth.”
+
His words came to the ears of Cairbar. He cloſedDisplay note us in the midſt of darkneſs. He feared to ſtretch his ſword to the bardsDisplay note, though his ſoul was dark. Long we pined alone! At length, the noble CathmorDisplay note came. He heard our voice from the cave. He turned the eye of his wrath on Cairbar.
+
“Brother of Cathmor,” he ſaid, “how long wilt thou pain my ſoul? Thy heart
+ is a rock. Thy thoughts are dark and bloody ! But thou art the brother of Cathmor ; and Cathmor
+ ſhall ſhine in thy war. But my ſoul is not like thine : thou feeble hand in fight! The light of
+ my boſom is ſtained with thy deeds. Bards will not ſing of my renown : They may ſay, “Cathmor was
+ brave, but he fought for gloomy Cairbar.” They will paſs over my tomb in ſilence. My fame ſhall
+ not be heard. Cairbar ! looſe
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the bards. They are the ſons of future times. Their voice ſhall
+ be heard in other years ; after the kings of Temora have failed.” We came forth at the words of
+ the chief. We ſaw him in his ſtrength. He was like thy youth, O Fingal, when thou firſt did lift
+ the ſpear. His face was like the plain of the ſun, when it is bright. No darkneſs travelled over
+ his brow. But he came with his thouſands to aid the red-haired Cairbar. Now he comes to revenge
+ his death, O king of woody Morven.”
+
“Let Cathmor come,” replied the king. “I love a foe ſo great. His ſoul is
+ bright. His arm is ſtrong. His battles are full of fame. But the little ſoul is a vapour that
+ hovers round the marſhy lake. It never riſes on the green hill, leſt the winds ſhould meet it
+ there. Its dwelling is in the cave, it ſends forth the dart of death ! Our young heroes, O
+ warriors, are like the renown of our fathers. They fight in youth. They fall. Their names are in
+ ſong. Fingal is amid his darkening years. He muſt not fall, as an aged oak, acroſs a ſecret
+ ſtream. Near it are the ſteps of the hunter, as it lies beneath the wind, “How has that tree
+ fallen?” he ſays, and, whiſtling, ſtrides along. Raiſe the ſong of joy, ye bards of Morven. Let
+ our ſouls forget the paſt. The red ſtars look on us from
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ clouds, and ſilently deſcend. Soon ſhall the grey beam of the
+ morning riſe, and ſhew us the foes of Cormac. Fillan ! my ſon, take thou the ſpear of the king.
+ Go to Mora's dark-brown ſide. Let thine eyes travel over the heath. Obſerve the foes of Fingal :
+ Obſerve the courſe of generous Cathmor. I hear a diſtant ſound, like falling rocks in the deſart.
+ But ſtrike thou thy ſhield, at times, that they may not come thro' night, and the fame of Morven
+ ceaſe. I begin to be alone, my fon. I dread the fall of my renown!”
+
The voice of bards aroſe. The King leaned on the ſhield of Trenmor. Sleep
+ deſcended on his eyes. His future battles aroſe in his dreams. The hoſt are ſleeping around.
+ Dark-haired Fillan obſerves the foe. His ſteps are on a diſtant hill. We hear, at times, his
+ clanging ſhield.
This book opens, we may ſuppoſe, about midnight, with a ſoliloquy of Oſſian, who had retired,
+ from the reſt of the army, to mourn for his ſon Oſcar. Upon hearing the noiſe of Cathmor's army
+ approaching, he went to find out his brother Fillan, who kept the watch, on the hill of Mora, in
+ the front of Fingal's army. In the converſation of the brothers, the epiſode of Conar, the ſon of
+ Trenmor, who was the firſt king of Ireland, is introduced, which lays open the origin of the
+ conteſts between the Cael and Firbolg, the two nations who firſt poſſeſſed themſelves of that
+ iſland. Oſſian kindles a fire on Mora ; upon which Cathmor deſiſted from the deſign he had formed
+ of ſurpriſing the army of the Caledonians. He calls a council of his chiefs; reprimands Foldath
+ for adviſing a night-attack, as the Iriſh army were ſo much ſuperior in number to the enemy. The
+ bard Fonar introduces the ſtory of Crothar, the anceſtor of the king, which throws further light
+ on the hiſtory of Ireland, and the original pretenſions of the family of Atha, to the throne of
+ that kingdom. The Iriſh chiefs lie down to reſt, and Cathmor himſelf undertakes the watch. In his
+ circuit, round the army, he is met by Oſſian. The interview of the two heroes is deſcribed.
+ Cathmor obtains a promiſe from Oſſian, to order a funeral elegy to be ſung over the grave of
+ Cairbar; it being the opinion of the times, that the ſouls of the dead could not be happy, till
+ their elegies were ſung by a bard. Morning comes. Cathmor and Oſſian part; and the latter,
+ caſually meeting with Carril the ſon of Kinſena, ſends that bard, with a funeral ſong, to the
+ tomb of Cairbar.
Display noteFather of heroes! O Trenmor ! High dweller of eddying winds! where the
+ dark-red thunder marks the troubled clouds ! Open thou thy ſtormy halls. Let the bards of old be
+ near. Let them draw near, with ſongs and their half-viewleſs harps. No dweller of miſty valley
+ comes ! No hunter unknown at his ſtreams ! It is the carborne Oſcar, from the fields of
+ war.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Sudden is thy change, my ſon, from what thou wert on dark
+ Moilena! The blaſt folds thee in its ſkirt, and ruffles through the ſky ! Doſt thou not behold
+ thy father, at the ſtream of night? The chiefs of Morven ſleep far-diſtant. They have loſt no ſon
+ : But ye have loſt a hero, chiefs of reſounding Morven! Who could equal his ſtrength, when battle
+ rolled againſt his ſide, like the darkneſs of crowded waters? Why this cloud on Oſſian's ſoul ?
+ It ought to burn in danger. Erin is near with her hoſt. The king of Selma is alone. Alone thou
+ ſhalt not be, my father, while I can lift the ſpear !
+
I rose, in all my arms. I roſe and liſtened to the wind. The ſhield of FillanDisplay note is
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ not heard. I tremble for the ſon of Fingal. “Why ſhould the
+ foe come by night? Why ſhould the dark-haired warrior fail ?” Diſtant, ſullen murmurs riſe : like
+ the noiſe of the lake of Lego, when its waters ſhrink, in the days of froſt, and all its burſting
+ ice reſounds. The people of Lara look to heaven, and foreſee the ſtorm! My ſteps are forward on
+ the heath. The ſpear of Oſcar in my hand! Red ſtars looked from high. I gleamed, along the
+ night.
+
I saw Fillan ſilent before me, bending forward from Mora's rock. He heard
+ the ſhout of the foe. The joy of his ſoul aroſe. He heard my ſounding tread, and turned his
+ lifted ſpear. “Comeſt thou, ſon of night, in peace ? Or doſt thou meet my wrath? The foes of
+ Fingal are mine. Speak, or fear my ſteel. I ſtand not, in vain, the ſhield of Morven's race.”
+ “Never mayſt thou ſtand in vain, ſon of blue eyed Clatho! Fingal begins to be alone. Darkneſs
+ gathers on the laſt of his days. Yet he has twoDisplay note ſons who ought to ſhine in war. Who
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ought to be two beams of light, near the ſteps of his
+ departure.”
+
“Son of Fingal,” replied the youth, “it is not long ſince I raiſed the
+ ſpear. Few are the marks of my ſword in war. But Fillan's ſoul is fire! The chiefs of BolgaDisplay note crowd around the ſhield of generous Cathmor. Their gathering is on that heath. Shall my
+ ſteps approach their hoſt? I yielded to Oſcar alone, in the ſtrife of the race, on Cona !”
+
“Fillan, thou ſhalt not approach their hoſt; nor fall before thy fame is
+ known. My name is heard in ſong : when needful I advance. From the ſkirts of night I ſhall view
+ them over all their gleaming tribes. Why, Fillan, didſt thou ſpeak of Oſcar! Why awake my ſigh? I
+ muſt forgetDisplay note the warrior, till the ſtorm is rolled
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ away. Sadneſs ought not to dwell in danger, nor the tear in
+ the eye of war. Our fathers forgot their fallen ſons, till the noiſe of arms was paſt. Then
+ ſorrow returned to the tomb, and the ſong of bards aroſe.” The memory of thoſe, who fell, quickly
+ followed the departure of war: When the tumult of battle is paſt, the ſoul, in ſilence, melts
+ away, for the dead.
+
ConarDisplay note was the brother of Trathal, firſt of mortal men. His battles were on every coaſt. A
+ thouſand ſtreams rolled down the blood of his foes. His fame filled green Erin, like a pleaſant
+ gale.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The nations gathered in Ullin, and they bleſſed the king; the
+ king of the race of their fathers, from the land of Selma.
+
The chiefsDisplay note of the ſouth were gathered, in the darkneſs of their pride. In the horrid cave of Muma,
+ they mixed their ſecret words. Thither often, they ſaid, the ſpirits of their fathers came;
+ ſhewing their pale forms from the chinky rocks : reminding them of the honor of Bolga. “Why
+ ſhould Conar reign,” they ſaid, “the ſon of reſounding Morven ?”
+
They came forth, like the ſtreams of the deſart, with the roar of their
+ hundred tribes. Conar was a rock before them : broken they rolled on every ſide. But often they
+ returned, and the ſons of Selma fell. The king ſtood, among the tombs of his warriors. He darkly
+ bent his mournful face. His ſoul was rolled into itſelf ; and he had marked the place, where he
+ was to fall ; when Trathal came, in his ſtrength, his brother from cloudy Morven. Nor did he come
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ alone, ColgarDisplay note was at his ſide; Colgar the ſon of the King and of white-boſomed Solin-corma.
+
As Trenmor, cloathed with meteors, deſcends from the halls of thunder,
+ pouring the dark ſtorm before him over the troubled ſea ; ſo Colgar deſcended to battle, and
+ waſted the ecchoing field. His father rejoiced over the hero : but an arrow came! His tomb was
+ raiſed, without a tear. The King was to revenge his ſon. He lightened forward in battle, till
+ Bolga yielded at her ſtreams !
+
When peace returned to the land : When his blue waves bore the king to
+ Morven : then he remembered his ſon, and poured the ſilent tear. Thrice did the bards, at the
+ cave of Furmono, call the ſoul of Colgar. They called him to the hills of his land. He heard them
+ in his miſt, Trathal placed his ſword in the cave, that the ſpirit of his ſon might rejoice.
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “ColgarDisplay note, ſon of Trathal!” ſaid Fillan, “thou wert renowned in youth! But the king hath not marked
+ my ſword, bright-ſtreaming on the field. I go forth with the crowd. I return, without my fame.
+ But the foe approaches, Oſſian ! I hear their murmur on the heath. The ſound of their ſteps is
+ like thunder, in the boſom of the ground, when the rocking hills ſhake their groves, and not a
+ blaſt pours from the darkened ſky !”
+
Ossian turned ſudden on his ſpear. He raiſed the flame of an oak on high. I
+ ſpread it large, on Mora's wind. Cathmor ſtopt in his courſe. Gleaming he ſtood, like a rock, on
+ whoſe ſides are the wandering of blaſts; which ſeize its ecchoing ſtreams and clothe them over
+ with ice. So ſtood the friendDisplay note of ſtrangers ! The winds lift his heavy locks. Thou art the talleſt of the race of Erin,
+ king of ſtreamy Atha !
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “First of bards,” ſaid Cathmor, “FonarDisplay note, call the chiefs of Erin. Call red-hair'd Cormar : dark-browed Malthos: the
+ ſide-long-looking gloom of Maronan. Let the pride of Foldath appear. The red-rolling eye of
+ Turlotho. Nor let Hidalla be forgot ; his voice, in danger, is the ſound of a ſhower, when it
+ falls in the blaſted vale, near Atha's falling ſtream.” Pleaſant is its ſound, on the plain,
+ whilſt broken thunder travels over the ſky !”
+
They came, in their clanging arms. They bent forward to his voice, as if a
+ fpirit of their fathers ſpoke from a cloud of night. Dreadful ſhone they to the light; like the
+ fall of the ſtream of BrumoDisplay note, when the meteor lights it, before the nightly ſtranger. Shuddering, he ſtops in his
+ journey, and looks up for the beam of the morn !
“WhyDisplay note delights Foldath,” ſaid the king, “to pour the blood of foes, by night ? Fails his arm in
+ battle, in the beams of day ? Few are the foes before us, why ſhould we clothe us in ſhades? The
+ valiant delight to ſhine, in the battles of their land! Thy counſel was in vain, chief of Morna !
+ The eyes of Morven do not ſleep. They are watchful, as eagles, on their moſſy rocks. Let each
+ collect, beneath his cloud, the ſtrength of his roaring tribe. To-morrow I move, in light, to
+ meet the foes of Bolga? MightyDisplay notewas he, that is low, the race of Borbar-Duthul !”
+
“Not unmarked !” ſaid Foldath, “were my ſteps before thy race. In light, I
+ met the foes of Cairbar. The warrior praiſed my deeds. But his ſtone was raiſed without a tear?
+ No bard ſungDisplay note over Erin's king. Shall his foes rejoice along their moſſy hills? No: they muſt not
+ rejoice ! He was the friend of Foldath ! Our words were mixed, in ſecret, in Morna's ſilent cave;
+ whilſt
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ thou, a boy in the field, purſuedſt the thiſtle's beard. With
+ Morna's ſons I ſhall ruſh abroad, and find the foe, on his duſky hills. Fingal ſhall lie, without
+ his ſong, the grey-haired king of Selma.”
+
“Dost thou think, thou feeble man,” replied Cathmor, half-enraged : “Doſt
+ thou think Fingal can fall, without his fame, in Erin? Could the bards be ſilent, at the tomb of
+ Selma's king ? The ſong would burſt in ſecret ! the ſpirit of the king would rejoice! It is when
+ thou ſhalt fall, that the bard ſhall forget the ſong. Thou art dark, chief of Morna, though thine
+ arm is a tempeſt in war. Do I forget the king of Erin, in his narrow houſe? My ſoul is not loſt
+ to Cairbar, the brother of my love! I marked the bright beams of joy, which travelled over his
+ cloudy mind, when I returned, with fame, to Atha of the ſtreams.”
+
Tall they removed, beneath the words of the king. Each to his own dark tribe
+ ; where, humming, they rolled on the heath, faint-glittering to the ſtars: like waves, in a rocky
+ bay, before the nightly wind. Beneath an oak, lay the chief of Atha. His ſhield, a duſky round,
+ hung high. Near him, againſt a rock, leaned
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the fair ſtrangerDisplay note of Inis-huna: that beam of light, with wandering locks, from Lumon of the roes. At
+ diſtance roſe the voice of Fonar, with the deeds of the days of old. The ſong fails, at times, in
+ Lubar's growing roar !
+
“CrotharDisplay note,” begun the bard,“firſt dwelt at Atha's moſſy ſtream! A thouſandDisplay note oaks, from the mountains, formed his ecchoing hall. The gathering of the people was
+ there, around the feaſt of the blue-eyed king. But who, among his chiefs, was like the ſtately
+ Crothar ? Warriors kindled in his preſence. The young
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſigh of the virgins roſe. In AlnecmaDisplay note was the warrior honoured: the firſt of the race of Bolga.”
+
“He purſued the chace in Ullin : on the moſs covered top of Drumardo. From
+ the wood looked the daughter of Cathmin, the blue-rolling eye of Con-lama. Her ſigh roſe in
+ ſecret. She bent her head, midſt her wandering locks. The moon looked in, at night, and ſaw the
+ white-toſſing of her arms ; for ſhe thought of the mighty Crothar, in the ſeaſon of dreams.”
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Three days feaſted Crothar with Cathmin. On
+ the fourth they awaked the hinds. Con-lama moved to the chace, with all her lovely ſteps. She met
+ Crothar in the narrow path. The bow fell, at once, from her hand. She turned her face away, and
+ half-hid it with her locks. The love of Crothar roſe. He brought the white-boſomed maid to Atha.
+ Bards raiſed the ſong in her preſence. Joy dwelt round the daughter of Cathmin.”
+
The pride of Turloch roſe, a youth who loved the white-handed Con-láma. He
+ came, with battle, to Alnecma; to Atha of the roes. Cormul went forth to the ſtrife, the brother
+ of car-borne Crothar. He went forth, but he fell. The ſigh of his people roſe. Silent and tall,
+ acroſs the ſtream, came the darkening ſtrength of Crothar : he rolled the foe from Alnecoma. He
+ returned, mid the joy of Con-lama.”
+
“Battle on battle comes. Blood is poured on blood. The tombs of the valiant
+ riſe. Erin's clouds are hung round with ghoſts. The chiefs of the ſouth gathered round the
+ ecchoing ſhield of Crothar. He came, with death, to the paths of the foe. The virgins wept, by
+ the ſtreams of Ullin. They looked to the miſt of the hill ; No hunter deſcended from its folds.
+ Silence
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ darkened in the land. Blaſts ſighed lonely on graſſy
+ tombs.”
+
“Descending like the eagle of heaven, with all his ruſtling wings, when he
+ forſakes the blaſt, with joy, the ſon of Trenmor came; Conar, arm of death, from Morven of the
+ groves. He poured his might along green Erin. Death dimly ſtrode behind his ſword. The ſons of
+ Bolga fled, from his courſe, as from a ſtream, that burſting from the ſtormy deſart, rolls the
+ fields together, with all their ecchoing woods. CrotharDisplay note met him in battle: but Alnecma's warriors fled. The king of Atha ſlowly retired, in the
+ grief of his ſoul. He, afterwards, ſhone in the ſouth; but dim as the ſun of Autumn, when he
+ viſits, in his robes of miſt, Lara of
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ dark ſtreams. The withered graſs is covered with dew : the
+ field, tho' bright, is ſad !”
+
“Why wakes the bard before me,” ſaid Cathmor, “the memory of thoſe who fled?
+ Has ſome ghoſt, from his duſky cloud, bent forward to thine ear; to frighten Cathmor from the
+ field, with the tales of old ? Dwellers of the ſkirts of night, your voice is but a blaſt to me;
+ which takes the grey thiſtle's head, and ſtrews its beard on ſtreams. Within my boſom is a voice.
+ Others hear it not. His ſoul forbids the king of Erin to ſhrink back from war.”
+
Abashed the bard ſinks back in night : retired he bends above a ſtream. His
+ thoughts are on the days of Atha, when Cathmor heard his ſong with joy. His tears come rolling
+ down. The winds are in his beard. Erin ſleeps around. No ſleep comes down on
+ Cathmor's eyes. Dark, in his ſoul, he ſaw the ſpirit of low-laid Cairbar. He ſaw him, without his
+ ſong, rolled in a blaſt of night. He roſe. His ſteps were round the hoſt. He ſtruck, at times,
+ his ecchoing ſhield. The ſound reached Oſſian's ear, on Mora's moſſy brow.
+
“Fillan,” I ſaid, “the foes advance. I hear the ſhield of war. Stand thou in
+ the narrow path, Oſſian ſhall mark their courſe, If
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ over my fall the hoſt ſhould pour ; then be thy buckler heard.
+ Awake the king on his heath, leſt his fame ſhould fly away.” I ſtrode in all my rattling arms;
+ wide-bounding over a ſtream that darkly-winded, in the field, before the king of Atha. Green
+ Atha's king, with lifted ſpear, came forward on my courſe. Now would we have mixed in horrid
+ fray, like two contending ghoſts, that bending forward, from two clouds, ſend forth the roaring
+ winds; did not Oſſian behold, on high, the helmet of Erin's kings. The Eagle's wing ſpread above
+ it, ruſtling in the breeze. A red ſtar looked thro' the plumes. I ſtopt the lifted ſpear.
+
“The helmet of kings is before me! Who art thou ſon of night? Shall Oſſian's
+ ſpear be renowned, when thou art lowly-laid ?” At once he dropt the gleaming lance. Growing
+ before me ſeemed the form. He ſtretched his hand in night. He ſpoke the words of kings.
+
“Friend of the ſpirits of heroes, do I meet thee thus in ſhades? I have
+ wiſhed for thy ſtately ſteps in Atha, in the days of joy. Why ſhould my ſpear now ariſe ? The ſun
+ muſt behold us, Oſſian; when we bend, gleaming, in the ſtrife. Future warriors ſhall mark the
+ place : and, ſhuddering, think of other years, They
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhall mark it, like the haunt of ghoſts, pleaſant and dreadful
+ to the ſoul.”
+
“Shall it then be forgot,” I ſaid, “where we meet in peace? Is the
+ remembrance of battles always pleaſant to the ſoul? Do not we behold, with joy, the place where
+ our fathers feaſted ? But our eyes are full of tears, on the fields of their war. This ſtone
+ ſhall riſe, with all its moſs, and ſpeak to other years. “Here Cathmor and Oſſian met! the
+ warriors met in peace !” When thou, O ſtone, ſhalt fail. When Lubar's ſtream ſhall roll away !
+ then ſhall the traveller come, and bend here, perhaps, in reſt. When the darkened moon is rolled
+ over his head, our ſhadowy forms may come, and, mixing with his dreams, remind him of this place.
+ But why turneſt thou ſo dark away, ſon of Borbar-duthulDisplay note ?”
+
“Not forgot, ſon of Fingal, ſhall we aſcend theſe winds. Our deeds are
+ ſtreams of light, before the eyes of bards. But darkneſs is rolled on Atha : the king is low,
+ without his
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſong: ſtill there was a beam towards Cathmor from his ſtormy
+ ſoul; like the moon, in a cloud, amidſt the dark-red courſe of thunder.”
+
“Son of Erin,” I replied, “my wrath dwells not, in his earthDisplay note. My hatred flies, on eagle-wing, from the foe that is low. He ſhall hear the ſong of
+ bards. Cairbar ſhall rejoice on his winds,”
+
Cathmor's ſwelling ſoul aroſe. He took the dagger from his ſide; and placed
+ it gleaming in my hand. He placed it, in my hand, with ſighs, and, ſilent, ſtrode away, Mine eyes
+ followed his departure. He dimly gleamed, like the form of a ghoſt, which meets a traveller, by
+ night, on the dark-ſkirted heath. His words are dark like ſongs of old : with morning ſtrides the
+ unfiniſhed ſhade away !Display note
+
Who comes from Lubar's vale? From the ſkirts of the morning miſt ? The drops
+ of
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ heaven are on his head. His ſteps are in the paths of
+ the ſad. It is Carril of other times. He comes from Tura's ſilent cave. I behold it dark in the
+ rock, thro' the thin folds of miſt. There, perhaps, Cuthullin ſits, on the blaſt which bends its
+ trees. Pleaſant is the ſong of the morning from the bard of Erin!
+
“The waves crowd away,” ſaid Carril. “They crowd away for fear. They hear
+ the ſound of thy coming forth, O ſun! Terrible is thy beauty, ſon of heaven, when death is
+ deſcending on thy locks: when thou rolleſt thy vapors before thee, over the blaſted hoſt. But
+ pleaſant is thy beam to the hunter, ſitting by the rock in a ſtorm, when thou ſheweſt thyſelf
+ from the parted cloud, and brighteneſt his dewy locks: he looks down on the ſtreamy vale, and
+ beholds the deſcent of roes! How long ſhalt thou riſe on war, and roll, a bloody ſhield, thro'
+ heaven ? I ſee the deaths of heroes, dark-wandering over thy face!”
+
“Why wander the words of Carril?” I ſaid. “Does the ſon of heaven mourn ? He
+ is unſtained in his courſe, ever rejoicing in his fire.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Roll on, thou careleſs light. Thou too, perhaps, muſt fall.
+ Thy darkening hour may ſeize thee, ſtruggling, as thou rolleſt through thy ſky. But pleaſant is
+ the voice of the bard: pleaſant to Oſſian's ſoul! It is like the ſhower of the morning, when it
+ comes through the ruſtling vale, on which the ſun looks thro miſt, juſt riſing from his rocks.
+ But this is no time, O bard, to ſit down, at the ſtrife of ſong. Fingal is in arms on the vale.
+ Thou ſeeft the flaming ſhield of the king. His face darkens between his locks. He beholds the
+ wide rolling of Erin. Does not Carril behold that tomb, beſide the roaring ſtream ? Three ſtones
+ lift their grey heads, beneath a bending oak. A king is lowly laid ! Give thou his ſoul to the
+ wind. He is the brother of Cathmor ! Open his airy hall! Let thy ſong be a ſtream of joy to
+ Cairbar's darkened ghoſt.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
Morning coming on, Fingal, after a ſpeech to his people, devolves the
+ command on Gaul, the ſon of Morni ; it being the cuſtom of the times, that the king ſhould not
+ engage, till the neceſſity of affairs required his ſuperior valour and conduct. The king and
+ Oſſian retire to the rock of Cormul, which overlooked the field of battle. The bards ſing the
+ war-ſong. The general conflict is deſcribed. Gaul, the ſon of Morni, diſtinguiſhes himſelf ;
+ kills Tur-lathon, chief of Moruth, and other chiefs of leſſer name. On the other hand, Foldath,
+ who commanded the Iriſh army (for Cathmor, after the example of Fingal, kept himſelf from battle)
+ fights gallantly ; kills Connal, chief of Dun-lora, and advances to engage Gaul himſelf. Gaul, in
+ the mean time, being wounded in the hand, by a random arrow, is covered by Fillan, the ſon of
+ Fingal, who performs prodigies of valour. Night comes on. The horn of Fingal recalls his army.
+ The bards meet them, with a congratulatory ſong, in which the praiſes of Gaul and Fillan are
+ particularly celebrated. The chiefs ſit down at a feaſt; Fingal miſſes Connal. The epiſode of
+ Connal and Duthcaron is introduced ; which throws further light on the ancient hiſtory of
+ Ireland. Carril is diſpatched to raiſe the tomb of Connal. The action of this book takes up the
+ ſecond day, from the opening of the poem.
Who is that, at blue-ſtreaming Lubar ? Who, by the bending hill of roes ?
+ Tall, he leans on an oak torn from high, by nightly winds. Who but Comhal's ſon, brightening in
+ the laſt of his fields? His grey hair is on the breeze. He half unſheaths the ſword of Luno. His
+ eyes are turned to Moi-lena, to the dark moving of foes. Doſt thou hear the voice of the king? It
+ is like the burſting of a ſtream, in the deſart, when it comes, between its ecchoing rocks, to
+ the blaſted field of the ſun !
+
“Wide-skirted comes down the foe! Sons of woody Selma, ariſe. Be ye like the
+ rocks of our land, on whoſe brown ſides are the rolling of ſtreams. A beam of joy comes on my
+ ſoul. I ſee the foe mighty before me. It is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ when he is feeble, that the ſighs of Fingal
+ are heard : leſt death ſhould come, without renown, and darkneſs dwell on his tomb. Who ſhall
+ lead the war, againſt the hoſt of Alnecma ? It is, only when danger grows, that my ſword ſhall
+ ſhine. Such was the cuſtom, heretofore, of Trenmor the ruler of winds! and thus deſcended to
+ battle the blue-ſhielded Trathal !”
+
The Chiefs bend toward the king. Each darkly ſeems to claim the war. They
+ tell, by halves, their mighty deeds. They turn their eyes on Erin. But far before the reſt the
+ ſon of Morni ſtands. Silent he ſtands, for who had not heard of the battles of Gaul? They roſe
+ within his ſoul. His hand, in ſecret, ſeized the ſword. The ſword which he brought from Strumon,
+ when the ſtrength of Morni failedDisplay note.
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ On his ſpear leans Fillan of SelmaDisplay note, in the wandering of his locks. Thrice he raiſes his eyes
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to Fingal: his voice thrice fails him, as he ſpeaks. My
+ brother could not boaſt of battles: at once he ſtrides away. Bent over a diſtant ſtream he
+ ſtands: the tear hangs in his eye. He ſtrikes, at times, the thiſtle's head, with his inverted
+ ſpear. Nor is he unſeen of Fingal. Sidelong he beholds his ſon. He beholds him, with burſting joy
+ ; and turns, amid his crowded ſoul. In ſilence turns the king toward Mora of woods. He hides the
+ big tear with his locks. At length his voice is heard.
+
“First of the ſons of Morni! Thou rock that defieſt the ſtorm! Lead thou my
+ battle, for the race of low-laid Cormac. No boy's ſtaff is thy ſpear : no harmleſs beam of light
+ thy ſword. Son of Morni of ſteeds, behold the foe ! Deſtroy ! Fillan, obſerve the chief! He is
+ not calm in ſtrife : nor burns he, heedleſs, in battle. My ſon, obſerve the chief! He is ſtrong
+ as Lubar's ſtream, but never foams and roars. High on cloudy Mora, Fingal ſhall behold the war.
+ Stand, OſſianDisplay note, near thy father, by the falling
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtream. Raiſe the voice, O bards! Selma, move beneath the
+ ſound. It is my latter field. Clothe it over with light.”
+
As the ſudden riſing of winds; or diſtant rolling of troubled ſeas, when ſome dark ghoſt, in
+ wrath, heaves the billows over an iſle: an iſle, the ſeat of miſt, on the deep, for many
+ dark-brown years ! So terrible is the ſound of the hoſt, wide-moving over the field. Gaul is tall
+ before them. The ſtreams glitter within his ſtrides. The bards raiſe the ſong by his ſide. He
+ ſtrikes his ſhield between. On the ſkirts of the blaſt, the tuneful voices riſe.
+
“On Crona,” ſaid the bards, “there burſts a ſtream by night. It ſwells in
+ its own dark courſe, till morning's early beam. Then comes it white from the hill, with the rocks
+ and their hundred groves. Far be my ſteps from Crona. Death is tumbling there. Be ye a ſtream
+ from Mora, ſons of cloudy Morven !”
+
“Who riſes, from his car, on Clutha ? The hills are troubled before the king
+ ! The dark woods eccho round, and lighten at his ſteel. See him, amidſt the foe, like Colgach'sDisplay note ſportful
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ghoſt; when he ſcatters the clouds, and rides the eddying
+ winds! It is MorniDisplay note of bounding ſteeds Be like thy father, O Gaul!”
+
“Selma is opened wide. Bards take the trembling harps. Ten youths bear the
+ oak of the feaſt. A diſtant ſun-beam marks the hill. The duſty waves of the blaſt fly over the
+ fields of graſs. Why art thou ſilent, O Selma? The king returns with all his fame. Did not the
+ battle roar ; yet peaceful is his brow ? It roared, and Fingal overcame. Be like thy father, O
+ Fillan !”
+
They move beneath the ſong. High wave their arms, as ruſhy fields, beneath
+ autumnal
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ winds. On Mora ſtands the king in arms. Miſt flies round his
+ buckler abroad; as, aloft, it hung on a bough, on Cormul's moſſy rock. In ſilence I ſtood by
+ Fingal, and turned my eyes on Cromla'sDisplay note wood; leſt I ſhould behold the hoſt, and ruſh amid my ſwelling ſoul. My foot is forward
+ on the heath. I glittered, tall, in ſteel : like the falling ſtream of Tromo, which nightly winds
+ bind over with ice. The boy ſees it, on high, gleaming to the early beam : toward it he turns his
+ ear, and wonders why it is ſo ſilent !
+
Nor bent over a ſtream is Cathmor, like a youth in a peaceful field. Wide he
+ drew forward the war, a dark and troubled wave. But when he beheld Fingal on Mora ; his generous
+ pride aroſe, “Shall the chief of Atha fight, and no king in the field? Foldath lead my people
+ forth. Thou art a beam of fire.”
+
Forth-issues Foldath of Morna, like a cloud, the robe of ghoſts. He drew his
+ ſword, a flame, from his ſide. He bade the battle move. The tribes, like ridgy waves, dark pour
+ their ſtrength around. Haughty is his ſtride before
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ them. His red eye rolls in wrath. He calls Cormul chief of DunrathoDisplay note; and his words were heard.
+
“Cormul, thou beholdeſt that path. It winds green behind the foe. Place thy
+ people there; leſt Selma ſhould eſcape from my ſword. Bards of green-valleyed Erin, let no voice
+ of yours ariſe. The ſons of Morven muſt fall without ſong. They are the foes of Cairbar.
+ Hereafter ſhall the traveller meet their dark, thick miſt on Lena, where it wanders, with their
+ ghoſts, beſide the reedy lake. Never ſhall they riſe, without ſong, to the dwelling of
+ winds.”
+
Cormul darkened, as he went. Behind him ruſhed his tribe. They ſunk beyond
+ the rock. Gaul ſpoke to Fillan of Selma ; as his eye purſued the courſe of the dark-eyed chief of
+ Dunratho. “Thou beholdeft the ſteps of Cormul! Let thine arm be ſtrong! When he is low, ſon
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of Fingal, remember Gaul in war. Here I fall forward into
+ battle, amid the ridge of ſhields.”
+
The ſign of death aſcends: the dreadful ſound of Morni's ſhield, Gaul pours
+ his voice between. Fingal riſes on Mora. He ſaw them, from wing to wing, bending at once in
+ ſtrife. Gleaming, on his own dark hill, ſtood Cathmor of ſtreamy Atha. The kings were like two
+ ſpirits of heaven, ſtanding each on his gloomy cloud; when they pour abroad the winds, and lift
+ the roaring ſeas. The blue-tumbling of waves is before them, marked with the paths of whales.
+ They themſelves are calm and bright. The gale lifts ſlowly their locks of miſt!
+
What beam of light hangs high in air! What beam, but Morni's dreadful ſword
+ ! Death is ſtrewed on thy paths, O Gaul! Thou foldeſt them together in thy rage. Like a young oak
+ falls Tur-lathonDisplay note, with his branches round him. His high-boſomed ſpouſe ſtretches her white arms, in
+ dreams, to the returning chief, as ſhe ſleeps by gurgling Moruth, in her diſordered locks. It is
+ his ghoſt, Oichoma. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ chief is lowly laid. Hearken not to the winds for Turlathon's
+ ecchoing ſhield. It is pierced, by his ſtreams. Its ſound is paſt away.
+
Not peaceful is the hand of Foldath. He winds his courſe in blood. Connal
+ met him in fight. They mixed their clanging ſteel. Why ſhould mine eyes behold them! Connal, thy
+ locks are grey ! Thou wert the friend of ſtrangers, at the moſs-covered rock of Dun-lora. When
+ the ſkies were rolled together : then thy feaſt was ſpread. The ſtranger heard the winds without;
+ and rejoiced at thy burning oak. Why, ſon of Duth-caron, art thou laid in blood ! The blaſted
+ tree bends above thee. Thy ſhield lies broken near. Thy blood mixes with the ſtream ; thou
+ breaker of the ſhields!
+
Ossian took the ſpear, in his wrath. But Gaul ruſhed forward on Foldath. The
+ feeble paſs by his ſide: his rage is turned on Morna's Chief. Now they had raiſed their deathful
+ ſpears : unſeen an arrow came. It pierced the hand of Gaul. His ſteel fell ſounding to earth.
+ Young Fillan cameDisplay note, with Cormul's ſhield ! He
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtretched it large before the chief. Foldath ſent his ſhouts
+ abroad, and kindled all the field : as a blaſt that lifts the wide-winged flame, over Lumon's
+ ecchoing grovesDisplay note.
+
“Son of blue-eyed Clatho,” ſaid Gaul, “O Fillan, thou art a beam from
+ heaven; that, coming on the troubled deep, binds up the tempeſt's wing. Cormul is fallen before
+ thee. Early art thou in the fame of thy fathers. Ruſh not too far, my hero. I cannot lift the
+ ſpear to aid. I ſtand harmleſs in battle: but my voice ſhall be poured abroad. The ſons of Selma
+ ſhall hear, and remember my former deeds.”
+
His terrible voice roſe on the wind. The hoſt bends forward in fight. Often
+ had they heard him, at Strumon, when he called them to the chace of the hinds. He ſtands tall,
+ amid the war, as an oak in the ſkirts of a ſtorm, which now is clothed on high, in miſt : then
+ ſhews its broad, waving head. The muſing hunter lifts his eye, from his own ruſhy field !
+
My ſoul purſues thee, O Fillan, through the path of thy fame. Thou rolledſt
+ the foe before thee. Now Foldath, perhaps, may fly : but night comes down with its clouds.
+ Cathmor's horn is heard on high. The ſons of Selma hear
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the voice of Fingal, from Mora's gathered miſt. The bards pour
+ their ſong, like dew, on the returning war.
+
“Who comes from Strumon,” they ſaid, “amid her wandering locks? She is
+ mournful in her ſteps, and lifts her blue eyes toward Erin. Why art thou ſad, Evir-chomaDisplay note? Who is like thy chief in renown? He deſcended dreadful to battle; he returns, like a
+ light from a cloud. He raiſed the ſword in wrath : they ſhrunk before blue-ſhielded Gaul !”
+
“Joy, like the ruſtling gale, comes on the ſoul of the king. He remembers
+ the battles of old ; the days, wherein his fathers fought. The days of old return on Fingal's
+ mind, as he beholds the renown of his ſon. As the ſun rejoices, from his cloud, over the tree his
+ beams have raiſed, as it ſhakes its lonely head on the heath ; ſo joyful is the king over Fillan
+ !”
+
“As the rolling of thunder on hills, when Lara's fields are ſtill and dark,
+ ſuch are the ſteps of Selma pleaſant and dreadful to the ear. They return with their ſound, like
+ eagles to their darkbrowed rock, after the prey is torn on the field, the dun ſons of the
+ bounding hind, Your
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ fathers rejoice from their clouds, ſons of ſtreamy
+ Selma !”
+
Such was the nightly voice of bards, on Mora of the hinds. A flame roſe,
+ from an hundred oaks, which winds had torn from Cormul's ſteep. The feaſt is ſpread in the midſt
+ : around ſat the gleaming chiefs. Fingal is there in his ſtrength. The eagle-wingDisplay note of his helmet ſounds. The ruſtling blaſts of the weſt, unequal ruſh through night. Long
+ looks the king in ſilence round : at length, his words are heard.
+
“My ſoul feels a want in our joy. I behold a breach among my friends. The
+ head of one tree is low. The ſqually wind pours in on Selma. Where is the chief of Dun-lora ?
+ Ought Connal to be forgot at the feaſt? When did he forget the ſtranger, in the midſt of his
+ ecchoing hall? Ye are ſilent in my preſence! Connal is then no more. Joy meet thee, O warrior,
+ like a ſtream of light. Swift be thy courſe to thy fathers, along the roaring winds. Oſſian, thy
+ ſoul is fire: kindle the memory of the king. Awake the battles of Connal, when firſt he ſhone in
+ war. The locks of Connal were grey. His days
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of youthDisplay note were mixed with mine. In one day Duthcaron firſt ſtrung our bows, againſt the roes of
+ Dun-lora.”
+
“Many,” I ſaid, “are our paths to battle, in green vallied Erin. Often did
+ our ſails ariſe, over the blue-tumbling waves ; when we came, in other days, to aid the race of
+ Conar. The ſtrife roared once in Alnecma, at the foam-covered ſtreams of Duth-úlaDisplay note. With Cormac deſcended to battle Duthcaron from cloudy Selma. Nor deſcended Duthcaron
+ alone, his ſon was by his ſide, the long-haired youth of Connal lifting the firſt of his ſpears.
+ Thou didſt command them, O Fingal, to aid the king of Erin.”
+
“Like the burſting ſtrength of ocean, the ſons of Bolga ruſhed to war. Colc-ullaDisplay note was before
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ them, the chief of blue-ſtreaming Atha. The battle was mixed
+ on the plain. CormacDisplay note ſhone in his own ſtrife, bright as the forms of his fathers. But, far before the reſt,
+ Duthcaron hewed down the foe. Nor ſlept the arm of Connal, by his father's ſide. Colc-ulla
+ prevailed on the plain : like ſcattered miſt, fled the people of CormacDisplay note.”
+
“Then roſe the ſword of Duthcaron, and the ſteel of broad-ſhielded Connal.
+ They ſhaded
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ their flying friends, like two rocks with their heads of pine.
+ Night came down on Duth-ula: ſilent ſtrode the chiefs over the field. A mountain-ſtream roared
+ acroſs the path, nor could Duthcaron bound over its courſe. Why ſtands my father? ſaid Connal. I
+ hear the ruſhing foe.”
+
“Fly, Connal,” he ſaid. “Thy father's ſtrength begins to fail. I come
+ wounded from battle. Here let me reſt in night. “But thou ſhalt not remain alone,” ſaid Connal's
+ burſting ſigh. “My ſhield is an eagle's wing to cover the king of Dun-lora.” He bends dark above
+ his father. The mighty Duthcaron dies.”
+
Day roſe, and night returned. No lonely bard appeared, deep-muſing on the
+ heath: and could Connal leave the tomb of his father, till he ſhould receive his fame? He bent
+ the bow againſt the roſe of Duth-ula. He ſpread the lonely feaſt. Seven nights he laid his head
+ on the tomb, and ſaw his father in his dreams. He ſaw him rolled, dark, in a blaſt, like the
+ vapor of reedy Lego. At length the ſteps of ColganDisplay note came, the bard of high Temora. Duthcaron
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ received his fame, and brightened, as he roſe on the wind.”
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Pleasant to the ear,” ſaid Fingal, “is the
+ praiſe of the kings of men ; when their bows are ſtrong in battle; when they ſoften at the ſight
+ of the ſad. Thus let my name be renowned, when bards ſhall lighten my riſing ſoul. Carril, ſon of
+ Kinfena ! take the bards and raiſe a tomb. Tonight let Connal dwell, within his narrow houſe. Let
+ not the ſoul of the valiant wander on the winds. Faint glimmers the moon on Moi-lena, through the
+ broad-headed groves of the hill! Raiſe ſtones, beneath its beam, to all the fallen in war. Though
+ no chiefs were they, yet their hands were ſtrong in fight. They were my rock in danger. The
+ mountain from which I ſpread my eagle-wings. Thence am I renowned. Carril forget not the low
+ !”
+
Loud, at once, from the hundred bards, roſe the ſong of the tomb. Carril
+ ſtrode before them, they are the murmur of ſtreams behind his ſteps. Silence dwells in the vales
+ of Moi-lena, where each, with its own dark rill, is winding between the hills. I heard the voice
+ of the bards, leſſening, as they moved along. I leaned forward from my ſhield ; and felt the
+ kindling of my ſoul. Half-formed the words of my ſong, burſt forth upon the wind. So hears a
+ tree, on the vale, the voice of ſpring around. It pours its green leaves to the ſun. It ſhakes:
+ its lonely
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ head. The hum of the mountain bee is near it; the hunter ſees
+ it, with joy, from the blaſted heath.
+
Young Fillan, at a diſtance ſtood. His helmet lay glittering on the ground.
+ His dark hair is looſe to the blaſt. A beam of light is Clatho's ſon ! He heard the words of the
+ king, with joy. He leaned forward on his ſpear.
+
“My ſon,” ſaid car-borne Fingal; “I ſaw thy deeds, and my ſoul was glad. The
+ fame of our fathers, I ſaid, burſts from its gathering cloud. Thou art brave, ſon of Clatho : but
+ headlong in the ſtrife. So did not Fingal advance, though he never feared a foe. Let thy people
+ be a ridge behind. They are thy ſtrength in the field. Then ſhalt thou be long renowned, and
+ behold the tombs of the old. The memory of the paſt returns, my deeds in other years : when firſt
+ I deſcended from ocean on the green-valleyed iſle.”
+
We bend towards the voice of the king. The moon looks abroad from her cloud.
+ The grey-ſkirted miſt is near : the dwelling of the ghoſts!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
The ſecond night continues. Fingal relates, at the feaſt, his own firſt
+ expedition into Ireland, and his marriage with Ros-crána, the daughter of Cormac, king of that
+ iſland. The Iriſh chiefs convene in the preſence of Cathmor. The ſituation of the king deſcribed.
+ The ſtory of Sul-mala, the daughter of Conmor, king of Inis-huna, who, in the diſguiſe of a young
+ warrior, had followed Cathmor to the war. The ſullen behaviour of Foldath, who had commanded in
+ the battle of the preceding day, renews the difference between him and Malthos; but Cathmor,
+ interpoſing, ends it. The chiefs feaſt, and hear the ſong of Fonar the bard. Cathmor returns to
+ reſt, at a diſtance from the army. The ghoſt of his brother Cairbar appears to him in a dream;
+ and obſcurely foretels the iſſue of the war. The ſoliloquy of the king. He diſcovers Sul-malla.
+ Morning comes. Her ſoliloquy cloſes the book.
Display note“Beneath an oak,” ſaid the king, “I ſat on Selma's ſtreamy rock, when
+ Connal roſe, from the ſea, with the broken ſpear of Duth-caron. Far-diſtant ſtood the youth. He
+ turned away his eyes. He remembered the ſteps of his father, on his own green hills. I darkened
+ in my place. Duſky thoughts flew over my ſoul. The kings of Erin roſe before me. I
+ half-unſheathed the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſword. Slowly approached the chiefs. They lifted up their
+ ſilent eyes. Like a ridge of clouds, they wait for the burſting forth of my voice. My voice was,
+ to them, a wind from heaven to roll the miſt away.”
+
“I bade my white ſails to riſe, before the roar of Cona's wind. Three
+ hundred youths looked, from their waves, on Fingal's boſſy ſhield. High on the maſt it hung, and
+ marked the dark-blue ſea. But when night came down, I ſtruck, at times, the warning boſs : I
+ ſtruck, and looked on high, for fiery-haired Ul-erinDisplay note. Nor abſent was the ſtar of heaven. It travelled red between the clouds. I purſued the
+ lovely beam, on the faint-gleaming deep. With morning, Erin roſe in miſt. We came into the bay of
+ Moi-lena, where its blue waters tumbled, in the boſom of ecchoing woods. Here Cormac, in his
+ ſecret hall, avoids the ſtrength of Colc-ulla. Nor he alone avoids the foe. The blue eye of
+ Ros-crana is there : Ros-cranaDisplay note, white-handed maid, the daughter of the king!”
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Grey, on his pointleſs ſpear, came forth
+ the aged ſteps of Cormac. He ſmiled, from his waving locks, but grief was in his ſoul. He ſaw us
+ few before him, and his ſigh aroſe. “I ſee the arms of Trenmor, he ſaid; and theſe are the ſteps
+ of the king ! Fingal! thou art a beam of light to Cormac's darkened ſoul. Early is thy fame, my
+ ſon: but ſtrong are the foes of Erin. They are like the roar of ſtreams in the land, ſon of
+ car-borne Comhal !” “Yet they may be rolledDisplay note away,” I ſaid in my riſing ſoul. “We are not of the race of the feeble, king of
+ blue-ſhielded hoſts! Why ſhould fear come amongſt us, like a ghoſt of night? The ſoul of the
+ valiant grows, when foes increaſe in the field. Roll no darkneſs, king of Erin, on the young in
+ war!”
+
“The burſting tears of the king came down. He ſeized my hand in ſilence.
+ “Race of the daring Trenmor!” at length he ſaid, “I roll no cloud before thee. Thou burneſt in
+ the fire
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of thy fathers. I behold thy fame. It marks thy courſe in
+ battle, like a ſtream of light. But wait the coming of CairbarDisplay note, my ſon muſt join thy ſword. He calls the ſons of Erin, from all their diſtant
+ ſtreams.”
+
“We came to the hall of the king, where it roſe in the midſt of rocks, on
+ whoſe dark ſides, were the marks of ſtreams of old. Broad oaks bend around with their moſs. The
+ thick birch is waving near. Half-hid, in her ſhady grove, Ros-crana raiſes the ſong. Her white
+ hands move on the harp. I beheld her blue-rolling eyes. She was like a ſpiritDisplay note of heaven half-folded in the ſkirt of a cloud !”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“Three days we feaſt at Moi-lena. She riſes bright in my troubled ſoul.
+ Cormac beheld me dark. He gave the white-boſomed maid. She comes with bending eye, amid the
+ wandering of her heavy locks. She came! Straight the battle roared. Colc-ulla appeared : I took
+ my ſpear. My ſword roſe, with my people, againſt the ridgy foe. Alnecma fled, Colc-ulla fell.
+ Fingal returned with fame.”
+
Renowned is he, O Fillan, who fights, in the ſtrength of his hoſt. The bard
+ purſues his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſteps, thro' the land of the foe. But he who fights alone, few
+ are his deeds to other times! He ſhines, to-day, a mighty light. To-morrow, he is low. One ſong contains his fame. His name is on One dark field. He
+ is forgot ; but where his tomb ſends forth the tufted graſs.”
+
Such are the words of Fingal, on Mora of the roes. Three bards, from the
+ rock of Cormul, pour down the pleaſing ſong. Sleep deſcends, in the ſound, on the broad-ſkirted
+ hoſt. Carril returned, with the bards, from the tomb of Dun-lora's chief. The voice of morning
+ ſhall not come, to the duſky bed of Duth-caron. No more ſhalt thou hear the tread of roes, around
+ thy narrow houſe!
+
As roll the troubled clouds, round a meteor of night, when they brighten
+ their ſides, with its light, along the heaving ſea: ſo gathers Erin, around the gleaming form of
+ Cathmor. He, tall in the midſt, careleſs lifts, at times, his ſpear : as
+ ſwells or falls the ſound of Fonar's diſtant harp.Display note Near him leaned, againſt a
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ rock, Sul-mallaDisplay note of blue eyes, the white-boſomed daughter of Conmor, king of Inis-huna. To his aid came
+ blue-ſhielded Cathmor, and rolled his foes away. Sul-malla beheld him ſtately in the hall of
+ feaſts. Nor careleſs rolled the eyes of Cathmor on the long-haired maid!
+
The third day aroſe, when FithilDisplay note came, from Erin of the ſtreams. He told of the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ lifting up of the ſhieldDisplay note in Selma : He told of the danger of Cairbar. Cathmor raiſed the ſail at Cluba : but the
+ winds were in other lands. Three days he remained on the coaft, and turned his eyes on Conmor's
+ halls, He remembered the daughter of ſtrangers, and his ſigh aroſe. Now when the winds awaked the
+ wave: from the hill came a youth in arms; to lift the ſword with Cathmor, in his ecchoing fields.
+ It was the white-armed Sul-malla. Secret ſhe dwelt
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ beneath her helmet. Her ſteps were in the path of the king :
+ on him her blue eyes rolled with joy, when he lay by his roaring ſtreams! But Cathmor thought,
+ that, on Lumon, ſhe ſtill purſued the roes. He thought, that fair on a rock, ſhe ſtretched her
+ white hand to the wind ; to feel its courſe from Erin, the green dwelling of her love. He had
+ promiſed to return, with his white-boſomed ſails. The maid is near thee, O Cathmor ! leaning on
+ her rock.
+
The tall forms of the chiefs ſtand around ; all but dark-browed FoldathDisplay note. He leaned againſt a diſtant tree, rolled into his haughty ſoul. His buſhy hair whiſtles
+ in wind. At times, burſts the hum of a ſong. He ſtruck the tree, at length, in wrath ; and ruſhed
+ before the king ! Calm and ſtately, to the beam of the oak, aroſe the form of young Hidalla. His
+ hair falls round his bluſhing cheek, in wreaths of waving light. Soft was his voice in Clon-raDisplay note, in the valley of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ his fathers, Soft was his voice when he touched the harp, in
+ the hall, near his roaring ſtreams !
+
“King of Erin,” ſaid Hidalla, “now is the time to feaſt. Bid the voice of
+ bards ariſe. Bid them roll the night away. The ſoul returns, from ſong, more terrible to war.
+ Darkneſs ſettles on Erin. From hill to hill bend the ſkirted clouds. Far and grey, on the heath,
+ the dreadful ſtrides of ghoſts are ſeen : the ghoſts of thoſe who fell bend forward to their
+ ſong. Bid, O Cathmor, the harps to riſe, to brighten the dead, on their wandering blaſts.”
+
“Be all the dead forgot,” ſaid Foldath's burſting wrath. “Did not I fail in
+ the field? Shall I then hear the ſong? Yet was not my courſe harmleſs in war. Blood was a ſtream
+ around my ſteps. But the feeble were behind me. The foe has eſcaped from my ſword. In Clonra's
+ vale touch thou the harp. Let Dura anſwer to the voice of Hidalla, Let ſome maid look, from the
+ wood, on thy long, yellow locks. Fly from Lubar's ecchoing plain. This is the field of heroes
+ !”
+
“King of ErinDisplay note,” Malthos ſaid, “it is Thine to lead in war. Thou
+ art a fire to our eyes, on the dark-brown field. Like a blaſt
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ thou haſt paſt over hoſts. Thou haſt laid them low in blood. But who has heard thy words returning
+ from the field ? The wrathful delight in death : Their remembrance reſts on the wounds of their
+ ſpear. Strife is folded in their thoughts: their words are
+ ever heard. Thy courſe, chief of Morna, was like a troubled ſtream. The dead were rolled on thy
+ path ; but others alſo lift the ſpear. We were not feeble behind thee ; but the foe was
+ ſtrong.”
+
Cathmor beheld the riſing rage, and bending forward of either chief: for,
+ half-unſheathed, they held their ſwords, and rolled their ſilent eyes. Now would they have mixed
+ in horrid fray, had not the wrath of Cathmor burned. He drew his ſword: it gleamed thro' night,
+ to the high-flaming oak ! “Sons of pride,” ſaid the king, “allay your ſwelling ſouls. Retire in
+ night. Why ſhould my rage ariſe? Should I contend with both in arms? It is no
+ time for ſtrife ! Retire, ye clouds, at my feaſt. Awake my ſoul no more.”
+
They ſunk from the King on either ſide ; likeDisplay note two columns of morning miſt, when the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſun riſes, between them, on his glittering rocks. Dark is their
+ rolling on either ſide; each toward its reedy pool !
+
Silent ſat the chiefs at the feaſt. They look, at times, on Atha's king,
+ where he ſtrode, on his rock, amid his ſettling ſoul. The hoſt lie, along the field. Sleep
+ deſcends on Moi-lena. The voice of Fonar aſcends alone, beneath his diſtant tree. It aſcends in
+ the praiſe of Cathmor, ſon of LarthonDisplay note of Lumon. But Cathmor did not hear his praiſe. He lay at the roar
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of a ſtream. The ruſtling breeze of night flew over his
+ whiſtling locks,
+
His brother came to his dreams, half-ſeen from his low-hung cloud. Joy roſe
+ darkly in his face. He had heard the ſong of CarrilDisplay note. A blaſt ſuſtained his dark-ſkirted cloud ; which he ſeized in the boſom of night, as he
+ roſe, with his fame, towards his airy hall. Half-mixed with the noiſe of the ſtream, he poured
+ his feeble words.
+
“Joy meet the ſoul of Cathmor. His voice was heard on Moi-lena. The bard
+ gave his ſong to Cairbar. He travels on the wind. My form is in my father's hall, like the
+ gliding of a terrible light, which darts acroſs the deſart, in a ſtormy night. No bard ſhall be
+ wanting at thy tomb, when thou art lowly laid. The ſons of ſong love the valiant. Cathmor, thy
+ name
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ is a pleaſant gale. The mournful ſounds ariſe ! On Lubar's field
+ there is a voice ! Louder ſtill, ye ſhadowy ghoſts ! The dead were full of fame! Shrilly ſwells
+ the feeble ſound. The rougher blaſt alone is heard ! Ah, ſoon is Cathmor low!” Rolled into
+ himſelf he flew, wide on the boſom of winds. The old oak felt his departure, and ſhook its
+ whiſtling head. Cathmor ſtarts from reſt. He takes his deathful ſpear. He lifts his eyes around.
+ He ſees but dark-ſkirted night.
+
“ItDisplay note was the voice of the king,” he ſaid. “But now his form is gone. Unmarked is your path in
+ the air, ye children of the night. Often like a reflected beam, are ye ſeen in the deſart wild :
+ but ye retire in your blaſts, before our ſteps approach. Go then, ye feeble race! Knowledge with
+ you there is none ! Your joys are weak, and like the dreams of our reſt, or the light-winged
+ thought, that flies acroſs the ſoul. Shall Cathmor ſoon be low ? Darkly laid in his narrow houſe
+ ? Where no morning comes, with her half-opened eyes? Away, thou ſhade!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to fight is mine! All further thought away! I ruſh forth, on
+ eagle wings, to ſeize my beam of fame. In the lonely vale of ſtreams, abides the narrowDisplay note ſoul. Years roll on. ſeaſons return, but he is ſtill unknown. In a blaſt comes cloudy
+ death, and lays his grey head low. His ghoſt is folded in the vapour of the fenny field. Its
+ courſe is never on hills, nor moſſy vales of wind. So ſhall not Cathmor depart. No boy in the
+ field was he, who only marks the bed of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ roes, upon the ecchoing hills. My iſſuing forth was with kings.
+ My joy in dreadful plains : where broken hoſts are rolled away, like ſeas before the wind.”
+
So ſpoke the king of Alnecma, brightening in his rifing ſoul. Valour, like a
+ pleaſant flame, is gleaming within his breaſt. Stately is his ſtride on the heath! The beam of
+ eaſt is poured around. He ſaw his grey hoſt on the field, wide-ſpreading their ridges in light.
+ He rejoiced, like a ſpirit of heaven, whoſe ſteps come forth on the ſeas, when he beholds them
+ peaceful round, and all the winds are laid. But ſoon he awakes the waves, and rolls them large to
+ ſome ecchoing ſhore.
+
On the ruſhy bank of a ſtream, ſlept the daughter of Inis-huna. The helmet
+ had fallen from her head. Her dreams were in the lands of her fathers. There
+ morning is on the field. Grey ſtreams leap down from the rocks. The breezes, in ſhadowy waves,
+ fly over the ruſhy fields. There is the ſound that prepares for the chace. There the moving of warriors from the hall. But tall above the reſt is ſeen the
+ hero of ſtreamy Atha. He bends his eye of love on Sul-malla, from his ſtately ſteps. She turns, with pride, her face away, and careleſs bends the bow.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Such were the dreams of the maid, when Cathmor of Atha came. He ſaw her fair
+ face before him, in the midſt of her wandering locks. He knew the maid of Lumon. What ſhould
+ Cathmor do? His ſighs ariſe. His tears come down. But ſtraight he turns away. “This is no time,
+ king of Atha, to awake thy ſecret ſoul. The battle is rolled before thee, like a troubled
+ ſtream.”
+
He ſtruck that warning boſsDisplay note, wherein dwelt the voice of war. Erin roſe around him, like the ſound of eagle-wing.
+ Sul-malla ſtarted from ſleep, in her diſordered locks. She ſeized the helmet from earth. She
+ trembled in her place. “Why ſhould they know in Erin of the daughter of Inis-huna ?” She
+ remembered the race of kings. The pride of her ſoul aroſe! Her ſteps are behind a rock, by the
+ blue-winding ſtreamDisplay note of a vale : where dwelt the dark-brown hind ere yet the war aroſe. Thither came the voice
+ of Cathmor, at times, to Sul-malla's ear. Her
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſoul is darkly ſad. She pours her words on wind.
+
“The dreams of Inis-huna departed. They are diſperſed from my ſoul. I hear
+ not the chace in my land. I am concealed in the ſkirt of war. I look forth from my cloud. No beam
+ appears to light my path. I behold my warrior low ; for the broad-ſhielded king is near, he that
+ overcomes in danger, Fingal from Selma of ſpears ! Spirit of departed Conmor ! are thy ſteps on
+ the boſom of winds? Comeſt thou, at times, to other lands, father of ſad Sul-malla ? Thou doſt
+ come ! I have heard thy voice at night; while yet I roſe on the wave to Erin of the ſtreams. The
+ ghoſt of fathers, they ſayDisplay note, call away the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſouls of their race, while they behold them lonely in the
+ midſt of woe. Call me, my father, away ! When Cathmor is low on earth. Then ſhall Sul-malla be
+ lonely in the midſt of woe !”
The poet, after a ſhort addreſs to the harp of Cona, deſcribes the arrangement of both armies
+ on either ſide of the river Lubar. Fingal gives the command to Fillan ; but, at the ſame time,
+ orders Gaul, the ſon of Morni, who had been wounded in the hand in the preceding battle, to
+ aſſiſt him with his counſel. The army of the Fir-bolg is commanded by Foldath. The general onſet
+ is deſcribed. The great actions of Fillan. He kills Rothmar and Culmin. But when Fillan conquers,
+ in one wing, Foldath preſſes hard on the other. He wounds Dermid, the ſon of Duthno, and puts the
+ whole wing to flight. Dermid deliberates with himſelf, and, at laſt, reſolves to put a ſtop to
+ the progreſs of Foldath, by engaging him in ſingle combat. When the two chiefs were approaching
+ towards one another, Fillan came ſuddenly to the relief of Dermid ; engaged Foldath, and killed
+ him. The behaviour of Malthos towards the fallen Foldath. Fillan puts the whole army of the
+ Fir-bolg to flight. The book cloſes with an addreſs to Clatho, the mother of that hero.
Thou dweller between the ſhields, that hang, on high, in Oſſian's hall!
+ Deſcend from thy place, O harp, and let me hear thy voice! Son of Alpin, ſtrike the ſtring. Thou
+ muſt awake the ſoul of the bard. The murmur of Lora'sDisplay note ſtream has rolled the tale away. I ſtand in the cloud of years. Few are its openings
+ toward the paſt; and when the viſion comes, it is but dim and dark. I hear thee, harp of Selma !
+ my ſoul returns, like a breeze, which the ſun brings back to the vale, where dwelt the lazy miſt
+ !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ LubarDisplay note is bright before me in the windings of its vale. On either ſide, on their hills, riſe the
+ tall forms of the kings. Their people are poured around them, bending forward to their words: as
+ if their fathers ſpoke, deſcending from the winds. But they themſelves are like two rocks in the
+ midſt; each with its dark head of pines, when they are ſeen in the deſart, above low-failing
+ miſt. High on their face are ſtreams, which ſpread their foam on blaſts of wind!
+
Beneath the voice of Cathmor pours Erin, like the ſound of flame. Wide they
+ come down to Lubar. Before them is the ſtride of Foldath. But Cathmor retires to his hill,
+ beneath his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ bending oak. The tumbling of a ſtream is near the king. He
+ lifts, at times, his gleaming ſpear. It is a flame to his people, in the midſt of war. Near him
+ ſtands the daughter of Con-mor, leaning on a rock. She did not rejoice at the ſtrife. Her ſoul
+ delighted not in blood. A valleyDisplay note ſpreads green behind the hill, with its three blue ſtreams. The ſun is there in ſilence.
+ The dun mountain-roes come down. On theſe are turned the eyes of Sul-malla in her thoughtful
+ mood.
+
Fingal beholds Cathmor, on high, the ſon of Borbar-duthul ! he beholds the
+ deep-rolling of Erin, on the darkened plain. He ſtrikes that warning boſs, which bids the people
+ to obey ; when he ſends his chiefs before them, to the field of renown. Wide riſe their ſpears to
+ the ſun. Their ecchoing ſhields reply around. Fear, like a vapour, winds not among the hoſt: for
+ he, the king, is near, the ſtrength of ſtreamy Selma. Gladneſs brightens the
+ hero. We hear his words with joy.
+
“Like the coming forth of winds, is the ſound of Selma's ſons! They are
+ mountain waters, determined in their courſe. Hence is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Fingal renowned. Hence is his name in other lands. He was not a
+ lonely beam in danger ; for your ſteps were always near! But never was Fingal a dreadful form, in
+ your preſence, darkened into wrath. My voice was no thunder to your ears. Mine eyes ſent forth no
+ death. When the haughty appeared, I beheld them not. They were forgot at my feaſts. Like miſt
+ they melted away. A young beam is before you! Few are his paths to war ! They are few, but he is
+ valiant. Defend my dark-haired ſon. Bring Fillan back with joy. Hereafter he may ſtand alone, His
+ form is like his fathers. His ſoul is a flame of their fire. Son of car-borne Morni, move behind
+ the youth. Let thy voice reach his ear, from the ſkirts of war. Not unobſerved rolls battle,
+ before thee, breaker of the ſhields!”
+
The king ſtrode, at once, away to Cormul's lofty rock. Intermitting, darts
+ the light, from his ſhield, as, ſlow the king of heroes moves. Sidelong rolls his eye o'er the
+ heath, as forming advance the lines. Graceful, fly his halfgrey locks, round his kingly features,
+ now lightened with dreadful joy. Wholly mighty is the chief! Behind him dark and flow I moved.
+ Straight came forward the ſtrength of Gaul. His ſhield hung looſe on its thong. He ſpoke, in
+ haſte,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to Oſſian. “BindDisplay note, ſon of Fingal, this ſhield ! Bind it high to the ſide of Gaul. The foe may behold it,
+ and think I lift the ſpear. If I ſhould fall, let my tomb be hid in the field ; for fall I muſt
+ without fame. Mine arm cannot lift the ſteel. Let not Evir-choma hear it, to bluſh between her
+ locks. Fillan, the mighty behold us ! Let us not forget the ſtrife. Why ſhould they come, from their hills, to aid our flying field ?”
+
He ſtrode onward, with the ſound of his ſhield. My voice purſued him, as he
+ went, “Can the ſon of Morni fall, without his fame in Erin? But the deeds of the mighty are
+ forgot by themſelves. They ruſh careleſs over the fields of renown. Their words are never heard
+ !” I rejoiced over the ſteps of the chief. I ſtrode to the rock of the king, where he ſat, in his
+ wandering locks, amid the mountain-wind !
+
In two dark ridges bend the hoſts, toward each other, at Lubar. Here Foldath
+ riſes a pillar of darkneſs : there brightens the youth of Fillan. Each, with his ſpear in the
+ ſtream, ſent forth the voice of war. Gaul ſtruck the ſhield of Selma. At once they plunge in
+ battle! Steel pours its gleam on ſteel : like the fall of ſtreams
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhone the field, when they mix their foam together, from two
+ dark-browed rocks ! Behold he comes the ſon of fame He lays the people low ! Deaths ſit on blaſts
+ around him ! Warriors ſtrew thy paths, O Fillan !
+
RothmarDisplay note, the ſhield of warriors, ſtood between two chinky rocks. Two oaks, which winds had bent
+ from high, ſpread their branches on either ſide. He rolls his darkening eyes on Fillan, and,
+ ſilent, ſhades his friends. Fingal ſaw the approaching fight. The hero's ſoul aroſe. But as the
+ ſtone of LodaDisplay note falls, ſhook,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ at once, from rocking Druman-ard, when ſpirits heave the earth
+ in their wrath ; ſo fell blue-ſhielded Rothmar.
+
Near are the ſteps of Culmin. The youth came, burſting into tears. Wrathful
+ he cut the wind, ere yet he mixed his ſtrokes with Fillan. He had firſt bent the bow with
+ Rothmar, at the rock of his own blue ſtreams. There they had marked the place of the roe, as the
+ ſun-beam flew over the fern. Why, ſon of Cul-allin! Why, Culmin, doſt thou ruſh on that beamDisplay note of light? It is a fire that conſumes. Son of Cul-allin retire. Your fathers were not
+ equal, in the glittering ſtrife of the field. The mother of Culmin remains in the hall. She looks
+ forth on blue-rolling Strutha. A whirlwind riſes, on the ſtream, dark-eddying round the ghoſt of
+ her ſon. His dogsDisplay note are howling
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in their place. His ſhield is bloody in the hall. “Art thou
+ fallen, my fair-haired ſon, in Erin's diſmal war ?”
+
As a roe, pierced in ſecret, lies panting, by her wonted ſtreams ; the
+ hunter ſurveys her feet of wind : He remembers her ſtately bounding before. So lay the ſon of
+ Cul-allin, beneath the eye of Fillan. His hair is rolled in a little ſtream. His blood wanders on
+ his ſhield. Still his hand holds the ſword, that failed him in the midſt of danger. “Thou art
+ fallen,” ſaid Fillan, “ere yet thy fame was heard. Thy father ſent thee to war. He expects to
+ hear of thy deeds. He is grey, perhaps, at his ſtreams, His eyes are toward Moi-lena. But thou
+ ſhalt not return, with the ſpoil of the fallen foe !”
+
Fillan pours the flight of Erin before him, over the reſounding heath. But,
+ man on man, fell Morven before the dark-red rage of Foldath : for, far on the field, he poured
+ the roar of half his tribes. Dermid ſtands before him in wrath. The ſons of Selma gathered
+ around.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ But his ſhield is cleft by Foldath. His people fly over the
+ heath.
+
Then ſaid the foe, in his pride, “They have fled. My fame begins! Go,
+ Malthos, go bid Cathmor guard the dark-rolling of ocean ; that Fingal may not eſcape from my
+ ſword. He muſt lie on earth. Beſide ſome fen ſhall his tomb be ſeen. It ſhall
+ riſe without a ſong. His ghoſt ſhall hover, in miſt, over the reedy pool.”
+
Malthos heard, with darkening doubt. He rolled his ſilent eyes. He knew the
+ pride of Foldath. He looked up to Fingal on his hills: then darkly turning, in doubtful mood, he
+ plunged his ſword in war.
+
In Clono'sDisplay note narrow vale, where bend two trees above the ſtream, dark, in his grief, ſtood
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Duthno's ſilent ſon. The blood pours from the ſide of Dermid.
+ His ſhield is broken near. His ſpear leans againſt a ſtone. Why, Dermid, why ſo ſad? “I hear the
+ roar of battle. My
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ people are alone. My ſteps are ſlow on the heath; and no
+ ſhield is mine. Shall he then prevail ? It is then after Dermid is ſlow! I will call thee forth,
+ O Foldath, and meet thee yet in fight.”
+
He took his ſpear, with dreadful joy. The ſon of Morni came. “Stay, ſon of
+ Duthno, ſtay thy ſpeed. Thy ſteps are marked with blood. No boſſy ſhield is thine. Why ſhouldſt
+ thou fall unarmed?” “Son of Morni! give thou thy ſhield. It has often rolled back the war. I
+ ſhall ſtop the chief, in his courſe. Son of Morni! behold that ſtone! It lifts its grey head
+ thro' graſs. There dwells a chief of the race of Dermid. Place me there in night.”
+
He ſlowly roſe againſt the hill. He ſaw the troubled field: The gleaming
+ ridges of battle, disjoined and broken round. As diſtant fires, on heath by night, now ſeem as
+ loſt in ſmoak; now rearing their red ſtreams on the hill, as blow or ceaſe the winds : ſo met the
+ intermitting war the eye of broad-ſhielded Dermid. Thro' the hoſt are the ſtrides of Foldath,
+ like ſome dark ſhip on wintry waves, when ſhe iſſues from between two iſles, to ſport on
+ reſounding ocean !
+
Dermid, with rage, beholds his courſe. He ſtrives to ruſh along. But he
+ fails amid his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſteps; and the big tear comes down. He ſounds his father's
+ horn. He thrice ſtrikes his boſſy ſhield. He calls thrice the name of Foldath, from his roaring
+ tribes. Foldath, with joy, beholds the chief. He lifts aloft his bloody ſpear. As a rock is
+ marked with ſtreams, that fell troubled down its ſide in a ſtorm; ſo, ſtreaked with wandering
+ blood, is the dark chief of Morna ! The hoſt, on either ſide, withdraw from the contending of
+ kings. They raiſe, at once, their gleaming points. Ruſhing comes Fillan of Selma. Three paces
+ back Foldath withdraws, dazzled with that beam of light, which came, as iſſuing from a cloud, to
+ ſave the wounded chief. Growing in his pride he ſtands. He calls forth all his ſteel.
+
As meet two broad-winged eagles, in their ſounding ſtrife, in winds : ſo
+ ruſh the two chiefs, on Moi-lena, into gloomy fight. By turns are the ſteps of the kingsDisplay note forward on their rocks above; for now the duſky war ſeems to deſcend on their ſwords.
+ Cathmor feels the joy of warriors, on his moſſy hill: their joy in ſecret, when dangers rife to
+ match their ſouls. His eye is not turned on Lubar, but on Selma's dreadful king. He beholds him,
+ on Mora, riſing in his arms.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
FoldathDisplay note falls on his ſhield. The ſpear of Fillan pierced the king. Nor looks the youth on the
+ fallen, but onward rolls the war. The hundred voices of death ariſe. “Stay, ſon of Fingal, ſtay
+ thy ſpeed. Beholdeſt thou not that gleaming form, - a dreadful ſign of death ?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Awaken not the king of Erin. Return, ſon of blue-eyed
+ Clatho.”
+
MalthosDisplay note beholds Foldath low. He darkly ſtands above the chief. Hatred is rolled from his ſoul. He
+ ſeems a rock in a deſart, on whoſe dark ſide are the trickling of waters ; when the ſlow-ſailing
+ miſt has left it, and all its trees are blaſted with winds. He ſpoke to the dying hero, about the
+ narrow houſe. “Whether ſhall thy grey ſtone rife in Ullin, or in Morna'sDisplay note woody land ? where the ſun looks, in ſecret, on the blue ſtreams of DalruthoDisplay note ?
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ There are the ſteps of thy daughter, blue-eyed Dardu-lena
+ !”
+
“Rememberest thou her,” ſaid Foldath, “becauſe no ſon is mine: no youth to
+ roll the battle before him, in revenge of me ? Malthos, I am revenged. I was not peaceful in the
+ field. Raiſe the tombs of thoſe I have ſlain, around my narrow houſe. Often ſhall I forſake the
+ blaſt, to rejoice above their graves; when I behold them ſpread around, with their long-whiſtling
+ graſs.”
+
His ſoul ruſhed to the vale of Morna, to Dardu-lena's dreams, where ſhe
+ ſlept, by Dalrutho's ſtream, returning from the chace of the hinds. Her bow is near the maid,
+ unſtrung. The breezes fold her long hair on her breaſts. Cloathed in the beauty of youth, the
+ love of heroes lay. Dark-bending, from the ſkirts of the wood, her wounded father ſeemed to come.
+ He appeared, at times, then hid himſelf in miſt. Burfting into tears ſhe roſe. She knew that the
+ chief was low. To her came a beam from his ſoul, when folded in its ſtorms.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Thou wert the laſt of his race, O blue-eyed Dardu-lena !
+
Wide-spreading over ecchoing Lubar, the flight of Bolga is rolled along.
+ Fillan hangs forward on their ſteps. He ſtrews, with dead, the heath. Fingal rejoices over his
+ ſon. Blue-ſhielded Cathmor roſeDisplay note.
+
Son of Alpin, bring the harp. Give Fillan's praiſe to the wind. Raiſe high
+ his praiſe, in mine ear, while yet he ſhines in war.
+
“Leave, blue-eyed Clatho, leave thy hall ! Behold that early beam of thine!
+ The hoſt is withered in its courſe. No further look, it is dark. Light-trembling from the harp,
+ ſtrike, virgins, ſtrike the ſound. No hunter he deſcends, from the dewy haunt of the bounding
+ roe. He bends not his bow on the wind ; nor ſends his grey arrow abroad.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Deep-folded in red war! See battle roll
+ againſt his ſide. Striding amid the ridgy ſtrife, he pours the deaths of thouſands forth. Fillan
+ is like a ſpirit of heaven, that deſcends from the ſkirt of winds. The troubled ocean feels his
+ ſteps, as he ſtrides from wave to wave. His path kindles behind him. Iſlands ſhake their heads on
+ the heaving ſeas! Leave, blue-eyed Clatho, leave thy hall!
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
This book opens with a ſpeech of Fingal, who ſees Cathmor deſcending to the
+ aſſiſtance of his flying army. The king diſpatches Oſſian to the relief of Fillan. He himſelf
+ retires behind the rock of Cormul, to avoid the ſight of the engagement between his ſon and
+ Cathmor. Oſſian advances. The deſcent of Cathmor deſcribed. He rallies the army, renews the
+ battle, and, before Oſſian could arrive, engages Fillan himſelf. Upon the approach of Oſſian, the
+ combat between the two heroes ceaſes. Oſſian and Cathmor prepare to fight, but night coming on
+ prevents them. Oſſian returns to the place where Cathmor and Fillan fought. He finds Fillan
+ mortally wounded, and leaning againſt a rock. Their diſcourſe. Fillan dies: his body is laid, by
+ Oſſian, in a neighbouring cave. The Caledonian army return to Fingal. He queſtions them about his
+ ſon, and, underſtanding that he was killed, retires, in ſilence, to the rock of Cormul. Upon the
+ retreat of the army of Fingal, the Fir-bolg advance. Cathmor finds Bran, one of the dogs of
+ Fingal, lying on the ſhield of Fillan, before the entrance of the cave, where the body of that
+ hero lay. His reflections thereupon. He returns, in a melancholy mood, to his army. Malthos
+ endeavours to comfort him, by the example of his father Borbar-duthal. Cathmor retires to reſt.
+ The ſong of Sul-malla concludes the book, which ends about the middle of the third night, from
+ the opening of the poem.
Display note“Cathmor riſes on his hill! Shall Fingal take the ſword of Luno? But
+ what ſhould become of thy fame, ſon of white-boſomed Clatho? Turn not thine eyes from Fingal,
+ fair daughter of Iniſtore. I ſhall not quench thy early beam. It ſhines along my ſoul. Riſe,
+ wood-ſkirted Mora, riſe between the war and me! Why ſhould Fingal behold the ſtrife, leſt his
+ dark-haired warrior ſhould fall ! Amidſt the ſong, O Carril, pour the ſound of the trembling
+ harp! Here are the voices of rocks! and there the bright tumbling of waters. Father of Oſcar lift
+ the ſpear ! Defend the young in arms. Conceal thy ſteps from Fillan. He
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ muſt not know that I doubt his ſteel. No cloud of mine ſhall
+ riſe, my ſon, upon thy ſoul of fire !”
+
He ſunk behind his rock, amid the ſound of Carril's ſong. Brightening, in my
+ growing ſoul, I took the ſpear of TemoraDisplay note. I ſaw, along Moi-lena, the wild tumbling of battle; the ſtrife of death, in gleaming
+ rows, disjoined and broken round. Fillan is a beam of fire. From wing to wing is his waſteful
+ courſe. The ridges of war melt before him. They are rolled, in ſmoak, from the fields !
+
Now is the coming forth of Cathmor, in the armour of kings! Dark-waves the
+ eagle's wing, above his helmet of fire. Unconcerned are his ſteps, as if they were to the chace
+ of Erin. He raiſes, at times, his terrible voice. Erin, abaſhed, gathers round. Their ſouls
+ return back, like a ſtream. They wonder at the ſteps of their fear. He roſe, like the beam of the
+ morning, on a haunted heath : the traveller looks back, with bending eye, on the field of
+ dreadful forms ! Sudden, from the rock of Moilena, are Sul malla's trembling ſteps. An oak
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ takes the ſpear from her hand. Half-bent ſhe looſes the
+ lance. But then are her eyes on the king, from amid her wandering locks! No friendly ſtrife is
+ before thee ! No light contending of bows, as when the youth of Inis-hunaDisplay note come forth beneath the eye of Conmor !
+
As the rock of Runo, which takes the paſſing clouds as they fly, ſeems
+ growing, in gathered darkneſs, over the ſtreamy heath ; ſo ſeems the chief of Atha taller, as
+ gather his people around. As different blaſts fly over the ſea, each behind its dark-blue wave,
+ ſo Cathmor's words, on every ſide, pour his warriors forth. Nor ſilent on his hill is Fillan. He
+ mixes his words with his ecchoing ſhield. An eagle he ſeemed, with ſounding wings, calling the
+ wind to his rock, when he ſees the coming forth of the roes, on Lutha'sDisplay note ruſhy field !
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Now they bend forward in battle. Death's hundred voices ariſe.
+ The kings, on either ſide, were like fires on the ſouls of the hoſts. Oſſian bounded along. High
+ rocks and trees ruſh tall between the war and me. But I hear the noiſe of ſteel, between my
+ clanging arms. Rifing, gleaming, on the hill, I behold the backward ſteps of hoſts : their
+ backward ſteps, on either ſide, and wildly-looking eyes. The chiefs were met in dreadful fight!
+ The two blue-ſhielded kings! Tall and dark, through gleams of ſteel, are ſeen the ſtriving
+ heroes! I ruſh. My fears for Fillan fly, burning acroſs my ſoul.
+
I come. Nor Cathmor flies; nor yet comes on; he ſidelong ſtalks along. An
+ icy rock, cold, tall he ſeems. I call forth all my ſteel. Silent awhile we ſtride, on either ſide
+ of a ruſhing ſtream : then, ſudden turning, all at once, we raiſe our pointed ſpears! We raiſe
+ our ſpears, but night comes down. It is dark and ſilent round ; but where the diſtant ſteps of
+ hoſts are ſounding over the heath!
+
I come to the place where Fillan fought. Nor voice, nor ſound is there. A
+ broken helmet lies on earth, a buckler cleft in twain. Where, Fillan, where art thou, young chief
+ of ecchoing Morven ? He hears me leaning on a rock,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ which bends its grey head over the ſtream. He hears ; but
+ ſullen, dark he ſtands. At length I ſaw the hero !
+
“Why ſtandeſt thou, robed in darkneſs, ſon of woody Selma ? Bright is thy
+ path, my brother, in this dark-brown field ! Long has been thy ſtrife in battle! Now the horn of
+ Fingal is heard. Aſcend to the cloud of thy father, to his hill of feaſts. In the evening miſt he
+ ſits, and hears the ſound of Carril's harp. Carry joy to the aged, young breakers of the ſhields
+ !”
+
“Can the vanquiſhed carry joy ? Oſſian, no ſhield is mine ! It lies broken
+ on the field. The eagle-wing of my helmet is torn. It is when foes fly before them, that fathers
+ delight in their ſons. But their ſighs burſt forth, in ſecret, when their young warriors yield.
+ No : Fillan ſhall not behold the king! Why ſhould the hero mourn ?”
+
“Son of blue-eyed Clatho! O Fillan, awake not my ſoul ! Wert thou not a
+ burning fire before him ? Shall he not rejoice? Such fame belongs not to Oſſian ; yet is the king
+ ſtill a ſun to me. He looks on my ſteps, with joy. Shadows never riſe on his face. Aſcend, O
+ Fillan, to Mora ! His feaſt is ſpread in the folds of miſt.”
+
“Ossian! give me that broken ſhield : theſe feathers that are rolled in the
+ wind. Place them
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ near to Fillan, that leſs of his fame may fall. Oſſian, I
+ begin to fail. Lay me in that hollow rock. Raiſe no ſtone above, left one ſhould aſk about my
+ fame. I am fallen in the firſt of my fields; fallen without renown. Let thy voice alone ſend joy to my flying ſoul. Why ſhould the bard know where dwells the loſt beam of ClathoDisplay note !”
“Is thy ſpirit on the eddying winds, O Fillan, young breaker of ſhield !
+ Joy purſue my hero, through his folded clouds. The forms of thy fathers, O Fillan, bend to
+ receive their ſon. I behold the ſpreading of their fire on Mora : the blue-rolling of their miſty
+ wreaths. Joy meet thee my brother! But we are dark and ſad! I behold the foe round the aged. I
+ behold the waſting away of his fame. Thou art left alone in the field, O grey-haired king of
+ Selma !”
+
I laid him in the hollow rock, at the roar of the nightly ſtream. One red
+ ſtar looked in on the hero. Winds lift, at times, his locks. I liſten. No ſound is heard. The
+ warrior flept ! As lightening on a cloud, a thought came ruſhing along my ſoul. My eyes roll in
+ fire: my
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſtride was in the clang of ſteel. “I will find thee, king of
+ Erin! in the gathering of thy thouſands find thee. Why ſhould that cloud eſcape, that quenched
+ our early beam? Kindle your meteors on your hills, my fathers. Light my daring ſteps. I will
+ conſume in wrathDisplay note. But ſhould not I return ! The king is without a ſon, grey-haired among his foes! His arm
+ is not as in the days of old. His fame grows dim in Erin. Let me not behold him, laid low in his
+ latter field. But can I return to the king ? Will he not aſk about his ſon ? “Thou oughteſt to
+ defend young Fillan.” Oſſian will meet the foe! Green Erin, thy ſounding tread is pleaſant
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to my ear. I ruſh on thy ridgy hoſt, to ſhun the eyes of
+ Fingal. I hear the voice of the king, on Mora's miſty top ! He calls his two ſons! I come, my
+ father, in my grief. I come like an eagle, which the flame of night met in the deſart, and
+ ſpoiled of half his wings !”
+
DistantDisplay note, round the king, on Mora, the broken ridges of Morven are rolled. They turned their eyes
+ : each darkly bends, on his own aſhen ſpear. Silent ſtood the king in the midſt. Thought on
+ thought rolled over his ſoul. As waves on a ſecret mountain-lake, each with its back of foam. He
+ looked ; no ſon appeared, with his long-beaming ſpear. The ſighs roſe, crowding, from his ſoul ;
+ but he concealed his grief. At length I ſtood beneath an oak. No voice of mine was heard. What
+ could I ſay to Fingal in his hour of woe? His
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ words roſe, at length, in the midſt : the people ſhrunk
+ backward as he ſpokeDisplay note.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
“Where is the ſon of Selma, he who led in war? I behold not his ſteps, among
+ my people, returning from the field. Fell the young bounding roe, who was ſo ſtately on my hills?
+ He fell; for ye are ſilent. The ſhield of war is cleft in twain, Let his armour be near to Fingal
+ ; and the ſword of dark-brown Luno. I am waked on my hills; with morning I deſcend to war.”
+
HighDisplay note on Cormul's rock, an oak is flaming to the wind. The grey ſkirts of miſt are rolled
+ around ; thither ſtrode the King in his wrath.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Diſtant from the hoſt he always lay, when battle burnt within
+ his ſoul. On two ſpears hung his ſhield on high ; the gleaming ſign of death ; that ſhield, which
+ he was wont to ſtrike, by night, before he ruſhed to war. It was then his warriors knew, when the
+ king was to lead in ſtrife; for never was this buckler heard, till the wrath of Fingal aroſe.
+ Unequal were his ſteps on high, as he ſhone in the beam of the oak ; he was dreadful as the form
+ of the ſpirit of night, when he cloaths, on hills, his wild geſtures with miſt, and, iſſuing
+ forth, on the troubled ocean, mounts the car of winds.
+
Nor ſettled, from the ſtorm, is Erin's ſea of war! they glitter, beneath the
+ moon, and, low-humming, ſtill roll on the field. Alone are the ſteps of Cathmor, before them on
+ the heath ; he hangs forward, with all his arms, on Morven's flying hoſt. Now had he come to the
+ moſſy cave, where Fillan lay in night. One tree was bent above the ſtream, which glittered over
+ the rock. There ſhone to the moon the broken
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſhield of Clatho's ſon; and near it, on graſs, lay
+ hairy-footed BranDisplay note. He had miſſed the chief on Mora, and ſearched him along the wind. He thought that the
+ blue-eyed hunter ſlept ; he lay upon his ſhield. No blaſt came over the heath, unknown to
+ bounding Bran.
+
Cathmor ſaw the white-breaſted dog; he ſaw the broken ſhield. Darkneſs is
+ blown back on his ſoul; he remembers the falling away of the people. They come, a ſtream ; are
+ rolled away ; another race ſucceeds, “But ſome mark the fields, as they paſs, with their own
+ mighty
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ names. The heath, through dark-brown years, is theirs; ſome
+ blue ſtream winds to their fame. Of theſe be the chief of Atha, when he lays him down on earth.
+ Often may the voice of future times meet Cathmor in the air : when he ſtrides from wind to wind,
+ or folds himſelf in the wing of a ſtorm.”
+
Green Erin gathered round the king, to hear the voice of his power. Their
+ joyful faces bend, unequal, forward, in the light of the oak. They who were terrible were removed
+ : LubarDisplay note winds again in their hoſt. Cathmor was that beam from heaven which ſhone when his people
+ were dark. He was honoured in the midſt. Their ſouls roſe with ardour around. The king alone no
+ gladneſs ſhewed ; no ſtranger he to war !
+
“Why is the king ſo fad,” ſaid Malthos eagle-eyed? “Remains there a foe at
+ Lubar? Lives
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ there among them, who can lift the ſpear ? Not ſo peaceful was
+ thy father, Borbar-duthulDisplay note, king of ſpears. His rage was a fire that always burned : his joy over fallen foes was
+ great. Three days feaſted the grey-haired hero, when he heard that Calmar fell : Calmar, who
+ aided the race of Ullin, from Lara of the ſtreams. Often did he feel, with his hands, the ſteel
+ which, they ſaid, had pierced his foe. He felt it, with his hands, for Borbar-duthul's eyes had
+ failed. Yet was the king a ſun to his friends; a gale to lift their branches round. Joy was
+ around him in his halls: he loved the ſons of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Bolga. His name remains in Atha, like the awful memory of
+ ghoſts, whoſe preſence was terrible, but they blew the ſtorm away. Now let the voicesDisplay note of Erin raiſe the ſoul of the king; he that ſhone when war was dark, and laid the mighty
+ low. Fonar, from that grey browed rock, pour the tale of other times : pour it on wide-ſkirted
+ Erin, as it ſettles round.”
+
“To me,” ſaid Cathmor, “no ſong ſhall riſe ; nor Fonar ſit on the rock of Lubar. The mighty
+ there are laid low. Difturb not their ruſhing ghoſts. Far, Malthos, far remove the ſound of
+ Erin's ſong. I rejoice not over the foe, when he ceaſes to lift the ſpear. With morning we pour
+ our ſtrength abroad. Fingal is wakened on his ecchoing hill.”
+
Like waves, blown back by ſudden winds, Erin retired, at the voice of the
+ king. Deep-rolled into the field of night, they ſpread their humming tribes. Beneath his own
+ tree, at intervals, eachDisplay note bard ſat down with his harp.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ They raiſed the ſong, and touched the ſtring : each to the
+ chief he loved. Before a burning oak Sul-malla touched, at times, the harp. She touched the harp,
+ and heard, between, the breezes in her hair. In darkneſs near, lay the king of Atha, beneath an
+ aged tree. The beam of the oak was turned from him ; he ſaw the maid, but was not ſeen. His ſoul
+ poured forth,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in ſecret, when he beheld her fearful eye, “But battle is
+ before thee, ſon of Borbar-duthul.”
+
Amidst the harp, at intervals, ſhe liſtened whether the warrior ſlept. Her
+ ſoul was up; ſhe longed, in ſecret, to pour her own ſad ſong. The field is ſilent. On their
+ wings, the blaſts of night retire. The bards had ceaſed; and meteors came, red-winding with their
+ ghoſts. The ſky grew dark ; the forms of the dead were blended with the clouds. But heedleſs
+ bends the daughter of Conmor, over the decaying flame. Thou wert alone in her ſoul, car-borne
+ chief of Atha. She raiſed the voice of the ſong, and touched the harp between.
+
“Clun-galoDisplay note came; ſhe miſſed the maid. Where art thou, beam of light ? Hunters, from the moſſy rock,
+ ſaw ye the blue-eyed fair? Are her ſteps on graſſy Lumon ; near the bed of roes? Ah me! I behold
+ her bow in the hall. Where art thou, beam of light ?”
+
“CeaseDisplay note, love of Conmor, ceaſe; I hear thee
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ not on the ridgy heath, My eye is turned to the king, whoſe
+ path is terrible in war. He for whom my ſoul is up, in the ſeaſon of my reſt. Deep-boſomed in war
+ he ſtands, he beholds me not from his cloud. Why, ſun of Sulmalla, doſt thou not look forth ? I
+ dwell in darkneſs here; wide over me flies the ſhadowy miſt. Filled with dew are my locks : look
+ thou from thy cloud, O ſun of Sul-malla's ſoul.”
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
This book begins, about the middle of the third night from the opening of
+ the poem. The poet deſcribes a kind of miſt, which roſe, by night, from the lake of Lego, and was
+ the uſual reſidence of the ſouls of the dead, during the interval between their deceaſe and the
+ funeral ſong. The appearance of the ghoſt of Fillan above the cave where his body lay. His voice
+ comes to Fingal, on the rock of Cormul. The king ſtrikes the ſhield of Trenmor, which was an
+ infallible ſign of his appearing in arms himſelf. The extraordinary effect of the ſound of the
+ ſhield. Sul-malla, ſtarting from ſleep, awakes Cathmor. Their affecting diſcourſe, She inſiſts
+ with him, to ſue for peace ; he reſolves to continue the war, He directs her to retire to the
+ neighbouring valley of Lona which was the reſidence of an old Druid, until the battle of the next
+ day ſhould be over. He awakes his army with the ſound of his ſhield. The ſhield deſcribed. Fonar,
+ the bard, at the deſire of Cathmor, relates the firſt ſettlement of the Fir-bolg in Ireland,
+ under their leader Larthon. Morning comes. Sul-malla retires, to the valley of Lona. A Lyric ſong
+ concludes the book.
From the wood-ſkirted waters of Lego, aſcend at times, grey-boſomed miſts ;
+ when the gates of the weſt are cloſed, on the ſun's eagle-eye. Wide, over Lara's ſtream, is
+ poured the vapour dark and deep: the moon, like a dim ſhield, is ſwimming thro' its folds. With
+ this, clothe the ſpirits of old their ſudden geſtures on the wind, when they ſtride, from blaſt
+ to blaſt, along the duſky night. Often, blended with the gale, to ſome warrior's graveDisplay note, they
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ roll the miſt, a grey dwelling to his ghoſt, until the ſongs
+ ariſe.
+
A sound came from the deſart ; it was Conar, king of Inis-fail. He poured
+ his miſt on the grave of Fillan, at blue-winding Lubar. Dark and mournful ſat the ghoſt, in his
+ grey ridge of ſmoak. The blaſt, at times, rolled him together : but the form returned again. It
+ returned with bending eyes, and dark winding of locks of miſt.
+
It wasDisplay note dark. The ſleeping hoſt were ſtill, in the ſkirts of night. The flame decayed, on the
+ hill of Fingal; the king lay lonely on his ſhield. His eyes were half-cloſed in ſleep ; the voice
+ of Fillan came. “Sleeps the huſband of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Clatho ? Dwells the father of the fallen in reſt ? Am I
+ forgot in the folds of darkneſs; lonely in the ſeaſon of night ?”
+
“Why doſt thou mix, ſaid the king, with the dreams of thy father? Can I
+ forget thee, my ſon, or thy path of fire in the field ? Not ſuch come the deeds of the valiant on
+ the ſoul of Fingal. They are not there a beam of lightning, which is ſeen, and is then no more. I
+ remember thee, O Fillan, and my wrath begins to riſe.”
+
The king took his deathful ſpear, and ſtruck the deeply-ſounding ſhield :
+ his ſhield that hung high in night, the diſmal ſign of war ! Ghoſts fled on every ſide, and
+ rolled their gathered forms on the wind. Thrice from the winding vale aroſe the voice of deaths.
+ The harpsDisplay note of the bards, untouched, ſound mournful over the hill.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ He ſtruck again the ſhield; battles roſe in
+ the dreams of his hoſt. The wide-tumbling ſtrife is gleaming over their ſouls. Blue-ſhielded
+ kings deſcend to war. Backward-looking armies fly; and mighty deeds are half-hid, in the bright
+ gleams of ſteel.
+
But when the third ſound aroſe, deer ſtarted from the clefts of their rocks.
+ The ſcreams of fowl are heard, in the deſart, as each flew, frighted on his blaſt. The ſons of
+ Selma half-roſe, and half-aſſumed their ſpears. But ſilence rolled back on the hoſt: they knew
+ the ſhield of the king. Sleep returned to their eyes; the field was dark and ſtill.
+
No ſleep was thine in darkneſs, blue-eyed daughter of Conmor! Sul-malla heard the dreadful
+ ſhield, and roſe, amid the night. Her ſteps are towards the king of Atha. “Can danger ſhake his
+ daring ſoul !” In doubt, ſhe ſtands, with bending eyes. Heaven burns with all its ſtars.
+
Again the ſhield reſounds ! She ruſhed. She ſtopt. Her voice half-roſe. It
+ failed. She ſaw him, amidſt his arms, that gleamed to heaven's fire. She ſaw him dim in his
+ locks, that roſe to nightly wind. Away, for fear, ſhe turned her ſteps. “Why ſhould the king of
+ Erin
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ awake? Thou art not a dream to his reſt, daughter of
+ Inis-huna.”
+
More dreadful rings the ſhield. Sul-malla ſtarts. Her helmet falls.
+ Loud-ecchoes Lubar's rock, as over it rolls the ſteel. Burſting from the dreams of night, Cathmor
+ half-roſe, beneath his tree. He ſaw the form of the maid, above him, on the rock. A red ſtar,
+ with twinkling beam, looked thro' her floating hair.
+
“Who comes thro' night to Cathmor, in the ſeaſon of his dreams? Bring'ſt
+ thou ought of war? Who art thou, ſon of night? Stand'ſt thou before me, a form of the times of
+ old? A voice from the fold of a cloud, to warn me of the danger of Erin ?”
+
“Nor lonely ſcout am I, nor voice from folded cloud,” the ſaid ; “but I warn
+ thee of the danger of Erin. Doſt thou hear that ſound ? It is not the feeble, king of Atha, that
+ rolls his ſigns on night.”
+
“Let the warrior roll his ſigns,” he replied; “to Cathmor they are the
+ ſounds of harps. My joy is great, voice of night, and burns over all my thoughts. This is the
+ muſic of kings, on lonely hills, by night; when they light their daring ſouls, the ſons of mighty
+ deeds! The feeble dwell alone, in the valley of the breeze ; where miſts
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ lift their morning ſkirts, from the blue-winding ſtreams.”
+
“Not feeble, king of men, were they, the fathers of my race. They dwelt in
+ the folds of battle, in their diſtant lands. Yet delights not my ſoul, in the ſigns of death! HeDisplay note, who never yields, comes forth : O ſend the bard of peace !”
+
Like a dropping rock, in the deſart, ſtood Cathmor in his tears. Her voice
+ came, a breeze, on his ſoul, and waked the memory of her land ; where ſhe dwelt by her peaceful
+ ſtreams, before he came to the war of Conmor.
+
“Daughter of ſtrangers,” he ſaid ; (ſhe trembling turned away) “long have I
+ marked thee in thy ſteel, young pine of Inis-huna. But my ſoul, I ſaid, is folded in a ſtorm. Why
+ ſhould that beam ariſe, till my ſteps return in peace? Have I been pale in thy preſence, as thou
+ bidſt me to fear the king? The time of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ danger, O maid, is the ſeaſon of my ſoul; for then it
+ ſwells, a mighty ſtream, and rolls me on the foe.”
+
“Beneath the moſs-covered rock of Lona, near his own loud ſtream ; grey in
+ his locks of age, dwells ClonmalDisplay note king of harps. Above him is his ecchoing tree, and the dun bounding of roes. The noiſe of
+ our ſtrife reaches his ear, as he bends in the thoughts of years. There let thy reſt be,
+ Sul-malla, until our battle ceaſe. Until I return, in my arms, from the ſkirts of the evening
+ miſt, that riſes, on Lona, round the dwelling of my love.”
+
A light fell on the ſoul of the maid ; it roſe kindled before the king. She
+ turned her face to Cathmor, from amidſt her waving locks.“Sooner ſhall the eagle of heaven be
+ torn, from the ſtream of his roaring wind, when he ſees the dun prey, before him, the young ſons
+ of the bounding roe, than thou, O Cathmor, be turned from the ſtrife of renown. Soon may I ſee
+ thee, warrior, from the ſkirts of the evening
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ miſt, when it is rolled around me, on Lona of the ſtreams.
+ While yet thou art diſtant far, ſtrike, Cathmor, ſtrike the ſhield, that joy may return to my
+ darkened ſoul, as I lean on the moſſy rock. But if thou ſhouldſt fall, I am in the land of
+ ſtrangers; O ſend thy voice, from thy cloud, to the maid of Inis-huna.”
+
“Young branch of green-headed Lumon, why doſt thou ſhake in the ſtorm? Often
+ has Cathmor returned, from darkly-rolling wars. The darts of death are but hail to me ; they have
+ often rattled along my ſhield. I have riſen brightened from battle, like a meteor from a ſtormy
+ cloud. Return not, fair beam, from thy vale, when the roar of battle grows. Then might the foe
+ eſcape, as from my fathers of old.”
+
“They told to Son-morDisplay note, of ClunarDisplay note, who was ſlain by Cormac in fight. Three days darkened Son-mor, over his brother's fall.
+ His ſpouſe beheld the ſilent king, and foreſaw his ſteps to war. She prepared the bow, in ſecret,
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ to attend her blue-ſhielded hero. To her dwelt darkneſs, at
+ Atha, when he was not there. From their hundred ſtreams, by night, poured down the ſons of
+ Alnecma. They had heard the ſhield of the king, and their rage aroſe. In clanging arms, they
+ moved along, towards Ullin of the groves. Son-mor ſtruck his ſhield, at times, the leader of the
+ war.”
+
“Far behind followed Sul-allinDisplay note, over the ſtreamy hills. She was a light on the mountain, when they croſſed the vale
+ below. Her ſteps were ſtately on the vale, when they roſe on the moſſy hill. She feared to
+ approach the king, who left her in ecchoing Atha. But when the roar of battle roſe; when hoſt was
+ rolled on hoſt; when Son-mor burnt, like the fire of heaven in clouds, with her ſpreading hair
+ came Sul-allin; for ſhe trembled for her king. He ſtopt the ruſhing ſtrife to ſave the love of
+ heroes. The foe fled by night ; Clunar ſlept without his blood ; the blood which ought to be
+ poured upon the warrior's tomb.”
+
“Nor roſe the rage of Son-mor, but his days were ſilent and dark. Sul-allin
+ wandered, by her grey ſtreams, with her tearful eyes. Often did ſhe look, on the hero, when he
+ was folded
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ in his thoughts. But ſhe ſhrunk from his eyes, and turned her
+ lone ſteps away. Battles roſe, like a tempeſt, and drove the miſt from his ſoul. He beheld, with
+ joy, her ſteps in the hall, and the white riſing of her hands on the harp.”Display noteIn his arms ſtrode the chief of Atha, to where his ſhield hung, high,
+ in night : high on a moſſy bough, over Lubar's ſtreamy roar. Seven boſſes roſe on the ſhield; the
+ ſeven voices of the king, which his warriors received, from the wind, and marked over all their
+ tribes.
+
On each boſs is placed a ſtar of night; Canmathon with beams unſhorn ;
+ Col-derna rifing from a cloud : Uloicho robed in miſt; and the ſoft beam of Caitlin glittering on
+ a rock. Smiling, on its own blue wave, Reldurath half-ſinks its weſtern light. The red eye of
+ Berthin looks, thro' a grove, on the hunter, as he returns, by night, with the ſpoils of the
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ bounding roe. Wide, in the midſt, aroſe the cloudleſs beams
+ of Ton-thena, that ſtar which looked, by night, on the courſe of the ſea-toſſed Larthon :
+ Larthon, the firſt of Bolga's race, who travelled on the windsDisplay note. White-boſomed ſpread the ſails of the king, towards ſtreamy Inis-fail ; dun night was
+ rolled before him, with its ſkirts of miſt. Unconſtant blew the winds, and rolled him from wave
+ to wave. Then roſe the fiery-haired Ton-thena, and ſmiled from her parted cloud. LarthonDisplay note bleſſed the well-known beam, as it ſaint-gleamed on the deep.
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Beneath the ſpear of Cathmor, roſe that
+ voice which awakes the bards. They came, dark-winding, from every ſide; each with the ſound of
+ his harp. Before them rejoiced the king, as the traveller, in the day of the ſun; when he hears,
+ far-roiling around, the murmur of moſſy ſtreams ; ſtreams that burſt, in the deſart, from the
+ rock of roes.
+
“Why,” ſaid Fonar, “hear we the voice of the king, in the ſeaſon of his
+ reſt? Were the dim forms of thy fathers bending in thy dreams ? Perhaps they ſtand on that cloud,
+ and wait for Fonar's ſong; often they come to the fields where their ſons are to lift the ſpear.
+ Or ſhall our voice ariſe for him who lifts the ſpear no more; he that conſumed the field, from
+ Morna of the groves ?”
+
“Not forgot is that cloud in war, bard of other times. High ſhall his tomb
+ rife, on Moi-lena, the dwelling of renown. But, now,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ roll back my ſoul to the times of my fathers : to the years
+ when firſt they roſe, on Inis-huna's waves. Nor alone pleaſant to Cathmor is the remembrance of
+ wood-covered Lumon. Lumon of the ſtreams, the dwelling of white-boſomed maids.”Display noteLumon of the ſtreams, thou riſeſt on Fonar's ſoul ! Thy ſun is on thy
+ ſide, on the rocks of thy bending trees. The dun roe is ſeen from thy furze ; the deer lifts his
+ branchy head; for he ſees, at times, the hound, on the half-covered heath. Slow, on the vale, are
+ the ſteps of maids; the white-armed daughters of the bow : they lift their blue eyes to the hill,
+ from amidſt their wandering locks. Not there is the ſtride of Larthon, chief of Inis-huna. He
+ mounts the wave on his own dark oak, in Cluba's ridgy bay. That oak which he cut from Lumon, to
+ bound along the ſea. The maids turn their eyes away, leſt the king ſhould be lowly-laid ; for
+ never had they ſeen a ſhip, dark rider of the wave !”
+
“Now he dares to call the winds, and to mix with the miſt of ocean. Blue Inis-fail roſe, in
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſmoak; but dark-ſkirted night came down. The ſons of Bolga
+ feared. The fiery haired Ton-théna roſe. Culbin's bay received the ſhip, in the boſom of its
+ ecchoing woods. There, iſſued a ſtream, from Duthuma's horrid cave; where ſpirits gleamed, at
+ times, with their half-finiſhed forms.”
+
“Dreams deſcended on Larthon : he ſaw ſeven ſpirits of his fathers. He heard
+ their half-formed words, and dimly beheld the times to come. He beheld the kings of Atha, the
+ ſons of future days. They led their hoſts, along the field, like ridges of miſt, which winds
+ pour, in autumn, over Atha of the groves.”
+
“Larthon raiſed the hall of SamlaDisplay note, to the muſic of the harp. He went forth to the roes of Erin, to their wonted ſtreams.
+ Nor did he forget green-headed Lumon ; he often bounded over his ſeas, to where white-handed FlathalDisplay note looked from the hill of roes. Lumon of the foamy ſtreams, thou riſeſt on Fonar's ſoul
+ !”
+
Morning pours from the eaſt. The miſty heads of the mountains riſe. Valleys
+ ſhew, on
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ every ſide, the grey-winding of their ſtreams. His hoſt
+ heard the ſhield of Cathmor : at once they roſe around ; like a crowded ſea, when firſt it feels
+ the wings of the wind. The waves know not whither to roll; they lift their troubled heads.
+
Sad and ſlow retired Sul-malla to Lona of the ſtreams. She went, and often
+ turned ; her blue eyes rolled in tears. But when ſhe came to the rock, that darkly-covered Lona's
+ vale : ſhe looked, from her burſting ſoul, on the king ; and ſunk, at once, behind,
+
Son of Alpin, ſtrike the ſtring. Is there aught of joy in the harp? Pour it
+ then on the ſoul of Oſſian : it is folded in miſt, I hear thee, O bard, in my night. But ceaſe
+ the lightly-trembling ſound. The joy of grief belongs to Oſſian, amidſt his dark-brown years.
+
Green thorn of the hill of ghoſts, that ſhakeſt thy head to nightly winds! I
+ hear no ſound in thee; is there no ſpirit's windy ſkirt now ruſtling in thy leaves ? Often are
+ the ſteps of the dead, in the dark-eddying blaſts; when the moon, a dun ſhield, from the eaſt, is
+ roiled along the ſky.
+
Ullin, Carril, and Ryno, voices of the days of old! Let me hear you, while
+ yet it is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ dark, to pleaſe and awake my ſoul. I hear you not, ye ſons
+ of ſong. in what hall of the clouds is your reſt? Do you touch the ſhadowy harp, robed with
+ morning miſt, where the ruſtling ſun comes forth from his green-headed waves ?
The fourth morning, from the opening of the poem, comes on. Fingal, ſtill continuing in the
+ place, to which he had retired on the preceding night, is ſeen, at intervals, thro' the miſt,
+ which covered the rock of Cormul. The deſcent of the king is deſcribed. He orders Gaul, Dermid,
+ and Carril the bard, to go to the valley of Cluna, and conduct, from thence, to the Caledonian
+ army, Ferad-artho, the ſon of Cairbre, the only perſon remaining of the family of Conar, the
+ firſt king of Ireland. The king takes the command of the army, and prepares for battle. Marching
+ towards the enemy, he comes to the cave of Lubar, where the body of Fillan lay. Upon ſeeing his
+ dog Bran, who lay at the entrance of the cave, his grief returns. Cathmor arranges the Iriſh army
+ in order of battle. The appearance of that hero. The general conflict is deſcribed. The actions
+ of Fingal and Cathmor. A ſtorm. The total rout of the Firbolg. The two kings engage, in a column
+ of miſt, on the banks of Lubar. Their attitude and conference after the combat. The death of
+ Cathmor. Fingal reſigns the ſpear of Trenmor to Oſſian. The ceremonies obſerved on that
+ occaſion. The ſpirit of Cathmor, in the mean time, appears to Sul-malla, in the valley of Lona.
+ Her ſorrow. Evening comes on. A feaſt is prepared. The coming of Ferad-artho is announced by the
+ ſongs of a hundred bards. The poem cloſes, with a ſpeech of Fingal.
As when the wintry winds have ſeized the waves of the mountain-lake, have
+ ſeized them, in ſtormy night, and cloathed them over with ice; white, to the hunter's early eye,
+ the billows ſtill ſeem to roll. He turns his ear to the ſound of each unequal ridge. But each is
+ ſilent, gleaming, ſtrewn with boughs and tufts of graſs, which ſhake and whiſtle to the wind,
+ over their grey ſeats of froſt. So ſilent ſhone to the morning the ridges of Morven's hoſt, as
+ each warrior looked up from his helmet towards the hill of the king; the cloud-covered hill of
+ Fingal, where he ſtrode, in the folds of miſt. At times is the hero ſeen, greatly dim in all his
+ arms.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ From thought to thought rolled the war, along his mighty
+ ſoul.
+
Now is the coming forth of the king. Firſt appeared the ſword of Luno; the
+ ſpear half iſſuing from a cloud, the ſhield ſtill dim in miſt. But when the ſtride of the king
+ came abroad, with all his grey, dewy locks in the wind ; then roſe the ſhouts of his hoſt over
+ every moving tribe. They gathered, gleaming, round, with all their ecchoing ſhields. So riſe the
+ green ſeas round a ſpirit, that comes down from the ſqually wind. The traveller hears the ſound
+ afar, and lifts his head over the rock. He looks on the troubled bay, and thinks he dimly ſees
+ the form. The waves ſport, unwieldy, round, with all their backs of foam.
+
Far-distant ſtood the ſon of Morni, Duthno's race, and Cona's bard. We ſtood
+ far-diſtant ; each beneath his tree. We ſhunned the eyes of the king; we had not conquered in the
+ field. A little ſtream rolled at my feet: I touched its light wave, with my ſpear. I touched it
+ with my ſpear; nor there was the ſoul of Oſſian. It darkly roſe, from thought to thought, and
+ ſent abroad the ſigh.
+
“Son of Morni,” ſaid the king, “Dermid, hunter of roes ! why are ye dark,
+ like two rocks, each with its trickling waters? No wrath gathers
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ on Fingal's ſoul, againſt the chiefs of men. Ye are my
+ ſtrength in battle; the kindling of my joy in peace. My early voice has been a pleaſant gale to
+ your ears, when Fillan prepared the bow. The ſon of Fingal is not here, nor yet the chace of the
+ bounding roes. But why ſhould the breakers of ſhields ſtand, darkened, far away ?”
+
Tall they ſtrode towards the king ; they ſaw him turned to Mora's wind. His
+ tears came down, for his blue-eyed ſon, who ſlept in the cave of ſtreams. But he brightened
+ before them, and ſpoke to the broad-ſhielded kings.
+
“Crommal, with woody rocks, and miſty top, the field of winds, pours forth,
+ to the fight, blue Lubar's ſtreamy roar. Behind it rolls clear-winding Lavath, in the ſtill vale
+ of deer. A cave is dark in a rock ; above it ſtrong-winged eagles dwell; broad-headed oaks,
+ before it, ſound in Cluna's wind. Within, in his locks of youth, is Ferad-arthoDisplay note, blue-eyed king, the ſon
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of broad-ſhielded Cairbar, from Ullin of the roes. He liſtens
+ to the voice of Condan, as, grey, he bends in feeble light. He liſtens, for his foes dwell in the
+ ecchoing halls of Temora.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ He comes, at times, abroad, in the ſkirts of miſt, to
+ pierce the bounding roes. When the ſun looks on the field, nor by the rock; nor ſtream, is he! He
+ ſhuns the race of Bolga, who dwell in his father's hall. Tell him, that Fingal lifts the ſpear,
+ and that his foes, perhaps, may fail.”
+
“Lift up, O Gaul, the ſhield before him. Stretch, Dermid, Temora's ſpear. Be
+ thy voice in his ear, O Carril, with the deeds of his fathers. Lead him to green Moi-lena, to the
+ duſky field of ghoſts; for there, I fall forward, in battle, in the folds of war. Before dun
+ night deſcends, come to high Dunmora's top. Look, from the grey ſkirts of miſt, on Lena of the
+ ſtreams. If there my ſtandard ſhall float on wind, over Lubar's gleaming ſtream, then has not
+ Fingal failed in the laſt of his fields.”
+
Such were his words; nor aught replied the ſilent, ſtriding kings. They
+ looked ſide-long, on Erin's hoſt, and darkened, as they went. Never before had they left the
+ king, in the midſt of the ſtormy field. Behind them, touching at
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ times his harp, the grey-haired Carril moved. He foreſaw the
+ fall of the people, and mournful was the ſound! It was like a breeze that comes, by fits, over
+ Lego's reedy lake ; when ſleep half-deſcends on the hunter, within his moſſy cave. “Why bends the bard of Cona,” ſaid Fingal, “over his ſecret ſtream ? Is this a time for
+ ſorrow, father of low-laid Oſcar? Be the warriorsDisplay note remembered in peace; when ecchoing ſhields are heard no more. Bend, then, in grief, over
+ the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ flood, where blows the mountain breeze. Let them paſs on
+ thy ſoul, the blue-eyed dwellers of the tomb. But Erin rolls to war ; wide-tumbling, rough, and
+ dark. Lift, Oſſian, lift the ſhield. I am alone, my ſon!”
+
As comes the ſudden voice of winds to the becalmed ſhip of Inis-huna, and
+ drives it large, along the deep, dark rider of the wave; ſo the voice of Fingal ſent Oſſian,
+ tall, along the heath. He lifted high his ſhining ſhield, in the duſky wing of war : like the
+ broad, blank moon, in the ſkirt of a cloud, before the ſtorms ariſe.
+
Loud, from moſs-covered Mora, poured down, at once, the broad-winged war.
+ Fingal led his people forth, king of Morven of ſtreams. On high ſpreads the eagle's wing. His
+ grey hair is poured on his ſhoulders broad. In thunder are his mighty ſtrides. He often ſtood,
+ and ſaw behind, the wide-gleaming rolling of armour. A rock he ſeemed, grey over with ice, whoſe
+ woods are high in wind. Bright ſtreams leap from its head, and ſpread their foam on blaſts.
+
Now he came to Lubar's cave, where Fillan darkly ſlept. Bran ſtill lay on
+ the broken ſhield : the eagle-wing is ſtrewed by the winds. Bright, from withered furze, looked
+ forth the hero's ſpear. Then grief ſtirred the ſoul of the king, like whirlwinds blackening on a
+ lake. He
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ turned his ſudden ſtep, and leaned on his bending ſpear.
+
White-breasted Bran came bounding with joy to the known path of Fingal. He
+ came, and looked towards the cave, where the blue-eyed hunter lay, for he was wont to ſtride,
+ with morning, to the dewy bed of the roe. It was then the tears of the king came dawn, and all
+ his ſoul was dark. But as the riſing wind rolls away the ſtorm of rain, and leaves the white
+ ſtreams to the ſun, and high hills with their heads of graſs : ſo the returning war brightened
+ the mind of Fingal. He boundedDisplay note, on his
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſpear, over Lubar, and ſtruck his ecchoing ſhield. His
+ ridgy hoſt bend forward, at once, with all their pointed ſteel.
+
Nor Erin heard, with fear, the ſound : wide they came rolling along. Dark
+ Malthos, in the wing of war, looks forward from ſhaggy brows. Next roſe that beam of light
+ Hidalla ; then the ſide-long-looking gloom of Maronnan. Blue-ſhielded Clonar lifts the ſpear ;
+ Cormar ſhakes his buſhy locks on the wind. Slowly, from behind a rock, roſe the bright form of
+ Atha. Firſt appeared his two pointed ſpears, then the half of his burniſhed ſhield ; like the
+ riſing of a nightly meteor, over the vale of ghoſts. But when he ſhone all abroad : the hoſts
+ plunged, at once, into ſtrife. The gleaming waves of ſteel are poured on either ſide.
+
As meet two troubled ſeas, with the rolling of all their waves, when they
+ feel the wings of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ contending winds, in the rock-ſided firth of Lumon; along the
+ ecchoing hills is the dim courſe of ghoſts : from the blaſt fall the torn groves on the deep,
+ amidſt the foamy path of whales. So mixed the hoſts! Now Fingal; now Cathmor came abroad. The
+ dark tumbling of death is before them : the gleam of broken ſteel is rolled on their ſteps, as,
+ loud, the high-bounding kings hewed down the ridge of ſhields.
+
Maronnan fell, by Fingal, laid large acroſs a ſtream. The waters gathered by
+ his ſide, and leapt grey over his boſſy ſhield. Clonar is pierced by Cathmor: nor yet lay the
+ chief on earth. An oak ſeized his hair in his fall. His helmet rolled on the ground. By its
+ thong, hung his broad ſhield; over it wandered his ſtreaming blood. Tla-minDisplay note ſhall weep, in the hall, and ſtrike her heaving breaſt.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Nor did Oſſian forget the ſpear, in the
+ wing of his war. He ſtrewed the field with dead. Young Hidalla came. “Soft voice of ſtreamy
+ Clonra ! Why doſt thou lift the ſteel? O that we met, in the ſtrife of ſong, in thy own ruſhy
+ vale !” Malthos beheld him low, and darkened as he ruſhed along. On either ſide of a ſtream, we
+ bend in the ecchoing ſtrife. Heaven comes rolling down : around burſt the voices of ſqually
+ winds. Hills are clothed, at times, in fire.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Thunder rolls in wreaths of miſt. In darkneſs ſhrunk the foe
+ : Morven's warriors ſtood aghaſt. Still I bent over the ſtream, amidſt my whiſtling locks.
+
Then roſe the voice of Fingal, and the ſound of the flying foe. I ſaw the
+ king, at times, in lightning, darkly-ſtriding in his might. I ſtruck my ecchoing ſhield, and hung
+ forward on the ſteps of Alnecma : the foe is rolled before me, like a wreath of ſmoak.
+
The ſun looked forth from his cloud. The hundred ſtreams of Moi-lena ſhone.
+ Slow roſe the blue columns of miſt, againſt the glittering hill. “Where are the mighty kings ?Display note Nor by that ſtream, nor wood, are they ! I hear the clang of arms! Their ſtrife is in the
+ boſom of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ that miſt. Such is the contending of ſpirits in a nightly
+ cloud, when they ſtrive for the wintry wings of winds, and the rolling of the foam-covered
+ waves.
+
I rushed along. The grey miſt roſe. Tall, gleaming, they ſtood at Lubar.
+ Cathmor leaned againſt a rock. His half-fallen ſhield received the ſtream, that leapt from the
+ moſs above. Towards him is the ſtride of Fingal : he ſaw the hero's blood. His ſword fell ſlowly
+ to his ſide. He ſpoke, midſt his darkening joy.
+
“Yields the race of Borbar-duthul ? Or ſtill does he lift the ſpear? Not
+ unheard is thy name, at Atha, in the green dwelling of ſtrangers. It has come, like the breeze of
+ his deſart, to the ear of Fingal. Come to my hill of feaſts: the mighty fail, at times. No fire
+ am I to low-laid foes ; I rejoice not over the fall of the brave. To cloſeDisplay note the wound is mine: I have known
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ the herbs of the hills. I ſeized their fair heads, on high,
+ as they waved by their ſecret ſtreams. Thou art dark and ſilent, king of Atha of ſtrangers.”
+
“By Atha of the ſtream,” he ſaid, “there riſes a moſſy rock. On its head is
+ the wandering of boughs, within the courſe of winds. Dark, in its face, is a cave, with its own
+ loud rill. There have I heard the tread of ſtrangersDisplay note, when they paſſed to my hall of ſhells. Joy roſe, like a flame, on my ſoul: I bleſt the
+ ecchoing rock. Here be my dwelling, in darkneſs; in my graſſy vale. From this I ſhall mount the
+ breeze, that purſues my thiſtle's beard; or look down, on blue-winding Atha, from its wandering
+ miſt.”
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “Why ſpeaks the king of the tomb ?
+ Oſſian! the warrior has failed ! Joy meet thy ſoul, like a ſtream, Cathmor, friend of ſtrangers!
+ My ſon, I hear the call of years; they take my ſpear as they paſs along. Why does not Fingal,
+ they ſeem to ſay, reſt within his hall? Doſt thou always delight in blood? In the tears of the
+ ſad? No: ye dark-rolling years, Fingal delights not in blood. Tears are wintry ſtreams that waſte
+ away my ſoul. But, when I lie down to reſt, then comes the mighty voice of war. It awakes me, in
+ my hall, and calls forth all my ſteel. It ſhall call it forth no more; Oſſian, take thou thy
+ father's ſpear. Lift it, in battle, when the proud ariſe.
+
My fathers, Oſſian, trace my ſteps; my deeds are pleaſant to their eyes. Wherever I come forth
+ to battle, on my field, are their columns of miſt. But mine arm reſcued the feeble; the haughty
+ found my rage was fire. Never over the fallen did mine eye rejoice. For thisDisplay note, my fathers ſhall meet me, at the gates
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ of their airy halls, tall, with robes of light, with
+ mildly-kindled eyes. But, to the proud in arms, they are darkened moons in heaven, which ſend the
+ fire of night, red-wandering over their face.”
+
“Father of heroes, Trenmor, dweller of eddying winds! I give thy ſpear to
+ Oſſian, let thine eye rejoice. Thee have I ſeen, at times, bright from between thy clouds; ſo
+ appear to my ſon, when he is to lift the ſpear: then ſhall he remember thy mighty deeds, though
+ thou art now but a blaſt.”
+
He gave the ſpear to my hand, and raiſed; at once, a ſtone on high, to ſpeak
+ to future times, with its grey head of moſs. Beneath he placed a ſwordDisplay note in earth, and one bright boſs from his ſhield. Dark in thought, a-while, he bends : his
+ words, at length, came forth.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ “When thou, O ſtone, ſhall moulder down,
+ and loſe thee, in the moſs of years, then ſhall the traveller come, and whiſtling paſs away. Thou
+ know'ft not, feeble man, that fame once ſhone on Moi-lena. Here Fingal reſigned his ſpear, after
+ the laſt of his fields. Paſs away, thou empty ſhade; in thy voice there is no renown. Thou
+ dwelleſt by ſome peaceful ſtream ; yet a few years, and thou art gone. No one remembers thee,
+ thou dweller of thick miſt ! But Fingal ſhall be clothed with fame, a beam of light to other
+ times; for he went forth, in ecchoing ſteel, to ſave the weak in arms.”
+
Brightening in his fame, the king ſtrode to Lubar's ſounding oak, where it
+ bent, from its rock, over the bright-tumbling ſtream. Beneath it is a narrow plain, and the ſound
+ of the fount of the rock. Here the ſtandardDisplay note of Morven poured its wreaths on the wind, to mark the way of Ferad-artho, from his ſecret
+ vale. Bright, from his parted weſt, the ſun of heaven looked abroad. The hero ſaw his people, and
+ heard
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ their ſhouts of joy. In broken ridges round, they glittered
+ to the beam. The king rejoiced, as a hunter in his own green vale, when, after the ſtorm is
+ rolled away, he ſees the gleaming ſides of the rocks. The green thorn ſhakes its head in their
+ face; from their top look forward the roes.Display noteGrey, at his moſſy cave, is bent the aged form of Clonmal. The eyes of
+ the bard had failed. He leaned forward, on his ſtaff. Bright, in her locks, before him, Sul-malla
+ liſtened to the tale; the tale of the kings of Atha, in the days of old. The noiſe of battle had
+ ceaſed in his ear: he ſtopt, and raiſed the ſecret ſigh. The ſpirits of the dead, they ſaid,
+ often lightened along his ſoul. He ſaw the king of Atha low, beneath his bending tree.
+
“Why art thou dark,” ſaid the maid? “The ſtrife of arms is paſt. SoonDisplay note ſhall he come to thy cave, over thy winding ſtreams. The ſun looks from the rocks of the
+ weſt. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ miſts of the lake ariſe. Grey, they ſpread on that hill,
+ the ruſhy dwelling of roes. From the miſt ſhall my king appear ! Behold, he comes in his arms.
+ Come to the cave of Clonmal, O my beſt beloved !”
+
It was the ſpirit of Cathmor, ſtalking, large, a gleaming form. He ſunk by
+ the hollow ſtream, that roared between the hills. “It was but the hunter,” ſhe ſaid,“who ſearches
+ for the bed of the roe. His ſteps are not forth to war; his ſpouſe expects him with night. He
+ ſhall, whiſtling, return, with the ſpoils of the dark-brown hinds.” Her eyes were turned to the
+ hill; again the ſtately form came down. She roſe, in the midſt of joy. He retired again in miſt.
+ Gradual vaniſh his limbs of ſmoak, and mix with the mountain-wind. Then ſhe knew that he fell!
+ “King of Erin art thou low!” Let Oſſian forget her grief; it waſtes the ſoul of ageDisplay note.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Evening came down on Moi-lena. Grey rolled the ſtreams of the land. Loud
+ came forth the voice of Fingal : the beam of oaks aroſe. The people gathered round with gladneſs
+ ; with gladneſs blended with ſhades. They ſidelong looked to the king, and beheld his unfiniſhed
+ joy. Pleaſant, from the way of the deſart, the voice of muſic came. It ſeemed, at firſt, the
+ noiſe of a ſtream, far-diſtant on its rocks. Slow it rolled along the hill, like the ruffled wing
+ of a breeze, when it takes the tufted beard of the rocks, in the ſtill ſeaſon of night. It was
+ the voice of Condan, mixed with Carril's trembling harp. They came, with blue-eyed Ferad-artho,
+ to Mora of the ſtreams.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ Sudden burſts the ſong from our bards,
+ on Lena : the hoſt ſtruck their ſhields midſt the ſound. Gladneſs roſe brightening on the king,
+ like the beam of a cloudy day, when it riſes, on the green hill, before the roar of winds. He
+ ſtruck the boſſy ſhield of kings; at once they ceaſe around. The people lean forward, from their
+ ſpears, towards the voice of their landDisplay note.
+
“Sons of Morven, ſpread the feaſt ; ſend the night away in ſong. Ye have
+ ſhone around me; and the dark ſtorm is paſt. My people are the windy rocks, from which I ſpread
+ my eagle
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ wings, when I ruſh forth to renown, and ſeize it on its
+ field. Oſſian, thou haſt the ſpear of Fingal : it is not the ſtaff of a boy with which he ſtrews
+ the thiſtle round, young wanderer of the field. No: it is the lance of the mighty, with which
+ they ſtretched forth their hands to death. Look to thy fathers, my ſon; they are awful beams.
+ With morning lead Ferad-artho forth to the ecchoing halls of Temora. Remind him of the kings of
+ Erin; the ſtately forms of old. Let not the fallen be forgot, they were mighty in the field. Let
+ Carril pour his ſong, that the kings may rejoice in their miſt. To-morrow I ſpread my ſails to
+ Selma's ſhaded walls; where ſtreamy Duthula winds through the ſeats of roes.”
Conlath was the youngeſt of Morni's ſons, and brother to the celebrated Gaul. He was in love
+ with Cuthóna the daughter of Rumar, when Toſcar the ſon of Kinfena, accompanied by Fercuth his
+ friend, arrived, from Ireland, at Mora, where Conlath dwelt. He was hoſpitably received, and
+ according to the cuſtom of the times, feaſted, three days, with Conlath. On the fourth he ſet
+ ſail, and coaſting the iſland of waves, one of the Hebrides, he ſaw Cuthona hunting,
+ fell in love with her, and carried her away, by force, in his ſhip. He was forced, by ſtreſs of
+ weather, into I-thona a deſart iſle. In the mean-time Conlath, hearing of the rape, ſailed after
+ him, and found him on the point of ſailing for the coaſt of Ireland. They fought; and they and
+ their followers fell by mutual wounds. Cuthona did not long ſurvive: for ſhe died of grief the
+ third day after. Fingal, hearing of their unfortunate death, ſent Stormal the ſon of Moran to
+ bury them, but forgot to ſend a bard to ſing the funeral ſong over their tombs. The ghoſt of
+ Conlath comes, long after, to Oſſian, to intreat him to tranſmit, to poſterity, his and
+ Cuthona's fame. For it was the opinion of the times, that the ſouls of the deceaſed were not
+ happy, till their elegies were compoſed by a bard.
Did not Oſſian hear a voice? or is it the ſound of days that are no more?
+ Often does the memory of former times come, like the evening ſun, on my ſoul. The noiſe of the
+ chace is renewed. In thought, I lift the ſpear. But Oſſian did hear a voice ! Who art thou, ſon
+ of night ? The children of the feeble are aſleep. The midnight wind is in my hall. Perhaps it is
+ the ſhield of Fingal that ecchoes to the blaſt. It hangs in Oſſian's hall. He feels it ſometimes
+ with his hands. Yes! I hear thee, my friend ! Long has thy voice been abſent from mine ear ! What
+ brings thee, on thy cloud, to Oſſian, ſon of generous Morni? Are the friends of the aged near
+ thee? Where is Oſcar, ſon of fame? He was often near thee, O Conlath, when the ſound of battle
+ aroſe.
Sleeps the ſweet voice of Cona, in the midſt of his ruſtling hall ? Sleeps
+ Oſſian in his hall, and his friends without their fame? The ſea rolls round dark I-thona. Display note Our
+ tombs are not ſeen in our iſle. How long ſhall our fame be unheard, ſon of reſounding Selma
+ ?
+
+
+
+ Ossian.
+
O that mine eyes could behold thee ! Thou ſitteſt, dim, on thy cloud! Art
+ thou like the miſt of Lano? An half-extinguiſhed meteor of fire? Of what are the ſkirts of thy
+ robe? Of what is thine airy bow? He is gone on his blaſt like the ſhade of a wandering cloud.
+ Come from thy wall, O harp! Let me hear thy ſound. Let the light of memory riſe on I-thona. Let
+ me behold again my friends ! And Oſſian does behold his friends, on the dark-blue iſle. The cave
+ of Thona appears, with its moſſy rocks and bending trees. A ſtream roars at its mouth. Toſcar
+ bends over its courſe, Fercuth is ſad by his ſide. CuthónaDisplay note ſits at a
+ diſtance, and weeps. Does the wind of
+
+ [
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+ the waves deceive me? Or do I hear them ſpeak ?
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
The night was ſtormy. From their hills the groaning oaks came down, The
+ ſea darkly-tumbled beneath the blaſt. The roaring waves climbed againſt our rocks. The lightning
+ came often and ſhewed the blaſted fern. Fercuth ! I ſaw the ghoſt who embroiled the nightDisplay note. Silent he ſtood, on that bank. His robe of miſt flew on the
+ wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man he ſeemed, and full of thought !
+
+
+
+ Fercuth.
+
It was thy father, O Toſcar. He foreſees ſome death among his race. Such was his appearance
+ on Cromla, before the great MaronnanDisplay note fell. Erin of hills of graſs! how pleaſant
+ are thy vales? Silence is near thy blue ſtreams. The ſun is on thy fields. Soft is the
+
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ ſound of the harp in SelámaDisplay note. Lovely the cry of the hunter on Crómla. But we
+ are in dark I-thona, ſurrounded by the ſtorm. The billows lift their white heads above our
+ rocks. We tremble amidſt the night.
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
Whither is the ſoul of battle fled, Fercuth with locks of age? I have ſeen
+ thee undaunted in danger: thine eyes burning with joy in the fight. Whither is the ſoul of
+ battle fled? Our fathers never feared. Go: view the ſettling ſea : the ſtormy wind is laid. The
+ billows ſtill tremble on the deep. They ſeem to fear the blaſt. Go view the ſettling ſea.
+ Morning is grey on our rocks. The ſun will look ſoon from his eaſt; in all his pride of light! I
+ lifted up my ſails, with joy, before the halls of generous Conlath. My courſe was by a deſart
+ iſle : where Cuthona purſued the deer. I ſaw her, like that beam of the ſun that iſſues from the
+ cloud. Her hair was on her heaving breaſt. She, bending forward, drew the bow. Her white arm
+ ſeemed, behind her, like the ſnow of Cromla. Come to my ſoul, I ſaid, huntreſs
+
+ [
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+ ]
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+ of the deſart iſle! But ſhe waſtes her time in tears, She thinks of the
+ generous Conlath. Where can I find thy peace, Cuthona, lovely maid !
A distant ſteep bends over the ſea, with aged trees and moſſy rocks. The
+ billow rolls at its feet. On its ſide is the dwelling of roes. The people call it Mora. There
+ the towers of my love ariſe. There Conlath looks over the ſea for his only love. The daughters
+ of the chace returned. He beheld their downcaft eyes. “Where is the daughter of Rumar ?” But
+ they anſwered not. My peace dwells on Mora, ſon of the diſtant land !
+
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
Cuthona ſhall return to her peace : to the towers of generous Conlath. He
+ is the friend of Toſcar ! I have feaſted in his halls! Riſe, ye gentle breezes of Erin. Stretch
+ my ſails toward Mora's ſhores. Cuthona ſhall reſt on Mora : but the days of Toſcar muſt be ſad.
+ I ſhall ſit in my cave in the field of the ſun. The
+
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+ ]
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+ blaſt will ruſtle in my trees. I ſhall think it is Cuthona's
+ voice. But ſhe is diſtant far, in the halls of the mighty Conlath !
+
+
+
+ Cuthona.
+
Ha ! what cloud is that ? It carries the ghoſts of my fathers. I ſee the
+ ſkirts of their robes, like grey and watry miſt. When ſhall I fall, O Rumar ? Sad Cuthona
+ foreſees her death. Will not Conlath behold me, before I enter the narrow houſeDisplay note ?
+
+
+
+ Ossian.
+
He ſhall behold thee, O maid. He comes along the heaving ſea. The death of
+ Toſcar is dark on his ſpear. A wound is in his ſide ! He is pale at the cave of Thona. He ſhews
+ his ghaſtly wound. Where art thou with thy tears, Cuthona ? The chief of Mora dies. The viſion
+ grows dim, on my mind. I behold the chiefs no more ! But, O ye bards of future times, remember
+ the fall of Conlath with tears. He fell before his day. Sadneſs darkened in his hall. His mother
+ looked to his ſhield on the wall, and it was bloodyDisplay note. She
+ knew that her hero fell.
+
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+ ]
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+ Her ſorrow was heard on Mora. Art thou pale on thy rock, Cuthona, beſide
+ the fallen chiefs ? Night comes, and day returns, but none appears to raiſe their tomb. Thou
+ frighteneſt the ſcreaming fowls away. Thy tears for ever flow. Thou art pale as a watry cloud,
+ that riſes from a lake !
+
The ſons of green Selma came. They found Cuthona cold. They raiſed a tomb
+ over the heroes. She reſts at the ſide of Conlath. Come not to my dreams, O Conlath ! Thou haſt
+ received thy fame. Be thy voice far diſtant from my hall; that ſleep may deſcend at night. O
+ that I could forget my friends : till my footſteps ſhould ceaſe to be ſeen! till I come among
+ them with joy! and lay my aged limbs in the narrow houſe !
Fingal in his voyage to Lochlin, whither he had been invited by Starno the father of
+ Agandecca, touched at Berrathon, an iſland of Scandinavia, where he was kindly entertained by
+ Larthmor the petty king of the place, who was a vaſſal of the ſupreme kings of Lochlin. The
+ hoſpitality of Larthmor gained him Fingal's friendſhip, which that hero manifeſted, after the
+ impriſonment of Larthmor by his own ſon, by ſending Oſſian and Toſcar, the father of Malvina ſo
+ often mentioned, to reſcue Larthmor, and to puniſh the unnatural behaviour of Uthal. Uthal was
+ handſome, and, by the ladies, much admired. Nina-thoma, the beautiful daughter of Torthoma, a
+ neighbouring prince, fell in love and fled with him. He proved unconſtant; for another lady,
+ whoſe name is not mentioned, gaining his affections, he confined Nina-thoma to a deſart iſland
+ near the coaſt of Berrathon. She was relieved by Oſſian, who, in company with Toſcar, landing on
+ Berrathon, defeated the forces of Uthal, and killed him in a ſingle combat. Nina-thoma, whoſe
+ love not all the bad behaviour of Uthal could eraſe, hearing of his death, died of grief. In the
+ mean time Larthmor is reſtored, and Oſſian and Toſcar return in triumph to Fingal,
+
The poem opens with an elegy on the death of Malvina the daughter of Toſcar, and cloſes with
+ preſages of Oſſian's death.
Bend thy blue courſe, O ſtream, round the narrow plain ofDisplay note Lutha. Let the green woods hang over it, from their hills: the ſun look on it at noon.
+ The thiſtle is there on its rock, and ſhakes its beard to the wind. The flower hangs its heavy
+ head, waving, at times, to the gale. “Why doſt thou awake me, O gale,” it ſeems to ſay, “I am
+ covered with the drops of heaven? The time of my fading is near, the blaſt that ſhall ſcatter my
+ leaves. Tomorrow ſhall the traveller come ; he that ſaw me in my beauty ſhall come. His eyes will
+ ſearch the field, but they will not find me?” So ſhall they ſearch in vain, for the voice of
+ Cona, after it has failed in the field. The hunter ſhall come forth in the morning, and the voice
+ of my harp
+
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+ ſhall not be heard. “Where is the ſon of car-borne Fingal ?” The tear
+ will be on his cheek ! Then come thou, O Malvina, with all thy muſic, come. Lay Oſſian in the
+ plain of Lutha : let his tomb riſe in the lovely field.
+
Malvina! where art thou, with thy ſongs, with the ſoft ſound of thy ſteps? SonDisplay note of Alpin art thou near ? where is the daughter of Toſcar? “I paſſed, O ſon of Fingal, by
+ Tor-lutha's moſſy walls. The ſmoke of the hall was ceaſed. Silence was among the trees of the
+ hill. The voice of the chace was over. I ſaw the daughters of the bow. I aſked about Malvina, but
+ they anſwered not. They turned their faces away : thin darkneſs covered their beauty. They were
+ like ſtars, on a rainy hill, by night, each looking faintly thro' her miſt.”
+
PleasantDisplay note be thy reſt, O lovely beam! ſoon haſt thou ſet on our hills ! The ſteps of thy departure
+ were ſtately, like the moon on the blue, trembling wave. But thou haſt left us in darkneſs, firſt
+ of the maids of Lutha ! We ſit, at the rock, and there is no voice; no light but
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ the meteor of fire ! Soon haſt thou ſet, O Malvina, daughter of generous
+ Toſcar ! But thou riſeſt like the beam of the eaſt, among the ſpirits of thy friends, where they
+ ſit, in their ſtormy halls, the chambers of the thunder ! A cloud hovers over Cona. Its blue
+ curling ſides are high. The winds are beneath it, with their wings. Within it is the dwellingDisplay note of Fingal. There the hero ſits in darkneſs. His airy ſpear is in his hand. His ſhield
+ half covered with clouds, is like the darkened moon ; when one half ſtill remains in the wave,
+ and the other looks ſickly on the field !
+
His friends ſit around the King, on miſt ! They hear the ſongs of Ullin : he
+ ſtrikes the half-viewleſs harp. He raiſes the feeble voice. The leſſer heroes, with a thouſand
+ meteors, light the airy hall. Malvina riſes, in the midſt; a bluſh is on her cheek. She beholds
+ the unknown faces of her fathers. She turns aſide her humid eyes. “Art thou come ſo ſoon ?” ſaid
+ Fingal, “daughter of generous Toſcar.
+
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+
+ ]
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+ Sadneſs dwells in the halls of Lutha. My aged ſonDisplay note is ſad ! I hear the breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy locks. It comes to
+ the hall, but thou art not there. Its voice is mournful among the arms of thy fathers ! Go, with
+ thy ruſtling wing, O breeze! ſigh on Malvina's tomb. It riſes yonder beneath the rock, at the
+ blue ſtream of Lutha. The maidsDisplay note are departed to their place. Thou alone, O breeze, mourneſt there!”
+
But who comes from the duſky weſt, ſupported on a cloud? A ſmile is on his
+ grey, watry face. His locks of miſt fly on wind. He bends forward on his airy ſpear. It is thy
+ father, Malvina ! “Why ſhineft thou, ſo ſoon, on our clouds,” he ſays, “O lovely light of Lutha!
+ But thou wert ſad, my daughter. Thy friends had paſſed away. The ſons of little menDisplay note were in the hall. None remained of the heroes, but Oſſian king of ſpears !”
+
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+ ]
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+
+
And doſt thou remember Oſſian, car-borne ToſcarDisplay note, ſon of Conloch ? The battles of our youth were many. Our ſwords went together to the
+ field. They ſaw us coming like two falling rocks. The ſons of the ſtranger fled. “There come the
+ warriors of Cona !” they ſaid. “Their ſteps are in the paths of the flying!” Draw near, ſon of
+ Alpin, to the ſong of the aged. The deeds of other times are in my ſoul. My memory beams on the
+ days that are paſt. On the days of mighty Toſcar, when our path was in the deep. Draw near, ſon
+ of Alpin, to the laſt ſound of the voice of Cona !
+
The king of Morven commanded. I raiſed my ſails to the wind. Toſcar chief of
+ Lutha ſtood at my ſide. I roſe on the dark-blue wave, Our courſe was to ſea-ſurrounded BerrathonDisplay note, the iſle of many ſtorms. There dwelt, with his locks of age, the ſtately ſtrength of
+ Larthmor. Larthmor, who ſpread the feaſt of ſhells to Fingal, when he went to Starno's halls, in
+ the days of Agandecca. But when the chief was old, the pride of his ſon aroſe ; the pride of
+ fair-haired Uthal, the love of a thouſand maids. He bound
+
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+
+ ]
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+ the aged Larthmor, and dwelt in his ſounding halls !
+
Long pined the king in his cave, beſide his rolling ſea. Day did not come to
+ his dwelling ; nor the burning oak by night. But the wind of ocean was there, and the parting
+ beam of the moon. The red ſtar looked on the king, when it trembled on the weſtern wave. Snitho
+ came to Selma's hall : Snitho the friend of Larthmor's youth. He told of the king of Berrathon :
+ the wrath of Fingal aroſe. Thrice he aſſumed the ſpear, reſolved to ſtretch his hand to Uthal.
+ But the memoryDisplay note of his deeds roſe before the king. He ſent his ſon and Tofcar. Our joy was great on the
+ rolling ſea. We often half-unſheathed our ſwords. For never before had we fought alone, in
+ battles of the ſpear.
+
Night came down on the ocean. The winds departed on their wings. Cold and
+ pale is the moon. The red ſtars lift their heads on high. Our courſe is ſlow along the coaſt of
+ Berrathon. The white waves tumble on the rocks. “What voice is that,” ſaid Toſcar, “which comes
+ between the ſounds of the waves? It is ſoft but
+
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+ ]
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+ mournful, like the voice of departed bards. But I behold a maidDisplay note. She ſits on the rock alone. Her head bends on her arm of ſnow. Her dark hair is in the
+ wind. Hear, ſon of Fingal, her ſong, it is ſmooth as the gliding ſtream.” We came to the ſilent
+ bay, and heard the maid of night.
+
“How long will ye roll around me, blue-tumbling waters of ocean ? My
+ dwelling was not always in caves, nor beneath the whiſtling tree. The feaſt was ſpread in
+ Torthóma's hall. My father delighted in my voice. The youths beheld me in the ſteps of my
+ lovelineſs. They bleſſed the dark-haired Nina-thoma. It was then thou didſt come, O Uthal ! like
+ the ſun of heaven ! The ſouls of the virgins are thine, ſon of generous Larthmor ! But why doſt
+ thou leave me alone, in the midſt of roaring waters? Was my ſoul dark with thy death? Did my
+ white hand lift the ſword ? Why then haſt thou left me alone, king of high FinthormoDisplay note !”
+
The tear ſtarted from my eye, when I heard the voice of the maid. I ſtood
+ before her in my arms. I ſpoke the words of peace ! “Lovely
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ dweller of the cave! what ſigh is in thy breaſt ? Shall Oſſian lift his
+ ſword in thy preſence, the deſtruction of thy foes? Daughter of Torthoma, riſe. I have heard the
+ words of thy grief. The race of Morven are around thee, who never injured the weak. Come to our
+ dark-boſomed ſhip! thou brighter than that ſetting moon ! Our courſe is to the rocky Berrathon,
+ to the ecchoing walls of Finthormo.” She came in her beauty ; ſhe came with all her lovely ſteps.
+ Silent joy brightened in her face; as when the ſhadows fly from the field of ſpring ; the
+ blue-ſtream is rolling in brightneſs, and the green buſh bends over its courſe !
+
The morning roſe with its beams. We came to Rothma's bay. A boar ruſhed from
+ the wood : my ſpear pierced his ſide, and he fell. I rejoiced over the bloodDisplay note. I foreſaw my growing fame. But now the ſound of Uthal's train came, from the high
+ Finthormo. They ſpread over the heath to the chace of the boar. Himſelf comes ſlowly on, in the
+ pride of his ſtrength. He lifts two pointed ſpears. On his ſide is the hero's
+
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+ ſword. Three youths carry his poliſhed bows. The bounding of five dogs is
+ before him. His heroes move on, at a diſtance, admiring the ſteps of the king. Stately was the
+ ſon of Larthmor ! but his ſoul was dark! Dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it foretels
+ the ſtorms !
+
We roſe on the heath before the king. He ſtopt in the midſt of his courſe.
+ His heroes gathered around. A gray-haired bard advanced. “Whence are the ſons of the ſtrangers !”
+ began the bard of ſong. “The children of the unhappy come to Berrathon; to the ſword of car-borne
+ Uthal. He ſpreads no feaſt in his hall. The blood of ſtrangers is on his ſtreams. If from Selma's
+ walls ye come, from the moſſy walls of Fingal, chuſe three youths to go to your king to tell of
+ the fall of his people. Perhaps the hero may come and pour his blood on Uthal's ſword. So ſhall
+ the fame of Finthormo ariſe, like the growing tree of the vale!”
+
“Never will it riſe, O bard,” I ſaid in the pride of my wrath. “He would
+ ſhrink from the preſence of Fingal, whofe eyes are the flames of death. The ſon of Comhal comes,
+ and kings vaniſh before him. They are rolled together, like miſt, by the breath of his rage.
+ Shall three tell to Fingal, that his people fell?
+
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+ Yes ! they may tell it, bard ! but his people ſhall fall with fame !”
+
I stood in the darkneſs of my ſtrength. Toſcar drew his ſword at my ſide.
+ The foe came on like a ſtream. The mingled ſound of death aroſe. Man took man, ſhield met ſhield
+ ; ſteel mixed its beams with ſteel. Darts hiſs thro' air. Spears ring on mails. Swords on broken
+ bucklers bound. As the noiſe of an aged grove beneath the roaring wind, when a thouſand ghoſts
+ break the trees by night, ſuch was the din of arms! But Uthal fell beneath my ſword. The ſons of
+ Berrathon fled. It was then I ſaw him in his beauty, and the tear hung in my eye! “Thou art fallenDisplay note, young tree,” I ſaid, “with all thy beauty round thee. Thou art fallen on thy plains, and
+ the field is bare. The winds come from the deſart! there is no ſound in thy leaves ! Lovely art
+ thou in death, ſon of car-borne Larthmor.”
+
Nina-thoma ſat on the ſhore. She heard the ſound of battle. She turned her
+ red eyes on
+
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+ Lethmal, the gray-haired bard of Selma. He alone had remained on the
+ coaſt, with the daughter of Torthoma, “Son of the times of old !” ſhe ſaid, “I hear the noiſe of
+ death. Thy friends have met with Uthal and the chief is low ! O that I had remained on the rock,
+ incloſed with the tumbling waves! Then would my ſoul be ſad, but his death would not reach my
+ ear. Art thou fallen on thy heath, O ſon of high Finthormo ! Thou didſt leave me on a rock, but
+ my ſoul was full of thee. Son of high Finthormo ! art thou fallen on thy heath ?”
+
She roſe pale in her tears. She ſaw the bloody ſhield of Uthal. She ſaw it
+ in Oſſian's hand. Her ſteps were diſtracted on the heath. She flew. She found him. She fell. Her
+ ſoul came forth in a ſigh. Her hair is ſpread on his face. My burſting tears deſcend. A tomb
+ aroſe on the unhappy. My ſong of woe was heard. “Reſt, hapleſs children of youth! Reſt at the
+ noiſe of that moſſy ſtream! The virgins will ſee your tomb, at the chace, and turn away their
+ weeping eyes. Your fame will be in ſong. The voice of the harp will be heard in your praiſe. The
+ daughters of Selma ſhall hear it: your renown ſhall be in other lands. Reſt, children of youth,
+ at the noiſe of the moſſy ſtream.”
+
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+
+
Two days we remained on the coaſt. The heroes of Berrathon convened. We
+ brought Larthmor to his halls. The feaſt of ſhells is ſpread. The joy of the aged was great. He
+ looked to the arms of his fathers. The arms which he left in his hall, when the pride of Uthal
+ roſe. We were renowned before Larthmor. He bleſſed the chiefs of Morven. He knew not that his ſon
+ was low, the ſtately ſtrength of Uthal ! They had told, that he had retired to the woods, with
+ the tears of grief. They had told it, but he was ſilent in the tomb of Rothma's heath.
+
On the fourth day we raiſed our ſails, to the roar of the northern wind.
+ Larthmor came to the coaſt. His bards exalted the ſong. The joy of the king was great, he looked
+ to Rothma's gloomy heath. He ſaw the tomb of his ſon. The memory of Uthal roſe. “Who of my
+ heroes,” he ſaid, “lies there? he ſeems to have been of the Kings of men. Was he renowned in my
+ halls, before the pride of Uthal roſe ?” Ye are ſilent, ſons of Berrathon! is the king of heroes
+ low ? My heart melts for thee, O Uthal ! though thy hand was againſt thy father. O that I had
+ remained in the cave! that my ſon had dwelt in Finthormo! I might have heard the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ tread of his feet, when he went to the chace of the boar. I might have
+ heard his voice on the blaſt of my cave. Then would my ſoul be glad : but now darkneſs dwells in
+ my halls.”
+
Such were my deeds, ſon of Alpin, when the arm of my youth was ſtrong. SuchDisplay note the actions of Toſcar, the car-borne ſon of Conloch. But Toſcar is on his flying cloud. I
+ am alone at Lutha. My voice is like the laſt ſound of the wind, when it forfakes the woods. But
+ Oſſian ſhall not be long alone. He fees the miſt that ſhall receive his ghoſt. He beholds the
+ miſt that ſhall form his robe, when he appears on his hills. The ſons of feeble men ſhall behold
+ me, and admire the ſtature of the chiefs of old. They ſhall creep to their caves. They ſhall look
+ to the ſky with fear: for my ſteps ſhall be in the clouds. Darkneſs ſhall roll on my ſide.
+
Lead, ſon of Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. The winds begin to riſe. The
+ dark wave of the lake reſounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora with its branches bare? It
+ bends, ſon of Alpin, in the ruſtling blaſt. My harp hangs on a blaſted branch. The ſound of its
+ ſtrings is mournful. Does the wind touch thee, O harp, or is it ſome paſſing ghoſt! It is the
+ hand of Malvina! Bring me the harp,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ ſon of Alpin. Another ſong ſhall riſe. My ſoul ſhall depart in the ſound.
+ My fathers ſhall hear it in their airy hall. Their dim faces ſhall hang, with joy, from their
+ clouds; and their hands receive their ſon. The aged oak bends over the ſtream. It ſighs with all
+ its moſs. The withered fern whiſtles near, and mixes, as it waves, with Oſſian's hair.
+
“Strike the harp and raiſe the ſong: be near, with all your wings, ye winds.
+ Bear the mournful ſound away to Fingal's airy hall. Bear it to Fingal's hall, that he may hear
+ the voice of his ſon. The voice of him that praiſed the mighty !”
+
“The blaſt of north opens thy gates, O king. I behold thee ſitting on miſt,
+ dimly gleaming in all thine arms. Thy form now is not the terror of the valiant. It is like a
+ watery cloud ; when we ſee the ſtars behind it, with their weeping eyes. Thy ſhield is the aged
+ moon : thy ſword a vapour half-kindled with fire. Dim and feeble is the chief, who travelled in
+ brightneſs before ! But thy ſtepsDisplay note are on the winds of the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ deſart, The ſtorms are darkening in thy hand. Thou takeſt the ſun in thy
+ wrath, and hideſt him in thy clouds. The ſons of little men are afraid. A thouſand ſhowers
+ deſcend. But when thou comeſt forth in thy mildneſs ; the gale of the morning is near thy courſe.
+ The ſun laughs in his blue fields. The grey ſtream winds in its vale, The buſhes ſhake their
+ green heads in the wind. The roes bound towards the deſart.”
+
“There is a murmur in the heath ! the ſtormy winds abate! ] hear the voice
+ of Fingal. Long has it been abſent from mine ear ! “Come, Oſſian, come away,” he ſays. “Fingal
+ has received his fame. We paſſed away, like flames that had ſhone for a ſeaſon. Our departure was
+ in renown. Though the plains of our battles are dark and ſilent ; our fame is in the ſour grey
+ ſtones. The voice of Oſſian has been heard. The harp has been ſtrung in Selma. “Come Oſſian, come
+ away,” he ſays, “come, fly with thy fathers on clouds.” I come, I come, thou king of men ! The
+ life of Oſſian fails. I begin to vaniſh on Cona. My ſteps are not ſeen in Selma. Beſide the ſtone
+ of Mora I ſhall fall aſleep. The winds whiſtling in my grey hair, ſhall not awaken me. Depart on
+ thy wings, O wind : thou canſt not diſturb the reſt of the bard.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ The night is long, but his eyes are heavy, Depart, thou ruſtling
+ blaſt.”
+
“But why art thou ſad, ſon of Fingal ? Why grows the cloud of thy ſoul ? The
+ chiefs of other times are departed. They have gone without their fame. The ſons of future years
+ ſhall paſs away. Another race ſhall ariſe. The people are like the waves of ocean : like the
+ leaves of woody Morven, they paſs away in the ruſtling blaſt, and other leaves lift their green
+ heads on high.”
+
Did thy beauty laſt, O RynoDisplay note? Stood the ſtrength of car-borne Oſcar? Fingal himſelf
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ departed. The halls of his fathers forgot his ſteps. Shalt thou then
+ remain, thou aged bard! when the mighty have failed ? But my fame ſhall remain, and grow like the
+ oak of Morven ; which lifts its broad head to the ſtorm, and rejoices in the courſe of the wind !
Inquiries into the antiquities of nations afford more pleaſure than any
+ real advantage to mankind. The ingenious may form ſyſtems of hiſtory on probabilities and a few
+ facts; but at a great diſtance of time, their accounts muſt be vague and uncertain. The infancy
+ of ſtates and kingdoms is as deſtitute of great events, as of the means of tranſmitting them to
+ poſterity: The arts of poliſhed life, by which alone facts can be preſerved with certainty, are
+ the production of a well-formed community. It is then hiſtorians begin to write, and public
+ tranſactions to be worthy remembrance. The actions of former times are left in obſcurity, or
+ magnified by uncertain traditions, Hence it is that we find ſo
+
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+ much of the marvellous in the origin of every nation;
+ poſterity being always ready to believe any thing, however fabulous, that reflects honour on
+ their anceſtors.
+
The Greeks and Romans were remarkable for this weakneſs. They ſwallowed the
+ moſt abſurd fables concerning the high antiquities of their reſpective nations. Good hiſtorians,
+ however, roſe very early amongſt them, and tranſmitted, with luſtre, their great actions to
+ poſterity. It is to them that they owe that unrivalled fame they now enjoy, while the great
+ actions of other nations are involved in fables, or loſt in obſcurity. The Celtic nations afford
+ a ſtriking inſtance of this kind, They, though once the maſters of Europe from the mouth of the
+ river ObyDisplay note, in Ruſſia, to Cape Finiſterre, the weſtern point of Gallicia in
+ Spain, are very little mentioned in hiſtory. They truſted their fame to tradition and the ſongs
+ of their bards, which, by the viciſſitude of human affairs, are long ſince loſt. Their ancient
+ language is the only monument that remains of them ; and the traces of it being ſound in places
+ ſo widely diſtant from each other, ſerves only to ſhew the extent of their ancient power, but
+ throws very little light on their hiſtory.
+
+
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+ Of all the Celtic nations, that which poſſeſſed
+ old Gaul is the moſt renowned ; not perhaps on account of worth ſuperior to the reſt, but for
+ their wars with a people who had hiſtorians to tranſmit the fame of their enemies, as well as
+ their own, to poſterity. Britain was firſt peopled by them, according to the teſtimony of the
+ beſt authorsDisplay note ; its ſituation in reſpect to Gaul makes the opinion
+ probable ; but what puts it beyond all diſpute, is that the ſame cuſtoms and language prevailed
+ among the inhabitants of both in the days of Julius CæſarDisplay note.
+
The colony from Gaul poſſeſſed themſelves; at firſt, of that part of Britain
+ which was next to their own country ; and ſpreading northward, by degrees, as they increaſed in
+ numbers, peopled the whole iſland. Some adventurers paſſing over from thoſe parts of Britain that
+ are within ſight of Ireland, were the founders of the Iriſh nation: which is a more probable
+ ſtory than the idle fables of Mileſian and Gallician colonies. Diodorus SiculusDisplay note mentions it as a thing well known in his time, that the
+ inhabitants of Ireland were originally Britons, and his teſtimony is unqueſtionable, when we
+ conſider
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ that, for many ages, the language and cuſtoms of both
+ nations were the ſame.
+
Tacitus was of opinion that the ancient Caledonians were of German extract;
+ but even the ancient Germans themſelves were Gauls. The preſent Germans, properly ſo called, were
+ not the ſame with the ancient Celtæ. The manners and cuſtoms of the two nations were ſimilar ;
+ but their language different. The GermansDisplay note are the genuine deſcendants of the ancient Scandinavians, who
+ croſſed, in an early period, the Baltic. The CeltæDisplay note, anciently, ſent many colonies into
+ Germany, all of whom retained their own laws, language, and cuſtoms, till they were diſſipated,
+ in the Roman empire ; and it is of them, if any colonies came from Germany into Scotland, that
+ the ancient Caledonians were deſcended.
+
But whether the Caledonians were a colony of the Celtic Germans, or the ſame
+ with the Gauls that firſt poſſeſſed themſelves of Britain, is a matter of no moment at this
+ diſtance of time. Whatever their origin was, we find them very numerous in the time of Julius
+ Agricola, which is a preſumption that they were long before ſettled in the country, The form of
+ their government was a mixture of ariſtocracy and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ monarchy, as it was in all the countries where the Druids bore the
+ chief ſway. This order of men ſeems to have been formed on the ſame principles with the Dactyli
+ Idæi and Curetes of the ancients. Their pretended intercourſe with heaven, their magic and
+ divination were the ſame. The knowlege of the Druids in natural cauſes, and the properties of
+ certain things, the fruit of the experiments of ages, gained them a mighty reputation among the
+ people. The eſteem of the populace ſoon increaſed into a veneration for the order; which theſe
+ cunning and ambitious prieſts took care to improve, to ſuch a degree, that they, in a manner,
+ ingroſſed the management of civil, as well as religious, matters. It is generally allowed that
+ they did not abuſe this extraordinary power ; the preſerving their character of ſanctity was ſo
+ eſſential to their influence, that they never broke out into violence or oppreſſion. The chiefs
+ were allowed to execute the laws, but the legiſlative power was entirely in the hands of the
+ DruidsDisplay note. It was by their authority that the tribes were united, in times of the
+ greateſt danger, under one head. This temporary king, or VergobretusDisplay note, was choſen by them, and generally laid
+ down his office at the end of the war. Theſe prieſts
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ enjoyed long this extraordinary privilege among the
+ Celtic nations who lay beyond the pale of the Roman empire. It was in the beginning of the ſecond
+ century that their power among the Caledonians begun to decline. The traditions concerning
+ Trathal and Cormac, anceſtors to Fingal, are full of the particulars of the fall of the Druids: a
+ fingular fate, it muſt be owned, of prieſts, who had once eſtabliſhed their ſuperſtition !
+
The continual wars of the Caledonians againſt the Romans hindered the better
+ ſort from initiating themſelves, as the cuſtom formerly was, into the order of the Druids. The
+ precepts of their religion were confined to a few, and were not much attended to by a people
+ inured to war. The Vergobretus, or chief magiſtrate, was choſen without the concurrence of the
+ hierarchy, or continued in his office againſt their will. Continual power ſtrengthened his
+ intereſt among the tribes, and enabled him to ſend down, as hereditary to his poſterity, the
+ office he had only received himſelf by election.
+
On occaſion of a new war againſt the King of the World, as
+ tradition emphatically calls the Roman emperor, the Druids, to vindicate the honour of the order,
+ began to reſume their ancient privilege of chuſing the Vergobretus. Garmal, the ſon of Tarno,
+ being deputed by
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ them, came to the grandfather of the celebrated Fingal, who was then
+ Vergobretus, and commanded him, in the name of the whole order, to lay down his office. Upon his
+ refuſal, a civil war commenced, which ſoon ended in almoſt the total extinction of the religious
+ order of the Druids. A few that remained, retired to the dark receſſes of their groves, and the
+ caves they had formerly uſed for their meditations. It is then we find them in the circle of
+ ſtones, and unheeded by the world. A total diſregard for the order, and utter abhorrence of
+ the Druidical rites enſued. Under this cloud of public hate, all that had any knowlege of the
+ religion of the Druids became extinct, and the nation fell into the laft degree of ignorance of
+ their rites and ceremonies.
+
It is no matter of wonder then, that Fingal and his ſon Oſſian diſliked the
+ Druids, who were the declared enemies to their ſucceſſion in the ſupreme magiſtracy. It is a
+ fingular caſe, it muſt be allowed, that there are no traces of religion in the poems aſcribed to
+ Oſſian ; as the poetical compoſitions of other nations are fo cloſely connected with their
+ mythology. But gods are not neceſſary, when the poet has genius. It is hard to account for it to
+ thoſe who are not made acquainted with the manner of the old Scottiſh
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ bards. That race of men carried their notions of
+ martial honour to an extravagant pitch. Any aid given their heroes in battle, was thought to
+ derogate from their fame ; and the bards immediately transferred the glory of the action to him
+ who had given that aid.
+
Had the poet brought down gods, as often as Homer hath done, to aſſiſt his
+ heroes, his work had not conſiſted of eulogiums on men, but of hymns to ſuperior beings. Thoſe
+ who write in the Galic language ſeldom mention religion in their profane poetry ; and when they
+ profeſſedly write of religion, they never mix with their compoſitions, the actions of their
+ heroes, This cuſtom alone, even though the religion of the Druids had not been previouſly
+ extinguiſhed, may, in ſome meaſure, excuſe the author's ſilence concerning the religion of
+ ancient times.
+
To allege, that a nation is void of all religion, would betray ignorance of
+ the hiſtory of mankind. The traditions of their fathers, and their own obſervations on the works
+ of nature, together with that ſuperſtition which is inherent in the human frame, have, in all
+ ages, raiſed in the minds of men ſome idea of a ſuperior being. Hence it is, that in the darkeſt
+ times, and amongſt the moſt barbarous nations, the very populace themſelves had ſome faint
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ notion, at leaſt, of a divinity. The Indians, who worſhip no God,
+ believe that he exiſts. It would be doing injuſtice to the author of theſe poems, to think, that
+ he had not opened his conceptions to that primitive and greateſt of all truths. But let his
+ religion be what it will, it is certain he has not alluded to Chriſtianity, or any of its rites,
+ in his poems ; which ought to fix his opinions, at leaſt, to an æra prior to that religion.
+ Conjectures, on this ſubject, muſt ſupply the place of proof. The perſecution begun by
+ Dioclefian, in the year 303, is the moſt probable time in which the firſt dawning of Chriſtianity
+ in the north of Britain can be fixed. The humane and mild character of Conſtantius Chlorus, who
+ commanded then in Britain, induced the perſecuted Chriftians to take refuge under him. Some of
+ them, through a zeal to propagate their tenets, or through fear, went beyond the pale of the
+ Roman empire, and ſettled among the Caledonians; who were ready to hearken to their doctrines, if
+ the religion of the Druids was exploded long before.
+
These miſſionaries, either through choice, or to give more weight to the
+ doctrine they advanced, took poſſeſſion of the cells and groves of the Druids; and it was from
+ this retired life they had the name of CuldeesDisplay note, which in the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ language of the country ſignified ſequeſtered
+ perſons. It was with one of the Culdees that Oſſian, in his extreme old age, is
+ ſaid to have diſputed concerning the Chriftian religion. This diſpute, they ſay, is extant, and
+ is couched in verſe, according to the cuſtom of the times. The extreme ignorance on the part of
+ Oſſian, of the Chriſtian tenets, ſhews, that that religion had only been lately introduced, as it
+ is not eafy to conceive, how one of the firſt rank could be totally unacquainted with a religion
+ that had been known for any time in the country. The diſpute bears the genuine marks of
+ antiquity. The obſolete phraſes and expreſſions peculiar to the times, prove it to be no forgery.
+ If Oſſian then lived at the introduction of Chriſtianity, as by all appearance he did, his epoch
+ will be the latter end of the third, and beginning of the fourth century. Tradition here ſteps in
+ with a kind of proof.
+
The exploits of Fingal againſt CaraculDisplay note, the ſon of the king of the world, are among the firſt brave
+ actions of his youth. A complete poem, which relates to this ſubject, is printed in this
+ collection.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+
+
In the year 210 the emperor Severus, after returning from his expedition
+ againſt the Caledonians, at York fell into the tedious illneſs of which he afterwards died. The
+ Caledonians and Maiatæ, reſuming courage from his indiſpoſition, took arms in order to recover
+ the poſſeſſions they had loſt. The enraged emperor commanded his army to march into their
+ country, and to deſtroy it with fire and ſword. His orders were but ill executed, for his ſon,
+ Caracalla, was at the head of the army, and his thoughts were entirely taken up with the hopes of
+ his father's death, and with ſchemes to ſupplant his brother Geta. --- He ſcarcely had entered
+ the enemy's country, when news was brought him that Severus was dead. --- A ſudden peace is
+ patched up with the Caledonians, and, as it appears from Dion Caſſius, the country they had loſt
+ to Severus was reſtored to them.
+
The Caracul of Fingal is no other than Caracalla, who, as the ſon of
+ Severus, the Emperor of Rome, whoſe dominions were extended almoſt over the known world, was not
+ without reaſon called the Son of the King of the world. The ſpace of time between 211,
+ the year Severus died, and the beginning of the fourth century, is not ſo great, but Oſſian the
+ ſon of Fingal, might have ſeen the Chriſtians whom the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+ perſecution under Diocleſian had driven beyond the
+ pale of the Roman empire.
+
In one of the many lamentations on the death of Oſcar, a battle which he
+ fought againſt Caros, king of ſhips, on the banks of the winding CarunDisplay note, is mentioned among his great actions. It is
+ more than probable, that the Caros mentioned here, is the ſame with the noted uſurper Caraufius,
+ who aſſumed the purple in the year 287, and ſeizing on Britain, defeated the emperor Maximian
+ Herculius, in ſeveral naval engagements, which gives propriety to his being called the King
+ of Ships. The winding Carun is that ſmall river retaining ſtill the name of Carron,
+ and runs in the neighbourhood of Agricola's wall, which Carauſius repaired to obſtruct the
+ incurſions of the Caledonians. Several other paſſages in traditions allude to the wars of the
+ Romans ; but the two juſt mentioned clearly fix the epocha of Fingal to the third century ; and
+ this account agrees exactly with the Iriſh hiſtories, which place the death of Fingal, the ſon of
+ Comhal, in the year 283, and that of Oſcar and their own celebrated Cairbre, in the year 296.
+
Some people may imagine, that the alluſions to the Roman hiſtory might have
+ been derived
+
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+ by tradition, from learned men, more than from ancient poems. This
+ muſt then have happened at leaſt three ages ago, as theſe alluſions are mentioned often in the
+ compoſitions of thoſe times.
+
Every one knows what a cloud of ignorance and barbariſm overſpread the north
+ of Europe three hundred years ago. The minds of men, addicted to ſuperſtition, contracted a
+ narrowneſs that deſtroyed genius. Accordingly we find the compoſitions of thoſe times trivial and
+ puerile to the laſt degree. But let it be allowed, that, amidſt all the untoward circumſtances of
+ the age, a genius might ariſe, it is not eaſy to determine what could induce him to allude to the
+ Roman times. We find no fact to favour any deſigns which could be entertained by any man who
+ lived in the fifteenth century.
+
The ſtrongeſt objection to the antiquity of the poems now given to the
+ public under the name of Oſſian, is the improbability of their being handed down by tradition
+ through ſo many centuries. Ages of barbariſm ſome will ſay, could not produce poems abounding
+ with the diſintereſted and generous ſentiments ſo conſpicuous in the compoſitions of Oſſian; and
+ could theſe ages produce them, it is impoſſible but they muſt be loſt, or altogether corrupted in
+ a long ſucceſſion of barbarous generations.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
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+
+
These objections naturally ſuggeſt themſelves to men unacquainted with the
+ ancient ſtate of the northern parts of Britain. The bards, who were an inferior order of the
+ Druids, did not ſhare their bad fortune. They were ſpared by the victorious king, as it was
+ through their means only he could hope for immortality to his fame. They attended him in the
+ camp, and contributed to eſtabliſh his power by their ſongs. His great actions were magnified,
+ and the populace, who had no ability to examine into his character narrowly, were dazzled with
+ his fame in the rhimes of the bards. In the mean time, men aſſumed ſentiments that are rarely to
+ be met with in an age of barbariſm. The bards who were originally the diſciples of the Druids,
+ had their minds opened, and their ideas enlarged, by being initiated in the learning of that
+ celebrated order. They could form a perfect hero in their own minds, and aſcribe that character
+ to their prince. The inferior chiefs made this ideal character the model of their conduct, and by
+ degrees brought their minds to that generous ſpirit which breathes in all the poetry of the
+ times. The prince, flattered by his bards, and rivalled by his own heroes, who imitated his
+ character as deſcribed in the eulogies of his poets, endeavoured to excel his people in merit,
+
+
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+ as he was above them in ſtation. This emulation continuing, formed at
+ laſt the general character of the nation, happily compounded of what is noble in barbarity, and
+ virtuous and generous in a poliſhed people.
+
When virtue in peace, and bravery in war, are the characteriſtics of a
+ nation, their actions become intereſting, and their fame worthy of immortality. A generous ſpirit
+ is warmed with noble actions, and becomes ambitious of perpetuating them. This is the true ſource
+ of that divine inſpiration, to which the poets of all ages pretended. When they found their
+ themes inadequate to the warmth of their imaginations, they varniſhed them over with fables,
+ ſupplied by their own fancy, or furniſhed by abſurd traditions. Theſe fables, however ridiculous,
+ had their abettors; poſterity either implicitly believed them, or through a vanity natural to
+ mankind, pretended that they did. They loved to place the founders of their families in the days
+ of fable, when poetry, without the fear of contradiction, could give what characters ſhe pleaſed
+ of her heroes. It is to this vanity that we owe the preſervation of what remain of the more
+ ancient poems. Their poetical merit made their heroes famous in a country where heroiſm was much
+ eſteemed and admired. The poſterity of thoſe
+
+ [
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+ heroes, or thoſe who pretended to be deſcended from
+ them, heard with pleaſure the eulogiums of their anceſtors ; bards were employed to repeat the
+ poems, and to record the connection of their patrons with chiefs ſo renowned. Every chief in
+ proceſs of time had a bard in his family, and the office became at laſt hereditary. By the
+ ſucceſſion of theſe bards, the poems concerning the anceſtors of the family were handed down from
+ generation to generation; they were repeated to the whole clan on ſolemn occaſions, and always
+ alluded to in the new compoſitions of the bards. This cuſtom came down to near our own times; and
+ after the bards were diſcontinued, a great number in a clan retained by memory, or committed to
+ writing, their compoſitions, and founded the antiquity of their families on the authority of
+ their poems.
+
The uſe of letters was not known in the north of Europe till long after the
+ inſtitution of the bards : the records of the families of their patrons, their own, and more
+ ancient poems were handed down by tradition. Their poetical compoſitions were admirably contrived
+ for that purpoſe. They were adapted to muſic; and the moſt perfect harmony was obſerved. Each
+ verſe was ſo connected with thoſe which preceded or followed it, that if one line had been
+
+
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+ remembered in a ſtanza, it was almoſt impoſſible to forget the reſt.
+ The cadences followed in ſo natural a gradation, and the words were ſo adapted to the common turn
+ of the voice, after it is raiſed to a certain key, that it was almoſt impoſſible, from a
+ ſimilarity of ſound, to ſubſtitute one word for another. This excellence is peculiar to the
+ Celtic tongue, and is perhaps to be met with in no other language. Nor does this choice of words
+ clog the ſenſe or weaken the expreſſion. The numerous flections of conſonants, and variation in
+ declenſion, make the language very copious.
+
The deſcendants of the Celtæ, who inhabited Britain and its iſles, were not
+ ſingular in this method of preſerving the moſt precious monuments of their nation. The ancient
+ laws of the Greeks were couched in verſe, and handed down by tradition. The Spartans, through a
+ long habit, became ſo fond of this cuſtom, that they would never allow their laws to be committed
+ to writing. The actions of great men, and the eulogiums of kings and heroes, were preſerved in
+ the ſame manner. All the hiſtorical monuments of the old Germans were comprehended in their
+ ancient ſongsDisplay note! which were either hymns to their gods, or elegies in
+ praiſe of their heroes,
+
+ [
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+ and were intended to perpetuate the great events in
+ their nation which were carefully interwoven with them. This ſpecies of compoſition was not
+ committed to writing, but delivered by oral traditionDisplay note. The care they took to
+ have the poems taught to their children, the uninterrupted cuſtom of repeating them upon certain
+ occaſions, and the happy meaſure of the verſe, ſerved to preſerve them for a long time
+ uncorrupted. This oral chronicle of the Germans was not forgot in the eighth century, and it
+ probably would have remained to this day, had not learning, which thinks every thing, that is not
+ committed to writing, fabulous, been introduced. It was from poetical traditions that Garcillaſſo
+ compoſed his account of the Yncas of Peru. The Peruvians had loft all other monuments of their
+ hiſtory, and it was from ancient poems which his mother, a princeſs of the blood of the Yncas,
+ taught him in his youth, that he collected the materials of his hiſtory. If other nations then,
+ that had been often overrun by enemies, and had ſent abroad and received colonies, could, for
+ many ages, preſerve, by oral tradition, their laws and hiſtories uncorrupted, it is much more
+ probable that the ancient Scots, a people ſo free of intermixture
+
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+ with foreigners, and ſo ſtrongly attached to the memory of their
+ anceſtors, had the works of their bards handed down with great purity.
+
What is advanced, in this ſhort Diſſertation, it muſt be confeſſed, is mere
+ conjecture. Beyond the reach of records, is ſettled a gloom, which no ingenuity can penetrate.
+ The manners deſcribed, in theſe poems, ſuit the ancient Celtic times, and no other period, that
+ is known in hiſtory. We muſt, therefore, place the heroes far back in antiquity; and it matters
+ little, who were their contemporaries in other parts of the world. If we have placed Fingal in
+ his proper period, we do honour to the manners of barbarous times. He exercifed every manly
+ virtue in Caledonia, while Heliogabalus diſgraced human nature at Rome.
The hiſtory of thoſe nations, who originally poſſeſſed the north of Europe,
+ is leſs known than their manners. Deſtitute of the uſe of letters, they themſelves had not the
+ means of tranſmitting their great actions to remote poſterity. Foreign writers ſaw them only at a
+ diſtance, and deſcribed them as they found them. The vanity of the Romans induced them to
+ conſider the nations beyond the pale of their empire as barbarians; and conſequently their
+ hiſtory unworthy of being inveſtigated. Their manners and fingular character were matters of
+ curioſity, as they committed them to record. Some men, otherwiſe of great merit among ourſelves,
+ give into confined ideas on
+
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+ this ſubject. Having early imbibed their idea of
+ exalted manners from the Greek and Roman writers, they ſcarcely ever afterwards have the
+ fortitude to allow any dignity of character to any nation deſtitute of the uſe of letters.
+
Without derogating from the fame of Greece and Rome, we may conſider
+ antiquity beyond the pale of their empire worthy of ſome attention. The nobler paſſions of the
+ mind never ſhoot forth more free and unreſtrained than in the times we call barbarous. That
+ irregular manner of life, and thoſe manly purſuits from which barbarity takes its name, are
+ highly favorable to a ſtrength of mind unknown in poliſhed times. In advanced ſociety the
+ characters of men are more uniform and diſguiſed. The human paſſions lie in ſome degree concealed
+ behind forms, and artificial manners; and the powers of the ſoul, without an opportunity of
+ exerting them, loſe their vigor. The times of regular government, and poliſhed manners, are
+ therefore to be wiſhed for by the feeble and weak in mind. An unſettled ſtate, and thoſe
+ convulſions which attend it, is the proper field for an exalted character, and the exertion of
+ great parts. Merit there riſes always ſuperior ; no fortuitous event can raiſe the timid and mean
+ into power. To thoſe who look upon antiquity in this light,
+
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+ it is an agreeable proſpect ; and they alone can have real pleaſure
+ in tracing nations to their ſource.
+
The eſtabliſhment of the Celtic ſtates, in the north of Europe, is beyond
+ the reach of written annals. The traditions and ſongs to which they truſted their hiſtory, were
+ loſt, or altogether corrupted in their revolutions and migrations, which were ſo frequent and
+ univerſal, that no kingdom in Europe is now poſſefed by its original inhabitants. Societies were
+ formed, and kingdoms erected, from a mixture of nations, who, in proceſs of time, loſt all
+ knowlege of their own origin. If tradition could be depended upon, it is only among a people,
+ from all time, free from intermixture with foreigners. We are to look for theſe among the
+ mountains and inacceſfible parts of a country : places, on account of their barrenneſs,
+ uninviting to an enemy, or whoſe natural ſtrength enabled the natives to repel invaſions. Such
+ are the inhabitants of the mountains of Scotland. We, accordingly, find, that they differ
+ materially from thoſe who poſſeſs the low and more fertile part of the kingdom. Their language is
+ pure and original, and their manners are thoſe of an ancient and unmixed race of men. Conſcious
+ of their own antiquity, they long deſpiſed others, as a new and mixed
+
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+ people. As they lived in a country only fit for
+ paſture, they were free from that toil and buſineſs, which engroſs the attention of a commercial
+ people. Their amuſement conſiſted in hearing or repeating their ſongs and traditions, and theſe
+ intirely turned on the antiquity of their nation, and the exploits of their forefathers. It is no
+ wonder, therefore, that there are more remains of antiquity among them, than among any other
+ people in Europe. Traditions, however, concerning remote periods, are only to be regarded, in ſo
+ far as they co-incide with cotemporary writers of undoubted credit and veracity.
+
No writers began their accounts from a more early period, than the
+ hiſtorians of the Scots nation. Without records, or even tradition itſelf, they give a long liſt
+ of ancient kings, and a detail of their tranſactions, with a ſcrupulous exactneſs. One might
+ naturally ſuppoſe, that, when they had no authentic annals, they ſhould, at leaſt, have recourſe
+ to the traditions of their country, and have reduced them into a regular ſyſtem of hiſtory. Of
+ both they ſeem to have been equally deſtitute. Born in the low country, and ſtrangers to the
+ ancient language of their nation, they contented themſelves with copying from one another, and
+ retailing the ſame fictions, in a new colour and dreſs.
John Fordunn was the firſt who collected thoſe fragments of the Scots
+ hiſtory, which had eſcaped the brutal policy of Edward I. and reduced them into order. His
+ accounts, in ſo far as they concerned recent tranſactions, deſerved credit : beyond a certain
+ period, they were fabulous and unſatisfactory. Some time before Fordun wrote, the king of
+ England, in a letter to the pope, had run up the antiquity of his nation to a very remote æra.
+ Fordun, poſſeſſed of all the national prejudice of the age, was unwilling that his country ſhould
+ yield, in point of antiquity, to a people, then its rivals and enemies. Deſtitute of annals in
+ Scotland, he had recourſe to Ireland, which, according to the vulgar errors of the times, was
+ reckoned the firſt habitation of the Scots. He found, there, that the Iriſh bards had carried
+ their pretenſions to antiquity as high, if not beyond any nation in Europe. It was from them he
+ took thoſe improbable fictions, which form the firſt part of his hiſtory.
+
The writers that ſucceeded Fordun implicitly followed his ſyſtem, though
+ they ſometimes varied from him in their relations of particular tranſactions, and the order of
+ ſucceſſion of their kings. As they had no new lights, and were, equally with him, unacquainted
+ with the
+
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+ traditions of their country, their hiſtories contain
+ little information concerning the origin of the Scots. Even Buchanan himſelf, except the elegance
+ and vigour of his ſtile, has very little to recommend him. Blinded with political prejudices, he
+ ſeemed more anxious to turn the fictions of his predeceſſors to his own purpoſes, than to detect
+ their miſrepreſentations, or inveſtigate truth amidſt the darkneſs which they had thrown round
+ it. It therefore appears, that little can be collected from their own hiſtorians, concerning the
+ firſt migration of the Scots into Britain.
+
That this iſland was peopled from Gaul admits of no doubt. Whether colonies
+ came afterwards from the north of Europe is a matter of meer ſpeculation. When South-Britain
+ yielded to the power of the Romans, the unconquered nations to the north of the province were
+ diſtinguiſhed by the name of Caledonians. From their very name, it appears, that they
+ were of thoſe Gauls, who poſſeſſed themſelves originally of Britain. It is compounded of two
+ Celtic words, Caël ſignifying Celts, or Gauls, and
+ Dun or Don, a hill; ſo that Caël-don, or Caledonians, is as much as to
+ ſay, the Celts of the hill country. The Highlanders, to this day, call themſelves
+ Caël, their language Caëlic, or Galic, and their country
+
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+ Caëldoch, which the Romans ſoftened into
+ Caledonia. This, of itſelf, is ſufficient to demonſtrate, they are the genuine
+ deſcendents of the ancient Caledonians, and not a pretended colony of Scots, who ſettled
+ firſt in the north, in the third or fourth century.
+
From the double meaning of the word Caël, which ſignifies
+ ſtrangers, as well as Gauls,or Celts, ſome have imagined, that the
+ anceſtors of the Caledonians were of a different race from the reſt of the Britons, and that they
+ received their name upon that account. This opinion, ſay they, is ſupported by Tacitus, who, from
+ ſeveral circumſtances, concludes, that the Caledonians were of German extraction. A diſcuſſion of
+ a point ſo intricate, at this diſtance of time, could neither be fatisfaſtory nor important.
+
Towards the latter end of the third, and beginning of the fourth century, we
+ meet with the Scots in the north. PorphyriusDisplay note makes the firſt mention of them about that time. As
+ the Scots were not heard of before that period, moſt writers ſuppoſed them to have been a colony,
+ newly come to Britain, and that the Picts were the only genuine deſcendents of the
+ ancient Caledonians. This miſtake is eaſily removed. The
+
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+ Caledonians, in proceſs of time, became naturally
+ divided into two diſtinct nations, as poſſeſſing parts of the country, intirely different in
+ their nature and ſoil. The weſtern coaſt of Scotland is hilly and barren ; towards the eaſt the
+ country is plain, and fit for tillage. The inhabitants of the mountains, a roving and
+ uncontrouled race of men, lived by feeding of cattle, and what they killed in hunting. Their
+ employment did not fix them to one place. They removed from one heath to another, as ſuited beſt
+ with their convenience or inclination. They were not, therefore, improperly called, by their
+ neighbours, Scuite, or the wandering nation ; wiuch is evidently the
+ origin of the Roman name of Scoti.
+
On the other hand, the Caledonians, who poſſeſſed the eaſt coaſt of
+ Scotland, as the diviſion of the country was plain and fertile, applied themſelves to
+ agriculture, and raiſing of corn. It was from this, that the Galic name of the Picts
+ proceeded; for they are called, in that language, Cruithnich, i. e. the wheat or
+ corn-eaters. As the Picts lived in a country ſo different in its nature from that poſſeſſed
+ by the Scots, ſo their national character ſuffered a material change. Unobſtructed by mountains,
+ or lakes, their communication with one another was free and frequent.
+
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+ Society, therefore, became ſooner eſtabliſhed among them, than
+ among the Scots, and, conſequently, they were much ſooner governed by civil magiſtrates and laws.
+ This, at laſt, produced ſo great a difference in the manners of the two nations, that they began
+ to forget their common origin, and almoſt continual quarrels and animoſities ſubſiſted between
+ them. Theſe animoſities, after ſome ages, ended in the ſubverſion of the Pictiſh kingdom, but not
+ in the total extirpation of the nation, according to moſt of the Scots writers, who ſeemed to
+ think it more for the honour of their countrymen to annihilate, than reduce a rival people under
+ their obedience. It is certain, however, that the very name of the Picts was loſt, and thoſe that
+ remained were ſo completely incorporated with their conquerors, that they ſoon loſt all memory of
+ their own origin.
+
The end of the Pictiſh government is placed ſo near that period, to which
+ authentic annals reach, that it is matter of wonder, that we have no monuments of their language
+ or hiſtory remaining. This favours the ſyſtem I have laid down. Had they originally been of a
+ different race from the Scots, their language of courſe would be different. The contrary is the
+ caſe. The names of places in the Pictiſh dominions,
+
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+ and the very names of their kings, which are handed
+ down to us, are of Galic original, which is a convincing proof, that the two nations were, of
+ old, one and the ſame, and only divided into two governments, by the effect which their ſituation
+ had upon the genius of the people.
+
The name of Picts is ſaid to have been given by the Romans to the
+ Caledonians, who poſſeſſed the eaſt coaſt of Scotland, from their painting their bodies. The
+ ſtory is ſilly and the argument abſurd. But let us revere antiquity in her very follies. This
+ circumſtance made ſome imagine, that the Picts were of Britiſh extract, and a different race of
+ men from the Scots. That more of the Britons, who fled northward from the tyranny of the Romans,
+ ſettled in the low country of Scotland, than among the Scots of the mountains, may be eaſily
+ imagined, from the very nature of the country. It was they who introduced painting among the
+ Picts. From this circumſtance, affirm ſome antiquaries, proceeded the name of the latter, to
+ diſtinguiſh them from the Scots, who never had that art among them, and from the Britons, who
+ diſcontinued it after the Roman conqueſt.
+
The Caledonians, moſt certainly, acquired a conſiderable knowlege in
+ navigation, by their living on a coaſt interſected with many arms of
+
+ [
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+ the ſea, and, in iſlands, divided, one from another, by wide and
+ dangerous firths. It is, therefore, highly probable, that they, very early, found their way to
+ the north of Ireland, which is within ſight of their own country. That Ireland was firſt peopled
+ from Britain is, at length, a matter that admits of no doubt. The vicinity of the two iſlands;
+ the exact correſpondence of the ancient inhabitants of both, in point of manners and language,
+ are ſufficient proofs, even if we had not the teſtimony ofDisplay note authors of undoubted veracity to confirm it. The abettors of the
+ moſt romantic ſyſtems of Iriſh antiquities allow it; but they place the colony from Britain in an
+ improbable and remote æra. I ſhall eaſily admit, that the colony of the Firbolg,
+ confeſſedly the Belgæ of Britain, ſettled in the ſouth of Ireland, before the Caël, or
+ Caledonians, diſcovered the north; but it is not at all likely, that the migration of the Firbolg
+ to Ireland happened many centuries before the chriſtian æra.
+
The poem of Temora throws conſiderable light on this ſubject. The accounts
+ given in it agree ſo well with what the ancients have delivered, concerning the firſt population
+ and
+
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+ inhabitants of Ireland, that eyery unbiaſſed perſon
+ will confeſs them more probable, than the legends handed down, by tradition, in that country. It
+ appears, that, in the days of Trathal, grandfather to Fingal, Ireland was poſſeſſed by two
+ nations; the Firbolg or Belgæ of Britain, who inhabited the ſouth, and the
+ Caël, who paſſed over from Caledonia and the Hebrides to Ulfter. The two nations, as is uſual
+ among an unpoliſhed and lately ſettled people, were divided into ſmall dynaſties, ſubject to
+ petty kings, or chiefs, independent of one another. In this ſituation, it is probable, they
+ continued long, without any material revolution in the ſtate of the iſland, until Crothar, Lord
+ of Atha, a country in Connaught, the moſt potent chief of the Firbolg, carried away
+ Conlama, the daughter of Cathmin, a chief of the Caël, who poſſeſſed Ulſter.
+
Conlama had been betrothed ſome time before to Turloch, a chief of their own
+ nation. Turloch reſented the affront offered him by Crothar, made an irruption into Connaught,
+ and killed Cormul, the brother of Crothar, who came to oppoſe his progreſs. Crothar himſelf then
+ took arms, and either killed or expelled Turloch. The war, upon this, became general, between the
+ two nations: and the Caël were
+
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+ reduced to the laſt extremity. In this ſituation, they applied, for
+ aid, to Trathal king of Morven, who ſent his brother Conar, already famous for his great
+ exploits, to their relief. Conar, upon his arrival in Ulfter, was choſen king, by the unanimous
+ conſent of the Caledonian tribes, who poſſeſſed that country. The war was renewed with vigour and
+ ſucceſs; but the Firbolg appear to have been rather repelled than ſubdued. In ſucceeding reigns,
+ we learn from epiſodes in the ſame poem, that the chiefs of Atha made ſeveral efforts to become
+ monarchs of Ireland, and to expel the race of Conar.
+
To Conar ſucceeded his ſon Cormac, who appears to have reigned long. In his
+ latter days he ſeems to have been driven to the laſt extremity, by an inſurrection of the
+ Firbolg, who ſupported the pretenſions of the chiefs of Atha to the Iriſh throne.
+ Fingal, who then was very young, came to the aid of Cormac, totally defeated Colc-ulla, chief of
+ Atha, and re-eſtabliſhed Cormac in the ſole poſſeſſion of all Ireland. It was then he fell in
+ love with, and took to wife, Roscrana, the daughter of Cormac, who was the mother of Oſſian.
+
Cormac was ſucceeded in the Iriſh throne by his ſon, Cairbre; Cairbre by
+ Artho, his ſon, who was the father of that Cormac, in whoſe
+
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+ minority the invaſion of Swaran happened, which is the
+ ſubject of the poem of Fingal. The family of Atha, who had not relinquiſhed their
+ pretenflons to the Iriſh throne, rebelled in the minority of Cormac, defeated his adherents, and
+ murdered him in the palace of Temora. Cairbar, lord of Atha, upon this, mounted the throne. His
+ uſurpation ſoon ended with his life; for Fingal made an expedition into Ireland, and reſtored,
+ after various viciſſitudes of fortune, the family of Conar to the poſſeſſion of the kingdom. This
+ war is the ſubject of Temora; the events, though certainly heightened and embelliſhed by poetry,
+ ſeem, notwithſtanding, to have their ſoundation in true hiſtory.
+
Temora contains not only the hiſtory of the firſt migration of the
+ Caledonians into Ireland, it alſo preſerves ſome important facts, concerning the firſt ſettlement
+ of the Firbolg, or Belgæ of Britain, in that kingdom, under their leader
+ Larthon, who was anceſtor to Cairbar and Cathmor, who ſucceſſively mounted the Iriſh throne,
+ after the death of Cormac, the ſon of Artho. I forbear to tranſcribe the paſſage, on account of
+ its length. It is the ſong of Fonar, the bard; towards the latter end of the ſeventh book of
+ Temora. As the generations from Larthon to Cathmor, to whom the epiſode
+
+
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+ is addreſſed, are not marked, as are thoſe of the family of Conar,
+ the firſt king of Ireland, we can form no judgment of the time of the ſettlement of the Firbolg.
+ It is, however, probable, it was ſome time before the Caël, or Caledonians, ſettled in Ulfter.
+ One important fact may be gathered from this hiſtory, that the Iriſh had no king before the
+ latter end of the firſt century. Fingal lived, it is ſuppoſed, in the third century ; ſo Conar,
+ the firſt monarch of the Iriſh, who was his grand-uncle, cannot be placed farther back than the
+ cloſe of the firſt. To eſtabliſh this fact, is to lay, at once, aſide the pretended antiquities
+ of the Scots and Iriſh, and to get quit of the long liſt of kings which the latter give us for a
+ millennium before.
+
Of the affairs of Scotiand, it is certain, nothing can be depended upon,
+ prior to the reign of Fergus, the ſon of Erc, who lived in the fifth century. The true hiſtory of
+ Ireland begins ſomewhat later than that period, Sir James WareDisplay note, who was indefatigable in his reſearches after
+ the antiquities of his country, rejects, as mere fiction and idle romance, all that is related of
+ the ancient Iriſh, before the time of St. Patrick, and the reign of Leogaire. It is from
+
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+ this conſideration, that he begins his hiſtory at the
+ introduction of Chriſtianity, remarking, that all that is delivered down, concerning the times of
+ paganiſm, were tales of late invention, ſtrangely mixed with anachroniſms and inconſiſtencies.
+ Such being the opinion of Ware, who had collected with uncommon induſtry and zeal, all the real
+ and pretendedly antient manuſcripts, concerning the hiſtory of his country, we may, on his
+ authority, reject the improbable and ſelf-condemned tales of Keating and O'Flaherty. Credulous
+ and puerile to the laſt degree, they have diſgraced the antiquities they meant to eſtabliſh. It
+ is to be wiſhed, that ſome able Iriſhman, who underſtands the language and records of his
+ country, may redeem, ere it is too late, the genuine antiquities of Ireland, from the hands of
+ theſe idle fabuliſts.
+
By comparing the hiſtory in theſe poems with the legends of the Scots and
+ Iriſh writers, and, by afterwards examining both by the teſt of the Roman authors, it is eaſy to
+ diſcover which is the moſt probable. Probability is all that can be eſtabliſhed on the authority
+ of tradition, ever dubious and uncertain. But when it favours the hypotheſis laid down by
+ cotemporary writers of undoubted veracity, and, as it were, finiſhes the figure of which they
+ only drew the out-lines, it
+
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+ ought, in the judgment of ſober reaſon, to be preferred to
+ accounts framed in dark and diſtant periods, with little judgment, and upon no authority.
+
Concerning the period of more than a century, which intervenes between
+ Fingal and the reign of Fergus, the ſon of Erc or Arcath, tradition is dark and contradictory.
+ Some trace up the family of Fergus to a ſon of Fingal of that name, who makes a conſiderable
+ figure in Oſſian's poems. The three elder ſons of Fingal, Oſſian, Fillan, and Ryno, dying without
+ iſſue, the ſucceſſion, of courſe, devolved upon Fergus, the fourth ſon and his poſterity. This
+ Fergus, ſay ſome traditions, was the father of Congal, whoſe ſon was Arcath, the father of
+ Fergus, properly called the firſt king of Scots, as it was in his time the Caël, who
+ poſſeſſed the weſtern coaft of Scotland, began to be diſtinguiſhed, by foreigners, by the name of
+ Scots From thenceforward, the Scots and Picts, as diftinct nations, became objects of
+ attention to the hiſtorians of other countries. The internal ſtate of the two Caledonian kingdoms
+ has always continued, and ever muſt remain, in obſcurity and fable.
+
It is in this epoch we muſt fix the beginning of the decay of that ſpecies
+ of heroiſm, which ſubſiſted in the days of Fingal. There are three
+
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+ ſtages in human ſociety. The firſt is the reſult of
+ conſanguinity, and the natural affection of the members of a family to one another. The ſecond
+ begins when property is eſtabliſhed, and men enter into aſſociations for mutual defence, againſt
+ the invaſions and injuſtice of neighbours. Mankind ſubmit, in the third, to certain laws and
+ ſubordinations of government, to which they truſt the ſafety of their perſons and property. As
+ the firft is formed on nature, ſo, of courſe, it is the moſt diſintereſted and noble. Men, in the
+ laſt, have leiſure to cultivate the mind, and to reſtore it, with reflection, to a primæval
+ dignity of ſentiment. The middle ſtate is the region of complete barbariſm and ignorance. About
+ the beginning of the fifth century, the Scots and Picts were advanced into the ſecond ſtage, and,
+ conſequently, into thoſe circumſcribed ſentiments, which always diſtinguiſh barbarity. The events
+ which ſoon after happened did not at all contribute to enlarge their ideas, or mend their
+ national character.
+
About the year 425, the Romans, on account of domeſtic commotions, entirely
+ forſook Britain, finding it impoſſible to defend ſo diſtant a frontier, The Picts and Scots,
+ ſeizing this favourable opportunity, made incurſions into the deſerted province. The Britons,
+ enervated by
+
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+ the ſlavery of ſeveral centuries, and thoſe vices, which are
+ inſeparable from an advanced ſtate of civility, were not able to withſtand the impetuous, though
+ irregular attacks of a barbarous enemy. In the utmoſt diſtreſs, they applied to their old
+ maſters, the Romans, and (after the unfortunate ſtate of the Empire could not ſpare aid) to the
+ Saxons, a nation equally barbarous and brave, with the enemies of whom they were ſo much afraid.
+ Though the bravery of the Saxons repelled the Caledonian nations for a time, yet the latter found
+ means to extend themſelves, conſiderably, towards the ſouth. It is, in this period, we muſt place
+ the origin of the arts of Civil life among the Scots. The ſeat of government was removed from the
+ mountains to the plain and more fertile provinces of the South, to be near the common enemy, in
+ caſe of ſudden incurſions. Inſtead of roving through unfrequented wilds, in ſearch of
+ ſubſiſtance, by means of hunting, men applied to agriculture, and raiſing of corn. This manner of
+ life was the firſt means of changing the national character. The next thing which contributed to
+ it was their mixture with ſtrangers.
+
In the countries which the Scots had conquered from the Britons, it is
+ probable the moſt of the old inhabitants remained. Theſe
+
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+ incorporating with the conquerors, taught them
+ agriculture, and other arts, which they themſelves had received from the Romans. The Scots,
+ however, in number as well as power, being the moſt predominant, retained ſtill their language,
+ and as many of the cuſtoms of their anceſtors, as ſuited with the nature of the country they
+ poſſeſſed. Even the union of the two Caledonian kingdoms did not much affect the national
+ character. Being originally deſcended from the ſame ſtock, the manners of the Picts and Scots
+ were as ſimilar as the different natures of the countries they poſſefſed permitted.
+
What brought about a total change in the genius of the Scots nation, was
+ their wars, and other tranſactions with the Saxons. Several counties in the ſouth of Scotland
+ were alternately poſſeſſed by the two nations. They were ceded, in the ninth age, to the Scots,
+ and, it is probable, that moſt of the Saxon inhabitants remained in poſſeſſion of their lands.
+ During the ſeveral conqueſts and revolutions in England, many fled, for refuge, into Scotland, to
+ avoid the oppreſſion of foreigners, or the tyranny of domeſtic uſurpers ; in ſo much, that the
+ Saxon race formed perhaps near one half of the Scottiſh kingdom. The Saxon manners and language
+ daily gained ground, on the tongue and
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+ cuſtoms of the antient Caledonians, till, at laſt, the latter were
+ entirely relegated to inhabitants of the mountains, who were ſtill unmixed with ſtrangers.
+
It was after the acceſſion of territory which the Scots received, upon the
+ retreat of the Romans from Britain, that the inhabitants of the Highlands were divided into
+ clans. The king, when he kept his court in the mountains, was conſidered, by the whole nation, as
+ the chief of their blood. Their ſmall number, as well as the preſence of their prince, prevented
+ thoſe diviſions, which, afterwards, ſprung forth into ſo many ſeparate tribes. When the ſeat of
+ government was removed to the ſouth, thoſe who remained in the Highlands were, of courſe,
+ neglected. They naturally formed themſelves into ſmall ſocieties, independent of one another.
+ Each ſociety had its own regulus, who either was, or in the ſucceſſion of a few
+ generations, was regarded as chief of their blood. The nature of the country favoured an
+ inſtitution of this ſort. A few valleys, divided from one another by extenſive heaths and
+ impaſſible mountains, form the face of the Highlands. In theſe valleys the chiefs fixed their
+ reſidence. Round them, and almoſt within ſight of their dwellings, were the habitations of their
+ relations and dependents.
+
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+ The ſeats of the Highland chiefs
+ were neither diſagreeable nor inconvenient. Surrounded with mountains and hanging woods, they
+ were covered from the inclemency of the weather. Near them generally ran a pretty large river,
+ which, diſcharging itſelf not far off, into an arm of the ſea, or extenſive lake, ſwarmed with
+ variety of fiſh. The woods were ſtocked with wild-fowl ; and the heaths and mountains behind them
+ were the natural ſeat of the red-deer and roe. If we make allowance for the backward ſtate of
+ agriculture, the valleys were not unfertile ; affording, if not all the conveniencies, at leaſt
+ the neceſſaries of life. Here the chief lived, the ſupreme judge and law-giver of his own people
+ ; but his ſway was neither ſevere nor unjuſt. As the populace regarded him as the chief of their
+ blood, ſo he, in return, conſidered them as members of his family. His commands therefore, though
+ abſolute and decifive, partook more of the authority of a father, than of the rigor of a judge.
+ Though the whole territory of the tribe was conſidered as the property of the chief, yet his
+ vaſſals made him no other conſideration for their lands than ſervices, neither burdenſome nor
+ frequent. As he ſeldom went from home, he was at no expense. His table
+
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+ was ſupplied by his own herds, and what his numerous attendants
+ killed in hunting.
+
In this rural kind of magnificence, the Highland chiefs lived, for many
+ ages. At a diſtance from the ſeat of government, and ſecured, by the inacceſſibleneſs of their
+ country, they were free and independent. As they had little communication with ſtrangers, the
+ cuſtoms of their anceſtors remained among them, and their language retained its original purity.
+ Naturally fond of military fame, and remarkably attached to the memory of their anceſtors, they
+ delighted in traditions and ſongs, concerning the exploits of their nation, and eſpecially of
+ their own particular families. A ſucceſſion of bards was retained in every clan, to hand down the
+ memorable actions of their forefathers. As Fingal and his chiefs were the moſt renowned names in
+ tradition, the bards took care to place them in the genealogy of every great family. They became
+ famous among the people, and an object of fiction and poetry to the bards.
+
The bards erected their immediate patrons into heroes, and celebrated them
+ in their ſongs. As the circle of their knowledge was narrow, their ideas were confined in
+ proportion. A few happy expreſſions, and the manners they repreſent, may pleaſe thoſe who
+ underſtand the
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+ language; their obſcurity and inaccuracy would diſguſt
+ in a tranſlation. It was chiefly for this reaſon, that I have rejected wholly the works of the
+ bards in my publications. Oſſian acted in a more extenſive ſphere, and his ideas ought to be more
+ noble and univerſal ; neither gives he, I preſume, ſo many of thoſe peculiarities, which are only
+ underſtood in a certain period or country. The other bards have their beauties, but not in this
+ ſpecies of compoſition. Their rhimes, only calculated to kindle a martial ſpirit among the
+ vulgar, afford very little pleaſure to genuine taſte. This obſervation only regards their poems
+ of the heroic kind; in every inferior ſpecies of poetry they are more ſucceſsful. They expreſs
+ the tender melancholy of deſponding love, with ſimplicity and nature. So well adapted are the
+ ſounds of the words to the ſentiments, that, even without any knowledge of the language they
+ pierce and diſſolve the heart. Succeſsful love is expreſſed with peculiar tenderneſs and
+ elegance. In all their compoſitions, except the heroic, which was ſolely calculated to animate
+ the vulgar, they give us the genuine language of the heart, without any of thoſe affected
+ ornaments of phraſeology, which, tho' intended to beautify ſentiments, diveſt them of their
+ natural force. The ideas, it is confeſſed,
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+ are too local, to be admired, in another language ; to thoſe who
+ are acquainted with the manners they repreſent, and the ſcenes they deſcribe, they muſt afford
+ pleaſure and ſatiſfaction.
+
It was the locality of their deſcription and ſentiment, that, probably, has
+ kept them hitherto in the obſcurity of an almoſt loſt language. The ideas of an unpoliſhed period
+ are ſo contrary to the preſent advanced ſtate of ſociety, that more than a common mediocrity of
+ taſte is required, to reliſh them as they deſerve. Thoſe who alone are capable of transferring
+ ancient poetry into a modern language, might be better employed in giving originals of their own,
+ were it not for that wretched envy and meanneſs which affects to deſpiſe cotemporary genius. My
+ firſt publication was merely accidental. Had I then met with leſs approbation, my after-purſuits
+ would have been more profitable ; at leaft I might have continued to be ſtupid, without being
+ branded with dulneſs.
+
These poems may furniſh light to antiquaries, as well as ſome pleaſure to
+ the lovers of poetry. The firſt population of Ireland, its firſt kings, and ſeveral
+ circumſtances, which regards its connection of old with the ſouth and north of Britain, are
+ preſented in ſeveral epiſodes. The
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+ ſubject and cataſtrophe of the poem are founded upon
+ facts, which regarded the firſt peopling of that country, and the conteſts between the two
+ Britiſh nations, who originally inhabited that iſland. In a preceding part of this Diſſertation,
+ I have ſhewn how ſuperior the probability of this ſyſtem is to the undigeſted fictions of the
+ Iriſh bards, and the more recent and regular legends of both Iriſh and Scottiſh hiſtorians. I
+ mean not to give offence to the abettors of the high antiquities of the two nations, though I
+ have all along expreſſed my doubts, concerning the veracity and abilities of thoſe who deliver
+ down their antient hiſtory. For my own part, I prefer the national fame, ariſing from a few
+ certain facts, to the legendary and uncertain annals of ages of remote and obſcure antiquity. No
+ kingdom now eſtabliſhed in Europe can pretend to equal antiquity with that of the Scots,
+ inconſiderable as it may appear in other reſpects, even according to my ſyſtem, ſo that it is
+ altogether needleſs to fix its origin a fictitious millennium before.
+
Since the firſt publication of theſe poems, many inſinuations have been
+ made, and doubts ariſen, concerning their authenticity. Whether theſe ſuſpicions are ſuggeſted by
+ prejudice, or are only the effects of malice, I neither know nor
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+ care. Thoſe who have doubted my veracity have paid a compliment to
+ my genius ; and were even the allegation true, my ſelf-denial might have atoned for my fault.
+ Without vanity I ſay it, I think I could write tolerable poetry ; and I aſſure my antagoniſts,
+ that I ſhould not tranſlate what I could not imitate.
+
As prejudice is the effect of ignorance, I am not ſurprized at its being general. An age that
+ produces few marks of genius ought to be ſparing of admiration. The truth is, the bulk of mankind
+ have ever been led, by reputation more than taſte, in articles of literature. If all the Romans,
+ who admired Virgil, underſtood his beauties, he would have ſcarce deſerved to have come down to
+ us, through ſo many centuries. Unleſs genius were in faſhion, Homer himſelf might have written in
+ vain. He that wiſhes to come with weight, on the ſuperficial, muſt ſkim the ſurface, in their own
+ ſhallow way. Were my aim to gain the many, I wou'd write a madrigal ſooner than an heroic poem.
+ Laberius himſelf would be always ſure of more followers than Sophocles.
+
Some who doubt the authenticity of this work, with peculiar acuteneſs
+ appropriate them to the Iriſh nation. Tho' it is not eaſy to conceive how theſe poems can belong
+ to Ireland and to me, at
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+ once, [ ſhall examine the ſubject, without further
+ animadverſion on the blunder.
+
Of all the nations deſcended from the antient Celtæ, the Scots and
+ Iriſh are the moſt ſimilar in language, cuſtoms, and manners. This argues a more intimate
+ connection between them, than a remote deſcent from the great Celtic ſtock. It is evident, in
+ ſhort, that at ſome one period or other, they formed one ſociety, were ſubject to the ſame
+ government, and were, in all reſpects, one and the ſame people. How they became divided, which
+ the colony, or which the mother nation, I have in another work amply diſcuſſed. The firft
+ circumſtance that induced me to diſregard the vulgarly-received opinion of the Hibernian
+ extraction of the Scottiſh nation, was my obſervations on their antient language. That dialect of
+ the Celtic tongue, ſpoken in the north of Scotland, is much more pure, more agreeable to its
+ mother language, and more abounding with primitives, than that now ſpoken, or even that which has
+ been written for ſome centuries back, amongſt the moſt unmixed part of the Iriſh nation. A
+ Scotchman, tolerably converſant in his own language, underſtands an Iriſh compoſition, from that
+ derivative analogy which it has to the Galic of North Britain. An Iriſhman, on the other
+ hand, without the aid of ſtudy, can never underſtand
+
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+ a compoſition in the Galic tongue. This affords a proof, that the
+ Scotch Galic is the moſt original, and, conſequently, the language of a more ancient and unmixed
+ people. The Iriſh, however backward they may be to allow any thing to the prejudice of their
+ antiquity, ſeem inadvertently to acknowledge it, by the very appellation they give to the dialect
+ they ſpeak. They call their own language Caëlic, Eirinach, i. e. Caledonian
+ Iriſh, when, on the contrary, they call the dialect of North-Britain a Chaëlic, or
+ the Caledonian tongue, emphatically. A circumftance of this nature tends more to decide
+ which is the moſt antient nation, than the united teſtimonies of a whole legion of ignorant bards
+ and ſenachies, who, perhaps, never dreamed of bringing the Scots from Spain to Ireland, till ſome
+ one of them, more learned than the reſt, diſcovered, that the Romans called the firſt
+ Iberia, and the latter Hibernia. On ſuch a ſlight foundation were probably
+ built the romantic fictions, concerning the Mileſians of Ircland.
+
From internal proofs it ſufficiently appears, that the poems publiſhed under
+ the name of Oſſian, are not of Iriſh compoſition. The favourite chimæra, that Ireland is the
+ mother-country of the Scots, is totally ſubverted and ruined. The fictions concerning the
+ antiquities
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+ of that country, which were forming for ages, and
+ growing as they came down, on the hands of ſucceſſive ſenachies and fileas, are
+ found, at laſt, to be the ſpurious brood of modern and ignorant ages. To thoſe who know how
+ tenacious the Iriſh are, of their pretended Iberian deſcent, this alone is proof
+ ſufficient, that poems, ſo ſubverſive of their ſyſtem, could never be produced by an Hibernian
+ bard. But when we look to the language, it is ſo different from the Iriſh dialect, that it would
+ be as ridiculous to think, that Milton's Paradiſe Loſt could be wrote by a Scottiſh peaſant, as
+ to ſuppoſe, that the poems aſcribed to Oſſian were writ in Ireland.
+
The pretenſions of Ireland to Oſſian proceed from another quarter. There are
+ handed down, in that country, traditional poems, concerning the Fiona, or the heroes of
+ Fion Mac Comnal. This Fion, ſay the Iriſh annaliſts, was general of the militia
+ of Ireland, in the reign of Cormac, in the third century. Where Keating and O'Flaherty learned,
+ that Ireland had an embodied militia ſo early, is not eaſy for me to determine. Their
+ information certainly did not come from the Iriſh poems,concerning Fion. I have juſt now, in my
+ hands, all that remain, of thoſe
+
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+ compoſitions; but, unluckily for the antiquities of Ireland, they
+ appear to be the work of a very modern period. Every ſtanza, nay almoſt every line, affords
+ ſtriking proofs, that they cannot be three centuries old. Their alluſions to the manners and
+ cuſtoms of the fifteenth century, are ſo many, that it is matter of wonder to me, how any one
+ could dream of their antiquity. They are entirely writ in that romantic taſte, which prevailed
+ two ages ago. Giants, enchanted caſtles, dwarfs, palfreys, witches and magicians form the whole
+ circle of the poet's invention. The celebrated Fion could ſcarcely move from one hillock
+ to another, without encountering a giant, or being entangled in the circles of a magician.
+ Witches, on broomſticks, were continually hovering round him, like crows; and he had freed
+ enchanted virgins in every valley in Ireland. In ſhort, Fion, great as he was, paſſed a
+ diſagreeable life. Not only had he to engage all the miſchiefs in his own country, foreign armies
+ invaded him, aſſiſted by magicians and witches, and headed by Kings, as tall as the main-maſt of
+ a firſt rate. It muſt be owned, however, that Fion was not inferior to them in height.
+
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+
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+ A chos air Cromleach, druim-ard,
+ Chos eile air Crom-meal dubh,
+ Thoga Fion le lamh mhoir
+ An d'uiſge o Lubhair na fruth.
+
+ With one foot on Cromleach his brow,
+ The other on Crommal the dark,
+ Fion took up with his large hand
+ The water from Lubar of the ſtreams.
+
Cromleach and Crommal were two mountains in the neighbourhood of one another,
+ in Ulſter, and the river Lubar ran through the intermediate valley. The property of ſuch
+ a monſter as this Fion, I ſhould never have diſputed with any nation. But the bard
+ himſelf, in the poem, from which the above quotation is taken, cedes him to Scotland.
+ Fion o Albin, fiol nan laoich !
+ FionfromAlbion, race of
+ heroes !
+
Were it allowable to contradict the authority of a bard, at this diſtance of time, I ſhould
+ have given as my opinion, that this enormous Fion was of the race of the Hibernian
+ giants, of Ruanus, or ſome other celebrated name, rather than
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+ a native of Caledonia, whoſe inhabitants, now at leaſt, are not
+ remarkable for their ſtature. As for the poetry, I leave it to the reader.
+
IfFion was ſo remarkable for his ſtature, his heroes had alſo
+ other extraordinary properties. In weight all the ſons of ſtrangers yielded to the
+ celebrated Ton-iofal ; and for hardneſs of ſkull, and, perhaps, for thickneſs too, the valiant
+ Oſcar ſtood unrivalled and alone. Oſſian himſelf had many ſingular and leſs delicate
+ qualifications, than playing on the harp; and the brave Cuthullin was of ſo diminutive a ſize, as
+ to be taken for a child of two years of age, by the gigantic Swaran. To illuſtrate this ſubject,
+ I ſhall here lay before the reader, the hiſtory of ſome of the Iriſh poems, concerning Fion Mac
+ Comnal. A tranflation of theſe pieces, if well executed, might afford ſatisfaction, in an
+ uncommon way, to the Public. But this ought to be the work of a native of Ireland. To draw forth,
+ from obſcurity, the poems of my own country, has waſted all the time I had allotted for the muſes
+ ; beſides, I am too diffident of my own abilities, to undertake ſuch a work. A gentleman in
+ Dublin accuſed me to the public, of committing blunders and abſurdities, in tranflating the
+ language of my own country, and
+
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+ that before any tranſlation of mine appearedDisplay note. How the gentleman came to ſee my blunders before I committed them, is not eaſy
+ to determine; if he did not conclude, that, as a Scotſman, and, of courſe deſcended of the
+ Mileſian race, I might have committed ſome of thoſe overſights, which, perhaps very unjuſtly, are
+ ſaid to be peculiar to them.
+
From the whole tenor of the Iriſh poems, concerning the Fiona, it
+ appears, that Fion Mac Comnal flouriſhed in the reign of Cormac, which is placed, by the
+ univerſal conſent of the ſenachies, in the third century. They even fix the death
+
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+ of Fingal in the year 286, yet his ſon Oſſian is made cotemporary
+ with St. Patrick, who preached the goſpel in Ireland about the middle of the fifth age. Oſſian,
+ though, at that time, he muſt have been two hundred and fifty years of age, had a daughter young
+ enough to become wife to the ſaint. On account of this family connection, Patrick of the
+ Pſalms, for ſo the apoſtle of Ireland is emphatically called in the poems, took great
+ delight in the company of Oſſian, and in hearing the great actions of his family. The ſaint
+ ſometimes threw off the aufterity of his profeſſion, drunk freely, and had his ſoul properly
+ warmed with wine, to receive with becoming enthuſiaſm, the poems of his father-in-law. One of the
+ poems begins with this piece of uſeful information,
+ Lo don rabh Padric na mhúr,
+ Gun Sailm air uidh, ach a gól,
+ Ghluais é thigh Oſſian mhic Fhion,
+ O fan leis bu bhinn a ghloir.
+
The title of this poem is Teantach mor na Fiona. It appears to have been founded on
+ the ſame ſtory with the battle of Lora. The circumſtances and cataſtrophe in both are
+ much the ſame; but
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+ the Iriſh Oſſian diſcovers the age in which
+ he lived, by an unlucky anachroniſm. After deſcribing the total route of Erragon, he very gravely
+ concludes with this remarkable anecdote, that none of the foe eſcaped, but a few, who were
+ permitted to go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. This circumſtance fixes the date of
+ the compofition of the piece ſome centuries after the famous croiſade; for, it is evident, that
+ the poet thought the time of the croiſade ſo ancient, that he confounds it with the age of
+ Fingal. Erragon, in the courſe of this poem, is often called,
+ Riogh Lochlin an do ſhloigh,
+ King of Denmark of two nations which alludes to the union of the
+ kingdoms of Norway and Denmark, a circumſtance which happened under Margaret de Waldemar, in the
+ cloſe of the fourteenth age. Modern, however, as this pretended Oſſian was, it is certain, he
+ lived before the Iriſh had dreamed of appropriating Fion, or Fingal, to
+ themſelves. He concludes the poem, with this reflection.
+ Na fagha fe comhthróm nan n' arm,
+ Erragon Mac Annir nan lánn glas
+
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ 'San n' Albin ni n' abairtair Triath
+ Agus ghlaoite an n' Fhiona as.
+
+
“Had Erragon, ſon of Annir of gleaming ſwords, avoided the equal conteſt of arms, (ſingle
+ combat) no chief ſhould have afterwards been numbered in Albion, and the
+ heroes of Fion ſhould no more be named.”
+
The next poem that falls under our obſervation is Cath-cabhra, or,
+ The death of Oſcar. This piece is founded on the ſame ſtory which we have in the firft
+ book of Temora. So little thought the author of Cath-cabhra of making Oſcar his countryman, that,
+ in the courſe of two hundred lines, of which the poems conſiſts, he puts the following expreſſion
+ thrice in the mouth of the hero :
+
+ Albin an fa d' roina m' arach.
+ Albionwhere I was born and bred .
+
The poem contains almoſt all the incidents in the firſt book of Temora. In one circumſtance the
+ bard differs materially from Oſſian. Oſcar, after he was mortally wounded by Cairbar, was carried
+ by his people to a neighbouring hill, which commanded a proſpect of the ſea. A fleet appeared at
+ a diſtance, and the hero exclaims with joy,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+ Loingeas mo ſhean-athair at' án
+ 'S iad a tiächd le cabhair chugain,
+ O Albin na n' ioma ſtuagh.
+
“It is the fleet of my grandfather, coming with aid to our field, from Albion of many waves !” —The teſtimony of this bard is ſufficient to confute the idle
+ fictions of Keating and O'Flaherty ; for, though he is far from being ancient, it is probable, he
+ flouriſhed a full century before theſe hiſtorians. He appears, however, to have been a much
+ better chriſtian than chronologer; for Fion, though he is placed two centuries before
+ St. Patrick, very devoutly recommends the ſoul of his grandſon to his Redeemer.
+
Duan a Gharibh Mac-Starn is another Iriſh poem in high repute. The grandeur of its
+ images, and its propriety of ſentiment, might have induced me to give a tranſlation of it, had
+ not I ſome expectations, which are now over, of ſeeing it in the collection of the Iriſh Oſſian's
+ poems, promiſed twelve years ſince, to the public. The author deſcends ſometimes from the region
+ of the ſublime to low and indecent deſcription; the laſt of which, the Iriſh tranſlator, no
+ doubt, will chooſe to leave in the obſcurity of the original. In this piece Cuthullin is uſed
+ with very little ceremony, for he is oft called, the dog of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Tara, in the county of Meath. This ſevere title of the
+ redoubtable Cuthullin, the moſt renowned of Iriſh champions, proceeded from the poet's
+ ignorance of etymology. Cu, voice, or commander, ſignifies alſo a
+ dog. The poet choſe the laſt, as the moſt noble appellation for his hero.
+
The ſubject of the poem is the ſame with that of the epic poem of Fingal.
+ Caribh Mac-Starn is the ſame with Oſſian's Swaran, the ſon of Starno. His ſingle combats
+ with, and his victory over all the heroes of Ireland, excepting the celebrated dog of
+ Tara, i. e. Cuthullin, afford matter for two hundred lines of tolerable poetry.
+ Caribh's progreſs in ſearch of Cuthullin, and his intrigue with the gigantic
+ Emir-bragal, that hero's wife, enables the poet to extend his piece to four hundred lines. This
+ author, it is true, makes Cuthullin a native of Ireland ; the gigantic Emir-bragal he calls the
+ guiding ſtar of the women of Ireland. The property of this enormous lady I ſhall not
+ diſpute with him, or any other. But, as he ſpeaks with great tenderneſs of the daughters of
+ the convent, and throws out ſome hints againſt the Engliſh nation, it is probable he lived
+ in too modern a period to be intimately acquainted with the genealogy of Cuthullin.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Another Iriſh Oſſian, for there were many, as appears from their difference
+ in language and ſentiment, ſpeaks very dogmatically of Fion Mac Comnal, as an Iriſhman.
+ Little can be ſaid for the judgment of this poet, and leſs for his delicacy of ſentiment. The
+ hiſtory of one of his epiſodes may, at once, ſtand as a ſpecimen of his want of both. Ireland, in
+ the days of Fion, happened to be threatened with an invaſion, by three great potentates,
+ the kings of Lochlin, Sweden, and France. lt is needleſs to inſiſt upon the impropriety of a
+ French invaſion of Ireland ; it is ſufficient for me to be faithful to the language of my author.
+ Fion, upon receiving intelligence of the intended invaſion, ſent Ca-olt, Oſſian, and
+ Oſcar, to watch the bay, in which, it was apprehended, the enemy was to land. Oſcar was the worſt
+ choice of a ſcout that could be made, for, brave as he was, he had the bad property of falling
+ very often aſleep on his poſt, nor was it poſſible to awake him, without cutting off one of his
+ fingers, or daſhing a large ſtone againſt his head. When the enemy appeared, Oſcar, very
+ unfortunately, was aſleep. Oſſian and Ca-olt conſulted about the method of wakening him, and
+ they, at laſt, fixed on the ſtone, as the leſs dangerous expedient.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
+ Gun thog Caoilte a chlach, nach gán,
+ Agus a n' aigha' chican gun bhuail ;
+ Tri mil an tulloch gun chri', &c.
+ “Ca-olt took up a heavy ſtone, and ſtruck it againſt the hero's head. The hill ſhook for
+ three miles, as the ſtone rebounded and rolled away.”
+
Oſcar roſe in wrath, and his father
+ gravely defired him to ſpend his rage on his enemies, which he did to ſo good purpoſe, that he
+ ſingly routed a whole wing of their army. The confederate kings advanced, notwithſtanding, till
+ they came to a narrow paſs, poſſeſſed by the celebrated Ton-iofal. This name is very ſignificant
+ of the ſingular property of the hero who bore it. Ton-iofal, though brave, was ſo heavy and
+ unwieldy, that when he ſat down, it took the whole force of an hundred men to ſet him upright on
+ his feet again. Luckily for the preſervation of Ireland, the hero happened to be ſtanding when
+ the enemy appeared, and he gave ſo good an account of them, that Fion, upon his arrival,
+ found little to do, but to divide the ſpoil among his ſoldiers,
+
All theſe extraordinary heroes, Fion, Oſſian, Oſcar and Ca-olt, ſays the
+ poet, were
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+ Siol Erin na gorm lánn,
+ The ſons of Erinof blue ſteel.
+
Neither ſhall I much diſpute the matter with him : He has my conſent alſo to appropriate to
+ Ireland the celebrated Ton-iofal. I ſhall only ſay, that they are different perſons from thoſe of
+ the ſame name, in the Scotch poems ; and that, though the ſtupendous valour of the firſt is ſo
+ remarkable, they have not been equally lucky with the latter, in their poet. It is ſomewhat
+ extraordinary, that Fion, who lived ſome ages before St. Patrick, ſwears like a very
+ good chriſtian :
+ Air an Dia do chum gach caſe.
+ By God, who ſhaped every caſe.
+
It is worthy of being remarked, that, in the line quoted, Oſſian, who lived in St. Patrick's
+ days, ſeems to have underſtood ſomething of the Engliſh, a language not then ſubſiſting. A
+ perſon, more ſanguine for the honour of his country than I am, might argue, from this
+ circumſtance, that this pretendedly Iriſh Oſſian was a native of Scotland ; for my countrymen are
+ univerſally allowed to have an excluſive right to the ſecond-ſight.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
From the inſtances given, the reader may form a complete idea of the Iriſh compoſitions
+ concerning the Fiona, The greateſt part of them make the heroes of Fion,
+ Siol Albin a n'nioma caoile.
+ The race ofAlbionof many firths.
+
+
The reſt make them natives of Ireland. But, the truth is, that their authority is of little
+ conſequence on either ſide. From the inſtances I have given, they appear to have been the work of
+ a very modern period. The pious ejaculations they contain, their alluſions to the manners of the
+ times, fix them to the fifteenth century. Had even the authors of theſe pieces avoided all
+ alluſions to their own times, it is impoſſible that the poems could paſs for ancient, in the eyes
+ of any perſon tolerably converſant with the Iriſh tongue. The idiom is ſo corrupted and ſo many
+ words borrowed from the Engliſh, that the language muſt have made conſiderable progreſs in
+ Ireland before the poems were written.
+
It remains now to ſhew, how the Iriſh bards begun to appropriate the
+ Scottiſh Oſſian and his heroes to their own country. After the Engliſh conqueſt, many of the
+ natives of Ireland, averſe to a foreign yoke, either actually were in a ſtate of hoſtility with
+ the conquerors, or at leaſt, paid
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ little regard to their government. The Scots, in thoſe
+ ages, were often in open war, and never in cordial friendſhip with the Engliſh. The ſimilarity of
+ manners and language, the traditions concerning their common origin, and above all, their having
+ to do with the ſame enemy, created a free and friendly intercourſe between the Scottiſh and Iriſh
+ nations. As the cuſtom of retaining bards and ſenachies was common to both ; ſo each, no doubt,
+ had formed a ſyſtem of hiſtory, it matters not how much ſoever fabulous, concerning their
+ reſpective origin. It was the natural policy of the times, to reconcile the traditions of both
+ nations together, and, if poſſible, to reduce them from the ſame original ſtock.
+
The Saxon manners and language had, at that time, made great progreſs in the
+ ſouth of Scotland. The ancient language, and the traditional hiſtory of the nation, became
+ confined entirely to the inhabitants of the Highlands, then fallen, from ſeveral concurring
+ circumſtances, into the laſt degree of ignorance and barbariſm. The Iriſh, who, for ſome ages
+ before the conqueſt, had poſſeſſed a competent ſhare of that kind of learning, which then
+ prevailed in Europe, found it no difficult matter to impoſe their own fictions on the ignorant
+ Highland ſenachies. By flattering the vanity of the Highlanders, with
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ their long liſt of Heremonian kings and heroes, they, without
+ contradiction, aſſumed to themſelves the character of being the mother-nation of the Scots of
+ Britain. At this time, certainly, was eſtabliſhed that Hibernian ſyſtem of the original of the
+ Scots, which afterwards, for want of any other, was univerſally received. The Scots of the
+ low-country, who, by lofing the language of their anceſtors, loſt, together with it, their
+ national traditions, received, implicitly, the hiſtory of their country, from Iriſh refugees, or
+ from Highland ſenachies, perſuaded over into the Hibernian ſyſtem.
+
These circumſtances are far from being ideal. We have remaining many
+ particular traditions, which bear teſtimony to a fact, of itſelf abundantly probable. What makes
+ the matter inconteſtible is, that the antient traditional accounts of the genuine origin of the
+ Scots, have been handed down without interruption. Tho' a few ignorant ſenachies might be
+ perſuaded out of their own opinion, by the ſmoothneſs of an Iriſh tale, it was impoſſible to
+ eradicate, from among the bulk of the people, their own national traditions. Thefe traditions
+ afterwards ſo much prevailed, that the Highlanders continue totally unacquainted with the
+ pretended Hibernian extract of the Scots nation. Ignorant chronicle
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ writers, ſtrangers to the antient language of their country,
+ preſerved only from falling to the ground, ſo improbable a ſtory.
+
This ſubject, perhaps, is purſued further than it deſerves; but a diſcuſſion
+ of the pretenſions of Ireland, was become in ſome meaſure neceſſary. If the Iriſh poems,
+ concerning the Fiona, ſhould appear ridiculous, it is but juſtice to obferve, that they
+ are ſcarcely more ſo than the poems of other nations, at that period. On other ſubjects, the
+ bards of Ireland have diſplayed a genius for poetry. It was, alone, in matters of antiquity, that
+ they were monſtrous in their fables. Their love-ſonnets, and their elegies on the death of
+ perſons worthy or renowned, abound with ſimplicity, and a wild harmony of numbers. They become
+ more than an atonement for their errors, in every other ſpecies of poetry. But the beauty of
+ theſe pieces, depends ſo much on a certain curioſa felicitas of expreſſion in the
+ original, that they muſt appear much to diſadvantage in another language.
A critical dissertation on the poems of Ossian,the son of Fingal.
+
Among the monuments remaining of the ancient ſtate of nations, few are more
+ valuable than their poems or ſongs. Hiſtory, when it treats of remote or dark ages, is ſeldom
+ very inſtructive. The beginnings of ſociety, in every country, are involved in fabulous
+ confuſion; and though they were not, they would furniſh few events worth recording. But, in every
+ period of ſociety, human manners are a curious ſpectacle; and the moſt natural pictures of
+ ancient manners are exhibited in the ancient poems of nations. Theſe preſent to us what is much
+ more valuable than the hiſtory of ſuch tranſactions as a rude age can afford—the hiſtory
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image of human imagination and paſſion. They make
+ us acquainted with the notions and feelings of our fellow creatures in the moſt artleſs ages;
+ Diſcovering what objects they admired, and what pleaſures they purſued, before thoſe refinements
+ of ſociety had taken place, which enlarge, indeed, and diverſify the tranſactions, but diſguiſe
+ the manners of mankind.
+
Beſides this merit which ancient poems have with philoſophical obſervers of
+ human nature, they have another with perſons of taſte. They promiſe ſome of the higheſt beauties
+ of poetical writing. Irregular and unpoliſhed we may expect the production of uncultivated ages
+ to be; but abounding, at the ſame time, with that enthuſiaſm, that vehemence and fire, which are
+ the ſoul of poetry: for many circumſtances of thoſe times which we call barbarous, are favourable
+ to the poetical ſpirit. That ſtate, in which human nature ſhoots wild and free, though unfit for
+ other improvements, certainly encourages the high exertions of fancy and paſſion.
+
In the infancy of ſocieties, men live ſcattered and diſperſed in the midſt
+ of ſolitary rural ſcenes, where the beauties of nature are their chief entertainment. They meet
+ with many objects to them new and ſtrange; their wonder
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and ſurpriſe are frequently excited; and by
+ the ſudden changes of fortune occurring in their unſettled ſtate of life, their paſſions are
+ raiſed to the utmoſt; their paſſions have nothing to reſtrain them, their imagination has nothing
+ to check it. They diſplay themſelves to one another without diſguiſe, and converſe and act in the
+ uncovered ſimplicity of nature. As their feelings are ſtrong, ſo their language, of itſelf,
+ aſſumes a poetical turn. Prone to exaggerate, they deſcribe everything in the ſtrongeſt colours;
+ which of courſe renders their ſpeech pictureſque and figurative. Figurative language owes its
+ riſe chiefly to two cauſes; to the want of proper names for objects, and to the influence of
+ imagination and paſſion over the form of expreſſion. Both theſe cauſes concur in the infancy of
+ ſociety. Figures are commonly conſidered as artificial modes of ſpeech, deviſed by orators and
+ poets, after the world had advanced to a refined ſtate. The contrary of this is the truth. Men
+ never have uſed ſo many figures of ſtyle as in thoſe rude ages, when, beſides the power of a warm
+ imagination to ſuggeſt lively images, the want of proper and preciſe terms for the ideas they
+ would expreſs, obliged them to have recourſe to circumlocution, metaphor, compariſon, and all
+ thoſe ſubſtituted forms of expreſſion, which give a poetical air to language.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image An American chief, at this day, harangues at
+ the head of his tribe in a more bold and metaphorical ſtyle than a modern European would
+ adventure to uſe in an epic poem.
+
In the progreſs of ſociety, the genius and manners of men undergo a change
+ more favourable to accuracy than to ſprightlineſs and ſublimity. As the world advances, the
+ underſtanding gains ground upon the imagination; the underſtanding is more exerciſed; the
+ imagination, leſs. Fewer objects occur that are new or ſurpriſing. Men apply themſelves to trace
+ the cauſes of things; they correct and refine one another; they ſubdue or diſguiſe their
+ paſſions; they form their exterior manners upon one uniform ſtandard of politeneſs and civility.
+ Human nature is pruned according to method and rule. Language advances from ſterility to
+ copiouſneſs, and at the ſame time from fervor and enthuſiaſm, to correctneſs and preciſion. Style
+ becomes more chaſte, but leſs animated. The progreſs of the world in this reſpect reſembles the
+ progreſs of age in man. The powers of imagination are moſt vigorous and predominant in youth;
+ thoſe of the underſtanding ripen more ſlowly, and often attain not to their maturity till the
+ imagination begins to flag. Hence poetry, which is the child of imagination, is frequently
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image moſt glowing and animated in the firſt ages
+ of ſociety As the ideas of our youth are remembered with a peculiar pleaſure, on account of their
+ livelineſs and vivacity, ſo the moſt ancient poems have often proved the greateſt favourites of
+ nations.
+
Poetry has been ſaid to be more ancient than proſe; and, however paradoxical
+ ſuch an aſſertion may ſeem, yet, in a qualified ſenſe, it is true. Men certainly never converſed
+ with one another in regular numbers; but even their ordinary language would, in ancient times,
+ for the reaſons before aſſigned, approach to a poetical ſtyle; and the firſt compoſitions
+ tranſmitted to poſterity, beyond doubt, were, in a literal ſenſe, poems; that is, compoſitions in
+ which imagination had the chief hand, formed into ſome kind of numbers, and pronounced with a
+ muſical modulation or tone. Muſic or ſong has been found coeval with ſociety among the moſt
+ barbarous nations. The only ſubjects which could prompt men, in their firſt rude ſtate, to utter
+ their thoughts in compoſitions of any length, were ſuch as naturally aſſumed the tone of poetry;
+ praiſes of their gods, or of their anceſtors; commemorations of their own warlike exploits, or
+ lamentations over their miſfortunes.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image And, before writing was invented, no other
+ compoſitions, except ſongs or poems, could take ſuch hold of the imagination and memory, as to be
+ preſerved by oral tradition, and handed down from one race to another.
+
Hence we may expect to find poems among the antiquities of all nations. It
+ is probable, too, that an extenſive ſearch would diſcover a certain degree of reſemblance among
+ all the moſt ancient poetical productions, from whatever country they have proceeded. In a
+ ſimilar ſtate of manners, ſimilar objects and paſſions, operating upon the imaginations of men,
+ will ſtamp their productions with the ſame general character. Some diverſity will, no doubt, be
+ occaſioned by climate and genius. But mankind never bear ſuch reſembling features as they do in
+ the beginnings of ſociety. Its ſubſequent revolutions give riſe to the principal diſtinctions
+ among nations; and divert, into channels widely ſeparated, that current of human genius and
+ manners which deſcends originally from one ſpring. What we have been long accuſtomed to call the
+ oriental vein of poetry, becauſe ſome of the earlieſt poetical productions have come to us from
+ the eaſt, is probably no more oriental than Occidental: it is characteriſtical of an age rather
+ than a country,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and belongs, in ſome meaſure, to all nations
+ at a certain period. Of this the works of Oſſian ſeem to furniſh a remarkable proof.
+
Our preſent ſubject leads us to inveſtigate the ancient poetical remains,
+ not ſo much of the eaſt, or of the Greeks and Romans, as of the northern nations, in order to
+ diſcover whether the Gothic poetry has any reſemblance to the Celtic or Gaelic, which we are
+ about to conſider. Though the Goths, under which name we uſually comprehend all the Scandinavian
+ tribes, were a people altogether fierce and martial, and noted, to a proverb for their ignorance
+ of the liberal arts, yet they too, from the earlieſt times, had their poets and their ſongs.
+ Their poets were diſtinguiſhed by the title of Scalders, and their ſongs were termed
+ Vyſes. Display note Saxo Grammaticus
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image , a Daniſh hiſtorian of conſiderable note,
+ who flouriſhed in the thirteenth century, informs us, that very many of theſe ſongs, containing
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the ancient traditionary ſtories of the
+ country, were found engraven upon rocks in the old Runic character, ſeveral of which he, has
+ tranſlated into Latin, and inſerted into his hiſtory. But his verſions are plainly ſo
+ paraphiaſtical, and forced into ſuch an imitation of the ſtyle and the meaſures of the Roman
+ poets, that one can form no judgment from them of the native ſpirit of the original. A more
+ curious monument of the true Gothic poetry is preſerved by Olaus Wormius in his book de
+ Literatura Runica. It is an epicedium, or funeral ſong, compoſed by Regner Lodbrog, and
+ tranſlated by Olaus, word for word, from the original. This Lodbrog was a king of Denmark, who
+ lived in the eighth century, famous for his wars and victories; and at the ſame time an eminent
+ ſcalder, or poet. It was his miſfortune to fall at laſt into the hands of one of his
+ enemies, by whom he was thrown into priſon, and condemned to he deſtroyed by ſerpents. In this
+ ſituation he ſolaced himſelf with rehearſing all the exploits of his life. The poem is divided
+ into twenty-nine ſtanzas, of ten lines each; and every ſtanza begins with theſe words,
+ “Pugnavimus enſibus,” We have fought with our ſwords. Olauſ's verſion is in many places ſo
+ obſcure as to be hardly intelligible. I have ſubjoined the whole below, exactly as he has
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image publiſhed it; and ſhall tranſlate as much as
+ may give the Engliſh reader an idea of the ſpirit and ſtrain of this kind of poetry Display note .
“We have fought with our ſwords. I was young. when, towards the eaſt, in the bay of Oreon, we
+ made torrents of blood flow, to gorge the ravenous beaſt of prey, and the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image yellow-footed bird. There reſounded the hard
+ ſteel upon the lofty helmets of men. The whole ocean was one wound. The crow waded in the blood
+ of the ſlain. When we
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image had numbered twenty years, we lifted our
+ ſpears on high, and everywhere ſpread our renown. Eight barons we overcame in the eaſt, before
+ the port of Diminum; and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image plentifully we feaſted the eagle in that
+ ſlaughter. The warm ſtream of wounds ran into the ocean. The army fell before us. When we
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſteered our ſhips into the mouth of the
+ Viſtula, we ſent the Helſingians to the hall of Odin. Then did the ſword bite. The
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image waters were all one wound. The earth was dyed
+ red with the warm ſtream. The ſword rung upon the coats of mail, and clove the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bucklers in twain. None fled on that day,
+ till among his ſhips Heraudus fell. Than him no braver baron cleaves the ſea with ſhips; a
+ cheerful heart did he ever bring to the combat.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Then the hoſt threw away. their ſhields, when
+ the uplifted ſpear flew at the breaſt of heroes. The ſword bit the Scarflan rocks;
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bloody was the ſhield in battle, until Rafno
+ the king was ſlain. From the heads of warriors the warm ſweat ſtreamed down their
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image armour. The crows around the Indirian iſlands
+ had an ample prey. It were difficult to ſingle out one among ſo many deaths. At the riſing of the
+ ſun I beheld the ſpears piercing the bodies of foes, and the bows throwing forth their
+ ſteel-pointed arrows. Loud roared the ſwords in the plains of Lano.—The virgin long bewailed the
+ ſlaughter of that morning.”—In this ſtrain the poet continues to deſcribe ſeveral other military
+ exploits. The images are not much varied: the noiſe of arms, the ſtreaming of blood, and the
+ feaſting the birds of prey often recurring. He mentions the death of two of his ſons in battle;
+ and the lamentation he deſcribes as made for one of them is very ſingular. A Grecian or a Roman
+ poet would have introduced the virgins or nymphs of the wood bewailing the untimely fall of a
+ young hero. But, ſays our Gothic poet, “When Rogvaldus was ſlain, for him mourned all the hawks
+ of heaven,” as lamenting a benefactor who had ſo liberally ſupplied them with prey; “for boldly,”
+ as he adds, “in the ſtrife of ſwords did the breaker of helmets throw the ſpear of blood.”
+
The poem concludes with ſentiments of the higheſt bravery and contempt of
+ death. “What is more certain to the brave man than death,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image though amidſt the ſtorm of ſwords he ſtands
+ always ready to oppoſe it? He only regrets this life who hath never known diſtreſs. The timorous
+ man allures the, devouring eagle to the field of battle. The coward, wherever he comes, is
+ uſeleſs to himſelf. This I eſteem honourable, that the youth ſhould advance to the combat fairly
+ matched one againſt another; nor man retreat from man. Long was this the warrior's higheſt glory.
+ He who aſpires to the love of virgins, ought always to be foremoſt in the roar of arms. It
+ appears to me, of truth, that we are led by the Fates. Seldom can any overcome the appointment of
+ deſtiny. Little did I foreſee that Ella Display note was to have my life
+ in his hands, in that day when fainting I concealed my blood, and puſhed forth my ſhips into the
+ waves; after we had ſpread a repaſt for the beaſts of prey throughout the Scottiſh bays. But this
+ makes me always rejoice, that in the halls of our father Balder [or Odin] I know there are ſeats
+ prepared, where, in a ſhort time, we ſhall be drinking ale out of the hollow ſkulls of our
+ enemies. In the houſe of the mighty Odin, no brave man laments death. I come not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image with the voice of deſpair to Odin's hall. How
+ eagerly would all the ſons of Aſlauga now ruſh to war, did they know the diſtreſs of their
+ father, whom a multitude of venomous ſerpents tear! I have given to my children a mother who hath
+ filled their hearts with valor. I am faſt approaching to my end. A cruel death awaits me from the
+ viper's bite. A ſnake dwells in the midſt of my heart. I hope that the ſword of ſome of my ſons
+ ſhall yet be ſtained with the blood of Ella. The valiant youths will wax red with anger, and will
+ not ſit in peace. Fifty and one times have I reared the ſtandard in battle. In my youth I learned
+ to dye the ſword in blood: my hope was then that no king among men would be more renowned than
+ me. The goddeſſes of death will now ſoon call me; I muſt not mourn my death. Now I end my ſong.
+ The goddeſſes invite me away; they whom Odin has ſent to me from his hall. I will ſit upon a
+ lofty ſeat, and drink ale joyfully with the goddeſſes of death. The hours of my life are run out.
+ I will ſmile when I die.”
+
This is ſuch poetry as we might expect from a barbarous nation. It breathes
+ a moſt ferocious ſpirit. It is wild, harſh, and irregular; but at the ſame time animated and
+ ſtrong; the ſtyle,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image in the original, full of inverſions, and, as
+ we learn from ſome of Olauſ's notes, highly metaphorical and figured.
+
But when we open the works of Oſſian, a very different ſcene preſents
+ itſelf. There we find the fire and enthuſiaſm of the moſt early times, combined with an amazing,
+ degree of regularity and art. We find tenderneſs, and even delicacy of ſentiment, greatly
+ predominant over fierceneſs and barbarity. Our hearts are melted with the ſofteſt feelings, and
+ at the ſame time elevated with the higheſt ideas of magnanimity, generoſity, and true heroiſm.
+ When we turn from the poetry of Lodbrog to that of Oſſian, it is like paſſing from a ſavage
+ deſert into a fertile and cultivated country. How is this to be accounted for? or by what means
+ to be reconciled with the remote antiquity attributed to theſe poems? This is a curious point,
+ and requires to be illuſtrated.
+
That the ancient Scots were of Celtic original, is paſt all doubt. Their
+ conformity with the Celtic nations in language, manners, and religion, proves it to a full
+ demonſtration. The Celtæ, a great and mighty people, altogether diſtinct from the Goths and
+ Teutones, once extended their dominion over all the weſt of Europe; but ſeem to have had their
+ moſt full and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image complete eſtabliſhment in Gaul, Wherever the
+ Celtæ or Gauls are mentioned by ancient writers, we ſeldom fall to hear of their Druids and their
+ Bards; the inſtitution of which two orders was the capital diſtinction of their manners and
+ policy. The druids were their philoſophers and prieſts; the bards their poets and recorders of
+ heroic actions; and, both theſe orders of men ſeem to have ſubſiſted among them, as chief members
+ of the ſtate, from time immemorialDisplay note. We muſt not therefore imagine the Celtæ to have been
+ altogether a groſs and rude nation. They poſſeſſed from very remote ages a formed ſyſtem of
+ diſcipline and manners, which appears to have had a deep and laſting influence. Ammianus
+ Marcellinus gives them this expreſs teſtimony, that there flouriſhed among them the ſtudy of the
+ moſt laudable arts, introduced by the bards, whoſe office it was to ſing in heroic verſe the
+ gallant actions of illuſtrious men; and by the druids, who lived together in colleges, or
+ ſocieties, after the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Pythagorean manner, and, philoſophizing upon
+ the higheſt ſubjects, aſſerted the immortality of the human ſoul. Display noteThough Julius Cæſar, in his
+ account of Gaul, does not expreſſly mention the bards, yet it is plain that, under the title of
+ Druids, he comprehends that whole college or order; of which the bards, who, it is probable, were
+ the diſciples of the druids, undoubtedly made a part. It deſerves remark, that, according to his
+ account, the druidical inſtitution firſt took riſe in Britain, and paſſed from thence into Gaul;
+ ſo that they who aſpires to be thorough maſters of that learning, were wont to reſort to Britain.
+ He adds, too, that ſuch as were to be initiated among the druids, were obliged to commit to their
+ memory a great number of verſes, inſomuch that ſome employed twenty years in this courſe of
+ education; and that they did not think it lawful to record thoſe poems in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image writing, but ſacredly handed them down by
+ tradition from race to raceDisplay note.
+
So ſtrong was the attachment of the Celtic nations to their poetry and
+ bards, that, amidſt all the changes of their government and manners, even long after the order of
+ the druids was extinct, and the national religion altered, the bards continued to flouriſh; not
+ as a ſet of ſtrolling ſongſters, like the Greek Αοιδοι, or Rhapſodiſts, in Homer's time, but as
+ an order of men highly reſpected in the ſtate, and ſupported by a public eſtabliſhment. We find
+ them, according to the teſtimonies of Strabo and Diodorus, before the age of Auguſtus Cæſar; and
+ we find them remaining under the ſame name, and exerciſing the ſame functions as of old, in
+ Ireland, and in the north of Scotland, almoſt down to our own times. It is well known, that in
+ both theſe countries every Regulus or chief had his own bard, who was conſidered as an
+ officer of rank in his court; and had lands aſſigned him, which deſcended to his family. Of the
+ honour in which the bards were held, many inſtances occur in Oſſian's Poems. On all important
+ occaſions they were the ambaſſadors between contending chiefs; and their perſons were held
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſacred. “Cairbar feared to ſtretch his ſword
+ to the bards, though his ſoul was dark. 'Looſe the bards,' ſaid his brother Cathmor, 'they are
+ the ſons of other times. Their voice ſhall be heard in other ages, when the kings of Temora have
+ failed.'”
+
From all this, the Celtic tribes clearly appear to have been addicted in ſo
+ high a degree to poetry, and to have made it ſo much their ſtudy from the earlieſt times, as may
+ remove our wonder at meeting with a vein of higher poetical refinement among them, than was at
+ firſt to have been expected among nations whom we are accuſtomed to call barbarous. Barbarity, I
+ muſt obſerve, is a very equivocal term; it admits of many different forms and degrees; and
+ though, in all of them, it excludes poliſhed manners, it is, however, not inconſiſtent with
+ generous ſentiments and tender affections. Display note
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image What degrees of friendſhip, love, and heroiſm
+ may poſſibly be found to prevail in a rude ſtate of ſociety, no one can ſay. Aſtoniſhing
+ inſtances of them we know, from hiſtory, have ſometimes appeared; and a few characters,
+ diſtinguiſhed by thoſe high qualities, might lay a foundation for a ſet of manners being
+ introduced into the ſongs of the bards, more refined, it is probable, and exalted, according to
+ the uſual poetical licenſe, than the real manners of the country.
+
In particular, with reſpect to heroiſm; the great employment of the Celtic bards was to
+ delineate the characters, and ſing the praiſes of heroes. So Lucan;
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+ Vos quoque qui fortes animos, belloque peremptos,
+ Laudibus in longum vates diffunditis ævum
+ Plurima ſecuri fudiſtis carmina bardi.
+
Phars. l. 1.
+
Now when we conſider a college or order of men, who, cultivating poetry
+ throughout a long ſeries of ages, had their imaginations continually employed on the ideas of
+ heroiſm; who had all the poems and panegyrics, which were compoſed by their predeceſſors, handed
+ down to them with care; who rivalled and endeavored to outſtrip thoſe who had gone before them,
+ each in the celebration of his particular hero; is it not natural to think, that at length the
+ character of a hero would appear in their ſongs with the higheſt luſtre, and be adorned with
+ qualities truly noble? Some of the qualities indeed which diſtinguiſh a Fingal, moderation,
+ humanity, and clemency, would not probably be the firſt ideas of heroiſm occurring to a barbarous
+ people: but no ſooner had ſuch ideas begun to dawn on the minds of poets, than, as the human mind
+ eaſily opens to the native repreſentations of human perfection, they would be ſeized and
+ embraced; they would enter into their panegyrics; they would afford materials for ſucceeding
+ bards to work upon and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image improve; they would contribute not a little
+ to exalt the public manners. For ſuch ſongs as theſe, familiar to the Celtic warriors from their
+ childhood, and, throughout their whole life, both in war and in peace, their principal
+ entertainment, muſt have had a very conſiderable influence in propagating among them real
+ manners, nearly approaching to the poetical; and in forming even ſuch a hero as Fingal.
+ Eſpecially when we conſider, that among their limited objects of ambition, among the few
+ advantages which, in a ſavage ſtate, man could obtain over man, the chief was fame, and that
+ immortality which they expected to receive from their virtues and exploits, in ſongs of
+ bardsDisplay note.
+
Having made theſe remarks on the Celtic poetry and bards in general, I ſhall
+ next conſider the particular advantages which Oſſian poſſeſſed. He appears clearly to have lived
+ in a period which enjoyed all the benefit I juſt now mentioned of traditionary poetry. The
+ exploits of Trathal, Trenmor, and the other anceſtors of Fingal, are ſpoken of as familiarly
+ known.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Ancient bards are frequently alluded to. In
+ one remarkable paſſage Oſſian deſcribes himſelf as living in a ſort of claſſical age, enlightened
+ by the memorials of former times, which were conveyed in the ſongs of bards; and points at a
+ period of darkneſs and ignorance which lay beyond the reach of tradition. “His words,” ſays he,
+ “Came only by halves to our ears; they were dark as the tales of other times, before the light of
+ the ſong aroſe.” Oſſian himſelf appears to have been endowed by nature with an exquiſite
+ ſenſibility of heart; prone to that tender melancholy which is ſo often an attendant on great
+ genius: and ſuſceptible equally of ſtrong and of ſoft emotion. He was not only a profeſſed bard,
+ educated with care, as we may eaſily believe, to all the poetical art then known, and connected,
+ as he ſhews us himſelf, in intimate friendſhip with the other contemporary bards, but a warrior
+ alſo; and the ſon of the moſt renowned hero and prince of his age. This formed a conjunction of
+ circumſtances uncommonly favourable towards exalting the imagination of a poet. He relates
+ expeditions in which he had been engaged; he ſings of battles in which he had fought and
+ overcome; he had beheld the moſt illuſtrious ſcenes which that age could exhibit, both of heroiſm
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image in war and magnificence in peace. For however
+ rude the magnificence of thoſe times may ſeem to us, we muſt remember, that all ideas of
+ magnificence are comparative; and that the age of Fingal was an æra of diſtinguiſhed ſplendor in
+ that part of the world. Fingal reigned over a conſiderable territory; he was enriched with the
+ ſpoils of the Roman province; he was ennobled by his victories and great actions; and was in all
+ reſpects a perſonage of much higher dignity than any of the chieftains, or heads of clans, who
+ lived in the ſame country, after a more extenſive monarchy was eſtabliſhed,
+
The manners of Oſſian's age, ſo far as we can gather them from his writings,
+ were abundantly favourable to a poetical genius. The two diſpiriting vices, to which Longinus
+ imputes the decline of poetry, covetouſneſs and effeminacy, were as yet unknown. The cares of men
+ were few. They lived a roving indolent life; hunting and war their principal employments; and
+ their chief amuſements, the muſic of bards, and the feaſt of ſhells.” The great objects purſued
+ by heroic ſpirits, was “to receive their fame;” that is, to become worthy of being celebrated in
+ the ſongs of bards; and “to have their name on the four gray ſtones.” To die unlamented by a
+ bard, was deemed ſo great a miſfortune as
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image even to diſturb their ghoſts in another
+ ſtate. They wander in thick miſts beſide the reedy lake but never ſhall they riſe, without the
+ ſong, to the dwelling of winds.” After death, they expected to follow employments of the ſame
+ nature with thoſe which had amuſed them on earth; to fly with their friends on clouds, to purſue
+ airy deer, and to liſten to their praiſe in the mouths of bards. In ſuch times as theſe, in a
+ country where poetry had been ſo long cultivated, and ſo highly honoured, is it any wonder that,
+ among the race and ſucceſſion of bards, one Homer ſhould ariſe: a man, who, endowed with a
+ natural happy genius, favoured with peculiar advantages of birth and condition, and meeting, in
+ the courſe of his life, with a variety of incidents proper to fire his imagination, and to touch
+ his heart, ſhould attain a degree of eminence in poetry, worthy to draw the admiration of more
+ refined ages?
+
The compoſitions of Oſſian are ſo ſtrongly marked with characters of
+ antiquity, that although there were no external proof to ſupport that antiquity, hardly any
+ reader of judgment and taſte could heſitate in referring them to a very remote æra. There are
+ four great ſtages through which men ſucceſſively paſs in the progreſs of ſociety. The firſt and
+ earlieſt is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the life of hunters; paſturage ſucceeds to
+ this, as the ideas of property begin to take root; next agriculture; and, laſtly, commerce.
+ Throughout Oſſian's Poems we plainly find ourſelves in the firſt of theſe periods of ſociety;
+ during which hunting was the chief employment of men, and the principal method of their procuring
+ ſubſiſtence. Paſturage was not indeed wholly unknown; for we hear of dividing the herd in the
+ caſe of a divorce; but the alluſions to herds and to cattle are not many; and of agriculture we
+ find no traces. No cities appear to have been built in the territories of Fingal. No arts are
+ mentioned, except that of navigation and of working in ironDisplay note. Every thing preſents to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image us the moſt ſimple and unimproved manners. At
+ their feaſts, the heroes prepared their own repaſt; they ſat round the light of the burning oak;
+ the wind lifted their locks, and whiſtled through their open halls. Whatever was beyond the
+ neceſſaries of life was known to them only as the ſpoil of the Roman province; “the gold of the
+ ſtranger; the lights of the ſtranger; the ſteeds of the ſtranger; the children of the rein.”
+
This repreſentation of Oſſian's times muſt ſtrike us the more, as genuine
+ and authentick, when it is compared with a poem of later date, which Mr. Macpherſon has preſerved
+ in one of his notes. It is that in which five bards are repreſented as paſſing the evening in the
+ houſe of a chief, and each of them ſeparately giving his deſcription of the night. The night
+ ſcenery is beautiful; and the author has plainly imitated the ſtyle and manner of Oſſian; but he
+ has allowed ſome images to appear which betray a later period of ſociety. For we meet with
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image windows clapping, the herds of goats and cows
+ ſeeking ſhelter, the ſhepherd wandering, corn on the plain, and the wakeful hind rebuilding the
+ ſhocks of corn which had been overturned by the tempeſt. Whereas, in Oſſian's works, from
+ beginning to end, all is conſiſtent; no modern alluſion drops from him; but everywhere the ſame
+ face of rude nature appears; a country wholly uncultivated, thinly inhabited, and recently
+ peopled. The graſs of the rock, the flower of the heath, the thiſtle with its beard, are the
+ chief ornaments of his landſcapes. “The deſert,” ſays Fingal, “is enough for me, with all its
+ woods and deer.”
+
The circle of ideas and tranſactions is no wider than ſuits ſuch an age; nor
+ any greater diverſity introduced into characters, than the events of that period would naturally
+ diſplay. Valor and bodily ſtrength are the admired qualities. Contentions ariſe, as is uſual
+ among ſavage nations, from the ſlighteſt cauſes. To be affronted at a tournament, or to be
+ omitted in the invitation to a feaſt, kindles a war. Women are often carried away by force; and
+ the whole tribe, as in the Homeric times, riſe to avenge the wrong. The heroes ſhow refinement of
+ ſentiment indeed on ſeveral occaſions, but none of manners. They ſpeak of their paſt
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image actions with freedom, boaſt of their
+ exploits, and ſing their own praiſe. In their battles, it is evident, that drums, trumpets, or
+ bagpipes, were not known or uſed. They had no expedient for giving the military alarms but
+ ſtriking a ſhield, or raiſing a loud cry: and hence the loud and terrible voice of Fingal is
+ often mentioned as a neceſſary qualification of a great general; like the βοην αγαθος Μενελαος of Homer. Of military diſcipline or ſkill they appear to have
+ been entirely deſtitute. Their armies ſeem not to have been numerous; their battles were
+ diſorderly; and terminated, for the moſt part, by a perſonal combat, or wreſtling of the two
+ chiefs; after which, “the bard ſung the ſong of peace, and the battle ceaſed along the
+ field.”
+
The manner of compoſition bears all the marks of the greateſt antiquity. No
+ artful tranſitions, nor full and extended connexion of parts; ſuch as we find among the poets of
+ later times, when order and regularity of compoſition were more ſtudied and known: but a ſtyle
+ always rapid and vehement; narration conciſe, even to abruptneſs, and leaving ſeveral
+ circumſtances to be ſupplied by the reader's imagination. The language has all that figurative
+ caſt, which, as I before ſhowed, partly a glowing and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image undiſciplined imagination partly the
+ ſterility of language and the want of proper terms, have always introduced into the early ſpeech
+ of nations; and in ſeveral reſpects, it carries a remarkable reſemblance to the ſtyle of the Old
+ Teſtament. It deſerves particular notice, as one of the moſt genuine and deciſive characters of
+ antiquity, that very few general terms, or abſtract ideas, are to be met with in the whole
+ collection of Oſſian's works. The ideas of men, at firſt, were all particular. They had not words
+ to expreſs general conceptions. Theſe were the conſequences of more profound reflection, and
+ longer acquaintance with the arts of thought and of ſpeech. Oſſian, accordingly, almoſt never
+ expreſſes himſelf in the abſtract. His ideas extended little further than to the objects he ſaw
+ around him. A public, a community, the univerſe, were conceptions beyond his ſphere. Even a
+ mountain, a ſea, or a lake, which he has occaſion to mention, though only in a ſimile, are for
+ the moſt part particularized; it is the hill of Cromla, the ſtorm of the ſea of Malmor, or the
+ reeds of the lake of Lego. A mode of expreſſion which, while it is characteriſtical of ancient
+ ages, is at the ſame time highly favourable to deſcriptive poetry. For the ſame reaſons,
+ perſonification is a poetical figure not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image very common with Oſſian. Inanimate objects,
+ ſuch as winds, trees, flowers, he ſometimes perſonifies with great beauty. But the
+ perſonifications which are ſo familiar to later poets, of Fame, Time, Terror, Virtue, and the
+ reſt of that claſs, were unknown to our Celtic bard. Theſe were modes of conception too abſtract
+ for his age.
+
All theſe are marks ſo undoubted, and ſome of them, too ſo nice and
+ delicate, of the moſt early times, as put the high antiquity of theſe poems out of queſtion.
+ Eſpecially when we conſider, that if there had been any impoſture in this caſe, it muſt have been
+ contrived and executed in the Highlands of Scotland, two or three centuries ago; as up to this
+ period, both by manuſcripts, and by the teſtimony of a multitude of living witneſſes, concerning
+ the uncontrovertible tradition of theſe poems, they can clearly be traced. Now, this is a period
+ when that country enjoyed no advantages for a compoſition of this kind, which it may not be
+ ſuppoſed to have enjoyed in as great, if not in a greater degree, a thouſand years before. To
+ ſuppoſe that two or three hundred years ago, when we well know the Highlands to have been in a
+ ſtate of groſs ignorance and barbarity, there ſhould have ariſen in that country a poet, of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſuch exquiſite genius, and of ſuch deep
+ knowledge of mankind, and of hiſtory, as to diveſt himſelf of the ideas and manners of his own
+ age, and to give us a juſt and natural picture of a ſtate of ſociety ancienter by a thouſand
+ years; one who could ſupport this counterfeited antiquity through ſuch a large collection of
+ poems, without the leaſt inconſiſtency; and who, poſſeſſed of all this genius and art, had, at
+ the ſame time, the ſelf-denial of concealing himſelf, and of aſcribing his own works to an
+ antiquated bard, without the impoſture being detected; is a ſuppoſition that tranſcends all
+ bounds of credibility.
+
There are, beſides, two other circumſtances to be attended to, ſtill of
+ greater weight, if poſſible, againſt this hypotheſis. One is, the total abſence of religious
+ ideas from this work; for which the tranſlator has, in his preface, given a very probable
+ account, on the footing of its being the work of Oſſian. The druidical ſuperſtition was, in the
+ days of Oſſian, on the point of its final extinction; and, for particular reaſons, odious to the
+ family of Fingal; whilſt the Chriſtian faith was not yet eſtabliſhed. But had it been the work of
+ one to whom the ideas of Chriſtianity were familiar from his infancy, and who had ſuperadded to
+ them alſo the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bigoted ſuperſtition of a dark age and
+ country, it is impoſſible. but in ſome paſſage or other, the traces of them would have appeared.
+ The other circumſtance is, the entire ſilence which reigns with reſpect to all the great clans or
+ families which are now eſtabliſhed in the Highlands. The origin of theſe ſeveral clans is known
+ to be very ancient; and it is well known that there is no paſſion by which a native Highlander is
+ more diſtinguiſhed than by attachment to his clan, and jealouſy for its honour. That a Highland
+ bard, in forging a work relating to the antiquities of his country, ſhould have inſerted no
+ circumſtance which pointed out the riſe of his own clan, which aſcertained its antiquity, or
+ increaſed its glory, is, of all ſuppoſitions that can be formed, the moſt improbable; and the
+ ſilence on this head amounts to a demonſtration that the author lived before any of the preſent
+ great clans were formed or known.
+
Aſſuming it then, as well we may, for certainty, that the poems, now under
+ conſideration, are genuine venerable monuments of a very remote antiquity, I proceed to make ſome
+ remarks upon their general ſpirit and ſtrain. The two great characteriſtics of Oſſian's poetry
+ are, tenderneſs and ſublimity. It breathes nothing of the gay and cheerful kind; an air of
+ ſolemnity
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and ſeriouſneſs is diffuſed over the whole.
+ Oſſian is, perhaps, the only poet who never relaxes, or lets himſelf down into the light and
+ amuſing ſtrain which I readily admit to be no ſmall diſadvantage to him, with the bulk of
+ readers. He moves perpetually in the high region of the grand and the pathetic. One keynote is
+ ſtruck at the beginning, and ſupported to the end; nor is any ornament introduced, but what is
+ perfectly concordant with the general tone of melody. The events recorded, are all ſerious and
+ grave; the ſcenery throughout, wild and romantic. The extended heath by the ſeaſhore; the
+ mountains ſhaded with miſt; the torrent ruſhing through a ſolitary valley; the ſcattered oaks,
+ and the tombs of warriors overgrown with moſs; all produce a ſolemn attention in the mind, and
+ prepare it for great and extraordinary events. We find not in Oſſian an imagination that ſports
+ itſelf, and dreſſes out gay trifles to pleaſe the fancy. His poetry, more perhaps than that of
+ any other writer, deſerves to be ſtiled, The poetry of the heart. It is a heart
+ penetrated with noble ſentiments and with ſublime and tender paſſions; a heart that glows, and
+ kindles the fancy; a heart that is full, and pours itſelf forth. Oſſian did not write,, like
+ modern poets, to pleaſe readers and critics. He ſung from the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image love of poetry and ſong. His delight was to
+ think of the heroes among whom he had flouriſhed; to recall the affecting incidents of his life;
+ to dwell upon his paſt wars, and loves, and friendſhips: till, as he expreſſes it himſelf, “there
+ comes a voice to Oſſian, and awakes his ſoul. It is the voice of years that are gone; they roll
+ before me with all their deeds;” and under this true poetic inſpiration, giving vent to his
+ genius, no wonder we ſhould ſo often hear, and acknowledge, in his ſtrains, the powerful and
+ ever-pleaſing voice of nature.
+
+ —Arte, natura potentior omni—
+ Eſt Deus in nobis, agitante caleſcimus illo.
+
It is neceſſary here to obſerve, that the beauties of Oſſian's writings
+ cannot be felt by thoſe who have given them only a ſingle or haſty peruſal. His manner is ſo
+ different from that of the poets to whom we are moſt accuſtomed; his ſtyle is ſo conciſe, and ſo
+ much crowned with imagery; the mind is kept at ſuch a ſtretch in accompanying the author; that an
+ ordinary reader is at firſt apt to be dazzled and fatigued, rather than pleaſed. His poems
+ require to he taken up at intervals, and to be frequently reviewed; and then it is impoſſible but
+ his beauties muſt open to every reader who is capable of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſenſibility. Thoſe who have the higheſt
+ degree of it will reliſh them the moſt.
+
As Homer is, of all the great poets, the one whoſe manner, and whoſe times,
+ come the neareſt to Oſſian's, we are naturally led to run a parallel in ſome inſtances between
+ the Greek and Celtic bard. For though Homer lived more than a thouſand years before Oſſian, it is
+ not from the age of the world, but from the ſtate of ſociety that we are to judge of reſembling
+ times. The Greek has, in ſeveral points, a manifeſt ſuperiority. He introduces a greater variety
+ of incidents; he poſſeſſes a larger compaſs of ideas; has more diverſity in his characters; and a
+ much deeper knowledge of human nature. It was not to be expected, that in any of theſe
+ particulars Oſſian could equal Homer. For Homer lived in a country where ſociety was much farther
+ advanced; he had beheld many more objects; cities built and flouriſhing; laws inſtituted; order,
+ diſcipline, and arts, begun. His field of obſervation was much larger and more ſplendid: his
+ knowledge, of courſe, more extenſive; his mind alſo, it ſhall be granted, more penetrating. But
+ if Oſſian's ideas and objects be leſs diverſified than thoſe of Homer, they are all, however, of
+ the kind fitteſt for poetry: the bravery and generoſity of heroes, the tenderneſs of lovers,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the attachment of friends, parents, and
+ children. In a rude age and country, though the events that happen be few, the undiſſipated mind
+ broods over them more; they ſtrike the imagination, and fire the paſſions, in a higher degree;
+ and, of conſequence, become happier materials to a poetical genius, than the ſame events when
+ ſcattered through the wide circle of more varied action and cultivated life.
+
Homer is a more cheerful and ſprightly poet than Oſſian. You diſcern in him
+ all the Greek vivacity; whereas Oſſian uniformly maintains the gravity and ſolemnity of a Celtic
+ hero. This, too, is in a great meaſure to be accounted for from the different ſituations in which
+ they lived—partly perſonal, and partly national. Oſſian had ſurvived all his friends, and was
+ diſpoſed to melancholy by the incidents of his life. But, beſides this, cheerfulneſs is one of
+ the many bleſſings which we owe to formed ſociety. The ſolitary, wild ſtate, is always a ſerious
+ one. Bating the ſudden and violent burſts of mirth, which ſometimes break forth at their dances
+ and feaſts, the ſavage American tribes have been noted by all travellers for their gravity and
+ taciturnity. Somewhat of this taciturnity may be alſo be remarked in Oſſian. On all occaſions he
+ is frugal of his words; and never gives you more of an
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image image, or a deſcription, than is juſt
+ ſufficient to place it before you in one clear point of view. It is a blaze of lightning, which
+ flaſhes and vaniſhes. Homer is more extended in his deſcriptions, and fills them up with a
+ greater variety of circumſtances. Both the poets are dramatic; that is, they introduce their
+ perſonages frequently ſpeaking before us. But Oſſian is conciſe and rapid in his ſpeeches, as he
+ is in every other thing. Homer, with the Greek vivacity, had alſo ſome portion of the Greek
+ loquacity. His ſpeeches, indeed, are highly characteriſtical; and to them we are much indebted
+ for that admirable diſplay he has given of human nature. Yet, if he be tedious any where, it is
+ in theſe: ſome of them are trifling, and ſome of them plainly unſeaſonable. Both poets are
+ eminently ſublime; but a difference may be remarked in the ſpecies of their ſublimity. Homer's
+ ſublimity is accompanied with more impetuoſity and fire; Oſſian's with more of a ſolemn and awful
+ grandeur. Homer hurries you along; Oſſian elevates, and fixes you in aſtoniſhment. Homer is moſt
+ ſublime in actions and battles; Oſſian in deſcription and ſentiment. In the pathetic, Homer, when
+ he chooſes to exert it, has great power; but Oſſian exerts that power much oftener, and has the
+ character of tenderneſs far
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image more deeply imprinted on his works. No poet
+ knew better how to ſeize and melt the heart. With regard to dignity of ſentiment, the
+ pre-eminence muſt clearly he given to Oſſian. This is, indeed, a ſurpriſing circumſtance, that in
+ point of humanity, magnanimity, virtuous feelings of every kind, our rude Celtic bard ſhould be
+ diſtinguiſhed to ſuch a degree, that not only the heroes of Homer, but even thoſe of the polite
+ and refined Virgil, are left far behind by thoſe of Oſſian.
+
After theſe general obſervations on the genius and ſpirit of our author, I
+ now proceed to a nearer view and more accurate examination of his works; and as Fingal is the
+ firſt great poem in this collection, it is proper to begin with it. To refuſe the title of an
+ epic poem to Fingal, becauſe it is not, in every little particular, exactly conformable to the
+ practice of Homer and Virgil, were the mere ſqueamiſhneſs and pedantry of criticiſm. Examined
+ even according to Ariſtotle's rules, it will be found to have all the eſſential requiſites of a
+ true and regular epic; and to have ſeveral of them in ſo high a degree, as at firſt view to raiſe
+ our aſtoniſhment on finding Oſſian's compoſition ſo agreeable to rules of which he was entirely
+ ignorant. But our aſtoniſhment will ceaſe, when we conſider
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image from what ſource Ariſtotle drew thoſe rules.
+ Homer knew no more of the laws of criticiſm than Oſſian. But, guided by nature, he compoſed in
+ verſe a regular ſtory, founded on heroic actions, which all poſterity admired. Ariſtotle, with
+ great ſagacity and penetration, traced the cauſes of this general admiration. He obſerved what it
+ was in Homer's compoſition, and in the conduct of his ſtory, which gave it ſuch power to pleaſe;
+ from. this obſervation he deduced the rules which poets ought to follow, who would write and
+ pleaſe like Homer; and to a compoſition formed according to ſuch rules, he gave the name of an
+ epic poem. Hence his whole ſyſtem aroſe. Ariſtotle ſtudied nature in Homer. Homer and Oſſian both
+ wrote from nature. No wonder that among all the three, there ſhould be ſuch agreement and
+ conformity.
+
The fundamental rules delivered by Ariſtotle concerning an epic poem, are
+ theſe: that the action, which is the groundwork of the poem, ſhould be one, complete, and great;
+ that it ſhould be feigned, not merely hiſtorical; that it ſhould be enlivened with characters and
+ manners, and heightened by the marvellous.
+
But, before entering on any of theſe, it may perhaps be aſked, what is the
+ moral of Fingal? For, according to M. Boſſu, an epic poem is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image no other than an allegory contrived to
+ illuſtrate ſome, moral truth. The poet, ſays this critic, muſt begin with fixing on ſome maxim or
+ inſtruction, which he intends to inculcate on mankind. He next forms a fable, like one of Æſop's,
+ wholly with a view to the moral; and having thus ſettled and arranged his plan, he then looks
+ into traditionary hiſtory for names and incidents, to give his fable ſome air of probability.
+ Never did a more frigid, pedantic notion enter into the mind of a critic. We may ſafely
+ pronounce, that he who ſhould compoſe an epic poem after this manner, who ſhould firſt lay down a
+ moral and contrive a plan, before he had thought of his perſonages and actors, might deliver,
+ indeed, very ſound inſtruction, but would find very few readers. There cannot be the leaſt doubt
+ that the firſt object which ſtrikes an epic poet, which fires his genius, and gives him any idea
+ of his work, is the action or ſubject he is to celebrate. Hardly is there any tale, any ſubject,
+ a poet can chooſe for ſuch a work, but will afford ſome general moral inſtruction. An epic poem
+ is, by its nature, one of the moſt moral of all poetical compoſitions: but its moral tendency is
+ by no means to be limited to ſome commonplace maxim, which may be gathered from the ſtory. It
+ ariſes from the admiration of heroic actions,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image which ſuch a compoſition is peculiarly
+ calculated to produce; from the virtuous emotions which the characters and incidents raiſe,
+ whilſt we read it; from the happy impreſſions which all the parts ſeparately, as well as the
+ whole together, leave upon the mind. However, if a general moral be ſtill inſiſted on, Fingal
+ obviouſly furniſhes one, not inferior to that of any other poet, viz: that wiſdom and bravery
+ always triumph over brutal force: or another, nobler ſtill: that the moſt complete victory over
+ an enemy is obtained by that moderation and generoſity which convert him into a friend.
+
The unity of the epic action, which of all Ariſtotle's rules, is the chief
+ and moſt material, is ſo ſtrictly preſerved in Fingal, that it muſt be perceived by every reader.
+ It is a more complete unity than what ariſes from relating the actions of one man, which the
+ Greek critic juſtly cenſures as imperfect: it is the unity of one enterpriſe—the deliverance of
+ Ireland from the invaſion of Swaran; an enterpriſe which has ſurely the full heroic dignity. All
+ the incidents recorded bear a conſtant reference to one end; no double plot is carried on; but
+ the pa unite into a regular whole; and as the action is one and great, ſo it is an entire or
+ complete action. For we find, as the critic, farther
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image requires, a beginning, a middle, and an end;
+ a nodus, or intrigue, in the poem; difficulties occurring through Cuthullin's raſhneſs and bad
+ ſucceſs; thoſe difficulties gradually ſurmounted; and at laſt, the work conducted to that happy
+ concluſion which is held eſſential to epic poetry. Unity is, indeed, obſerved with greater
+ exactneſs in Fingal, than in almoſt any other epic compoſition. For not only is unity of ſubject
+ maintained, but that of time and place alſo. The autumn is clearly pointed out as the ſeaſon of
+ the action; and from beginning to end the ſcene is never ſhifted from the heath of Lena, along
+ the ſeaſhore. The duration of the action in Fingal, is much ſhorter than in the Iliad or Æneid;
+ but ſure there may be ſhorter as well longer heroic poems; and if the authority of Ariſtotle be
+ alſo required for this, he ſays expreſſly, that the epic compoſition is indefinite as to the time
+ of its duration. Accordingly, the action of the Iliad laſts only forty-ſeven days, whilſt that of
+ the Æneid is continued for more than a year.
+
Throughout the whole of Fingal, there reigns that grandeur of ſentiment,
+ ſtyle, and imagery, which ought ever to diſtinguiſh this high ſpecies of poetry. The ſtory is
+ conducted with no ſmall art. The poet goes not back to a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image tedious recital of the beginning of the war
+ with Swaran; but haſtening to the main action, he falls in exactly, by a moſt happy coincidence
+ of thought, with the rule of Horace:
+ Semper ad eventum feſtinat, et in medias res,
+ Non ſecus ac notas, auditorem rapit—
+ Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo.
De Arte Poet.
+
+
He invokes no muſe, for he acknowledged none. but his occaſional addreſſes
+ to Malvina have a finer effect than the invocation of any muſe. He ſets out with no formal
+ propoſition of his ſubject; but the ſubject naturally and eaſily unfolds itſelf; the poem opening
+ in an animated manner, with the ſituation of Cuthullin, and the arrival of a ſcout, who informs
+ him of Swaran's landing. Mention is preſently made of Fingal, and of the expected aſſiſtance from
+ the ſhips of the lonely iſle, in order to give farther light to the ſubject. For the poet often
+ ſhews his addreſs in gradually preparing us for the events he is to introduce; and, in
+ particular, the preparation for the appearance of Fingal, the previous expectations that are
+ raiſed, and the extreme magnificence, fully anſwering theſe expectations, with which the hero is
+ at length preſented to us, are all worked up with ſuch
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſkilful conduct as would do honour to any
+ poet of the moſt refined times. Homer's art in magnifying the character of Achilles, has been
+ univerſally admired. Oſſian certainly ſhews no leſs aft in aggrandizing Fingal. Nothing could be
+ more happily imagined for this purpoſe than the whole management of the laſt battle, wherein
+ Gaul, the ſon of Morni, had beſought Fingal to retire, and to leave him and his other chiefs the
+ honour of the day. The generoſity of the king in agreeing to this propoſal; the majeſty with
+ which he retreats to the hill, from whence he was to behold the engagement, attended by his
+ bards, and waving the lightning of his ſword; his perceiving the chiefs overpowered by numbers,
+ but, from unwillingneſs to deprive them of the glory of victory by coming in perſon to their
+ aſſiſtance, firſt ſending Ullin, the bard, to animate their courage, and at laſt, when the danger
+ becomes more preſſing, his riſing in his might, and interpoſing, like a divinity, to decide the
+ doubtful fate of the day; are all circumſtances contrived with ſo much art, as plainly diſcover
+ the Celtic bards to have been not unpractiſed in heroic poetry.
+
The ſtory which is the foundation of the Iliad, is in itſelf as ſimple as
+ that of Fingal. A quarrel
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ariſes between Achilles and Agamemnon
+ concerning a female ſlave; on which Achilles, apprehending himſelf to be injured, withdraws his
+ aſſiſtance from the reſt of the Greeks. The Greeks fall into great diſtreſs, and beſeech him to
+ be reconciled to them. He refuſes to fight for them in perſon, but ſends his friend Patroclus;
+ and upon his being ſlain, goes forth to revenge his death, and kills Hector. The ſubject of
+ Fingal is this: Swaran comes to invade Ireland; Cuthullin, the guardian of the young king, had
+ applied for his aſſiſtance to Fingal, who reigned in the oppoſite coaſt of Scotland. But before
+ Fingal's arrival, he is hurried by raſh counſel to encounter Swaran. He is defeated; he retreats,
+ and deſponds. Fingal arrives in this conjuncture. The battle is for ſome time dubious; but in the
+ end he conquers Swaran; and the remembrance of Swaran's being the brother of Agandecca, who, had
+ once ſaved his life, makes him diſmiſs him honourably. Homer, it is true, has filled up his ſtory
+ with a much greater variety of particulars than Oſſian; and in this has ſhown a compaſs of
+ invention ſuperior to that of the other poet. But it muſt not be forgotten that though Homer be
+ more circumſtantial, his incidents, however, are leſs diverſified in kind than thoſe of Oſſian.
+ War and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image bloodſhed reign throughout the Iliad; and,
+ notwithſtanding all the fertility of Homer's invention, there is ſo much uniformity in his
+ ſubjects, that there are few readers, who, before the cloſe, are not tired with perpetual
+ fighting. Whereas in Oſſian, the mind is relieved by a more agreeable diverſity. There is a finer
+ mixture of war and heroiſm, with love and friendſhip—of martial, with tender ſcones, than is to
+ be met with, perhaps, in any other poet. The epiſodes, too, have great propriety—as natural, and
+ proper to that age and country: conſiſting of the ſongs of bards, which are known to have been
+ the great entertainment of the Celtic heroes in war, as well as in peace. Theſe ſongs are not
+ introduced at random; if you except the epiſode of Duchommar and Morna, in the firſt book, which,
+ though beautiful, is more unartful than any of the reſt, they have always ſome particular
+ relation to the actor who is intereſted, or to the events which are going on; and, whilſt they
+ vary the ſcene, they preſerve a ſufficient connection with the main ſubject by the fitneſs and
+ propriety of their introduction.
+
As Fingal's love to Agandecca influences ſome circumſtances of the poem,
+ particularly the honourable diſmiſſion of Swaran at the end; it was neceſſary that we ſhould be
+ let into this
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image part of the hero's ſtory. But as it lay
+ without the compaſs of the preſent action, it could be regularly introduced nowhere except in an
+ epiſode. Accordingly, the poet, with as much propriety as if Ariſtotle himſelf had directed the
+ plan, has contrived an epiſode for this purpoſe in the ſong of Carril, at the beginning of the
+ third book.
+
The concluſion of the poem is ſtrictly according to rule, and is every way
+ noble and pleaſing. Th reconciliation of the contending heroes, the conſolation of Cuthullin, and
+ the general felicity that crowns the action, ſoothe the mind in a very agreeable manner, and form
+ that paſſage from agitation and trouble, to perfect quiet and repoſe, which critics require as
+ the proper termination of the epic work. “Thus they paſſed the night in ſong, and brought back
+ the morning with joy. Fingal aroſe on the heath; and ſhook his glittering ſpear in his hand. He
+ moved firſt towards the plains of Lena; and we followed like a ridge of fire. Spread the ſail,
+ ſaid the king of Morven, and catch the winds that pour from Lena. We roſe on the waves with
+ ſongs; and ruſhed with joy through the foam of the ocean.” So much for the unity and general
+ conduct of the Epic action in Fingal.
With regard to that property of the ſubject which Ariſtotle requires, that
+ it ſhould be feigned, not hiſtorical, he muſt not be underſtood ſo ſtrictly is if he meant to
+ exclude all ſubjects which have any foundation in truth. For ſuch excluſion would both be
+ unreaſonable in itſelf, and what is more, would be contrary to the practice of Homer, who is
+ known to have founded his Iliad on hiſtorical facts concerning the war of Troy, which was famous
+ throughout all Greece. Ariſtotle means no more than that it is the buſineſs of a poet not to be a
+ more annaliſt of facts, but to embelliſh truth with beautiful, probable, and uſeful fictions; to
+ copy nature as he himſelf explains it, like painters, who preſerve a likeneſs, but exhibit their
+ objects more grand and beautiful than they are in reality. That Oſſian has followed this courſe,
+ and building upon true hiſtory, has ſufficiently adorned it with poetical fiction for
+ aggrandizing his characters and facts, will not, I believe, be queſtioned by moſt readers. At the
+ ſame time, the foundation which thoſe facts and characters had in truth, and the ſhare which the
+ poet had himſelf in the tranſactions which he records, muſt be conſidered as no ſmall advantage
+ to his work. For truth makes an impreſſion on the mind far beyond any fiction; and no man, let
+ his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image imagination be ever ſo ſtrong, relates any
+ events ſo feelingly as thoſe in which he has been intereſted; paints any ſcene ſo naturally as
+ one which he has ſeen; or draws any characters in ſuch ſtrong colours as thoſe which he has
+ perſonally known. It is conſidered as an advantage of the epic ſubject to be taken from a period
+ ſo diſtant, as, by being involved in the darkneſs of tradition, may give licenſe to fable. Though
+ Oſſian's ſubject may at firſt view appear unfavourable in this reſpect, as being taken from his
+ own times, yet, when we reflect that he lived to an extreme old age; that he relates what had
+ been tranſacted in another country, at the diſtance of many years, and after all that race of men
+ who had been the actors were gone off the ſtage; we ſhall find the objection in a great meaſure
+ obviated. In ſo rude an age, when no written records were known, when tradition was looſe, and
+ accuracy of any kind little attended to, what was great and heroic in one generation, eaſily
+ ripened into the marvellous in the next.
+
The natural repreſentation of human character in an epic poem is highly
+ eſſential to its merit; and, in reſpect of this, there can be no doubt of Homer's excelling all
+ the heroic poets who have ever wrote. But though Oſſian be much inferior to Homer in this
+ article, he will
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image be found to be equal at leaſt, if not
+ ſuperior to Virgil; and has, indeed, given all the diſplay of human nature, which the ſimple
+ occurrences of his times could be expected to furniſh. No dead uniformity of character prevails
+ in Fingal; but, on the contrary, the principal characters are not only clearly diſtinguiſhed, but
+ ſometimes artfully contraſted, ſo as to illuſtrate each other. Oſſian's heroes are like Homer's,
+ all brave; but their bravery, like thoſe of Homer's too, is of different kinds. For inſtance: the
+ prudent, the ſedate, the modeſt and circumſpect Connal, is finely oppoſed to the preſumptuous,
+ raſh, overbearing, but gallant and generous Calmar. Calmar hurries Cuthullin into action by his
+ temerity; and when he ſees the bad effects of his counſels, he will not ſurvive the diſgrace.
+ Connal, like another Ulyſſes, attends Cuthullin to his retreat, counſels and comforts him under
+ his miſfortune. The fierce, the proud, and the high-ſpirited Swaran, is admirably contraſted with
+ the calm, the moderate, and generous Fingal. The character of Oſcar is a favourite one throughout
+ the whole poems. The amiable warmth of the young warrior; his eager impetuoſity in the day of
+ action; his paſſion for fame; his ſubmiſſion to his father; his tenderneſs for Malvina; are the
+ ſtrokes of a maſterly
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pencil: the ſtrokes are few; but it is the
+ hand of nature, and attracts the heart. Oſſian's own character, the old man, the hero, and the
+ bard, all in one, preſents to us, through the whole work, a moſt reſpectable and venerable
+ figure, which we always contemplate with pleaſure. Cuthullin is a hero of the higheſt claſs:
+ daring, magnanimous, and exquiſitely ſenſible to honour. We become attached to his intereſt, and
+ are deeply touched with his diſtreſs; and after the admiration raiſed for him in the firſt part
+ of the poem, it is a ſtrong proof of Oſſian's maſterly genius, that he durſt adventure to produce
+ to us another hero, compared with whom, even the great Cuthullin ſhould be only an inferior
+ perſonage; and who ſhould riſe as far above him, as Cuthullin riſes above the reſt.
+
Here indeed, in the character and deſcription of Fingal, Oſſian triumphs
+ almoſt unrivalled; for we may boldly defy all antiquity to ſhow us any hero equal to Fingal.
+ Homer's Hector poſſeſſes ſeveral great and amiable qualities; but Hector is a ſecondary perſonage
+ in the Iliad, not the hero of the work. We ſee him only occaſionally; we know much leſs of him
+ than we do of Fingal; who, not only in this, epic poem, but in Temora, and throughout the reſt of
+ Oſſian's works, is preſented in all that variety of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image lights, which give the full diſplay of a
+ character. And though Hector faithfully diſcharges his duty to his country, his friends, and his
+ family, he is tinctured, however, with a degree of the ſame ſavage ferocity which prevails among
+ all the Homeric heroes: for we find him inſulting over the fallen Patroclus with the moſt cruel
+ taunts, and telling him, when he lies in the agonies of death, that Achilles cannot help him now;
+ and that in a ſhort time his body, ſtripped naked, and deprived of funeral honours, ſhall be
+ devoured by the vulturesDisplay note. Whereas, in the character of Fingal, concur almoſt
+ all the qualities that can ennoble human nature; that can either make us admire the hero, or love
+ the man. He is not only unconquerable in war, but he makes his people happy by his wiſdom in the
+ days of peace. He is truly too father of his people. He is known by the epithet or “Fingal of the
+ mildeſt look;” and diſtinguiſhed on every occaſion by humanity and generoſity. He is merciful to
+ his foes Display note; full of affection to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image his children; full of concern about his
+ friends; and never mentions Agandecca, his firſt love, without the utmoſt tenderneſs. He is the
+ univerſal Protector of the diſtreſſed; “None ever went ſad from Fingal.”—“O, Oſcar! bend the
+ ſtrong in arms; but ſpare the feeble hand. Be thou a ſtream of mighty tides againſt the foes of
+ thy people; but like the gale that moves the graſs to thoſe who aſk thine aid. So Trenmor lived;
+ ſuch Trathal was; and ſuch has Fingal been. My arm was the ſupport of the injured; the weak
+ reſted behind the lightning of my ſteel.” Theſe were the maxims of true heroiſm, to which he
+ formed his grandſon. His fame is repreſented as everywhere ſpread; the greateſt heroes
+ acknowledge his ſuperiority; his enemies tremble at his name; and the higheſt encomium that can
+ be beſtowed on one whom the poets would moſt exalt, is to ſay, that his ſoul was like the ſoul of
+ Fingal.
+
To do juſtice to the poet's merit, in ſupporting ſuch a character as this, I
+ muſt obſerve, what is not commonly attended to, that there is
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image no part of poetical execution more
+ difficult, than to draw a perfect character in ſuch a manner as to render it diſtinct, and
+ affecting to the mind. Some ſtrokes of human imperfection and frailty, are what uſually give us
+ the moſt clear view, and the moſt ſenſible impreſſion of a character; becauſe they preſent to us
+ a man, ſuch as we have ſeen; they recall known features of human nature. When poets attempt to go
+ beyond this range, and deſcribe a faultleſs hero, they for the moſt part ſet before us a ſort of
+ vague, undiſtinguiſhable character, ſuch as the imagination cannot lay hold of, or realize to
+ itſelf as the object of affection. We know how much Virgil has failed in this particular. His
+ perfect hero, Æneas, is an unanimated, inſipid perſonage, whom we may pretend to admire, but whom
+ no one can heartily love. But what Virgil has failed in, Oſſian, to our aſtoniſhment, has
+ ſucceſſfully executed. His Fingal, though exhibited without any of the common human failings, is,
+ nevertheleſs, a real man; a character which touches and intereſts every reader. To this it has
+ much contributed that the poet has repreſented him as an old man; and by this has gained the
+ advantage of throwing around him a great many circumſtances, peculiar to that age, which paint
+ him to the fancy in a more diſtinct
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image light. He is ſurrounded with his family; he
+ inſtructs his children in the principles of virtue; he is narrative of his paſt exploits he is
+ venerable with the gray locks of age; he is frequently diſpoſed to moralize, like an old man, on
+ human vanity, and the proſpect of death. There is more art, at leaſt more felicity, in this, than
+ may at firſt be imagined. For youth and old are the two ſtates of human life, capable of being
+ placed in the moſt pictureſque lights. Middle age is more general and vague; and has fewer
+ circumſtances peculiar to the idea of it. And when any object is in a ſituation that admits it to
+ be rendered particular, and to be clothed with a variety of circumſtances, it always ſtands out
+ more clear and full of poetical deſcription.
+
Beſides human perſonages, divine or ſupernatural agents are often introduced
+ into epic poetry, forming what is called the machinery of it; which moſt critics hold to be an
+ eſſential part. The marvellous, it muſt he admitted, has always a great charm for the bulk of
+ readers. It gratifies the imagination, and affords room for ſtriking and ſublime deſcription. No
+ wonder, therefore, that all poets ſhould have a ſtrong propenſity towards it. But I muſt obſerve,
+ that nothing is more difficult than to adjuſt properly the marvellous with the probable. If a
+ poet
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſacrifice probability, and fill his work
+ with extravagant ſupernatural ſcenes, he ſpreads over it an appearance of romance and childiſh
+ fiction; he tranſports his readers from this world into a fantaſtic viſionary region; and loſes
+ that weight and dignity which ſhould reign in epic poetry. No work from which probability is
+ altogether baniſhed, can make a laſting or deep impreſſion. Human actions and manners are always,
+ the moſt intereſting objects which can be preſented to a human mind. All machinery, therefore, is
+ faulty, which withdraws theſe too much from view, or obſcures them under a cloud of incredible
+ fictions. Beſides being temperately employed, machinery ought always to have ſome foundation in
+ popular belief. A poet is by no means at liberty to invent what ſyſtem of the marvellous he
+ pleaſes; he muſt avail himſelf either of the religious faith, or the ſuperſtitious credulity of
+ the country wherein he lives; ſo as to give an air of probability to events which are moſt
+ contrary to the common courſe of nature.
+
In theſe reſpects, Oſſian appears to me to have been remarkably happy. He
+ has, indeed, followed the ſame courſe with Homer. For it is perfectly abſurd to imagine, as ſome
+ critics have done, that Homer's mythology was invented by
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image him “in conſequence of profound reflection
+ on the benefits it would yield to poetry.” Homer was no ſuch refining genius. He found the
+ traditionary ſtories, on which he built his Iliad, mingled with popular legends concerning the
+ intervention of the gods; and he adopted theſe becauſe they amuſed the fancy. Oſſian, in like
+ manner, found the tales of his country full of ghoſts and ſpirits; it is likely he believed them
+ himſelf; and he introduced them, becauſe they gave his poems that ſolemn and marvellous caſt
+ which ſuited his genius. This was the only machinery he could employ with propriety; becauſe it
+ was the only intervention of ſupernatural beings which agreed with the common belief of the
+ country. It was happy; becauſe it did not interfere in the leaſt with the proper diſplay of human
+ characters and actions; becauſe it had leſs of the incredible than moſt other kinds of poetical
+ machinery; and becauſe it ſerved to diverſify the ſcene, and to heighten the ſubject by an awful
+ grandeur, which is the great deſign of machinery.
+
As Oſſian's mythology is peculiar to himſelf, and makes a conſiderable
+ figure in his other poems, as well as in Fingal, it may be proper to make ſome obſervations on
+ it, independent of its ſubſerviency to epic compoſition. It turns
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image for the moſt part on the appearances of
+ departed ſpirits. Theſe, conſonantly to the notions of every rude age, are repreſented not as
+ purely immaterial, but as thin airy forms, which can be viſible or inviſible at pleaſure; their
+ voice is feeble, their arm is weak; but they are endowed with knowledge more than human. In a
+ ſeparate ſtate, they retain the ſame diſpoſitions which animated them in this life. They ride on
+ the wind; they bend their airy bows; and purſue deer formed of clouds. The ghoſts of departed
+ bards continue to ſing. The ghoſts of departed heroes frequent the fields of their former fame.
+ “They reſt together in their caves, and talk of mortal men. Their ſongs are of other worlds. They
+ come ſometimes to the ear of reſt, and raiſe their feeble voice.” All this preſents to us much
+ the ſame ſet of ideas concerning ſpirits, as we find in the eleventh book of the Odyſſey, where
+ Ulyſſes viſits the regions of the dead; and in the twenty-third book of the Iliad, the ghoſt of
+ Patroclus, after appearing to Achilles, vaniſhes preciſely like one of Oſſian's, emitting a
+ ſhrill, feeble cry, and melting away like ſmoke.
+
But though Homer's and Oſſian's ideas concerning ghoſts were of the ſame
+ nature, we cannot but obſerve, that Oſſian's ghoſts are drawn with much ſtronger and livelier
+ colours
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image than thoſe of Homer. Oſſian deſcribes ghoſts
+ with all the particularity of one who had ſeen and converſed with them, and whoſe imagination was
+ full of the impreſſion they had left upon it. He calls up thoſe awful and tremendous ideas which
+ the
+ —Simulacra modis pallentia miris are fitted to raiſe in the human mind; and
+ which, in Shakſpeare's ſtyle, “harrow up the ſoul.” Crugal's ghoſt, in particular, in the
+ beginning of the ſecond book of Fingal, may vie with any appearance of this kind, deſcribed by
+ any epic or tragic poet whatever. Moſt poets would have contented themſelves, with telling us,
+ that he reſembled, in every particular, the living Crugal; that his form and dreſs were the ſame,
+ only his face more pale and ſad; and that he bore the mark of the wound by which he fell. But
+ Oſſian ſets before our eyes a ſpirit from the inviſible world, diſtinguiſhed by all thoſe
+ features which a ſtrong, aſtoniſhed imagination would give to a ghoſt. “A dark red ſtream of fire
+ comes down from the hill. Crugal ſat upon the beam; he that lately fell by the band of Swaran,
+ ſtriving in the battle of heroes. His face is like the beam of the ſetting moon. His robes are of
+ the clouds of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the hill. His eyes are like two decaying
+ flames. Dark is the wound of his breaſt.—The ſtars dim twinkled through his form; and his voice
+ was like the ſound of a diſtant ſtream.” The circumſtance of the ſtars being beheld “dim
+ twinkling through his form,” is wonderfully pictureſque, and convoys the moſt lively impreſſion
+ of his thin and ſhadowy ſubſtance. The attitude in which he is afterward placed, and the ſpeech
+ put into his mouth, are full of that ſolemn and awful ſublimity, which ſuits the ſubject. “Dim,
+ and in tears he ſtood, and he ſtretched his pale hand over the hero. Faintly he raiſed his feeble
+ voice, like the gale of the reedy Lego.—My ghoſt, O Connal! is on my native hills; but my corſe
+ is on the ſands of Ulla. Thou ſhalt never talk with Crugal, or find his lone ſteps in the heath.
+ I am light as the blaſt of Cromla; and I move like the ſhadow of miſt. Connal, ſon of Colgar! I
+ ſee the dark cloud of death; it hovers over the plains of Lena. The ſons of green Erin Shall
+ fall. Remove from the field of ghoſts.—Like the darkened moon, he retired in the midſt of the
+ whiſtling blaſt.”
+
Several other appearances of ſpirits might be pointed out, as among the moſt
+ ſublime paſſages of Oſſian's poetry. The circumſtances of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image them are conſiderably diverſified, and the
+ ſcenery always ſuited to the occaſion. “Oſcar ſlowly aſcends the hill. The meteors of night ſet
+ on the heath before him. A diſtant torrent faintly roars. Unfrequent blaſts ruſh through aged
+ oaks. The half enlightened moon ſinks dim and red behind her hill. Feeble voices are heard on the
+ heath. Oſcar drew his ſword—.”Nothing can prepare the fancy more happily for the awful ſcene that
+ is to follow. “Trenmor came from his hill at the voice of his mighty ſon. A cloud, like the ſteed
+ of the ſtranger, ſupported his airy limbs. His robe is of the miſt of Lano, that brings death to
+ the people. His ſword is a green meteor, half extinguiſhed. His face is without form, and dark.
+ He ſighed thrice over the hero; and thrice the winds of the night roared around. Many were his
+ words to Oſcar.—He ſlowly vaniſhed, like a miſt that melts on the ſunny hill.” To appearances of
+ this kind, we can find no parallel among the Greek or Roman poets. They bring to mind that noble
+ deſcription in the book of Job: “In thoughts from the viſion of the night, when deep ſleep
+ falleth on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to ſhake. Then a ſpirit
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image paſſed before my face: the hair of my fleſh
+ ſtood up It ſtood ſtill: but I could not diſcern the form thereof. An image was before mine eyes.
+ There was ſilence; and I heard a voice—Shall mortal man be more juſt than God Display note?”
+
As Oſſian's ſupernatural beings are deſcribed with a ſurpriſing force of
+ imagination, ſo they are introduced with propriety. We have only three ghoſts in Fingal: that of
+ Crugal, which comes to warn the hoſt of impending deſtruction, and to adviſe them to ſave
+ themſelves by retreat; that of Evir-allen, the ſpouſe of Oſſian, which calls on him to riſe and
+ reſcue their ſon from danger; and that of Agandecca, which, juſt before the laſt engagement with
+ Swaran, moves Fingal to pity, by mourning for the approaching deſtruction of her kinſman and
+ people. In the other poems, ghoſts ſometimes appear, when invoked, to foretell futurity;
+ frequently, according to the notions of theſe times, they come as forerunners of miſfortune or
+ death, to thoſe whom they viſit; ſometimes they inform their friends at a diſtance of thier own
+ death; and ſometimes they are introduced to heighten the ſcenery on ſome great and ſolemn
+ occaſion.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image “A hundred oaks burn to the wind; and faint
+ light gleams over the heath. The ghoſts of Ardven paſs through the beam, and ſhow their dim and
+ diſtant forms. Comala is half unſeen on her meteor; and Hidallan is ſullen and dim.”—“The awful
+ faces of other times looked from the clouds of Crona.”—“Fercuth! I ſaw the ghoſt of night. Silent
+ he ſtood on that bank; his robe of miſt flew on the wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man
+ he ſeemed, and full of thought.”
+
The ghoſts of ſtrangers mingle not with thoſe of the natives. “She is ſeen:
+ but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the ſtrangerſ' land; and ſhe is ſtill
+ alone.” When the ghoſt of one whom we had formerly known is introduced, the propriety of the
+ living character is ſtill preſerved. This is remarkable in the appearance of Calmar's ghoſt, in
+ the poem entitled, The death of Cuthullin. He ſeems to forebode Cuthullin's death, and to beckon
+ him to his cave. Cuthullin reproaches him for ſuppoſing that he could be intimidated by ſuch
+ prognoſtics. “Why doſt thou bend thy dark eyes on me, ghoſt of the car-borne Calmar? Wouldſt thou
+ frighten me, O Matha's ſon! from the battles of Cormac? Thy hand was not feeble in war; neither
+ was thy voice for
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image peace. How art thou changed, chief of Lara!
+ if thou now doſt adviſe to fly! Retire thou to thy cave thou art not Calmar's ghoſt; lie
+ delighted in battle and his arm was like the thunder of heaven.” Calmar makes no return to this
+ ſeeming reproach: but “he retired in his blaſt with joy; for he had heard the voice of his
+ praiſe.” This is preciſely the ghoſt of Achilles in Homer; who, notwithſtanding all the
+ diſſatiſfaction he expreſſes with his ſtate in the region of the dead, as ſoon as he had heard
+ his ſon Neoptolemus praiſed for his gallant behavior, ſtrode away with ſilent joy to rejoin the
+ reſt of the ſhadesDisplay note.
+
It is a great advantage of Oſſian's mythology, that it is not local and
+ temporary, like that of moſt other ancient poets; which of courſe is apt to ſeem ridiculous,
+ after the ſuperſtitions have paſſed away on which it is founded. Oſſian's mythology is, to ſpeak
+ ſo, the mythology of human nature; for it is founded on what has been the popular belief, in all
+ ages and countries, and under all forms of religion, concerning the appearances of departed
+ ſpirits. Homer's machinery is always lively and amuſing; but far from being always ſupported with
+ proper
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image dignity. The indecent ſquabbles among his
+ gods ſurely do no honour to epic poetry. Whereas Oſſian's machinery has dignity upon all
+ occaſions. It is indeed a dignity of the dark and awful kind; but this is proper; becauſe
+ coincident with the ſtrain and ſpirit of the poetry. A light and gay mythology, like Homer's,
+ would have been perfectly unſuitable to the ſubjects on which Oſſian's genius was employed. But
+ though his machinery be always ſolemn, it is not, however, always dreary or diſmal; it as
+ enlivened, as much as the ſubject would permit, by thoſe pleaſant and beautiful appearances,
+ which he ſometimes introduces, of the ſpirits of the hill. Theſe are gentle ſpirits: deſcending
+ on ſunbeams, fair moving on the plain; their forms white and bright; their voices ſweet; and
+ their viſits to men propitious. The greateſt praiſe that can be given to the beauty of a living
+ woman, is to ſay, “She is fair as the ghoſt of the hill, when it moves in a ſunbeam at noon, over
+ the ſilence of Morven.” “The hunter ſhall hear my voice from his booth. He ſhall fear, but love
+ my voice. For ſweet ſhall my voice be for my friends; for pleaſant were they to me.”
+
Beſides ghoſts, or the ſpirits of departed men, we find in Oſſian ſome
+ inſtances of other
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image kinds of machinery. Spirits of a ſuperior
+ nature to ghoſts are ſometimes alluded to, which have power to embroil the deep; to call forth
+ winds and ſtorms, and pour them on the land of the ſtranger; to overturn foreſts, and to ſend
+ death among the people. We have prodigies too; a ſhower of blood; and when ſome diſaſter is
+ befalling at a diſtance, the ſound of death is heard on the ſtrings of Oſſian's harp: all
+ perfectly conſonant, not only to the peculiar ideas of northern nations, but to the general
+ current of a ſuperſtitious mention in all countries. The deſcription of Fingal's airy hall, in
+ the poem called Errathon, and of the aſcent of Malvina into it, deſerves particular notice, as
+ remarkably noble and magnificent. But, above all, the engagement of Fingal with the ſpirit of
+ Loda, in Carric-thura, cannot be mentioned without admiration. I forbear tranſcribing the
+ paſſage, as it muſt have drawn the attention of every one who has read the works of Oſſian. The
+ undaunted courage of Fingal, oppoſed to all the terrors of the Scandinavian god; the appearance
+ and the ſpeech of that awful ſpirit; the wound which he receives, and the ſhriek which he ſends
+ forth, “as, rolled into himſelf, he roſe upon the wind;” are full of the moſt amazing and
+ terrible majeſty. I know no paſſage more
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſublime in the writings of any uninſpired
+ author. The fiction is calculated to aggrandize the hero; which it does to a high degree: nor is
+ it ſo unnatural or wild a fiction as might at firſt be thought. According to the notions of thoſe
+ times, ſupernatural beings were material, and, conſequently, vulnerable. The ſpirit of Loda was
+ not acknowledged as a deity by Fingal; he did not worſhip at the ſtone of his power; he plainly
+ conſidered him as the god of his enemies only; as a local deity, whoſe dominion extended no
+ farther than to the regions where he was worſhipped; who had, therefore, no title to threaten
+ him, and no claim to his ſubmiſſion. We know there are poetical precedents of great authority,
+ for fictions fully as extravagant; and if Homer be forgiven for making Diomed attack and wound in
+ battle the gods whom that chief himſelf worſhipped, Oſſian ſurely is pardonable for making his
+ hero ſuperior to the god of a foreign territory Display note.
Notwithſtanding the poetical advantages which I have aſcribed to Oſſian's
+ machinery, I acknowledge it would have been much more beautiful and perfect had the author
+ diſcovered ſome knowledge of a Supreme Being. Although his ſilence on this head has been
+ accounted for by the learned and ingenious tranſlator in a very probable, manner, yet ſtill it
+ muſt be held a conſiderable diſadvantage to the poetry. For the moſt auguſt and lofty ideas that
+ can embelliſh poetry are derived from the belief of a divine adminiſtration of the univerſe; and
+ hence the invocation of a Supreme Being, or at leaſt of ſome ſuperior powers, who are conceived
+ as preſiding over human affairs, the ſolemnities of religious worſhip, prayers preferred, and
+ aſſiſtance implored on critical occaſions, appear
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image with great dignity in the works of almoſt
+ all poets, as chief ornaments of their compoſitions. The abſence of all ſuch religious ideas from
+ Oſſian's poetry is a ſenſible blank in it; the more to be regretted, as we can eaſily imagine
+ what an illuſtrious figure they would have made under the management of ſuch a genius as his; and
+ how finely they would have been adapted to many ſituations which occur in his works.
+
After ſo particular an examination of Fingal, it were needleſs to enter into
+ as full a diſcuſſion of the conduct of Temora, the other epic poem. Many of the ſame
+ obſervations, eſpecially with regard to the great characteriſtics of heroic poetry, apply to
+ both. The high merit, however, of Temora, requires that we ſhould not paſs it by without ſome
+ remarks.
+
The ſcene of Temora, as of Fingal, is laid in Ireland; and the action is of
+ a poſterior date. The ſubject is, an expedition of the hero to dethrone and puniſh a bloody
+ uſurper, and to reſtore the poſſeſſion of the kingdom to the poſterity of the lawful prince: an
+ undertaking worthy of the juſtice and heroiſm of the great Fingal. The action is one, and
+ complete. The Poem opens with the deſcent of Fingal on the coaſt, and the conſultation held among
+ the chiefs of the enemy. The murder of the young
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image prince Cormac, which was the cauſe of the
+ war, being antecedent to the epic action, is introduced with great propriety as an epiſode in the
+ firſt book. In the progreſs of the poem, three battles are deſcribed, which riſe in their
+ importance above, one another; the ſucceſs is various, and the iſſue for ſome time doubtful; till
+ at laſt, Fingal, brought into diſtreſs, by the wound of his great general Gaul, and the death of
+ his ſon Fillan, aſſumes the command himſelf; and, having ſlain the Iriſh king in ſingle combat,
+ reſtores the rightful heir to his throne.
+
Temora has perhaps leſs fire than the other epic poem; but in return it has
+ more variety, more tenderneſs, and more magnificence. The reigning idea, ſo often reſented to us,
+ of “Fingal, in the laſt of his fields, is venerable and affecting; nor could any more noble
+ concluſion be thought of, than the aged hero, after ſo many ſucceſſful achievements, taking his
+ leave of battles, and, with all the ſolemnities of thoſe times, reſigning his ſpear to his ſon.
+ The events are leſs crowded in Temora than in Fingal; actions and characters are more
+ particularly diſplayed: we are let into the tranſactions of both hoſts, and informed of the
+ adventures of the night as well as of the day. The ſtill, pathetic, and the romantic ſcenery of
+ ſeveral of the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image night adventures, ſo remarkably ſuited to
+ Oſſian's genius, occaſion a fine diverſity in the poem; and are happily contraſted with the
+ military operations of the day.
+
In moſt of our author's poems, the horrors of war are ſoftened by intermixed
+ ſcenes of love and friendſhip. In Fingal theſe are introduced as epiſodes: in Temora we have an
+ incident of this nature wrought into the body of the piece, in the adventure of Cathmor and
+ Sulmalla. This forms one of the moſt conſpicuous beauties of that poem. The diſtreſs of Sulmalla,
+ diſguiſed and unknown amongſt ſtrangers, her tender and anxious concern for the ſafety of
+ Cathmor, her dream, and her melting remembrance of the land of her fathers; Cathmor's emotion
+ when he firſt diſcovers her, his ſtruggles to conceal and ſuppreſs his paſſion, leſt it ſhould
+ unman him in the midſt of war, though “his ſoul poured forth in ſecret, when he beheld her
+ fearful eye,” and the laſt interview between them, when, overcome by her tenderneſs, he lets her
+ know he had diſcovered her, and confeſſes his paſſion; are all wrought up with the moſt exquiſite
+ ſenſibility and delicacy.
+
Beſides the characters which appeared in Fingal, ſeveral new ones are here
+ introduced; and though, as they are all the characters of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image warriors, bravery is the predominant
+ feature, they are nevertheleſs diverſified in a ſenſible and ſtriking manner. Foldath, for
+ inſtance, the general of Cathmor, exhibits the perfect picture of a ſavage chieftain; bold and
+ daring, but preſumptuous, cruel, and overbearing. He is diſtinguiſhed, on his firſt appearance,
+ as the friend of the tyrant Cairbar, “His ſtride is haughty; his red eye rolls in wrath.” In his
+ perſon and whole deportment he is contraſted with the mild and wiſe Hidalla, another leader of
+ the ſame army, on whoſe humanity and gentleneſs he looks with great contempt. He profeſſedly
+ delights in ſtrife and blood. He inſults over the fallen. He is imperious in his counſels, and
+ factious when they are not followed. He is unrelenting in all his ſchemes of revenge, even to the
+ length of denying the funeral ſong to the dead; which, from the injury thereby done to their
+ ghoſts, was in thoſe days conſidered as the greateſt barbarity. Fierce to the laſt, he comforts
+ himſelf in his dying moments with thinking that his ghoſt ſhall often leave its blaſt to rejoice
+ over the graves of thoſe he had ſlain. Yet Oſſian, ever prone to the pathetic, has contrived to
+ throw into his account of the death, even of this man, ſome tender
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image circumſtances, by the moving deſcription of
+ his daughter Dardulena, the laſt of his race.
+
The character of Foldath tends much to exalt that of Cathmor, the chief
+ commander, which is diſtinguiſhed by the moſt humane virtues. He all fraud and cruelty, is famous
+ for his hoſpitality to ſtrangers; open to every generous ſentiment, and to every ſoft and
+ compaſſionate feeling. he is ſo amiable as to divide the reader's attachment between him and the
+ hero of the poem; though our author has artfully managed it ſo as to make Cathmor himſelf
+ indirectly acknowledge Fingal's ſuperiority, and to appear ſomewhat apprehenſive of the event,
+ after the death of Fillan, which he knew would call forth Fingal in all his might. It is very
+ remarkable, that although Oſſian has introduced into his poems three complete heroes, Cuthullin,
+ Cathmor, and Fingal, he has, however, ſenſibly diſtinguiſhed each of their characters; Cuthullin
+ is particularly honourable; Cathmor particularly amiable; Fingal wiſe and great, retaining an
+ aſcendant peculiar to himſelf in whatever light he is viewed.
+
But the favourite figure in Temora, and the one moſt highly finiſhed, is
+ Fillan. His character is of that ſort for which Oſſian ſhews a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image particular fondneſs; an eager, fervent,
+ young warrior, fired with all the impatient enthuſiaſm for military glory peculiar to that time
+ of life. He had ſketched this in the deſcription of his own ſon Oſcar; but as he has extended it
+ more fully in Fillan, and as the character is ſo conſonant to the epic ſtrain, though, as far as
+ I remember, not placed in ſuch a conſpicuous light by any other epic poet, it may be worth while
+ to attend a little to Oſſian's management of it in this inſtance.
+
Fillan was the youngeſt of all the ſons of Fingal younger, it is plain, than
+ his nephew Oſcar, by whoſe fame and great deeds in war we may naturally ſuppoſe his ambition to
+ have been highly ſtimulated. Withal, as lie is younger, he is deſcribed as more raſh and fiery.
+ His firſt appearance is ſoon after Oſcar's death, when he was employed to watch the motions of
+ the foe by night. In a converſation with his brother Oſſian, on that occaſion, we learn that it
+ was not long ſince he began to lift the ſpear. “Few are the marks of my ſword in battle; but my
+ ſoul is fire.” He is with ſome difficulty reſtrained by Oſſian from going to attack the enemy;
+ and complains to him, that his father had never allowed him any opportunity of ſignalizing his
+ valor. “The king hath not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image remarked my ſword; I go forth with the
+ crowd; I return without my fame.” Soon after, when Fingal, according to cuſtom, was to appoint
+ one of his chiefs to command the army, and each was ſtanding forth, and putting in his claim to
+ this honour, Fillan is preſented in the following moſt pictureſque and natural attitude: “On his
+ ſpear ſtood the Son of Clatho, in the wandering of his locks. Thrice he raiſed his eyes to
+ Fingal; his voice thrice failed him as he ſpoke. Fillan could not boaſt of battles; at once he
+ ſtrode away. Bent over a diſtant ſtream he ſtood; the tear hung in his eye. He ſtruck, at times,
+ the thiſtle's head with his inverted ſpear.” No leſs natural and beautiful is the deſcription of
+ Fingal's paternal emotion on this occaſion. “Nor is he unſeen of Fingal. Sidelong he beheld his
+ ſon. He beheld him with burſting joy. He hid the big tear with his locks, and turned amidſt his
+ crowded ſoul.” The command, for that day, being given to Gaul, Fillan ruſhes amidſt the thickeſt
+ of the foe, ſaves Gaul's life, who is wounded by a random arrow, and diſtinguiſhes himſelf ſo in
+ battle, that “the days of old return on Fingal's mind, as he beholds the renown of his ſon. As
+ the ſun rejoices from the cloud, over the tree his beams have raiſed,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image whilſt it ſhakes its lonely head on the
+ heath, ſo joyful is the king over Fillan.” Sedate, however, and wiſe, he mixes the praiſe which
+ he beſtows on him with ſome reprehenſion of his raſhneſs. “My ſon, I ſaw thy deeds, and my ſoul
+ was glad. Thou art brave, ſon of Clatho, but headlong in the ſtrife. So did not Fingal advance,
+ though he never feared a foe. Let thy people be a ridge behind thee; they are thy ſtrength in the
+ field. Then ſhalt thou be long renowned, and behold the tombs of thy fathers.”
+
On the next day, the, greateſt and the laſt of Fillan's life, the charge is
+ committed to him of leading on the hoſt to battle. Fingal's ſpeech to his troops on this occaſion
+ is full of noble ſentiment; and, where he recommends his ſon to their care, extremely touching.
+ “A young beam is before you: few are his ſteps to war. They are few, but he is valiant; defend my
+ dark-haired ſon. Bring him back with joy; hereafter he may ſtand alone. His form is like his
+ fathers; his ſoul is a flame of their fire.” When the battle begins, the poet puts forth his
+ ſtrength to deſcribe the exploits of the young hero; who, at laſt encountering and killing with
+ his own hand Foldath, the oppoſite general, attains the pinnacle of glory. In what
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image follows, when the fate of Fillan is drawn
+ near, Oſſian, if anywhere, excels himſelf. Foldath being ſlain, and a general rout begun, there
+ was no reſource left to the enemy but in the great Cathmore himſelf, who in this extremity
+ deſcends from the hill, where, according to the cuſtom of thoſe princes, he ſurveyed the battle.
+ Obſerve how this critical event is wrought up by the poet. “Wide-ſpreading over echoing Lubar,
+ the flight of Bolga is rolled along. Fillan hung forward on their ſteps, and ſtrewed the heath
+ with dead. Fingal rejoiced over his ſon.—Blue-ſhielded Cathmor roſe.—Son of Alpin, bring the
+ harp! Give Fillan's praiſe to the wind: raiſe high his praiſe in my hall, while yet he ſhines in
+ war. Leave, blue-eyed Clatho! leave thy hall; behold that early beam of thine! The hoſt is
+ withered in its courſe. No farther look—it is dark—light trembling from the harp, ſtrike,
+ virgins! ſtrike the ſound.” The ſudden interruption and ſuſpenſe of the narration on Cathmor's
+ riſing from his hill, the abrupt burſting into the praiſe of Fillan, and the paſſionate
+ apoſtrophe to his mother Clatho, are admirable efforts of poetical art, in order to intereſt us
+ in Fillan's danger; and the whole is heightened by the immediate following ſimile,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image one of the moſt magnificent and ſublime that
+ is to be met with in any poet, and which, if it had been found in Homer, would have been the
+ frequent ſubject of admiration to critics: “Fillan is like a ſpirit of heaven, that deſcends from
+ the ſkirt of big blaſt. The troubled ocean feels his ſteps as he ſtrides from wave to wave. His
+ path kindles behind him; iſlands ſhake their heads on the heaving ſeas.”
+
But the poet's art is not yet exhauſted. The fall of this noble young,
+ warrior, or, in Oſſian's ſtyle, the extinction of this beam of heaven, could not be rendered too
+ intereſting and affecting. Our attention is naturally drawn towards Fingal. He beholds front his
+ hill the riſing of Cathmor, and the danger of his ſon. But what ſhall he do? “Shall Fingal riſe
+ to his aid, and take the ſword of Luno? What then ſhall become of thy fame, ſon of white-boſomed
+ Clatho? Turn not thine eves from Fingal, daughter of Iniſtore! I ſhall not quench thy early beam.
+ No cloud of mine ſhall riſe, my ſon, upon thy ſoul of fire.” Struggling between concern for the
+ fame, and fear for the ſafety of his ſon, be withdraws from the ſight of the engagement, and
+ deſpatches Oſſian in haſte to the field,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image with this affectionate and delicate
+ injunction: “Father of Oſcar!” addreſſing him by a title which on this occaſion has the higheſt
+ propriety: “Father of Oſcar! lift the ſpear, defend the young in arms. But conceal thy ſteps from
+ Fillan's eyes. He muſt not know that I doubt his ſteel.” Oſſian arrived too late. But unwilling
+ to deſcribe Fillan vanquiſhed, the poet ſuppreſſes all the circumſtances of the combat with
+ Cathmor; and only ſhews us the dying hero. We ſee him animated to the end with the ſame martial
+ and ardent ſpirit; breathing his laſt in bitter regret for-being ſo early cut off from the field
+ of glory. “Oſſian, lay me in that hollow rock. Raiſe no ſtone above me, leſt one ſhould aſk about
+ my fame. I am fallen in the firſt of my fields; fallen without renown. Let thy voice alone ſend
+ joy to my flying ſoul. Why ſhould the bard know where dwells the early-fallen Fillan?” He who,
+ after tracing the circumſtances of this ſtory, ſhall deny that our bard is poſſeſſed of high
+ ſentiment and high art, muſt be ſtrangely prejudiced indeed. Let him read the ſtory of Pallas in
+ Virgil, which is of a ſimilar kind; and after all the praiſe he may juſtly beſtow on the elegant
+ and finiſhed deſcription of that amiable author, let him ſay which of the two poets unfold moſt
+ of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the human ſoul. I waive inſiſting on any
+ more of the particulars in Temora; as my aim is rather to lead the reader into the genius and
+ ſpirit of Oſſian's poetry, than to dwell on all his beauties.
+
The judgment and art diſcovered in conducting works of ſuch length as Fingal
+ and Temora, diſtinguiſh them from the other poems in this collection. The ſmaller pieces,
+ however, contain particular beauties, no leſs eminent. They are hiſtorical poems, generally of
+ the elegiac kind; and plainly diſcover themſelves to be the work of the ſame author. One
+ conſiſtent face of manners is everywhere preſented to us; one ſpirit of poetry reigns; the
+ maſterly hand of Oſſian appears throughout; the ſame rapid and animated ſtyle; the ſame ſtrong
+ colouring of imagination, and the ſame glowing ſenſibility of heart. Beſides the unity which
+ belongs to the compoſitions of one man, there is moreover a certain unity of ſubject, which very
+ happily connects all theſe poems. They form the poetical hiſtory of the age, of Fingal, The ſame
+ race of heroes whom we had met with in the greater poems, Cuthullin, Oſcar, Connar, and Gaul,
+ return again upon the ſtage; and Fingal himſelf is always the principal figure, preſented on
+ every occaſion, with equal
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image magnificence, nay, riſing upon us to the
+ laſt. The circumſtances of Oſſian's old age and blindneſs, his ſurviving all his friends, and his
+ relating their great exploits to Malvina, the ſpouſe or miſtreſs of his beloved ſon Oſcar,
+ furniſh the fineſt poetical ſituations that fancy could deviſe for that tender pathetic which
+ reigns in Oſſian's poetry.
+
On each of theſe poems there might be room for ſeparate obſervations, with
+ regard to he conduct and diſpoſitions of the incidents, as well as to the beauty of the
+ deſcriptions and ſentiments. Carthon is a regular and highly finiſhed piece. The main ſtory is
+ very properly introduced by Cleſſamore's relation of the adventure of his youth; and this
+ introduction is finely heightened by Fingal's ſong of mourning over Moina; in which Oſſian, ever
+ fond of doing honour to his father, has contrived to diſtinguiſh him for being an eminent poet,
+ as well as warrior. Fingal's ſong upon this occaſion, when “his thouſand bards leaned forwards
+ from their ſeats, to hear the voice of the king,” is inferior to no paſſage in the whole book;
+ and with great judgement put in his mouth, as the ſeriouſneſs, no leſs than the ſublimity of the
+ ſtrain, is peculiarly ſuited to the hero's character. In Darthula are
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image aſſembled almoſt all the tender images that
+ can touch the heart of man, friendſhip, love, the affections of parents, ſons, and brothers, the
+ diſtreſs of the aged, and the unavailing bravery of the young. The beautiful addreſs to the moon,
+ with which the poem opens, and the tranſition from thence to the ſubject, moſt happily prepare
+ the mind for that train of affecting events that is to follow. The ſtory is regular, dramatic,
+ intereſting to the laſt. He who can read it without emotion may congratulate himſelf, if he
+ pleaſes, upon being completely armed againſt ſympathetic ſorrow. As Fingal had no occaſion of
+ appearing in the action of this poem, Oſſian makes a very artful tranſition from his narration,
+ to what was paſſing in the halls of Selma. The ſound heard there on the ſtrings of his harp, the
+ concern which Fingal ſhews on bearing it, and the invocation of the ghoſts of their fathers, to
+ receive the heroes falling in a diſtant land, are introduced with great beauty of imagination to
+ increaſe the ſolemnity, and to diverſify the ſcenery of the poem.
+
Carric-thura is full of the moſt ſublime dignity; and has this advantage, of
+ being more cheerful in the ſubject, and more happy in the cataſtrophe, than moſt of the other
+ poems: though tempered at the ſame time with epiſodes
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image in that ſtrain of tender melancholy which
+ ſeems to have been the great delight of Oſſian and the bards of his age. Lathmon is peculiarly
+ diſtinguiſhed by high generoſity of ſentiment. This is carried ſo far, particularly in the
+ refuſal of Gaul, on one ſide, to take the advantage of a ſleeping foe; and of Lathmon, on the
+ other, to overpower by numbers the two young warriors as to recall into one's mind the manners of
+ chivalry; ſome reſemblance to which may perhaps be ſuggeſted by other incidents in this
+ collection of poems. Chivalry, however, took riſe in an age and country too remote from thoſe of
+ Oſſian, to admit the ſuſpicion that the one could have borrowed any thing from the other. So far
+ as chivalry had any real exiſtence, the ſame military enthuſiaſm which gave birth to it in the
+ feudal times, might, in the days of Oſſian, that is, in the infancy of a riſing ſtate, through
+ the operation of the ſame cauſe, very naturally produce effects of the ſame kind on the minds and
+ manners of men. So far as chivalry was an ideal ſyſtem, exiſting only in romance, it will not be
+ thought ſurpriſing, when we reflect on the account before given of the Celtic bards, that this
+ imaginary refinement of heroic manners ſhould be found among them, as much, at leaſt, as among
+ the Trobadores, or ſtrolling
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Provençal Bards, in the 10th or 11th
+ century; whoſe ſongs, it is ſaid, firſt gave riſe to thoſe romantic ideas of heroiſm, which for
+ ſo long a time enchanted EuropeDisplay note. Oſſian's heroes have all the
+ gallantry and generoſity of thoſe fabulous knights, without their extravagance; and his love
+ ſcenes have native tenderneſs, without any mixture of thoſe forced and unnatural conceits which
+ abound in the old romances. The adventures related by our poet which reſemble the moſt thoſe of
+ romance, concern women who follow their lovers to war diſguiſed in the armour of men; and theſe
+ are ſo managed as to produce, in the diſcovery, ſeveral of the moſt intereſting ſituations; one
+ beautiful inſtance of which may be ſeen in Carric-thura, and another in Calthon and Colmal.
+
Oithona preſents a ſituation of a different nature. In the abſence of her
+ lover Gaul, ſhe had been carried off and raviſhed by Dunrommath. Gaul diſcovers the place where
+ ſhe is kept concealed, and comes to revenge her. The meeting of the two lovers, the ſentiments
+ and the behavior of Oithona on that occaſion, are deſcribed with ſuch tender and exquiſite
+ propriety, as does the greateſt honour both to the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image heart and to the delicacy of our author; and
+ would have been admired in any poet of the moſt refined age. The conduct of Cruma muſt ſtrike
+ every reader as remarkably judicious and beautiful. We are to be prepared for the death of
+ Malvina, which is related in the ſucceeding poem. She is therefore introduced in perſon; “ſhe has
+ heard a voice in her dream; She feels the fluttering of her ſoul:” and in a moſt moving
+ lamentation addreſſed to her beloved Oſcar, ſhe ſings her own death-ſong. Nothing could be
+ calculated with more art to ſooth and comfort her than the ſtory which Oſſian relates. In the
+ young and brave Fovargormo, another Oſcar is introduced: his praiſes are ſung; and the happineſs
+ is ſet before her of thoſe who die in their youth “when their renown is around them; before the
+ feeble behold them in the hall, and ſmile at their trembling hands.”
+
But nowhere does Oſſian's genius appear to greater advantage, than in
+ Berrathon, which is reckoned the concluſion of his ſongs, “The laſt ſound of the voice of
+ Cona.”
The whole train of ideas is admirably ſuited to the ſubject. Every thing is
+ full of that inviſible world, into which the aged bard believes himſelf now ready to enter. The
+ airy ball of Fingal preſents itſelf to his view; “he ſees the cloud that ſhall receive his ghoſt;
+ he beholds the miſt that ſhall form his robe when he appears on his hill;” and all the natural
+ objects around him ſeem to carry the preſages of death. “The thiſtle ſhakes its beard to the
+ wind. The flower hangs its heavy head; it ſeems to any, I am covered with the drops of heaven;
+ the time of my departure is near, and the blaſt that ſhall ſcatter my leaves.” Malvina's death is
+ hinted to him in the moſt delicate manner by the ſon of Alpin. His lamentation over her, her
+ apotheoſis, or aſcent to the habitation of heroes, and the introduction to the ſtory which
+ follows from the mention which Oſſian ſuppoſes the father of Malvina to make of him in the ball
+ of Fingal, are all in the higheſt ſpirit of poetry. “And doſt thou remember Oſſian, O Toſcar, ſon
+ of Conloch? The battles of our youth were many; our ſwords went together to the field.” Nothing
+ could be more proper than to end his ſongs with recording an exploit of the father of that
+ Malvina, of whom his heart was now ſo full; and who, from firſt to laſt, had
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image been ſuch a favourite object throughout all
+ his poems.
+
The ſcene of moſt of Oſſian's poems is laid in Scotland, or in the coaſt of
+ Ireland, oppoſite to the territories of Fingal. When the ſcene is in Ireland, we perceive no
+ change of manners from thoſe of Oſſian's native country. For as Ireland was undoubtedly peopled
+ with Celtic tribes, the language, cuſtoms, and religion of both nations were the ſame. They had
+ been ſeparated from one another by migration, only a few generations, as it ſhould ſeem, before
+ our poet's age; and they ſtill maintained a cloſe and frequent intercourſe. But when the poet
+ relates the expeditions of any of his heroes to the Scandinavian coaſt, or to the iſlands of
+ Orkney, which were then part of the Scandinavian territory, as he does in Carric-thura, Sul-malla
+ of Lumon, and Cathloda, the caſe is quite altered. Thoſe countries were inhabited by nations of
+ the Teutonic deſcent, who, in their manners and religious rites, differed widely from the Celtæ;
+ and it is curious and remarkable, to find this difference clearly pointed out in the poems of
+ Oſſian. His deſcriptions bear the native marks of one who was preſent in the expeditions which he
+ relates, and who deſcribes what he had ſeen with his own eyes. No ſooner are we carried to
+ Lochlin, or
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the iſlands of Iniſtore, than we perceive we
+ are in a foreign region. New objects begin to appear. We meet everywhere with the ſtones and
+ circles of Loda, that is, Odin, the great Scandinavian deity. We meet with the divinations and
+ enchantments for which it is well known thoſe northern nations were early famous. “There, mixed
+ with the murmur of waters, roſe the voice of aged men, who called the forms of night to aid them
+ in their war;” whilſt the Caledonian chiefs, who aſſiſted them, are deſcribed as ſtanding at a
+ diſtance, heedleſs of their rites. That ferocity of manners which diſtinguiſhed thoſe nations,
+ alſo becomes conſpicuous. In the combats of their chiefs there is a peculiar ſavageneſs; even
+ their women are bloody and fierce. The ſpirit. and the very ideas of Regner Lodbrog, that
+ northern ſcalder, whom I formerly quoted, occur to us again. “The hawks,” Oſſian makes one of the
+ Scandinavian chiefs ſay, “ruſh from all their winds; they are wont to trace my courſe. We
+ rejoiced three days above the dead, and called the hawks of heaven, They came from all their
+ winds, to feaſt on the foes of Annir.”
+
Diſmiſſing now the ſeparate conſideration of any of our author's works, I
+ proceed to make ſome obſervations on his manner of writing,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image under the general heads of Deſcription,
+ Imagery, and Sentiment.
+
A poet of original genius is always diſtinguiſhed by his talent for
+ deſcription Display note A ſecond-rate writer
+ diſcerns nothing new or peculiar in the object he means to deſcribe. His conceptions of it are
+ vague and looſe; his expreſſions feeble; and of courſe the object is preſented to us
+ indiſtinctly, and as through a cloud. But a true poet makes us imagine that we ſee it before our
+ eyes; he catches the diſtinguiſhing features; he gives it the colours of life and reality; he
+ places it in ſuch a light that a painter could copy after him. This happy talent is chiefly owing
+ to a lively imagination, which firſt receives a ſtrong impreſſion of the object; and then, by a
+ proper ſelection of capital pictureſque circumſtances employed in deſcribing it, tranſmits that
+ impreſſion in its full force to the imaginations of others. That Oſſian poſſeſſes this
+ deſcriptive power in a high degree, we have a clear proof, from the effect which his deſcriptions
+ produce upon the imaginations of thoſe who read him with any degree of attention, or taſte. Few
+ poets are more intereſting. We contract an intimate
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image acquaintance with his principal heroes. The
+ characters, the manners, the face of the country, become familiar; we even think we could draw
+ the figure of his ghoſt. In a word, whilſt reading him we are tranſported as into a new region,
+ and dwell among his objects as if they were all real.
+
It were eaſy to point out ſeveral inſtances of exquiſite painting in the
+ works of our author. Such, for inſtance, is the ſcenery with which Temora opens, and the attitude
+ in which Cairbar is there preſented to us; the deſcription of the young prince Cormac, in the
+ ſame book; and the ruins of Balclutha, in Cartho. “I have ſeen the walls of Balclutha, but they
+ were deſolate. The fire had reſounded in the balls: and the voice of the people is heard no more.
+ The ſtream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thiſtle ſhook there
+ its lonely head; the moſs whiſtled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows; the rank
+ graſs of the wall waved round his head. Deſolate is the dwelling of Moina; ſilence is in the
+ houſe of her fathers.” Nothing alſo can be more natural and lively than the manner in which
+ Carthon afterward deſcribes how the conflagration of his city affected him when a child: “Have I
+ not ſeen the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image fallen Balclutha? And ſhall I feaſt with
+ Comhal's ſon? Comhal! who threw his fire in the midſt of my father's hall! I was young, and knew
+ not the cauſe why the virgins wept. The columns of ſmoke pleaſed mine eye, when they aroſe above
+ my walls: I often looked back with gladneſs, when my friends fled above the hill. But when the
+ years of my youth came on, I beheld the moſs of my fallen walls. My ſigh aroſe with the morning;
+ and my tears deſcended with night. Shall I not fight, I ſaid to my ſoul, againſt the children of
+ my foes? And I will fight, O bard! I feel the ſtrength of my ſoul.” In the ſame poem, the
+ aſſembling of the chiefs round Fingal, who had been warned of ſome impending danger by the
+ appearance of a prodigy, is deſcribed with ſo many pictureſque circumſtances, that one imagines
+ himſelf preſent in the aſſembly. “The king alone beheld the terrible ſight, and he foreſaw the
+ death of his people. He came in ſilence to his hall, and took his father's ſpear: the mail
+ rattled on his breaſt. The heroes roſe around. They looked in ſilence on each other, marking the
+ eyes of Fingal. They ſaw the battle in his face. A thouſand ſhields are placed at once on their
+ arms; and they drew a thouſand ſwords. The hall of Selma
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image brightened around. The clang of arms
+ aſcends. The gray dogs howl in their place. No word is among the mighty chiefs. Each marked the
+ eyes of the king; and half aſſumed his ſpear.”
+
It has been objected to Oſſian, that his deſcriptions of military actions
+ are imperfect, and much leſs diverſified by the circumſtances than thoſe of Homer. This is in
+ ſome meaſure true. The amazing fertility of Homer's invention, is nowhere ſo much diſplayed as in
+ the incidents of his battles, and in the little hiſtory pieces he gives of the perſons ſlain.
+ Nor, indeed, with regard to the talent of deſcription, can too much be ſaid in praiſe of Homer.
+ Every thing is alive in his writings. The colours with which he paints are thoſe of nature. But
+ Oſſian's genius was of a different kind from Homer's. It led him to hurry towards grand objects,
+ rather than to amuſe himſelf with particulars of leſs importance. He could dwell on the death of
+ a favourite hero; but that of a private man ſeldom ſtopped his rapid courſe. Homer's genius was
+ more comprehenſive than Oſſian's. It included a wider circle of objects; and could work up any
+ incident into deſcription. Oſſian's was more limited; but the region within which it
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image chiefly exerted itſelf was the higheſt of
+ all, the region of the pathetic and the ſublime.
+
We muſt not imagine, however, that Oſſian's battles conſiſt only of general
+ indiſtinct deſcription. Such beautiful incidents are ſometimes introduced, and the circumſtances
+ of the perſons ſlain ſo much diverſified, as ſhow that be could have embelliſhed his military
+ ſcenes with an abundant variety of particulars, if his genius had led him to dwell upon them.
+ “One man is ſtretched in the duſt of his native land; he fell, where often he had ſpread the
+ feaſt, and often raiſed the voice of the harp.” The maid of Iniſtore is introduced in a moving
+ apoſtrophe, as weeping for another; and a third, “as rolled in the duſt he lifted his faint eyes
+ to the king,” is remembered and mourned by Fingal as the friend of Agandecca. The blood pouring
+ from the wound of one who was ſlain by night, is heard “hiſſing on the half-extinguiſhed oak,”
+ which had been kindled for giving light. Another climbing up a tree to eſcape from his foe, is
+ pierced by his ſpear from behind; ſhrieking, panting he fell; whilſt moſs and withered branches
+ purſue his fall, and ſtrew the blue arms of Gaul. Never was a finer picture drawn of the ardour
+ of two
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image youthful warriors than the following: “I ſaw
+ Gaul in his armour, and my ſoul was mixed with his; for the fire of the battle was in his eyes,
+ lie looked to the foe with joy. We ſpoke the words of friendſhip in ſecret; and the lightning of
+ our ſwords poured together. We drew them behind the wood, and tried the ſtrength of our arms on
+ the empty air.`
+
Oſſian is always conciſe in his deſcriptions, which adds much to their
+ beauty and force. For it is a great miſtake to imagine, that a crowd of particulars, or a very
+ fall and extended ſtyle, is of advantage to deſcription. On the contrary, ſuch a diffuſe manner
+ for the moſt part weakens it. Any one redundant circumſtance is a nuiſance. It encumbers and
+ loads the fancy, and renders the main image indiſtinct. “Obſtat,” as Quintilian ſays with regard
+ to ſtyle, “quicquid non adjuvat.” To be conciſe in deſcription, is one thing: and to be general,
+ is another. No deſcription that reſts in generals can poſſibly be good; it can convey no lively
+ idea; for it is of particulars only that we have a diſtinct conception. But, at the ſame time, no
+ ſtrong imagination dwells long upon any one particular; or heaps together a maſs of trivial ones.
+ By the happy choice of ſome one, or of a few that are the moſt ſtriking, it preſents
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the image more complete, ſhews us more at
+ one glance than a feeble imagination is able to do, by turning its object round and round into a
+ variety of lights. Tacitus is of all proſe writers the moſt conciſe. He has even a degree of
+ abruptneſs reſembling our author: yet no writer is more eminent for lively deſcription. When
+ Fingal, after having conquered the haughty Swaran, propoſes to diſmiſs him with honour: “Raiſe
+ to-morrow thy white ſails to the wind, thou brother of Agandecca!” he conveys, by thus addreſſing
+ his enemy, a ſtronger impreſſion of the emotions then paſſing within his mind, than if whole
+ paragraphs had been ſpent in deſcribing the conflict between reſentment againſt Swaran and the
+ tender remembrance of his ancient love. No amplification is needed to give us the moſt full idea
+ of a hardy veteran, after the few following words: “His ſhield is marked with the ſtrokes of
+ battle; his red eye deſpiſes danger.” When Oſcar left alone, was ſurrounded by foes, “he ſtood,”
+ it is ſaid, “growing in his place, like the flood of the narrow vale;” a happy repreſentation of
+ one, who, by daring intrepidity in the midſt of danger, ſeems to increaſe in his appearance, and
+ becomes more formidable every moment, like the ſudden riſing of the torrent hemmed in
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image by the valley. And a whole crowd of ideas,
+ concerning the circumſtances of domeſtic ſorrow, occaſioned by a young warrior's firſt going
+ forth to battle, is poured upon the mind by theſe words: “Calmar leaned on his father's ſpear;
+ that ſpear which he brought from Lara's hall, when the ſoul of his mother was ſad.”
+
The conciſeneſs of Oſſian's deſcriptions is the more proper, on account of
+ his ſubjects. Deſcriptions of gay and ſmiling ſcenes may, without any diſadvantage, be amplified
+ and prolonged. Force is not the predominant quality expected in theſe. The deſcription may be
+ weakened by being diffuſe, yet, notwithſtanding, may be beautiful ſtill; whereas, with reſpect to
+ grand, ſolemn, and pathetic ſubjects, which are Oſſian's chief field, the caſe is very different.
+ In theſe, energy is above all things required. The imagination muſt be ſeized at once, or not at
+ all; and is far more deeply impreſſed by one ſtrong and ardent image, than by the anxious
+ minuteneſs of labored illuſtration.
+
But Oſſian's genius, though chiefly turned towards the ſublime and pathetic,
+ was not confined to it. In ſubjects alſo of grace and delicacy, he diſcovers the hand of a
+ maſter. Take for an example the following elegant deſcription of Agandecca, wherein the
+ tenderneſs of Tibullus
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſeems united with the majeſty of Virgil.
+ “The daughter of the ſnow overheard, and left the hall of her ſecret ſigh. She came in all her
+ beauty; like the moon from the cloud of the eaſt. Lovelineſs was around her as light. Her ſteps
+ were like the muſic of ſongs. She ſaw the youth and loved him. He was the ſtolen ſigh of her
+ ſoul. Her blue eyes rolled on him in ſecret; and ſhe bleſt the chief of Morven.” Several other
+ inſtances might be produced of the feelings of love and friendſhip, painted by our author with a
+ moſt natural and happy delicacy.
+
The ſimplicity of Oſſian's manner adds great beauty to his deſcriptions, and
+ indeed to his whole poetry. We meet with no affected ornaments; no forced refinement; no marks
+ either in ſtyle or thought of a ſtudied endeavor to ſhine or ſparkle. Oſſian appears everywhere
+ to be prompted by his feelings; and to ſpeak from the abundance of his heart. I remember no more
+ than one inſtance of what may be called a quaint thought in this whole collection of his works.
+ It is in the firſt book of Fingal, where, from the tombs of two lovers, two lonely yews are
+ mentioned to have ſprung, “whoſe branches wiſhed to meet on high.” This ſympathy of the trees
+ with the lovers, may be reckoned to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image border on an Italian conceit; and it is
+ ſomewhat curious to find this ſingle inſtance of that ſort of wit in our Celtic poetry.
+
The “joy of grief” is one of Oſſian's remarkable expreſſions, ſeveral times
+ repeated. If any one ſhall think that it needs to be juſtified by a precedent, he may find it
+ twice uſed by Homer: in the Iliad, when Achilles is viſited by the ghoſt of Patroclus; and in the
+ Odyſſey, when Ulyſſes meets his mother in the ſhades. On both theſe occaſions, the heroes, melted
+ with tenderneſs, lament their not having it in their power to throw their arms round the ghoſt,
+ “that we might,” ſay they, “in mutual embrace, enjoy the delight of grief. “
+ Κρυεροιο τοταρπωμεσθα γοαιο.Display note
+
But in truth, the expreſſion ſtands in need of no defence from authority;
+ for it is a natural and juſt expreſſion; and conveys a clear idea of that gratification which a
+ virtuous heart often feels in the indulgence of a tender melancholy. Oſſian makes a very proper
+ diſtinction between this gratification and the deſtructive effect of overpowering grief. “There
+ is a joy in grief when peace dwells in the breaſts of the ſad. But ſorrow waſtes the mournful, O
+ daughter of Toſcar, and their days are few.” To “give the joy of grief,” generally ſignifies to
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image raiſe the ſtrain of ſoft and grave muſic;
+ and finely characterizes the taſte of Oſſian's age and country. In thoſe days, when the ſongs of
+ bards were the great delight of heroes, the tragic muſe was hold in chief honour: gallant actions
+ and virtuous ſufferings, were the choſen theme; preferably to that light and trifling ſtrain, of
+ poetry and muſic, which promotes light and trifling manners, and ſerves to emaſculate the mind.
+ “Strike the harp in my hall,” ſaid the great Fingal, in the midſt of youth and victory; “ſtrike
+ the harp in my hall, and let Fingal hear the ſong. Pleaſant is the joy of grief! It is like the
+ ſhower O of ſpring, when it ſoftens the branch of the oak; and the young leaf lifts its green
+ head. Sing on, O bards! To-morrow we lift the ſail.”
+
Perſonal epithets have been much uſed by all the poets of the moſt ancient
+ ages; and when well choſen, not general and unmeaning, they contribute not a little to render the
+ ſtyle deſcriptive and animated. Beſides epithets founded on bodily diſtinctions, akin to many of
+ Homer's, we find in Oſſian ſeveral which are remarkably beautiful and poetical. Such as Oſcar of
+ the future fights, Fingal of the mildeſt look, Carril of other times, the mildly bluſhing
+ Evir-allin: Bragela, the lonely ſun-beam of Dunſcaich; a Culdee, the ſon of the ſecret cell.
But of all the ornaments employed in deſcriptive poetry, compariſons or
+ ſimiles are the moſt ſplendid. Theſe chiefly form what is called the imagery of a poem; and as
+ they abound go much in the works of Oſſian, and are commonly among the favourite paſſages of all
+ poets, it may be expected that I ſhould be ſomewhat particular in my remarks upon them.
+
A poetical ſimile always ſuppoſes two objects brought together, between which
+ there is ſome near relation or connection in the fancy. What that relation ought to be, cannot be
+ preciſely defined. For various, almoſt numberleſs, are the analogies formed among objects, by a
+ ſprightly imagination. The relation of actual ſimilitude, or likeneſs of appearance, is far from
+ being the only foundation of poetical compariſon. Sometimes a reſemblance in the effect produced
+ by two objects, is made the connecting principle: ſometimes a reſemblance in one diſtinguiſhing
+ property or circumſtance. Very often two objects are brought together in a ſimile, though they
+ reſemble one another, ſtrictly ſpeaking, in nothing, only becauſe they raiſe in the mind a train
+ of ſimilar, and what may be called concordant, ideas; ſo that the remembrance of the one, when
+ recalled, ſerves to quicken and heighten the impreſſion made by the other. Thus, to give an
+ inſtance from our
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image poet, the pleaſure with which an old man
+ looks back on the exploits of his youth, has certainly no direct reſemblance to the beauty of a
+ fine evening; further than that both agree in producing a certain calm, placid joy. Yet Oſſian
+ has founded upon this, one of the moſt beautiful compariſons that is to be met with in any poet.
+ “Wilt thou not liſten, ſon of the rock, to the ſong of Oſſian? My ſoul is full of other times;
+ the joy of my youth returns. Thus the ſun appears in the weſt, after the ſteps of his brightneſs
+ have moved behind a ſtorm. The green hills lift their dewy heads. The blue ſtreams rejoice in the
+ vale. The aged hero comes forth on his ſtaff; and his gray hair glitters in the beam.” Never was
+ there a finer group of objects. It raiſes a ſtrong conception of the old man's joy and elation of
+ heart, by diſplaying a ſcene which produces in every ſpectator a correſponding train of pleaſing
+ emotions; the declining ſun looking forth in his brightneſs after a ſtorm; the cheerful face of
+ all nature; and the ſtill life finely animated by the circumſtance of the aged hero, with his
+ ſtaff and his gray locks: a circumſtance both extremely pictureſque, in itſelf, and peculiarly
+ ſuited to the main object of the compariſon. Such analogies and aſſociations of ideas as theſe,
+ are highly pleaſing to the fancy. They give
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image opportunity for introducing many a fine
+ poetical picture. They diverſify the ſcene; they aggrandize the ſubject; they keep the
+ imagination awake and ſprightly. For as the judgment is principally exerciſed in diſtinguiſhing
+ objects, and remarking the differences among thoſe which ſeem alike, ſo the higheſt amuſement of
+ the imagination is to trace likeneſſes and agreements among thoſe which ſeem different.
+
The principal rules which reſpect poetical compariſons are, that they be
+ introduced on proper occaſions, when the mind is diſpoſed to reliſh them; and not in the midſt of
+ ſome ſevere and agitating paſſion, which cannot admit this play of fancy; that they be founded on
+ a reſemblance neither. too near and obvious, ſo as to give little amuſement to the imagination in
+ tracing it, nor too faint and remote, ſo as to he apprehended with difficulty; that they ſerve
+ either to illuſtrate the principal object, and to render the conception of it more clear and
+ diſtinct; or, at leaſt, to heighten and embelliſh it, by a ſuitable aſſociation of imagesDisplay note.
+
Every country has a ſcenery peculiar to itſelf; and the imagery of a good
+ poet will exhibit it. For as he copies after nature, his alluſions
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image will of courſe be taken from thoſe objects
+ which he ſees around him, and which have often ſtruck his fancy. For this reaſon, In order to
+ judge of the propriety of poetical imagery, we ought to be in ſome meaſure acquainted with the
+ natural hiſtory of the country where the ſcene of the poem is laid. The introduction of foreign
+ images betrays a poet, copying not from nature, but from other writers. Hence ſo many lions, and
+ tigers, and eagles, and ſerpents, which we meet, with in the ſimiles of modern poets; as if theſe
+ animals had acquired ſome right to a place in poetical compariſons for ever, becauſe employed by
+ ancient authors. They employed them with propriety, as objects generally known in their, country,
+ but they are abſurdly uſed for illuſtration by us, who know them only at ſecond hand, or by
+ deſcription. To moſt readers of modern poetry, it were more to the purpoſe to deſcribe lions or
+ tigers by ſimiles taken from men, than to compare men to lions. Oſſian is very correct in this
+ particular. His imagery is, without exception, copied from that face of nature which be ſaw
+ before his eyes; and by conſequence may be expected to be lively. We meet with no Grecian or
+ Italian ſcenery; but with the miſts and clouds, and ſtorms, of a northern mountainous region.
No poet abounds more in ſimiles than Oſſian. There are in this collection as
+ many, at leaſt, as in the whole Iliad and Odyſſey of Homer. I am indeed inclined to think, that
+ the works of both poets are too much crowded with them. Similes are ſparkling ornaments; and,
+ like all things that ſparkle, are apt to dazzle and tire us by their luſtre. But if Oſſian's
+ ſimiles be too frequent, they have this advantage, of being commonly ſhorter than Homer's; they
+ interrupt his narration leſs; he juſt glances aſide to ſome reſembling, object, and inſtantly
+ returns to his former track. Homer's ſimiles include a wider range of objects; but, in return,
+ Oſſian's, are, without exception, taken from objects of dignity, which cannot be ſaid for all
+ thoſe which Homer employs. The ſun, the moon, and the ſtars, clouds and meteors, lightning and
+ thunder, ſeas and whales, rivers, torrents, winds, ice, rain, ſnow, dews, miſt, fire and ſmoke,
+ trees and foreſts, heath and graſs and flowers, rocks and mountains, muſic and ſongs, light and
+ darkneſs, ſpirits and ghoſts; theſe form the circle within which Oſſian's compariſons generally
+ run. Some, not many, are taken from birds and beaſts: as eagles, ſea-fowl, the horſe, the deer,
+ and the mountain bee; and a very few from ſuch operations of art as were then known.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image Homer has diverſified his imagery, by many
+ more alluſions to the animal world; to lions, bulls, goats, herds of cattle, ſerpents, inſects;
+ and to various occupations of rural and paſtoral life. Oſſian's defect in this article, is
+ plainly owing to the deſert, uncultivated ſtate of his country, which ſuggeſted to him few images
+ beyond natural inanimate objects, in their rudeſt form. The birds and animals of the country were
+ probably not numerous; and his acquaintance with them was ſlender, as they were little ſubjected
+ to the uſes of man.
+
The great objection made to Oſſian's imagery, is its uniformity, and the too
+ frequent repetition of the ſame compariſon. In a work ſo thick-ſown with ſimiles one could not
+ but expect to find images of the ſame kind ſometimes ſuggeſted to the poet by reſembling objects;
+ eſpecially to a poet like Oſſian, who wrote from the immediate impulſe of poetical enthuſiaſm,
+ and without much preparation of ſtudy or labor. Fertile as Homer's imagination is acknowledged to
+ be, who does not know how often his lions, and bulls, and flocks of ſheep, recur with little or
+ no variation; nay, ſometimes, in the very ſame words? The objection made to Oſſian is, however,
+ founded, in a great meaſure, upon a miſtake. It has been ſuppoſed
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image by inattentive readers, that wherever the
+ moon, the cloud, or the thunder, returns in a ſimile, it is the ſame ſimile, and the ſame moon,
+ or cloud, or thunder, which they had met with a few pages before. Whereas very often the ſimiles
+ are widely different. The object, from whence they are taken, is indeed in ſubſtance the ſame;
+ but the image is new; for the appearance of the object is changed; it is preſented to the fancy
+ in another attitude: and clothed with new circumſtances, to make it ſuit the different
+ illuſtration for which it is employed. In this lies Oſſian's great art; in ſo happily varying the
+ form of the few natural appearances with which he was acquainted, as to make them correſpond to a
+ great many different objects.
+
Let us take for one inſtance the moon, which is very frequently introduced
+ in his compariſons; as in northern climates, where the nights are long, the moon is a greater
+ object of attention than in the climate of Homer; and let us view how much our poet has
+ diverſified its appearance. The ſhield of it warrior is like “the darkened moon when it moves a
+ dun circle through the heavens.” The face of a ghoſt, wan and ale, is like “the beam of the
+ ſetting moon.” And a different appearance of a ghoſt, thin and indiſtinct, is like “the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image new moon ſeen through the gathered miſt,
+ when the ſky pours down its flaky ſnow, and the world is ſilent and dark;” or, in a different
+ form ſtill, is like “the watery beam of the moon, when it ruſhes from between two clouds, and the
+ midnight ſhower is on the field.” A very oppoſite uſe is made of the moon in the deſcription of
+ Agandecca: “She came in all her beauty, like the moon from the cloud of the eaſt.” Hope ſucceeded
+ by diſappointment, is “joy riſing on her face and ſorrow returning again, like a thin cloud on
+ the moon.” But when Swaran, after his defeat, is cheered by Fingal's generoſity, “his face
+ brightened like the full moon of heaven, when the clouds vaniſh away, and leave her calm and
+ broad in the midſt of the ſky.” Venvela is “bright as the moon when it trembles o'er the weſtern
+ wave;” but the ſoul of the guilty Uthal is “dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it
+ foretells the ſtorm.” And by a very fanciful and uncommon alluſion, it is ſaid of Cormac, who was
+ to die in his early years, “Nor long ſhalt thou lift the ſpear, mildly-ſhining beam of youth!
+ Death ſtands dim behind thee, like the darkened half of the moon behind its growing light.”
Another inſtance of the ſame nature may be taken from miſt, which, as being
+ a very familiar appearance in the country of Oſſian, he applies to a variety of purpoſes, and
+ purſues through a great many forms. Sometimes, which one would hardly expect, he employs it to
+ heighten the appearance of a beautiful object. The hair of Morna is “like the miſt of Cromla,
+ when it curls on the rock, and ſhines to the beam of the weſt.” “The ſong comes with its muſic to
+ melt and pleaſe the ear. It is like ſoft miſt, that riſing from the lake pours on the ſilent
+ vale. The green flowers are filled with dew. The ſun returns in its ſtrength, and, the miſt is
+ goneDisplay note.” But, for the moſt part, miſt is employed as a
+ ſimilitude of ſome diſagreeable or terrible object. “The ſoul of Nathos was ſad, like the ſun in
+ the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image day of miſt, when his face is watery and
+ dim.”—“The darkneſs of old age comes like the miſt of the deſert.” The face of a ghoſt is “pale
+ as the miſt of Cromla.”—“The gloom of battle is rolled along as miſt that is poured on the
+ valley, when ſtorms invade the ſilent ſunſhine of heaven.” Fame, ſuddenly departing, is likened
+ to “miſt that flies away before the ruſtling wind of the vale.” A ghoſt, ſlowly vaniſhing, to
+ “miſt that melts by degrees on the ſunny hill.” Cairbar, after his treacherous aſſaſſination of
+ Oſcar, is compared to a peſtilential fog. “I love a foe like Cathmor,” ſays Fingal, “his ſoul is
+ great; his arm is ſtrong; his battles are full of fame. But the little ſoul is like a vapor that
+ hovers round the marſhy lake. It never riſes on the green hill, leſt the winds meet it there. Its
+ dwelling is in the cave; and it ſends forth the dart of death.” This is a ſimile highly finiſhed.
+ But there is another which is ſtill more ſtriking, founded alſo on miſt, in the fourth book of
+ Temora. Two factious chiefs are contending: Cathmor, the king, interpoſes, rebukes, and ſilences
+ them. The poet intends to give us the higheſt idea of Cathmor's ſuperiority; and moſt effectually
+ accompliſhes his intention by the following happy image. “They ſunk
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image from the king on either ſide, like two
+ columns of morning miſt, when the ſun riſes between them on his glittering rocks. Dark is their
+ rolling on either ſide; each towards its reedy pool.” Theſe inſtances may ſufficiently ſhow with
+ what richneſs of imagination Oſſian's compariſons abound, and, at the ſame time, with what
+ propriety of judgment they are employed. If his field was narrow, it muſt be admitted to have
+ been as well cultivated as its extent would allow.
+
As it is uſual to judge of poets from a compariſon of their ſimiles more
+ than of other paſſages, it will, perhaps, be agreeable to the reader, to ſee how Homer and Oſſian
+ have conducted ſome images of the ſame kind. This might be ſhown in many inſtances. For as the
+ great objects of nature are common to the poets of all nations, and make the general ſtorehouſe
+ of all imagery, the groundwork of their compariſons muſt, of courſe, be Frequently the ſame. I
+ ſhall ſelect only a few of the moſt conſiderable from both poets. Mr. Pope's tranſlation of Homer
+ can be of no uſe to us here. The parallel is altogether unfair between proſe and the impoſing
+ harmony of flowing numbers. It is only by viewing Homer in the ſimplicity of a
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image proſe tranſlation, that we can form any
+ compariſon between the two bards.
+
The ſhock of two encountering armies, the noiſe and the tumult of battle,
+ afford one of the moſt grand and awful ſubjects of deſcription; on which all epic poets have
+ exerted their ſtrength. Let us firſt hear Homer. The following deſcription is a favourite one,
+ for we find it twice repeated in the ſame wordsDisplay note. “When now the conflicting hoſts joined in the
+ field of battle, then were mutually oppoſed ſhields, and ſwords, and the ſtrength of armed men.
+ The boſſy bucklers were daſhed againſt each other. The univerſal tumult roſe. There were mingled
+ the triumphant ſhouts and the dying groans of the victors and the vanquiſhed. The earth ſtreamed
+ with blood. As when winter torrents, ruſhing from the mountains, pour into a narrow valley their
+ violent waters. They iſſue from a thouſand ſprings, and mix in the hollowed channel. The diſtant
+ ſhepherd hears on the mountain their roar from afar. Such was the terror and the ſhout of the
+ engaging armies.” In another paſſage, the poet, much in the manner of Oſſian, heaps ſimile on
+ ſimile, to expreſs the vaſtneſs of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the idea with which his imagination ſeems to
+ labor. “With a mighty ſhout the hoſts engage. Not ſo loud roars the wave of ocean, when driven
+ againſt the ſhore by the whole force of the boiſterous north; not ſo loud in the woods of the
+ mountain, the noiſe of the flame, when riſing in its fury to conſume the foreſt; not ſo loud the
+ wind among the lofty oaks, when the wrath of the worm rages; as was the clamor of the Greeks and
+ Trojans, when, roaring terrible, they ruſhed againſt each other.”Display note
+
To theſe deſcriptions and ſimiles, we may oppoſe the following from Oſſian,
+ and leave the reader to judge between them. He will find images of the ſame kind employed;
+ commonly leſs extended; but thrown forth with a glowing rapidity which characterizes our poet.
+ “As autumn's dark ſtorms pour from two echoing hills, towards each other approached the heroes.
+ As two dark ſtreams from high rocks meet and mix, and roar on the plains; loud, rough, and dark
+ in battle, meet Lochlin and Iniſfail. Chief mixed his ſtrokes with chief, and man with man. Steel
+ clanging, ſounded on ſteel. Helmets are cleft on high; blood
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image burſts and ſmokes around.—As the troubled
+ noiſe of the ocean, when roll the waves on high; as the laſt peal of the thunder of heaven; ſuch
+ is the noiſe of battle.” “As roll a thouſand waves to the rock, ſo Swaran's beſt came on; as
+ meets a rock a thouſand waves, ſo Iniſfail met Swaran. Death raiſes all his voices around, and
+ mixes with the ſound of ſhields.—The field echoes from wing to wing, as a hundred hammers that
+ riſe by turns on the red ſon of the furnace.”—“As a hundred winds on Morven; as the ſtreams of a
+ hundred hills; as clouds fly ſucceſſive over heaven or as the dark ocean aſſaults the ſhore of
+ the deſert ſo roaring, ſo vaſt, ſo terrible, the armies mixed on Lena's echoing heath.” In
+ ſeveral of theſe images there is a remarkable ſimilarity to Homer's: but what follows is ſuperior
+ to any compariſon that Homer uſes on this ſubject. “The groan of the people ſpread over the
+ hills; it was like the thunder of night, when the cloud burſts on Cona, and a thouſand ghoſts
+ ſhriek at once on the hollow wind.” Never was an image of, more awful ſublimity employed to
+ heighten the terror of battle.
+
Both poets compare the appearance of an army approaching, to the gathering
+ of dark
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image clouds. “As when a ſhepherd,” ſays Homer,
+ “beholds from the rock a cloud borne along the ſea by the weſtern wind; black as pitch it appears
+ from afar ſailing over the ocean, and carrying the dreadful ſtorm. He ſhrinks at the ſight, and
+ drives his flock into the cave: ſuch, under the Ajaces, moved on the dark, the thickened phalanx
+ to the war.”Display note —“They came,” ſays Oſſian, “over the deſert like ſtormy clouds,
+ when the winds roll them over the heath; their edges are tinged with lightning; and the echoing
+ groves foreſee the ſtorm.” The edges of the clouds tinged with lightning, is a ſublime idea: but
+ the ſhepherd and his flock render Homer's ſimile more pictureſque. This is frequently the
+ difference between the two poets. Oſſian gives no more than the main image, ſtrong and full:
+ Homer adds circumſtances and appendages, which amuſe the fancy by enlivening the ſcenery.
+
Homer compares the regular appearance of an army, to “clouds that are
+ ſettled on the mountain-top, in the day of calmneſs, when the ſtrength of the north wind
+ ſleepsDisplay note.” Oſſian, with full as much propriety, compares the appearance of a
+ diſordered army, to “the
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image mountain cloud, when the. blaſt hath entered
+ its womb, and ſcatters the curling gloom on every ſide.” Oſſian's clouds aſſume a great many
+ forms, and, as we might expect from his climate, are a fertile ſource of imagery to him. “The
+ warriors followed their chiefs like the gathering of the rainy clouds behind the red meteors of
+ heaven.” An army retreating without coming to action, is likened to “clouds, that having long
+ threatened rain, retire ſlowly behind the hills.” The picture of Oithona, after ſhe had
+ determined to die, is lively and delicate. “Her ſoul was reſolved, and the tear was dried from
+ her wildly-looking eye. A troubled joy roſe on her mind, like the red path of the lightning on a
+ ſtormy cloud.” The image alſo of the gloomy Cairbar, meditating, in ſilence, the aſſaſſination of
+ Oſcar, until the moment came when his deſigns were ripe for execution, is extremely noble and
+ complete in all its parts. “Cairbar heard their words in ſilence, like the cloud of a ſhower; it
+ ſtands dark on Cromla till the lightning burſts its ſide. The valley gleams with red light; the
+ ſpirits of the ſtorm rejoice. So ſtood the ſilent king of Temora; at length his words are
+ heard.”
Homer's compariſon of Achilles to the Dog-Star, is very ſublime. “Priam
+ beheld him ruſhing along the plain, ſhining in his armour, like the ſtar of autumn bright are its
+ beams, diſtinguiſhed amidſt the multitude of ſtars in the dark hour of night. It riſes in its
+ ſplendor; but its ſplendor is fatal; betokening to miſerable men the deſtroying heatDisplay note.” The firſt appearance of Fingal is, in like manner, compared by
+ Oſſian to a ſtar or meteor. “Fingal, tall in his ſhip, ſtretched his bright lance before him.
+ Terrible was the gleam of his ſteel; it was like the green meteor of death, ſetting in the heath
+ of Malmor, when the traveller is alone, and the broad moon is darkened in heaven.” The hero's
+ appearance in Homer is more magnificent; in Oſſian, more terrible.
+
A tree cut down, or overthrown by a ſtorm, is a ſimilitude frequent among
+ poets for deſcribing the fall of a warrior in battle. Homer employs it often. But the moſt
+ beautiful, by far, of his compariſons, founded on this object, indeed one of the moſt beautiful
+ in the whole Iliad, is that on the death of Euphorbus. “As the young and verdant olive, which a
+ man hath reared with care in a lonely field, where
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image the ſprings of water bubble around it; it is
+ fair and flouriſhing; it is fanned by the breath of all the winds, and loaded with white
+ bloſſoms; when the ſudden blaſt of a whirlwind deſcending, roots it out from its bed, and
+ ſtretches it on the duſt Display note.” To this, elegant as it is, we may oppoſe the following ſimile of
+ Oſſian's, relating to the death of the three ſons of Uſnoth. “They fell, like three young oaks
+ which ſtood alone on the hill. The traveller ſaw the lovely trees, and wondered how they grew ſo
+ lonely. The blaſt of the deſert came by night, and laid their green heads low. Next day he
+ returned; but they were withered, and the heath was bare.” Malvina's alluſion to the ſame object,
+ in her lamentation over Oſcar, is ſo exquiſitely tender, that I cannot forbear giving it a place
+ alſo. “I was a lovely tree in thy preſence, Oſcar! with all my branches round me. But thy death
+ came, like a blaſt from the deſert, and laid my green head low. The ſpring returned with its
+ ſhowers; but no leaf of mine aroſe.” Several of Oſſian's ſimiles, taken from trees, are
+ remarkably beautiful, and diverſified with well-choſen circumſtances ſuch as that upon the death
+ of Ryno and Orla: They have fallen
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image like the oak of the deſert; when it lies
+ acroſs a ſtream, and withers in the wind of the mountains.” Or that which Oſſian applies to
+ himſelf: “I, like an ancient oak in Morven, moulder alone in my place; the blaſt hath lopped my
+ branches away; and I tremble at the winds of the north.”
+
As Homer exalts his heroes by comparing them to gods, Oſſian makes the ſame
+ uſe of compariſons taken from ſpirits and ghoſts. “Swaran roared in battle, like the ſhrill
+ ſpirit of a ſtorm, that ſits dim on the clouds of Gormal, and enjoys the death of the mariner.”
+ His people gathered round Erragon, “like ſtorms around the ghoſt of night, when he calls them
+ from the top of Morven, and prepares to pour them on the land of the ſtranger.”—“They fell before
+ my ſon like groves in the deſert, when an angry ghoſt ruſhes through night, and takes their green
+ heads in his hand.” In ſuch images, Oſſian appears in his ſtrength; for very ſeldom have
+ ſupernatural beings been painted with ſo much ſublimity, and ſuch force of imagination, as by
+ this poet. Even Homer, great as he is, muſt yield to him in ſimiles formed upon theſe. Take, for
+ inſtance, the following, which is the moſt remarkable of this kind in the Iliad.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image “Meriones followed Idomeneus to battle, like
+ Mars, the deſtroyer of men, when lie ruſhes to war. Terror, his beloved ſon, ſtrong and fierce,
+ attends him; who fills with diſmay the moſt valiant hero. They come from Thrace armed againſt the
+ Ephyrians and Phlegyans; nor do they regard the prayers of either, but diſpoſe of ſucceſs at
+ their willDisplay note.” The idea here is undoubtedly noble, but obſerve what a figure
+ Oſſian ſets before the aſtoniſhed imagination, and with what ſublimely terrible circumſtances he
+ has heightened it. “He ruſhed, in the ſound of his arms, like the dreadful ſpirit of Loda, when
+ he comes in the roar of a thouſand ſtorms, and ſcatters battles from his eyes. He ſits on a cloud
+ over Lochlin's ſeas. His mighty hand is on his ſword. The wind lifts his flaming locks. So
+ terrible was Cuthullin in the day of his fame.”
+
Homer's compariſons relate chiefly to martial ſubjects, to the appearances
+ and motions of armies, the engagement and death of heroes, and the various incidents of war. In
+ Oſſian, we find a greater variety of other ſubjects, illuſtrated by ſimiles, particularly the
+ ſongs of bards, the beauty of women, the different circumſtances of
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image old age, ſorrow, and private diſtreſs; which
+ give occaſion to much beautiful imagery. What, for inſtance, can be more delicate and moving,
+ than the following ſimile of Oithona's, in her lamentation over the diſhonour ſhe had ſuffered
+ “Chief of Strumon.” replied the ſighing maid, why didſt thou come over the dark blue wave to
+ Nuath's mournful daughter? Why did not I paſs away in ſecret, like the flower of the rock, that
+ lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrews its withered leaves on the blaſt?” The muſic of bards, a
+ favourite object with Oſſian, is illuſtrated by a variety of the moſt beautiful appearances that
+ are to be found in nature. It is compared to the calm ſhower of ſpring; to the dews of the
+ morning on the hill of roes; to the face of the blue and ſtill lake. Two ſimiles on this ſubject
+ I ſhall quote, becauſe they would do honour to any of the moſt celebrated claſſics. The one is:
+ “Sit thou on the heath, O bard! and let us hear thy voice; it is pleaſant as the gale of the
+ ſpring that ſighs on the hunter's ear, when he awakens from dreams of joy, and has heard the
+ muſic of the ſpirits of the hill.” The other contains a ſhort but exquiſitely tender image,
+ accompanied with the fineſt poetical painting. “The muſic of Carril was like the memory of joys
+ that are paſt,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pleaſant, and mournful to the ſoul. The
+ ghoſts of departed bards heard it from Slimora's ſide. Soft ſounds ſpread along the wood; and the
+ ſilent valleys of night rejoice.” What a figure would ſuch imagery and ſuch ſcenery have made,
+ had they been preſented to us adorned with the ſweetneſs and harmony of the Virgilian
+ numbers!
+
I have choſen all along to compare Oſſian with Homer, rather than Virgil,
+ for an obvious reaſon. There is a much nearer correſpondence between the times and manners of the
+ two former poets. Both wrote in an early period of ſociety; both are originals; both are
+ diſtinguiſhed by ſimplicity, ſublimity, and fire. The correct elegances of Virgil, his artful
+ imitation of Homer, the Roman ſtatelineſs which he everywhere maintains, admit no parallel with
+ the abrupt boldneſs and enthuſiaſtic warmth of the Celtic bard. In one article, indeed, there is
+ a reſemblance. Virgil is more tender than Homer, and thereby agrees more with Oſſian; with this
+ difference, that the feelings of the one are more gentle and poliſhed—thoſe of the other more
+ ſtrong: the tenderneſs of Virgil ſoftenſ—that of Oſſian diſſolves and overcomes the heart.
+
A reſemblance may be ſometimes obſerved between Oſſian's Compariſons and
+ thoſe
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image employed by the ſacred writers. They abound
+ much in this figure, and they uſe it with the utmoſt proprietyDisplay note. The imagery of Scripture exhibits a ſoil
+ and climate altogether different from thoſe of Oſſian: a warmer country, a more ſmiling face of
+ nature, the arts of agriculture and of rural life much farther advanced. The wine-preſs and the
+ threſhing-floor are often preſented to us; the cedar and the palm-tree, the fragrance of perfumes
+ the voice of the turtle, and the beds of lilies. The ſimiles are, like Oſſian's, generally ſhort,
+ touching on one point of reſemblance, rather than ſpread out into little epiſodes. In the
+ following example may be perceived what inexpreſſible grandeur poetry receives from the
+ intervention of the Deity. “The nations ſhall ruſh like the ruſhing of many waters; but God ſhall
+ rebuke them, and they ſhall fly far off, and ſhall be chaſed as the chaff of the “mountains
+ before the wind, and like the down of the thiſtle before the whirlwindDisplay note.”
+
Beſides formal compariſons, the poetry of Oſſian is embelliſhed with many
+ beautiful metaphors; ſuch as that remarkably fine one
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image applied to Deugala: “She was covered with
+ the light of beauty; but her heart was the houſe of pride.” This mode of expreſſion, which
+ ſuppreſſes the mark of compariſon, and ſubſtitutes a figured deſcription in room of the object
+ deſcribed, is a great enlivener of ſtyle. It denotes that glow and rapidity of fancy, which,
+ without pauſing to form a regular ſimile, paints the object at one ſtroke. “Thou art to me the
+ beam of the caſt, riſing in a land unknown.”—“In peace, thou art the gale of ſpring; In war, the
+ mountain ſtorm.”—“Pleaſant be thy reſt, O lovely beam! ſoon haſt thou ſet on our hills! The ſteps
+ of thy departure were ſtately, like the moon on the blue trembling wave. But thou haſt left us in
+ darkneſs, firſt of the maids of Lutha!—Soon haſt thou ſet, Malvina! but thou riſeſt, like the
+ beam of the eaſt, among the ſpirits of thy friends, where they ſit in their ſtormy halls, the
+ chambers of the thunder.” This is correct, and finely ſupported. But in the following inſtance,
+ the metaphor, though very beautiful at the beginning, becomes imperfect before it cloſes, by
+ being improperly mixed with the literal ſenſe. “Trathal went forth with the ſtream of his people:
+ but they met a rock; Fingal ſtood unmoved; broken, they rolled back from his
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image ſide. Nor did they roll in ſafety; the Spear
+ of the king purſued their flight.”
+
The hyperbole is a figure which we might expect to find often employed by
+ Oſſian; as the undiſciplined imagination of early ages generally prompts exaggeration, and
+ carries its objects to exceſs; whereas longer experience, and farther progreſs in the arts of
+ life, chaſten men's ideas and expreſſions. Yet Oſſian's hyperboles appear not, to me, either ſo
+ frequent or ſo harſh as might at firſt have been looked for; an advantage owing, no doubt, to the
+ more cultivated ſtate in which, as was before ſhown, poetry ſubſiſted among the ancient Celtæ,
+ than among moſt other barbarous nations. One of the moſt exaggerated deſcriptions in the whole
+ work, is what meets us at the beginning of Fingal, where the ſcout makes his report to Cuthullin
+ of the landing of the foe. But this is ſo far from deſerving cenſure, that it merits praiſe, as
+ being on that occaſion natural and proper. The ſcout arrives, trembling and full of fears; and it
+ is well known that no paſſion diſpoſes men to hyperbolize more than terror. It both annihilates
+ themſelves in their own apprehenſion, and magnifies every object which they view through the
+ medium of a troubled imagination. Hence all thoſe indiſtinct images of formidable
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image greatneſs, the natural marks of a diſturbed
+ and confuſed mind, which occur in Moran's deſcription of Swaran's appearance, and in his relation
+ of the conference which they held together; not unlike the report which the affrighted Jewiſh
+ ſpies made to their leader, of the land of Canaan. “The land through which we have gone to ſearch
+ it, is a land that eateth up the inhabitants thereof; and all the people that we ſaw in it are
+ men of a great ſtature: and there ſaw we giants, the ſons of Anak, which come of the giants; and
+ we were in our own ſight as graſſhoppers, and ſo we were in their ſightDisplay note.”
+
With regard to perſonifications, I formerly obſerved that Oſſian was
+ ſparing, and I accounted for his being ſo. Allegorical perſonages he has none; and their abſence
+ is not to be regretted. For the intermixture of thoſe ſhadowy beings, which have not the ſupport
+ even of mythological or legendary belief, with human actors, ſeldom produces a good effect. The
+ fiction becomes too viſible and fantaſtic; and overthrows that impreſſion of reality, which the
+ probable recital of human actions is calculated to make upon the mind. In the ſerious and
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pathetic ſcenes of Oſſian, eſpecially,
+ allegorical characters would have been as much out of place as in tragedy; ſerving only
+ unſeaſonably to uſe the fancy, whilſt they ſtopped the current and weakened the force of
+ paſſion.
+
With apoſtrophes, or addreſſes to perſons abſent or dead, which have been
+ in, all ages the language of paſſion, our poet abounds; and they are among his higheſt beauties.
+ Witneſs the apoſtrophe, in the firſt book of Fingal, to the maid of Iniſtore, whoſe lover had
+ fallen in battle; and that inimitably fine one of Cuthullin to Bragela, at the concluſion of the
+ ſame book. He commands his harp to be ſtruck in her praiſe; and the mention of Bragela's name
+ immediately ſuggeſting to him a crowd of tender ideaſ—“Doſt thou raiſe thy fair face from the
+ rocks,” he exclaims, “to find the ſails of Cuthullin? The ſea is rolling far diſtant, and its
+ white foam ſhall deceive thee for my ſails.” And now his imagination being wrought up to conceive
+ her as, at that moment, really in this ſituation, he becomes afraid of the harm ſhe may receive
+ from the inclemency of the night; and with an enthuſiaſm happy and affecting, though beyond the
+ cautious ſtrain of modern poetry, “Retire,” he proceeds, “retire, for it is night, my love, and
+ the dark
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image winds ſigh in thy hair. Retire to the hall
+ of my feaſts, and think of the times that are paſt: for I will not return until the ſtorm of war
+ has ceaſed. O, Connal! ſpeak of wars and arms, and ſend her from my mind; for lovely with her
+ raven hair is the white-boſomed daughter of Sorglan.” This breathes all the native ſpirit of
+ paſſion and tenderneſs.
+
The addreſſes to the ſun, to the moon, and to the evening ſtar, muſt draw
+ the attention of every reader of taſte, as among the moſt ſplendid ornaments of this collection.
+ The beauties of each are too great and too obvious to need any particular comment. In one paſſage
+ only of the addreſs to the moon, there appears ſome obſcurity. “Whither doſt thou retire from thy
+ courſe when the darkneſs of they countenance grows? Haſt thou thy hall like Oſſian? Dwelleſt thou
+ in the ſhadow of grief? Have thy ſiſters fallen from heaven? Are they who rejoiced with thee, at
+ night, no more? Yes, they have fallen, fair light! and thou doſt often retire to mourn.” We may
+ be at a loſs to comprehend, at firſt view, the ground of thoſe ſpeculations of Oſſian concerning
+ the moon: but when all the circumſtances are attended to, they will appear to flow naturally from
+ the preſent ſituation of his mind.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image A mind under the domination of any ſtrong
+ paſſion, tinctures with its own diſpoſition every object which it beholds. The old bard, with his
+ heart bleeding for the loſs of all his friends, is meditating on the different phaſes of the
+ moon. Her waning and darkneſs preſent to his melancholy imagination the image of ſorrow; and
+ preſently the idea ariſes, and is indulged, that like himſelf, ſhe retires to mourn over the loſs
+ of other moons, or of ſtars, whom he calls her ſiſters, and fancies to have once rejoiced with
+ her at night, now fallen from heaven. Darkneſs ſuggeſted the idea of mourning, and mourning
+ ſuggeſted nothing ſo naturally to Oſſian as the death of beloved friends. An inſtance preciſely
+ ſimilar, of this influence of paſſion, may be ſeen in a paſſage, which has always been admired,
+ of Shakſpeare's King Lear. The old man, on the point of diſtraction through the inhumanity of his
+ daughters, ſees Edgar appear, diſguiſed as a beggar and a madman.
+
+ Lear.
+ Didſt thou give all to thy daughters?
+ `And art thou come to this?
+ Couldſt thou leave nothing? Didſt thou give them all?
+
+ Kent.
+
He hath no daughters, ſir.
+
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ Lear.
+ Death, traitor! nothing could have ſubdued nature
+ To ſuch a lowneſs, but his unkind daughters.
+
King Lear, Act 3. Scene 5.
+
The apoſtrophe to the winds, in the opening of Dar-thula, is in the higheſt
+ ſpirit of poetry. “But the winds deceive me, O Dar-thula! and deny the woody Etha to thy ſails.
+ Theſe are not the mountains, Nathos, nor is that roar of thy climbing waves. The halls of Cairbar
+ are near, and the towers of the foe lift their heads. Where have ye been, ye ſouthern winds! when
+ the ſons of thy love were deceived? But ye have been ſporting on plains, and purſuing the
+ thiſtle's beard. O that ye had been ruſtling in the ſails of Nathos, till the hills of Etha roſe!
+ till they roſe in the clouds, and ſaw their coming chief.” This paſſage is remarkable for the
+ reſemblance it bears to an expoſtulation with the wood nymphs, on their abſence at a critical
+ time; which, as a favourite poetical idea, Virgil has copied from Theocritus, and Milton has very
+ happily imitated from both.
+
+ Where were ye, nymphs! when the remorſeleſs deep
+ Cloſed o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+ For neither were ye playing on the ſteep
+ Where your old bards, the famous Druids, he!
+ Nor on the ſhaggy top of Mona, high,
+ Nor yet where Deva ſpreads her wizard ſtreamDisplay note.
+
Having now treated fully of Oſſian's talents, with reſpect to deſcription
+ and imagery, it only remains to make ſome obſervations on his ſentiments. No ſentiments can be
+ beautiful without being proper; that is, ſuited to the character and ſituation of thoſe who utter
+ them. In this reſpect Oſſian is as correct as moſt writers. His characters, as above deſcribed,
+ are, in general, well ſupported; which could not have been the caſe, had the ſentiments been
+ unnatural or out of place. A variety of perſonages, of different ages, ſexes, and conditions, are
+ introduced into his poems; and they ſpeak and act with a propriety of ſentiment and behavior
+ which it is ſurpriſing to find in ſo rude an age. Let the poem of Dar-thula, throughout, be taken
+ as an example.
+
But it is not enough that ſentiments be natural and proper. In order to
+ acquire any high
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image degree of poetical merit, they muſt alſo be
+ ſublime and pathetic.
+
The ſublime is not confined to ſentiment alone. It belongs to deſcription
+ alſo; and whether in deſcription or in ſentiment, imports ſuch ideas preſented to the mind, as
+ raiſe it to an uncommon degree of elevation, and fill it with admiration and aſtoniſhment. This
+ is the higheſt effect either of eloquence or poetry; and, to produce this effect, requires a
+ genius glowing with the ſtrongeſt and warmeſt conception of ſome object, awful, great, or
+ magnificent. That this character of genius belongs to Oſſian, may, I think, ſufficiently appear
+ from many of the paſſages I have already had occaſion to quote. To produce more inſtances were
+ ſuperfluous. If the engagement of Fingal with the ſpirit of Loda, in Carric-thura; if the
+ encounters of the armies, in Fingal; if the addreſs to the ſun, in Carthon; if the ſimiles
+ founded upon ghoſts and ſpirits of the night, all formerly mentioned, be not admitted as
+ examples, and illuſtrious ones too, of the true poetical ſublime, I confeſs myſelf entirely
+ ignorant of this quality in writing.
+
All the circumſtances, indeed, of Oſſian's compoſition, are favourable to
+ the ſublime,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image more perhaps than to any other ſpecies of
+ beauty. Accuracy and correct. neſs, artfully connected narration, exact method and proportion. of
+ parts, we may look for in poliſhed times. The gay and the beautiful will appear to more advantage
+ in the midſt of ſmiling ſcenery and pleaſurable themes; but, amidſt the rude ſcenes of nature,
+ amidſt rocks and torrents, and whirlwinds and battles, dwells the ſublime. It is the thunder and
+ the lightning of genius. It is the offſpring of nature, not of art. It is negligent of all the
+ leſſer graces, and perfectly conſiſtent with a certain noble diſorder. It aſſociates naturally
+ with that grave and ſolemn ſpirit which diſtinguiſhes our author. For the ſublime is an awful and
+ ſerious emotion; and is heightened by all the Images of trouble, and terror, and darkneſs.
+
+ Ipſe pater, media nimborum in nocte, coruſcâ
+ Fulmina molitur dextra; quo maxima motu
+ Terra tremit; fugere feræ; et mortalia corda
+ Per gentes, humilis ſtravit pavor; ille, flagranti
+ Aut Atho, aut Rhodopen, aut alta Ceraunia telo
+ Dejicit.—
—Virg. Georg. I.
+
Simplicity and conciſeneſs are never-failing characteriſtics of the ſtyle of
+ a ſublime writer. He reſts on the majeſty of his ſentiments, not
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image on the pomp of his expreſſions. The main
+ ſecret of being ſublime is to ſay great things in few, and in plain words: for every ſuperfluous
+ decoration degrades a ſublime idea. The mind riſes and ſwells, when a lofty deſcription or
+ ſentiment is preſented to it in its native form. But no ſooner does the poet attempt to ſpread
+ out this ſentiment, or deſcription, and to deck it round and round with glittering ornaments,
+ than the mind begins to fall from its high elevation; the tranſport is over; the beautiful may
+ remain, but the ſublime is gone. Hence the conciſe and ſimple ſtyle of Oſſian gives great
+ advantage to his ſublime conceptions, and aſſiſts them in ſeizing the imagination with full
+ powerDisplay note.
Sublimity, as belonging to ſentiment, coincides, in a great meaſure, with
+ magnanimity, heroiſm, and generoſity of ſentiment. Whatever diſcovers human nature in its
+ greateſt elevation; whatever beſpeaks a high effort of ſoul, or ſhews a mind ſuperior to
+ pleaſures, to dangers, and to death, forms what may be called the moral of ſentimental ſublime.
+ For this Oſſian is eminently diſtinguiſhed. No poet maintains a higher tone of virtuous and noble
+ ſentiment throughout all his works. Particularly in all the ſentiments of Fingal there is a
+ grandeur and loftineſs, proper to ſwell the mind with the higheſt ideas of human perfection.
+ Wherever he appears, we behold the hero. The objects which he purſues are always truly great: to
+ bend the proud; to protect the injured; to defend his friends; to overcome his enemies by
+ generoſity more than by force. A portion of the ſame ſpirit actuates all the other heroes. Valor
+ reigns; but it is a generous valor, void of cruelty, animated by honour, not by hatred. We behold
+ no debaſing paſſions
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image among Fingal's warriors; no ſpirit of
+ avarice or of inſult; but a perpetual contention for fame; a deſire of being diſtinguiſhed and
+ remembered for gallant actions; a love of juſtice; and a zealous attachment to their friends and
+ their country. Such is the ſtrain of ſentiment in the works of Oſſian.
+
But the ſublimity of moral ſentiments, if they wanted the ſoftening of the
+ tender, would be in hazard of giving a hard and ſtiff air to poetry. It is not enough to admire.
+ Admiration is a cold feeling, in compariſon of that deep intereſt which the heart takes in tender
+ and pathetic ſcenes; where, by a myſterious attachment to the objects of compaſſion, we are
+ pleaſed and delighted, even whilſt we mourn. With ſcenes of this kind Oſſian abounds; and his
+ high merit in theſe is inconteſtible. He may be blamed for drawing tears too often from our eyes;
+ but that he has the power of commanding them, I believe no man, who as the leaſt ſenſibility,
+ will queſtion. The general character of his poetry is the heroic mixed with the elegiac ſtrain;
+ admiration tempered with pity. Ever fond of giving, as he expreſſes it, “the joy of grief,” it is
+ viſible that, on all moving ſubjects, he delights to exert his genius; and, accordingly, never
+ were there finer
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image pathetick ſituations than what his works
+ preſent. His great art in managing them lies in giving vent to the ſimple and natural emotions of
+ the heart. We meet with no exaggerated declamation; no ſubtile refinements on ſorrow; no
+ ſubſtitution of deſcription in place of paſſion. Oſſian felt ſtrongly himſelf; and the heart,
+ when uttering its native language, never fails, by powerful ſympathy, to affect the heart. A
+ great variety of examples might be produced. We need only open the book to find them everywhere.
+ What, for inſtance, can be more moving than the lamentations of Oithona, after her miſfortune?
+ Gaul, the ſon of Morni, her lover, ignorant of what ſhe had ſuffered, comes to her reſcue. Their
+ meeting is tender in the higheſt degree. He propoſes to engage her foe, in ſingle combat, and
+ gives her in charge what ſhe is to do if he himſelf ſhall fall. “And ſhall the daughter of Nuath
+ live?” ſhe replied, with a burſting ſigh. “Shall I live in Tromathon, and the ſon of Morni low?
+ My heart is not of that rock; nor my ſoul careleſs as that ſea, which lifts its blue waves to
+ every wind, and rolls beneath the ſtorm. The blaſt, which ſhall lay thee low, ſhall ſpread the
+ branches of Oithona, on earth. We ſhall wither together, ſon of car-borne Morni! The narrow houſe
+ is pleaſant to me;
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image and the gray ſtone of the dead; for never
+ more will I leave my rocks, ſea-ſurrounded Tromathon!—Chief of Strumon! why comeſt thou over the
+ waves to Nuath's mournful daughter? Why did I not paſs away in ſecret, like the flower of the
+ rocks that lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrews its withered leaves on the blaſt? Why didſt
+ thou come, O Gaul I to bear my departing ſigh?—O, had I dwelt at Duvranna, in the bright beam of
+ my fame! Then had my years come on with joy: and the virgins would bleſs my ſteps. But I fall in
+ youth, ſon of Morni! and my father ſhall bluſh in his hall!”
+
Oithona mourns like a woman: in Cuthullin's expreſſions of grief after his
+ defeat, we behold the ſentiments of a hero—generous, but deſponding. The ſituation is remarkably
+ fine. Cuthullin, rouſed from his cave by the noiſe of battle, ſees Fingal victorious in the
+ field. He is deſcribed as kindling at the ſight. “His hand is on the ſword of his fathers; his
+ red-rolling eyes on the foe. He thrice attempted to ruſh to battle; and thrice did Connal ſtop
+ him;” ſuggeſting that Fingal was routing the foe; and that he ought not, by the ſhow of
+ ſuperfluous aid, to deprive the king of any part
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image of the honour of a victory, which was owing
+ to him alone. Cuthullin yields to this generous ſentiment; but we ſee it ſtinging him to the
+ heart with the ſenſe of his own diſgrace. “Then, Carril, go,” replied the chief, “and greet the
+ king of Morven. When Lochlin fails away like a ſtream after rain, and the noiſe of the battle is
+ over, then be thy voice ſweet in his ear, to praiſe the king of ſwords. Give him the ſword of
+ Caithbat; for Cuthullin is worthy no more to lift the arms of his fathers. But, O ye ghoſts of
+ the lonely Cromla! ye ſouls of chiefs that are no more! be ye the companions of Cuthullin, and
+ talk to him in the cave of his ſorrow. For never more ſhall I be renowned among the mighty in the
+ land. I am like a beam that has ſhone: like a miſt that has fled away; when the blaſt of the
+ morning came, and brightened the ſhaggy ſide of the hill. Connal! talk of arms no more: departed
+ is my fame. My ſighs ſhall be on Cromla's wind; till my footſteps ceaſe to be ſeen. And thou,
+ white-boſomed Bragela! mourn over the fall of my fame: for vanquiſhed, I will never return to
+ thee, thou ſunbeam of Dunſcaich!”
+
+ —Æſtuat ingens
+ Uno in corde pudor, luctuſque, et conſcia virtus.
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image
+
+
Beſides ſuch extended pathetic ſcenes, Oſſian frequently pierces the heart
+ by a ſingle unexpected ſtroke. When Oſcar fell in battle, “No father mourned his ſon ſlain in
+ youth; no brother, his brother of love; they fell without tears, for the chief of the people was
+ low.” In the admirable interview of Hector with Andromache, in the ſixth Iliad, the circumſtance
+ of the child in his nurſe's arms, has often been remarked as adding much to the tenderneſs of the
+ ſcene. In the following paſſage, relating to the death of Cuthullin, we find a circumſtance that
+ muſt ſtrike the imagination with ſtill greater force. “And is the ſon of Semo fallen?” ſaid
+ Carril, with a ſigh. “Mournful are Tura's walls, and ſorrow dwells at Dunſcaich. Thy ſpouſe is
+ left alone in her youth; the ſon of thy love is alone. He ſhall come to Bragela, and aſk her why
+ ſhe weeps? He ſhall lift his eyes to the wall, and ſee his father's ſword. Whoſe ſword is that?
+ he will ſay; and the ſoul of his mother is ſad.” Soon after Fingal had ſhown all the grief of a
+ father's heart for Ryno, one of his ſons, fallen in battle, he is calling, after his accuſtomed
+ manner, his ſons to the chaſe. “Call,” ſays he, “Fillan and Ryno.—But he is not here.—My ſon
+ reſts on the bed
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image of death.” This unexpected ſtart of anguiſh
+ is worthy of the higheſt tragic poet.
+ If ſhe come in, ſhe'll ſure ſpeak to my wife—
+ My wife!—my wife!—What wife!—I have no wife—
+ Oh, inſupportable! Oh, heavy hour!
Othello, Act 5. Scene
+ 7.
+
The contrivance of the incident in both poets is ſimilar: but the
+ circumſtances are varied with judgment. Othello dwells upon the name of wife, when it had fallen
+ from him, with the confuſion and horror of one tortured with guilt. Fingal, with the dignity of a
+ hero, corrects himſelf, and ſuppreſſes his riſing grief.
+
The contraſt which Oſſian frequently makes between his preſent and his
+ former ſtate, diffuſes over his whole poetry a ſolemn pathetic air, which cannot fail to make
+ impreſſion on every heart. The concluſion of the ſongs of Selma is particularly calculated for
+ this purpoſe. Nothing can be more poetical and tender, or can leave upon the mind a ſtronger and
+ more affecting idea of the venerable and aged bard. “Such were the words of the bards in the days
+ of the ſong; when the king heard the muſic of harps, and the tales of other times. The chiefs
+ gathered from all their
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image hills, and heard the lovely ſound. They
+ praiſed the voice of Cona Display note; the firſt among a thouſand
+ bards. But age is now on my tongue, and my ſoul has failed. I hear, ſometimes, the ghoſts of
+ bards, and learn their pleaſant ſong. But memory fails on my mind; I hear the call of years. They
+ ſay, as they paſs along, Why does Oſſian ſing? Soon ſhall he lie in the narrow houſe, and no bard
+ ſhall raiſe his fame. Roll on, ye dark-brown years! for ye bring no joy in your courſe. Let the
+ tomb open to Oſſian, for his ſtrength has failed. The ſons of the ſong are gone to reſt. My voice
+ remains, like a blaſt, that roars lonely on the ſea-rur-rounded rock, after the winds are laid.
+ The dark moſs whiſtles there, and the diſtant mariner ſees the waving trees.”
+
Upon the whole, if to feel ſtrongly, and to deſcribe naturally, be the two
+ chief ingredients in poetical genius, Oſſian muſt, after fair examination, be held to poſſeſs
+ that genius in a high degree. The queſtion is not, whether a few improprieties may be pointed out
+ in his works?-whether this or that paſſage might not have been worked up with more art and ſkill,
+ by ſome writer of happier times? A thouſand ſuch
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image cold and frivolous criticiſms are altogether
+ indeciſive as to his genuine merit. But has he the ſpirit, the fire the inſpiration of a poet?
+ Does he utter the voice of nature? Does he elevate by his ſentiments? Does lie intereſt by his
+ deſcription? Does be paint to the heart as well as to the fancy? Does he make his readers glow,
+ and tremble, and weep? Theſe are the great characteriſtics of true poetry. Where theſe are found,
+ he muſt be a minute critic, indeed, who can dwell, upon ſlight defects. A few beauties of this
+ high kind tranſcend whole volumes of faultleſs mediocrity. Uncouth and abrupt Oſſian may
+ ſometimes appear, by reaſon of his conciſeneſs; but he is ſublime, he is pathetic, in an eminent
+ degree. If he has not the extenſive knowledge, the regular dignity of narration, the fulneſs and
+ accuracy of deſcription, which we find in Homer and Virgil, yet in ſtrength of imagination, in
+ grandeur of ſentiment, in native majeſty of paſſion, he is fully their equal. If he flows not
+ always like a clear ſtream, yet he breaks forth often like a torrent of fire. Of art, too, he is
+ far from being deſtitute; and his imagination is remarkable for delicacy as well as ſtrength.
+ Seldom or never is he either trifling or tedious; and if he be thought too melancholy, yet he is
+ always
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image moral. Though his merit were in other
+ reſpects much leſs than it is, this alone ought to entitle him to high regard, that his writings
+ are remarkably favourable to virtue. They awake the tendereſt ſympathies, and inſpire the moſt
+ generous emotions. No reader can riſe from him without being warmed with the ſentiments of
+ humanity, virtue, and honour.
+
Though unacquainted with the original language, there is no one but muſt
+ judge the tranſlation to deſerve the higheſt praiſe, on account of its beauty and elegance. Of
+ its faithfulneſs and accuracy, I have been aſſured by perſons ſkilled in the Gaelic tongue, who
+ from their youth were acquainted with many of theſe poems of Oſſian. To tranſfuſe ſuch ſpirited
+ and fervid ideas from one language into another; to tranſlate literally, and yet with ſuch a glow
+ of poetry; to keep alive ſo much paſſion, and ſupport ſo much dignity throughout; is one of the
+ moſt difficult works of genius, and proves the tranſlator to have been animated with no ſmall
+ portion of Oſſian's ſpirit.
+
The meaſured proſe which he has employed, poſſeſſes conſiderable advantages
+ above any ſort of verſification he could have choſen. While it pleaſes and fills the ear with a
+ variety of harmonious cadences, being, at the ſame time,
+
+ [
+
+ ]
+ View Page Image freer from conſtraint in the choice and
+ arrangement of words, it allows the ſpirit of the original to be exhibited, with more juſtneſs,
+ force, and ſimplicity. Elegant, however, and maſterly, as Mr. Macpherſon's tranſlation is, we
+ muſt never forget, whilſt we read it, that we are putting the merit of the original to a ſevere
+ teſt. For we are examining a poet ſtripped of his native dreſs; diveſted of the harmony of his
+ own numbers. We know how much grace and energy the works of the Greek and Latin poets receive
+ from the charm of verſification in their original languages. If then, deſtitute of this
+ advantage, exhibited in a literal verſion, Oſſian ſtill has power to pleaſe as a poet; and not to
+ pleaſe only, but often to command, to tranſport, to melt the heart; we may very ſafely infer that
+ his productions are the off-ſpring of a true and uncommon genius; and we may proudly aſſign him a
+ place among thoſe whoſe works are to laſt for ages.
+
+ FINIS
+
+
+
Cairbar, the ſon of Borbar duthul, was deſcended lineally from Lathon the chief of the
+ Firbolg, the firſt colony who ſettled in the ſouth of Ireland. The Cael were in poſſeſſion of
+ the northern coaſt of that kingdom, and the firſt monarchs of Ireland were of their race. Hence
+ aroſe thoſe differences between the two nations, which terminated, at laſt, in the murder of
+ Cormac, and the uſurpation of Cairbar, lord of Atha, who is mentioned in this place.
+
+
Mór-lath,great in the day of battle, Hidalla, mildly looking hero. Cor-mar,
+ expert at ſea. Milth-os, ſlow to ſpeak. Foldath, generous.
+
Foldath, who is here ſtrongly marked, makes a great figure in the ſequel of the poem. His
+ fierce, uncomplying character is ſuſtained throughout. He ſeems, from a paſſage in the ſecond
+ book, to have been Cairbar's greateſt confident, and to have had a principal hand in the
+ conſpiracy againſt Cormac king of Ireland. His tribe was one of the moſt conſiderable of the
+ race of the Fir-bolg.
+
+
Mór-annal, ſtrong-breath; a very proper name for a ſcout.
+
+
Mor-annal here alludes to the particular appearance of Fingal's ſpear. If a man, upon his
+ firſt landing in a ſtrange country, kept the point of his ſpear forward, it denoted in thoſe
+ days that he came in a hoſtile manner, and accordingly he was treated as an enemy; if he kept
+ the point behind him, it was a token of friendſhip, and he was immediately invited to the feaſt,
+ according to the hoſpitality of the times.
+
+
This was the famous ſword of Fingal, made by Luno, a ſmith of Lochlin, and after him
+ poetically called the ſon of Luno: it is ſaid of this ſword, that it killed a man at
+ every ſtroke ; and that Fingal never uſed it but in times of the greateſt danger.
+
+
The oppoſite characters of Foldath and Malthos are ſtrongly marked in ſubſequent parts of the
+ poem. They appear always in oppoſition. The feuds between their families, which were the ſource
+ of their hatred to one another, are mentioned in other poems.
+
+
That is, who has heard my vaunting ? He intended the expreſſion as a rebuke to the
+ ſelf-praife of Foldath.
+
+
Hidalla was the chief of Clonra, a ſmall diſtrict on the banks of the lake of Lego. The
+ beauty of his perſon, his eloquence and genius for poetry are afterwards mentioned.
+
+
Cathol the ſon of Maronnan, or Moran, was murdered by Cairbar, for his attachment to the
+ family of Cormac. He had attended Oſcar to the war of Inis-thona, where they contracted
+ a great friendſhip for one another. Oſcar, immediately after the death of Cathol, had ſent a
+ formal challenge to Cairbar, which he prudently declined, but conceived a ſecret hatred againſt
+ Oſcar, and had beforehand contrived to kill him at the feaſt, to which he here invites him.
+
+
He alludes to the battle of Oſcar againſt Caros, king of ſhips; who is ſuppoſed to
+ be the ſame with Carauſius the uſurper.
+
+
Cathmor, great in battle, the ſon of Borbar-duthul, and brother of Cairbar king of
+ Ireland, had, before the inſurrection of the Firbolg, paſſed over into Inis-huna, ſuppoſed to be
+ a part of South-Britain, to aſſiſt Conmor king of that place againſt his enemies. Cathmor was
+ ſucceſsful in the war, but, in the courſe of it, Conmor was either killed, or died a natural
+ death. Cairbar, upon intelligence of the deſigns of Fingal to dethrone him, had diſpatched a
+ meſſenger for Cathmor, who returned into Ireland a few days before the opening of the poem.
+
Cairbar here takes advantage of his brother's abſence, to perpetrate his ungenerous deſigns
+ againſt Oſcar ; for the noble ſpirit of Cathmor, had he been preſent, would not have permitted
+ the laws of that hoſpitality, for which he was ſo renowned himſelf, to be violated. The brothers
+ form a contraſt : we do not deteſt the mean ſoul of Cairbar more, than we admire the
+ difintereſted and generous mind of Cathmor.
+
+
Fingal's army heard the joy that was in Cairbar's camp. The character given of Cathmor is
+ agreeable to the times. Some, through oſtentation, were hoſpitable ; and others fell naturally
+ into a cuſtom handed down from their anceſtors. But what marks ſtrongly the character of
+ Cathmor, is his averſion to praiſe ; for he is repreſented to dwell in a wood to avoid the
+ thanks of his gueſts; which is ſtill a higher degree of generoſity than that of Axylus in Homer
+ : for the poet does not ſay, but the good man might, at the head of his own table, have heard
+ with pleaſure the praiſe beſtowed on him by the people he entertained.
+
No nation in the world carried hoſpitality to a greater length than the ancient Scots. it was
+ even infamous, for many ages, in a man of condition, to have the door of his Houſe ſhut at all,
+ lest, as the bards expreſs it, the stranger should come and
+ behold his contracted soul, Some of the chiefs were poſſeſſed of this hoſpitable
+ diſpoſition to an extravagant degree ; and the bards, perhaps upon a private account, never
+ failed to recommend it, in their eulogiums. “Cean uia' na dai”, or the point to
+ which all the roads of the ſtrangers lead, was an invariable epithet given by them to the
+ chiefs; on the contrary, they diſtinguiſhed the inhoſpitable by the title of the cloud which
+ the ſtrangers ſhun. This laſt however was ſo uncommon, that in all the old poems I have
+ ever met with, I found but one man branded with this ignominious appellation; and that, perhaps,
+ only founded upon a private quarrel, which ſubſiſted between him and the patron of the bard, who
+ wrote the poem,
+
+
When a chief was determined to kill a perſon already in his power, it was uſual to ſignify,
+ that his death was intended, by the ſound of a ſhield ſtruck with the blunt end of a ſpear; at
+ the ſame time that a bard at a diſtance raiſed the death ſong.
+
+
Cormac, the ſon of Arth, had given the ſpear, which is here the ſoundation of the quarrel, to
+ Oſcar when he came to congratulate him, upon Swaran's being expelled from Ireland.
+
+
Ti' mór-i', the houſe of the great king, the name of the royal palace of the ſupreme
+ kings of Ireland.
+
+
Hundred here is an indefinite number, and is only intended to expreſs a great many.
+ It was probably the hyperbolical phraſes of bards, that gave the firſt hint to the Iriſh
+ Senachies to place the origin of their monarchy in ſo remote a period as they have done.
+
+
Atha, ſhallow river : the name of Cairbar's ſeat in Connaught.
+
+
Malvina, the daughter of Toſcar, to whom is addrefſed that part of the poem which related to
+ the death of Oſcar her lover.
+
+
The Iriſh hiſtorians place the death of Cairbar, in the latter end of the third century: they
+ ſay, he was killed in battle againſt Oſcar the ſon of Oſſian, but deny that he fell by his
+ hand.
+
It is, however, certain, that the Iriſh bards diſguiſe, in ſome meaſure, this part of their
+ hiſtory. An Iriſh poem on this ſubjet, which, undoubtedly, was the ſource of their information,
+ concerning the battle of Gabhra, where Cairbar fell, is juſt now in my hands. As a tranſlation
+ of the poem (which, tho' evidently no very ancient compoſition, does not want poetical merit)
+ would extend this note to too great a length, I ſhall only give the ſtory of it in brief, with
+ ſome extracts from the original Iriſh.
+
Oſcar, ſays the Iriſh bard, was invited to a feaſt, at Temora, by Cairbar king of Ireland. A
+ diſpute aroſe between the two heroes, concerning the exchange of ſpears, which was uſually made,
+ between the gueſts and their hoſt, upon ſuch occaſions, In the courſe of their altercation,
+ Cairbar ſaid, in a boaſtful manner, that he would hunt on the hills of Albion, and carry the
+ ſpoils of it into lreland, in ſpite of all the efforts of its inhabitants. The original words
+ are ;
+
+ Briathar buan ſin ; Briathar buan
+ A bheireadh an Cairbre rua',
+ Gu tuga' ſe ſealg, agus creach
+ A h'Albin an la'r na mhaireach.
+
+
Oſcar replied, that, the next day, he himſelf would carry into Albion the ſpoils of the five
+ provinces of Ireland; in ſpite of the oppoſition of Cairbar.
+
+ Briathar eile an aghai' fin
+ A bheirea' an t' Oſcar, og, calma
+ Gu'n tugadh ſe fealg agus creach
+ Do dh' Albin an la'r na mhaireach, &c,
+
+
Oſcar, in conſequence of his threats, began to lay waſte Ireland ; but as he returned with the
+ ſpoil into Ulſter, thro' the narrow paſs of Gabhra (Caorl ghlen Ghabhra) he was met, by
+ Cairbar, and a battle enſued, in which both the heroes fell by mutual wounds. The bard gives a
+ very curious liſt of the followers of Oſcar, as they marched to battle. They appear to have been
+ five hundred in number, commanded, as the poet expreſſes it, by five heroes of the blood of
+ kings This poem mentions Fingal, as arriving from Scotland. before Oſcar died of his
+ wounds.
+
+
Bran was one of Fingal's dogs. Bran ſignifies a mountain-ſtream.
+
+
Althan, the ſon of Conachar, was the chief bard of Arth king of Ireland. After the death of
+ Arth, Althan attended his ſon Cormac, and was preſent at his death. He had made his eſcape from
+ Cairbar, by the means of Cathmor, and coming to Fingal, related, as here, the death of his
+ maſter Cormac.
+
+
Althan ſpeaks.
+
+
Doira, the woody ſide of a mountain; it is here a hill in the neighbourhood of
+ Temora.
+
+
Arth, or Artho, the father of Cormac king of Ireland.
+
+
Cuthullin is called the king of Tura from a caſtle of that name on the coaſt of Ulſter, where
+ he dwelt, before he undertook the management of the affairs of Ireland, in the minority of
+ Cormac.
+
+
That prophetic ſound, mentioned in other poems, which the harps of the bards emitted before
+ the death of a perſon worthy and renowned. It is here an omen of the death of Cormac, which,
+ ſoon after, followed.
+
+
Slimora, a hill in Connaught, near which Cuthullin was killed.
+
+
Uſnoth chief of Etha, a diſtrict on the weſtern coaſt of Scotland, had three ſons, Nathos,
+ Althos, and Ardan, by Slisſama the ſiſter of Cuthullin. The three brothers, when very young,
+ were ſent over to Ireland by their father, to learn the uſe of arms under their uncle, whoſe
+ military fame was very great in that kingdom. They had juſt arrived in Ulſter when the news of
+ Cuthullin's death arrived. Nathos, the eldeſt of the three brothers, took the command of
+ Cuthullin's army, and made head againſt Cairbar the chief of Atha. Cairbar having, at laſt,
+ murdered young king Cormac, at Temora, the army of Nathos ſhifted ſides, and the brothers were
+ obliged to return into Ulſter, in order to paſs over into Scotland. The ſequel of their mournful
+ ſtory is related, at large, in the poem of Dar-thula.
+
+
Caithbait was grandfather to Cuthullin; and his ſhield was made uſe of to alarm his poſterity
+ to the battles of the family.
+
+
That is, they ſaw a manifeſt likeneſs between the perſon of Nathos and Cuthullin.
+
+
Nathos the ſon of Uſnoth.
+
+
Geal-lamha, white-handed.
+
+
From this expreſſion, we underſtand, that Cairbar had entered the palace of Temora, in the
+ midſt of Cormac's ſpeech.
+
+
Althan ſpeaks.
+
+
That is, himſelf and Carril, as it afterwards appears.
+
+
The perſons of the bards were ſo ſacred, that even he, who had juſt murdered his ſovereign,
+ feared to kill them.
+
+
Cathmor appears the ſame diſintereſted hero upon every occaſion. His humanity and generoſity
+ were unparalleled : in ſhort, he had no fault, but too much attachment to ſo bad a brother as
+ Cairbar. His family connection with Cairbar prevails, as he expreſſes it, over every other
+ conſideration, and makes him engage in a war, of which he does not approve.
+
+
Though this book has little action, it is not the leaſt important part of Temora. The poet,
+ in ſeveral epiſodes, runs up the cauſe of the war to the very ſource. The firſt population of
+ Ireland, the wars between the two nations who originally poſſeſſed that iſland, its firſt race
+ of kings, and the revolutions of its government, are important facts, and are delivered by the
+ poet, with ſo little mixture of the fabulous, that one cannot help preferring his accounts to
+ the improbable fictions of the Scotch and Iriſh hiſtorians. The Mileſian fables bear about them
+ the marks of a late invention. To trace their legends to their ſource would be no difficult taſk
+ ; but a diſquiſition of this ſort would extend this note too far.
+
+
We underſtand, from the preceding book, that Cathmor was near with an army. When Cairbar was
+ killed, the tribes who attended him fell back to Cathmor; who, as it afterwards appears, had
+ taken a reſolution to ſurprize Fingal by night. Fillan was diſpatched to the hill of Mora, which
+ was in the front of the Caledonians, to obſerve the motions of Cathmor. In this ſituation were
+ affairs when Oſſian, upon hearing the noiſe of the approaching enemy, went to find out his
+ brother. Their converſation naturally introduces the epiſode, concerning Conar the ſon of
+ Trenmor, the firſt Iriſh monarch, which is ſo neceſſary to the underſtanding the foundation of
+ the rebellion and uſurpation of Cairbar and Cathmor. Fillan was the youngeſt of the ſons of
+ Fingal, then living. He and Boſmina, mentioned in the battle of Lora, were the only
+ children of the king, by Clatho the daughter of Cathulla king of Inis-tore, whom he had taken to
+ wife, after the death of Ros-crana, the daughter of Cormac Mac-Conar king of Ireland.
+
+
That is, two ſons in Ireland. Fergus, the ſecond ſon of Fingal, was, at that time, on an
+ expedition, which is mentioned in one of the leſſer poems. He, according to ſome traditions, was
+ the anceſtor of Fergus, the ſon of Erc or Arcath, commonly called Fergus the ſecond in
+ the Scotch hiſtories. The beginning of the reign of Fergus over the Scots, is placed, by the
+ moſt approved annals of Scotland, in the fourth year of the fifth age : a full century after the
+ death of Oſſian. The genealogy of his family is recorded thus by the Highland Senachies;
+ Fergus Mac Arcath Mac Chongael, Mac-Fergus, Mac-Fien-gäal na buai'; i. e. Fergus the
+ ſon of Arcath, the ſon of Congal, the ſon of Fergus, the ſon of Fingal the victorious.
+ This ſubject is treated more at large, in the diſſertation annexed to the poem.
+
+
The ſouthern parts of Ireland went, for ſome time, under the name of Bolga, from the Fir-bolg
+ or Belgæ of Britain, who ſettled a colony there. Bolg ſignifies a quiver, from
+ which proceeds Fir-bolga i. e. bow-men ; ſo called from their uſing bows, more
+ than any of the neighbouring nations.
+
+
After this paſſage, Oſcar is not mentioned in all Temora. The ſituations of the characters
+ who act in the poem are ſo intereſting, that others, foreign to the ſubject, could not be
+ introduced with any luſtre. Though the epiſode, which follows, may ſeem to flow naturally enough
+ from the converſation of the brothers, yet I have ſhewn, in a preceding note, and, more at
+ large, in the diſſertation annexed to this collection, that the poet had a farther deſign in
+ view.
+
+
Conar, the firſt king of Ireland, was the ſon of Trenmor, the great-grand-father of Fingal.
+ It was on account of this family-connection, that Fingal was engaged in ſo many wars in the
+ cauſe of the race of Conar. Tho' few of the actions of Trenmor are mentioned, he was the moſt
+ renowned name of antiquity. The moſt probable opinion concerning him is, that he was the firſt,
+ who united the tribes of the Caledonians, and commanded them, in chief, againſt the incurſions
+ of the Romans. The genealogiſts of the North have traced his family far back, and given a liſt
+ of his anceſtors to Cuan-mór nan lan, or Conmor of the ſwords, who, according to them,
+ was the firſt who croſſed the great ſea, to Caledonia, from which circumſtance his name
+ proceeded, which ſignifies Great ocean. Genealogies of ſo ancient a date, however, are
+ little to be depended upon.
+
+
The chiefs of the Fir-bolg who poſſeſſed themſelves of the ſouth of Ireland, prior, perhaps,
+ to the ſettlement of the Caël of Caledonia, and the Hebrides, in Ulſter. From the
+ ſequel, it appears that the Fir-bolg were, by much, the moſt powerful nation; and it is probable
+ that the Caël muſt have ſubmitted to them, had they not received ſuccours from their
+ mother-country, under the command of Conar.
+
+
Colg-er, fiercely-looking warrior. Sulin-corma, blue eyes. Colgar was the
+ eldeſt of the ſons of Trathal: Comhal, who was the father of Fingal, was very young when the
+ preſent expedition to Ireland happened, It is remarkable, that, of all the anceſtors of Fingal,
+ tradition makes the leaſt mention of Comhal ; which, probably, proceeded from the unfortunate
+ life and untimely death of that hero. From ſome paſſages, concerning him, we learn, indeed, that
+ he was brave, but he wanted conduct.
+
+
The poem begins here to mark ſtrongly the character of Fillan, who is to make ſo great a
+ figure in the ſequel. He has the impatience, the ambition and fire which are peculiar to a young
+ hero. Kindled with the fame of Colgar, he forgets his untimely fall. From Fillan's expreſſions
+ in this paſſage, it would ſeem, that he was neglected by Fingal, on account of his youth.
+
+
Cathmor is diſtinguiſhed, by this honourable title, on account of his generoſity to
+ ſtrangers, which was ſo great as to be remarkable even in thoſe days of hoſpitality.
+
+
Fónar, the man of ſong. Before the introduction of Chriſtianity a name was not
+ impoſed upon any perſon, till he had diſtinguiſhed himſelf by ſome remarkable action, from which
+ his name ſhould be derived.
+
+
Brumo was a place of worſhip (Fing. b. 6.) in Craca, which is ſuppoſed to be one of the iſles
+ of Shetland. It was thought, that the ſpirits of the deceaſed haunted it, by night, which adds
+ more terror to the deſcription introduced here. The horrid circle of Brumo, where often,
+ they ſaid, the ghoſts of the dead howled round the ſtone of fear.
+
+
From this paſſage, it appears, that it was Foldath who had adviſed the night-attack. The
+ gloomy character of Foldath is properly contraſted to the generous, the open Cathmor.
+
+
By this exclamation Cathmor intimates that he intends to revenge the death of his brother
+ Cairbar.
+
+
To have no funeral elegy ſung over his tomb, was, among the Celtæ, reckoned the greateſt
+ misfortune that could befal a man ; as his ſoul could not otherwiſe be admitted to the airy
+ hall of his fathers.
+
+
By the ſtranger of Inis huna, is meant Sulmalla, the daughter of Conmor king of
+ Inis-huna, the ancient name of that part of South-Britain, which is next to the Iriſh coaſt. She
+ had followed Cathmor in diſguiſe. Her ſtory is related at large in the fourth book.
+
+
Crothar was the anceſtor of Cathmor, and the firſt of his family, who had ſettled in Atha, It
+ was, in his time, that the firſt wars were kindled between the Fir-bolg and Cal. The propriety
+ of the epiſode is evident; as the conteſt which originally roſe between Crothar and Conar,
+ ſubſiſted afterwards between their poſterity, and was the foundation of the ſtory of the poem.
+
+
+
From this circumſtance we may learn that the art of building with ſtone was not known in
+ Ireland ſo early as the days of Crothar. When the colony were long ſettled in the country, the
+ arts of civil life began to increaſe among them, for we find mention made of the towers of
+ Atha in the time of Cathmor, which could not well be applied to wooden buildings. In
+ Caledonia they begun very early to build with ſtone. None of the houſes of Fingal, excepting
+ Ti-foirmal, were of wood. Ti-foirmal was the great hall where the bards met to repeat their
+ compoſitions annually, before they ſubmitted them to the judgment of the king in Selma. By ſome
+ accident or other, this wooden houſe happened to be burnt, and an ancient bard, in the character
+ of Oſſian, has left us a curious catalogue of the furniture which it contained. The poem is not
+ juſt now in my hands, otherwiſe I would lay here a tranſlation of it before the reader. It has
+ little poetical merit, and evidently bears the marks of a later period.
+
+
Alnecma, or Alnecmacht, was the ancient name of Connaught. Ullin is ſtill the Iriſh name of
+ the province of Ulſter. To avoid the multiplying of notes, I ſhall here give the ſignification
+ of the names in this epiſode. Drumardo, high ridge, Cathmin, calm in battle
+ Cón-lamha, ſoft hand, Turloch, man of the quiver. Cormul, blue eye.
+
+
+
The delicacy here, with regard to Crothar, is proper. As he was the anceſtor of Cathmor, to
+ whom the epiſode is addreſſed, the bard ſoftens his defeat, by only mentioning that his people
+ fled. Cathmor took the ſong of Fonar in an unfavourable light. The bards, being of the order of
+ the Druids, who pretended to a foreknowlege of events, were ſuppoſed to have ſome ſupernatural
+ preſcience of futurity. The king thought, that the choice of Fonar's ſong proceeded, from his
+ foreſeeing the unfortunate iſſue of the war ; and that his own fate was ſhadowed out, in that of
+ his anceſtor Crothar. The attitude of the bard, after the reprimand of his patron, is
+ pictureſque and affecting, We admire the ſpeech of Cathmor, but lament the effect it has on the
+ feeling ſoul of the good old poet.
+
+
Borbar-duthul, the ſurly warrior of the dark brown eyes. That his name ſuited well
+ with his character, we may eaſily conceive, from the ſtory delivered concerning him, by Malthos,
+ toward the end of the ſixth book. He was the brother of that Colculla, who is mentioned in the
+ epiſode which begins the fourth book.
+
+
This reply abounds with the ſentiments of a noble mind. Tho', of all men living, he was the
+ moſt injured by Cairbar, yet he lays aſide his rage as the foe was low. How different
+ is this from the behaviour of the heroes of other ancient poems ? Cynthius aurem vellit.
+
+
The morning of the ſecond day, from the opening of the poem comes on. After the death of
+ Cuthullin, Carril, the ſon of Kinfena, his bard, retired to the cave of Tura, which was in the
+ neighbourhood of Moi-lena, the fcene of the poem of Temora. His caſual appearance here enables
+ Oſſian to fulfil immediately the promiſe he had made to Cathmor, of cauſing the funeral
+ ſong to be pronounced over the tomb of Cairbar. This book takes up only the ſpace of a few
+ hours.
+
+
Strumon, ſtream of the hill, the name of the ſeat of the family of Gaul, in the
+ neighbourhood of Selma. During Gaul's expedition to Tromathon, mentioned in the poem of
+ Oithona, Morni his father died. Morni ordered the ſword of Strumon, (which had
+ been preſerved, in the family, as a relique, from the days of Colgach, the moſt renowned of his
+ anceftors) to be laid by his ſide, in the tomb: at the ſame time, leaving it in charge to his
+ ſon, not to take it from thence, till he was reduced to the laſt extremity. Not long after, two
+ of his brothers being ſlain, in battle, by Coldaronnan, Chief of Clutha, Gaul went to his
+ father's tomb to take the ſword. His addreſs to the ſpirit of the deceaſed hero, is the ſubject
+ of the following ſhort poem.
+
+ Gaul.
+
“Breaker of ecchoing ſhields, whoſe head is deep in ſhades; hear me from the darkneſs of
+ Clora, O ſon of Colgach, hear!
+
No ruſtling, like the eagle's wing, comes over the courſe of my ſtreams. Deep boſomed in the
+ midſt of the deſart, O king of Strumon, hear!
+
Dwelleſt thou in the ſhadowy breeze, that pours its dark wave over the graſs? Ceaſe to ſtrew
+ the beard of the thiſtle ; O chief of Clora, hear!
+
Or rideſt thou on a beam, amidſt the dark trouble of clouds ? Poureſt thou the loud wind on
+ ſeas, to roll their blue waves over iſles ? hear me, father of Gaul; amidſt thy terrors,
+ hear!
+
The ruſtling of eagles is heard, the murmuring oaks ſhake their heads on the hills : dreadful
+ and pleaſant is thy approach, friend of the dwelling of heroes.
+
+
+ Morni.
+
Who awakes me, in the midſt of my cloud, where my locks of miſt ſpread on the winds? Mixed
+ with the noiſe of ſtreams, why riſes the voice of Gaul ?
+
+
+ Gaul.
+
My foes are around me, Morni: their dark ſhips deſcend from their waves. Give the ſword of
+ Stramon, that beam which thou hideſt in thy night.
+
+
+ Morni.
+
Take the ſword of reſounding Stramon ; I look on thy war, my ſon ; I look, a dim meteor,
+ from my cloud : blue-ſhielded Gaul, deſtroy.”
+
+
+
Clatho was the daughter of Cathulla, king of Iniſtore. Fingal, in one of his expeditions to
+ that iſland, fell in love with Clatho, and took her to wife, after the death of Roscrana, the
+ daughter of Cormac, king of Ireland.
+
Clatho was the mother of Ryno, Fillan, and Boſmina, mentioned in the battle of Lora.
+ Fillan is often called the ſon of Clatho, to diſtinguiſh him from thoſe ſons which Fingal had by
+ Ros-crána.
+
+
Ullin being ſent to Morven with the body of Oſcar, Oſſian attends his father, in quality of
+ chief bard.
+
+
There are ſome traditions, but, I believe, of late invention, that this Colgach was the ſame
+ with the Galgacus of Tacitus. He was the anceſtor of Gaul, the ſon of Morni, and appears, from
+ ſome, really ancient, traditions, to have been king, or Vergobret, of the Caledonians ; and
+ hence proceeded the pretenſions of the family of Morni to the throne, which created a good deal
+ of diſturbance, both to Comhal and his ſon Fingal. The firſt was killed in battle by that tribe
+ ; and it was after Fingal was grown up, that they were reduced to obedience. Colgach ſignifies
+ fiercely-looking ; which is a very proper name for a warrior, and is probably the
+ origin of Galgacus; though I believe it a matter of mere conjecture, that the Colgach here
+ mentioned was the ſame with that hero. I cannot help obſerving, that the ſong of the bards is
+ conducted with propriety. Gaul, whoſe experience might have rendered his conduct cautious in
+ war, has the example of his father, juſt ruſhing to battle, ſet before his eyes. Fillan, on the
+ other hand, whoſe youth might make him impetuous and unguarded in action, is put in mind of the
+ ſedate and ſerene behaviour of Fingal upon like occaſions,
+
+
The expedition of Morni to Clutha, alluded to here, is handed down in tradition.
+
+
The mountain Cromla was in the neighbourhood of the ſcene of this poem ; which was nearly the
+ ſame with that of Fingal.
+
+
Dun-ratho, a hill, with a plain on its top; Corm-uil, blue eye. Foldath
+ diſpatches here, Cormul to lie in ambuſh behind the army of the Caledonians. This ſpeech ſuits
+ with the character of Foldath, which is, throughout, haughty and preſumptuous. Towards the
+ latter end of this ſpeech, we find the opinion of the times, concerning the unhappineſs of the
+ ſouls of thoſe who were buried without the funeral ſong. This doctrine was inculcated by the
+ bards, to make their order reſpectable and neceſſary.
+
+
Tur-lathon, broad trunk of a tree. Móruth, great ſtream. Oichaoma, wild
+ maid. Dun-lora, the hill of the noiſy ſtream. Duth-caron, dark-brown man.
+
+
+
Fillan had been diſpatched by Gaul to oppoſe Cormal, who had been ſent by Foldath to lie in
+ ambuſh behind the Caledonian army. It appears that Fillan had killed Cormal, otherwiſe, he could
+ not be ſuppoſed to have poſſeſſed himſelf of the ſhield of that chief.
+
+
Lumon, bending hill; a mountain in Inis huna, or that part of South-Britain which is
+ over-againſt the Iriſh coaſt.
+
+
Evir-choama, mild and ftately maid, the wife of Gaul. She was the daughter of
+ Caſdu-conglaſs, chief of I-dronlo, one of the Hebrides.
+
+
The kings of Caledonia and Ireland had a plume of eagle's feathers, by way of ornament, in
+ their helmets. It was from this diſtinguiſhed mark that Oſſian knew Cathmor, in the ſecond book.
+
+
+
After the death of Comhal, and during the uſurpation of the tribe of Morni, Fingal was
+ educated in private by Duthcaron. It was then he contracted that intimacy with Connal, the ſon
+ of Duthcaron, which occaſions his regretting ſo much his fall. When Fingal was grown up, he ſoon
+ reduced the tribe of Morni; and, as it appears from the ſubſequent epiſode, ſent Duthcaron and
+ his ſon Connal to the aid of Cormac, the ſon of Conar, king of Ireland, who was driven to the
+ laſt extremity, by the inſurrections of the Firbolg. This epiſode throws farther light on the
+ conteſts between the Cael and Firbolg.
+
+
Duth úla, a river in Connaught ; it ſignifies, dark-ruſhing water.
+
+
Colc-ulla, firm look in readineſs ; he was the brother of Borbar-duthul, the father
+ of Cairbar and Cathmor, who after the death of Cormac, the ſon of Artho, ſucceſſively mounted
+ the Iriſh throne.
+
+
Cormac, the ſon of Conar, the ſecond king of Ireland, of the race of the Caledonians. This
+ inſurrecton of the Firbolg happened towards the latter end of the long reign of Cormac. He never
+ poſſeſſed the Iriſh throne peaceably. The party of the family of Atha had made ſeveral attempts
+ to overturn the ſucceſſion in the race of Conar, before they effected it, in the minority of
+ Cormac, the ſon of Artho. Ireland, from the moſt ancient accounts concerning it, ſeems to have
+ been always ſo diſturbed by domeſtic commotions, that it is difficult to ſay, whether it ever
+ was, for any length of time, ſubject to one monarch. It is certain, that every province, if not
+ every ſmall diſtrict, had its own king. One of theſe petty princes aſſumed, at times, the title
+ of king of Ireland, and, on account of his ſuperior force, or in caſes of public danger, was
+ acknowledged by the reſt as ſuch ; but the ſucceſſion, from father to ſon, does not appear to
+ have been eſtabliſhed. It was the diviſions amongſt themſelves, ariſing from the bad
+ conſtitution of their government, that, at laſt, ſubjected the Iriſh to a foreign yoke.
+
+
The inhabitants of Ullin or Ulſter, who were of the race of the Caledonians, ſeem, alone, to
+ have been the firm friends to the ſucceſſion in the family of Conar. The Firbolg were only
+ ſubject to them by conſtraint, and embraced every opportunity to throw off their yoke.
+
+
Colgan, the ſon of Cathmul, was the principal bard of Cormac, king of Ireland, The following
+ dialogue, on the loves of Fingal and Ros-crana, may be aſcribed to him
+
+ Ros-crana.
+
By night, came a dream to Ros crána! I feel my beating ſoul. No viſion of the forms of the
+ dead, came to the blue eyes of Erin. But, riſing from the wave of the north, I beheld him
+ bright in his locks. I beheld the ſon of the king. My beating ſoul is high. I laid my head down
+ in night; again aſcended the form, Why delayeſt thou thy coming, young rider of ſtormy
+ waves!
+
But, there, far-diſtant, he comes; where ſeas roll their green ridges in miſt! Young dweller
+ of my ſoul; why doſt thou delay—
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
It was the ſoft voice of Moi-lena ! the pleaſant breeze of the valley of roes ! But why doſt
+ thou hide thee in ſhades ? Young love of heroes riſe. Are not thy ſteps covered with light? In
+ thy groves thou appeareſt, Ros-crana, like the ſun in the gathering of clouds. Why doſt thou
+ hide thee in ſhades? Young love of heroes riſe.
+
+
+ Ros-crana.
+
My fluttering ſoul is high! Let me turn from the ſteps of the king, He has heard my ſecret
+ voice, and ſhall my blue eyes roll, in his preſence ? Roe of the hill of moſs, toward thy
+ dwelling I move. Meet me, ye breezes of Mora, as I move through the valley of winds. But why
+ ſhould he aſcend his ocean ? Son of heroes, my ſoul is thine! My ſteps ſhall not move to the
+ deſart : the light of Ros-crána is here,
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
It was the light tread of a ghoſt, the fair dweller of eddying winds. Why deceiveſt thou me,
+ with thy voice ? Here let me reſt in ſhades. Shouldſt thou ſtretch thy white arm, from thy
+ grove, thou ſun-beam of Cormac of Erin !
+
+
+ Ros-crana.
+
He is gone! and my blue-eyes are dim; faint-rolling, in all my tears, But, there, I behold
+ him, alone; king of Selma, my ſoul is thine. Ah me! what clanging of armour! Colc-ulla of Atha
+ is near!
+
+
+
This epiſode has an immediate connection with the ſtory of Connal and Duth-caron, in the
+ latter end of the third book. Fingal, ſitting beneath an oak, near the palace of Selma,
+ diſcovers Connal juſt landing from Ireland. The danger which threatened Cormac king of Ireland
+ induces him to ſail immediately to that iſland. The ſtory is introduced, by the king, as a
+ pattern for the future behaviour of Fillan, whoſe raſhneſs in the preceding battle is
+ reprimanded.
+
+
Ul-erin, the guide to Ireland, a ſtar known by that name in the days of Fingal, and
+ very uſeful to thoſe who ſailed, by night, from the Hebrides, or Caledonia, to the coaſt of
+ Ulſter.
+
+
Ros-crána, the beam of the riſing ſun; ſhe was the mother of Oſſian. The Iriſh bards
+ relate ſtrange fictions concerning this princeſs. Their ſtories, however, concerning Fingal, if
+ they mean him by Fion Mac-Comnal, are ſo inconſiſtent and notoriouſly fabulous, that
+ they do not deſerve to be mentioned ; for they evidently bear, along with them, the marks of
+ late invention.
+
+
Cormac had ſaid that the foes were like the roar of ſtreams, and Fingal continues
+ the metaphor. The ſpeech of the young hero is ſpirited, and conſiſtent with that ſedate
+ intrepidity, which eminently diſtinguiſhes his character throughout.
+
+
Cairbar, the ſon of Cormac, was afterwards king of Ireland. His reign was ſhort. He was
+ ſucceeded by his ſon Artho, the father of that Cormac who was murdered by Cairbar the ſon of
+ Borbar-duthul. Cairbar, the ſon of Cormac, long after his ſon Artho was grown to man's eſtate,
+ had, by his wife Beltanno, another ſon, whoſe name was Ferad-artho. He was the only one
+ remaining of the race of Conar the firſt king of [reland, when Fingal's expedition againſt
+ Cairbar the ſon of Borbar-duthul happened. See more of Ferad artho in the eighth book.
+
+
The attitude of Ros-crana is illuſtrated by this ſimile; for the ideas of thoſe times,
+ concerning the ſpirits of the deceaſed, were not ſo gloomy and difagreeable, as thoſe of
+ ſucceeding ages. The ſpirits of women, it was ſuppoſed, retained that beauty, which they
+ poſſeſſed while living, and tranſported themſelves, from place to place, with that gliding
+ motion, which Homer aſcribes to the gods. The deſcriptions which poets, leſs ancient than
+ Oſſian, have left us of thoſe beautiful figures, that appeared ſometimes on the hills, are
+ elegant and pictureſque. They compare them to the rain-bow on ſtreams ; or, the
+ gilding of ſun-beams on the hills.
+
A chief who lived three centuries ago, returning from the war, underſtood that his wife or
+ miſtreſs was dead. A bard introduces him ſpeaking the following ſoliloquy, when he came within
+ ſight of the place, where he had left her, at his departure.
+
“My ſoul darkens in ſorrow. I behold not the ſmoak of my hall. No grey dog bounds at my
+ ſtreams. Silence dwells In the valley of trees.
+
“Is that a rain-bow on Crunath? It flies: and the ſky is dark. Again, thou moveſt, bright, on
+ the heath, thou ſunbeam cloathed in a ſhower! Hah! it is ſhe, my love: her gliding courſe on the
+ boſom of winds!”
+
In ſucceeding times the beauty of Roſcrana paſſed into a proverb; and the higheſt compliment,
+ that could be paid to a woman, was to compare her perſon with the daughter of
+ Cormac.
+
+
+ 'S tu fein an Ros crána,
+ Siol Chormaec na n'ioma lan.
+
+
+
+
In order to illuſtrate this paſſage, I ſhall give, here, the hiſtory on which it is founded,
+ as I have gathered it from tradition. The nation of the Firbolg who inhabited the ſouth of
+ ireland, being originally deſcended from the Belgæ, who poſſeſſed the ſouth and ſouth-weſt coaſt
+ of Britain, kept up, for many ages, an amicable correſpondence with their mother-country ; and
+ ſent aid to the Britiſh Belgæ, when they were preſſed by the Romans or other new-comers from the
+ continent. Con-mor, king of Inis-huna, (that part of South-Britain which is over-againſt the
+ Iriſh coaſt) being attacked, by what enemy is not mentioned, ſent for aid to Cairbar, lord of
+ Atha, the moſt potent chief of the Firbolg. Cairbar diſpatched his brother Cathmor to the
+ afſiſtance of Con-mor. Cathmor, after various viciſſitudes of fortune, put an end to the war, by
+ the total defeat of the enemies of Inis-huna, and returned in triumph to the reſidence of
+ Con-mor. There, at a feaſt, Sul-malla, the daughter of Con-mor, fell deſperately in love with
+ Cathmor, who, before her paſſion was diſcloſed, was recalled to Ireland by his brother Cairbar,
+ upon the news of the intended expedition of Fingal, to re-eſtabliſh the family of Conar on the
+ Iriſh throne. The wind being contrary, Cathmor remained, for three days, in a neighbouring bay,
+ during which time Sul-malla diſguiſed herſelf in the habit of a young warrior, and came to offer
+ him her ſervice, in the war. Cathmor accepted of the propoſal, ſailed for Ireland, and arrived
+ in Ulſter a few days before the death of Cairbar.
+
+
Sul-malla, ſlowly-roiling eyes, Caon-mór, mild and tall, Inis-huna,
+ green iſland.
+
+
Fithil, an inferior bard. It may either be taken here for the proper name of a man,
+ or in the literal ſenſe, as the bards were the heralds and meſſengers of thoſe times. Cathmor,
+ it is probable, was abſent, when the rebellion of his brother Cairbar, and the aſſaſſination of
+ Cormac, king of Ireland, happened. Cathmor and his followers had only arrived, from Inis-huna,
+ three days before the death of Cairbar, which ſufficiently clears his character from any
+ imputation of being concerned in the conſpiracy, with his brother.
+
+
The ceremony which was uſed by Fingal, when he prepared for an expedition, is related thus in
+ tradition. A bard, at midnight, went to the hall, where the tribes feaſted upon ſolemn
+ occaſions, raiſed the war-ſong, and thrice called the ſpirits of their deceaſed
+ anceſtors to come, on their clouds, to behold the actions of their children. He then
+ fixed the ſhield of Trenmor, on a tree on the rock of Selma, ſtriking it, at times,
+ with the blunt end ofa ſpear, and ſinging the war-ſong between. Thus he did, for three
+ ſucceſſive nights, and, in the mean time, meſſengers were diſpatched to call together the
+ tribes; or, to uſe an ancient expreſſion, to call them from all their ſtreams. This
+ phraſe alludes to the ſituation of the reſidences of the clans, which were generally fixed in
+ valleys, where the torrents of the neighbouring mountains were colleted into one body, and
+ became large ſtreams or rivers. The lifting up of the ſhield, was the phraſe
+ for beginning a war.
+
+
The ſurly attitude of Foldath is a proper preamble to his after-behaviour. Chaſſed with the
+ diſappointment of the victory which he promiſed himſelf, he becomes paſſionate and over-bearing.
+ The quarrel which ſucceeds between him and Malthos, is introduced, to raiſe the character of
+ Cathmor, whoſe ſuperior worth ſhines forth, in his manly manner of ending the difference between
+ the chiefs.
+
+
Claon-rath, winding field. The th are ſeldom pronounced audibly in the
+ Galic language.
+
+
This ſpeech of Malthos is, throughout, a ſevere reprimand to the bluſtering behaviour of
+ Foldath.
+
+
This compariſon is favourable to the ſuperiority of Cathmor over his two chiefs, I ſhall
+ illuſtrate this paſſage with another from a fragment of an ancient poem, juſt now in my hands.
+ “As the ſun is above the vapours, which his beams have raiſed ; ſo is the ſoul of the king above
+ the ſons of fear. They roll dark below him; he rejoices in the robe of his beams. But when
+ feeble deeds wander on the ſoul of the king, he is a darkened ſun rolled along the ſky: the
+ valley is ſad below : flowers wither beneath the drops of the night.”
+
+
Lear-thon, ſea wave, the name of the chief of that colony of the Fir-bolg, which
+ firſt migrated into Ireland. Larthon's firſt ſettlement in that country is related in the
+ ſeventh book. He was the anceſtor of Cathmor ; and is here called Larthon of Lumon,
+ from a high hill of that name in Inis-huna, the ancient ſeat of the Fir-bolg. The character of
+ Cathmor is preſerved. He had mentioned, in the firſt book, the averſion of that chief to praiſe,
+ and we find him here lying at the ſide of a ſtream, that the noiſe of it might drown the voice
+ of Fonar, who, according to the cuſtom of the times, ſung his eulogium in his evening
+ ſong. Though other chiefs, as well as Cathmor, might be averſe to hear their own praiſe, we
+ find it the univerſal policy of the times, to allow the bards to be as extravagant as they
+ pleaſed in their encomiums on the leaders of armies, in the preſence of their people. The
+ vulgar, who had no great ability to judge for themſelves, received the characters of their
+ princes, entirely upon the faith of their bards.
+
+
Carril, the ſon of Kinfena, by the orders of Oſſian, ſung the funeral elegy at the tomb of
+ Cairbar. See the ſecond book, towards the end. In all theſe poems, the viſits of ghoſts, to
+ their living friends, are ſhort, and their language obſcure, both which circumſtances tend to
+ throw a ſolemn gloom on theſe ſupernatural ſcenes. Towards the latter end of the ſpeech of the
+ ghoſt of Cairbar, he foretels the death of Cathmor, by enumerating thoſe ſignals which,
+ according to the opinion of the times, preceded the death of a perſon renowned. It was thought
+ that the ghoſts of deceaſed bards ſung, for three nights preceding the death (near the place
+ where his tomb was to be raiſed) round an unſubſtantial figure which repreſented the body of the
+ perſon who was to die.
+
+
The ſoliloquy of Cathmor ſuits the magnanimity of his character. Though ſtaggered at firſt
+ with the prediction of Cairbar's ghoſt, he ſoon comforts himſelf with the agreeable proſpect of
+ his future renown; and, like Achilles, prefers a ſhort and glorious life, to an obſcure length
+ of years in retirement and eaſe.
+
+
An indolent and unwarlike life was held in extreme contempt. Whatever a philoſopher may ſay,
+ in praiſe of quiet and retirement, I am far from thinking, but they weaken and debaſe the human
+ mind. When the faculties of the ſoul are not exerted, they loſe their vigour, and low and
+ circumſcribed notions take the place of noble and enlarged ideas. Action, on the contrary, and
+ the viciſſitudes of fortune which attend it, call forth, by turns, all the powers of the mind,
+ and, by exerciſing, ſtrengthen them. Hence it is, that in great and opulent ſtates, when
+ property and indolence are ſecured to individuals, we ſeldom meet with that ſtrength of mind,
+ which is ſo common in a nation, not far advanced in civilization. It is a curious, but juſt,
+ obſervation ; that great kingdoms ſeldom produce great characters, which muſt be altogether
+ attributed to that indolence and diſſipation, which are the inſeparable companions of too much
+ property and ſecurity. Rome, it is certain, had more real great men within it, when its power
+ was confined within the narrow bounds of Latium, than when its dominion extended over all the
+ known world ; and one petty ſtate of the Saxon heptarchy had, perhaps, as much genuine ſpirit in
+ it, as the two Britiſh kingdoms united. As a ſtate, we are much more powerful than our
+ anceſtors, but we would loſe by comparing individuals with them.
+
+
In order to underſtand this paſſage, it is neceſſary to look to the deſcription of Cathmor's
+ ſhield in the ſeventh book. This ſhield had ſeven principal boſſes, the ſound of each of which,
+ when ſtruck with a ſpear, conveyed a particular order from the king to his tribes. The ſound of
+ one of them, as here, was the ſignal for the army to aſſemble.
+
+
This was not the valley of Lona to which Sul-malla afterwards retired.
+
+
Con-mor, the father of Sul-malla, was killed in that war, from which Cathmor delivered
+ Inis-huna. Lormar his ſon ſucceeded Conmor. It was the opinion of the times, when a perſon was
+ reduced to a pitch of miſery, which could admit of no alleviation, that the ghoſts of his
+ anceſtors called his ſoul away. This ſupernatural kind of death was called the
+ voice of the dead; and is believed by the ſuperſtitious vulgar to this day. There is no
+ people in the world, perhaps, who give more univerſal credit to apparitions, and the viſits of
+ the ghoſts of the deceaſed to their friends, than the ancient Scots. This is to be attributed as
+ much, at leaſt, to the ſituation of the country they poſſeſs, as to that credulous diſpoſition
+ which diſtinguiſhes an unenlightened people. As their buſineſs was feeding of cattle, in dark
+ and extenſive deſarts, ſo their journeys lay over wide and unfrequented heaths, where, often,
+ they were obliged to ſleep in the open air, amidſt the whiſtling of winds, and roar of
+ water-falls. The gloomineſs of the ſcenes around them was apt to beget that melancholy
+ diſpoſition of mind, which moſt readily receives impreſſions of the extraordinary and
+ ſupernatural kind, Falling aſleep in this gloomy mood, and their dreams being diſturbed by the
+ noiſe of the elements around, it is no matter of wonder, that they thought they heard the
+ voice of the dead, This voice of the dead, however, was, perhaps, no more than
+ a ſhriller whiſtle of the winds in an old tree, or in the chinks of a neighbouring rock. It is
+ to this cauſe I aſcribe thoſe many and improbable tales of ghoſts, which we meet with in the
+ Highlands: for, in other reſpects, we do not find that the inhabitants are more credulous than
+ their neighbours.
+
+
Lora is often mentioned; it was a ſmall and rapid ſtream in the neighbourhood of Selma. There
+ is no veſtige of this name now remaining ; though it appears from a very old ſong, which the
+ tranſlator has ſeen, that one of the ſmall rivers on the north-weſt coaſt was called Lora ſome
+ centuries ago.
+
+
From ſeveral paſſages in the poem we may form a diſtinct idea of the ſcene of the action of
+ Temora. At a ſmall diſtance from one another roſe the hills of Mora and Lora; the firſt
+ poſſeſſed by Fingal, the ſecond by the army of Cathmor. Through the intermediate plain ran the
+ ſmall river Lubar, on the banks of which all the battles were fought, excepting that between
+ Cairbar and Oſcar, related in the firſt book. This laſt mentioned engagement happened to the
+ north of the hill of Mora, of which Fingal took poſſeſſion, after the army of Cairbar fell back
+ to that of Cathmor. At ſome diſtance, but within ſight of Mora, towards the weſt, Lubar iſſued
+ from the mountain of Crommal, and, after a ſhort courſe through the plain of Moi lena,
+ diſcharged itſelf into the ſea near the field of battle. Behind the mountain of Crommal ran the
+ ſmall ſtream of Lavath, on the banks of which Ferad-artho, the ſon of Cairbre, the only perſon
+ remaining of the race of Conar, lived concealed in a cave, during the uſurpation of Cairbar, the
+ ſon of Borbar-duthul.
+
+
It was to this valley Sul-malla retired, during the laſt and deciſive battle between Fingal
+ and Cathmor. It is deſcribed in the ſeventh book, where it is called the vale of Lona, and the
+ reſidence of a Druid.
+
+
It is neceſſary to remember, that Gaul was wounded; which occaſions his requiring here the
+ aſſiſtance of Oſſian to bind his ſhield on his ſide,
+
+
Roth-mar, the ſound of the ſea before a ſtorm. Druman-ard, high-ridge.
+ Cul-min, ſoft-haired. Cull-allin, beautiful locks. Strutha, ſtreamy
+ river.
+
+
By the ſtone of Loda is meant a place of worſhip among the Scandinavians. The Caledonians in
+ their many expeditions to Orkney and Scandinavia, became acquainted with ſome of the rites of
+ the religion, which prevailed in thoſe countries, and the ancient poetry frequently alludes to
+ them. There are ſome ruins, and circular pales of ſtone, remaining ſtill in Orkney, and the
+ iſlands of Shetland, which retain, to this day, the name of Loda or Loden.
+ They ſeem to have differed materially, in their conſtruction, from thoſe Druidical monuments
+ which remain in Britain, and the weſtern iſles. The places of worſhip among the Scandinavians
+ were originally rude and unadorned. In after ages, when they opened a communication with other
+ nations, they adopted their manners, and built temples. That at Upſal, in Sweden, was amazingly
+ rich and magnificent. Harquin, of Norway, built one, near Drontheim, little inferior to the
+ former; and it went always under the name of Loden. Mallet, introduction a l'hiſtoire de
+ Dannemarc.
+
+
The poet, metaphorically, calls Fillan a beam of light. Culmin, mentioned here, was the ſon
+ of Clonmar, chief of Strutha, by the beautiful Cul-allin. She was ſo remarkable for the beauty
+ of her perſon, that ſhe is introduced, frequently, in the ſimilies and alluſions of ancient
+ poetry. Mar Chulaluin Strutha nan ſian ; Lovely as
+ Cul-allin of Strutha of the ſtorms.
+
+
Dogs were thought to be ſenſible of the death of their maſter, let it happen at ever ſo great
+ a diſtance. It was alſo the opinion of the times, that the arms which warriors left at home
+ became bloody, when they themſelves fell in battle. It was from thoſe ſigns that Cul-allin is
+ ſuppoſed to underſtand that her ſon is killed ; in which ſhe is confirmed by the appearance of
+ his ghoſt. Her ſudden and ſhort exclamation is more judicious in the poet, than if ſhe had
+ extended her complaints to a greater length. The attitude of the fallen youth, and Fillan's
+ reflexions over him, come forcibly back on the mind, when we conſider, that the ſuppoſed
+ ſituation of the father of Culmin, was ſo ſimilar to that of Fingal, after the death of Fillan
+ himſelf.
+
+
This valley had its name from Clono, ſon of Lethmal of Lora, one of the anceſtors of Dermid,
+ the ſon of Duthno. His hiſtory is thus related in an old poem. In the days of Conar, the ſon of
+ Trenmor, the firſt king of Ireland, Clono paſſed over into that kingdom, from Caledonia, to aid
+ Conar againſt the Fir-bolg. Being remarkable for the beauty of his perſon, he ſoon drew the
+ attention of Sulmin, the young wife of an Iriſh chief. She diſcloſed her paſſion, which was not
+ properly returned by the Caledonian. The lady ſickened, thro' diſappointment, and her love for
+ Clono came to the ears of her huſband. Fired with jealouſy, he vowed revenge. Clono, to avoid
+ his rage, departed from Temora, in order to paſs over into Scotland ; and, being benighted in
+ the valley mentioned, here, he laid him down to ſleep. There Lethmal deſcended in the dreams
+ of Clono, and told him that danger was near.
+
+ Ghoſt of Lethmal.
+
“Ariſe from thy bed of moſs; ſon of low-laid Lethmal, ariſe. The ſound of the coming of
+ foes, deſcends along the wind.
+
+
+ Clono.
+
Whoſe voice is that, like many ſtreams, in the ſeaſon of my reſt ?
+
+
+ Ghoſt of Lethmal.
+
Ariſe, thou dweller of the ſouls of the lovely ; ſon of Lethmal, ariſe,
+
+
+ Clono.
+
How dreary is the night! The moon is darkened in the ſky; red are the paths of ghoſts, along
+ its ſullen face! Green-ſkirted meteors ſet around. Dull is the roaring of ſtreams, from the
+ valley of dim forms. I hear thee, ſpirit of my father, on the eddying courſe of the wind. I
+ hear thee ; but thou bendeſt not, forward, thy tall form, from the ſkirts of night.”
+
+
As Clono prepared to depart, the huſband of Sulmin came up, with his numerous attendants.
+ Clono defended himſelf, but, after a gallant reſiſtance, he was overpowered and ſlain. He was
+ buried in the place where he was killed, and the valley was called after his name. Dermid, in
+ his requeſt to Gaul the ſon of Morni, which immediately follows this paragraph, alludes to the
+ tomb of Clono, and his own connection with that unfortunate chief.
+
+
Fingal and Cathmor.
+
+
The fall of Foldath, if we may believe tradition, was predicted to him, before he had left
+ his own country to join Cairbar, in his deſigns on the Iriſh throne. He went to the cave of
+ Morna, to enquire of the ſpirits of his fathers, concerning the ſucceſs of the enterpriſe of
+ Cairbar. The reſponſes of oracles are always attended with obſcurity, and liable to a double
+ meaning: Foldath, therefore, put a favourable interpretation on the prediction, and purſued his
+ adopted plan of aggrandizing himſelf with the family of Atha.
+
+ Foldath, addreſſing the ſpirits of his fathers.
+
Dark, I ſtand in your preſence; fathers of Foldath, hear. Shall my ſteps paſs over Atha, to
+ Ullin of the roes ?
+
+
+ The Anſwer.
+
Thy ſteps ſhall paſs over Atha, to the green dwelling of kings. There ſhall thy ſtature
+ ariſe, over the fallen, like a pillar of thunder-clouds. There, terrible in darkneſs, ſhalt
+ thou ſtand, till the reflected beam, or Clon-cath of Moruth, come; Moruth of
+ many ſtreams, that roars in diſtant lands.”
+
+
Cloncath, or reflected beam, ſay my traditional authors, was the name of the ſword of
+ Fillan; ſo that it was, in the latent ſignification of the word Clonath, that the
+ deception lay. My principal reaſon for introducing this note, is, that this tradition ſerves to
+ ſhew, that the religion of the Fir-bolg differed from that of the Caledonians, as we never find
+ the latter enquiring of the ſpirits of their deceafed anceſtors.
+
+
The characters of Foldath and Malthos are ſuſtained. They were both dark and ſurly, but each
+ in a different way. Foldath was impetuous and cruel., Malthos ſtubborn and incredulous. Their
+ attachment to the family of Atha was equal; their bravery in battle the ſame. Foldath was vain
+ and oſtentatious: Malthos unindulgent but generous. His behaviour here, towards his enemy
+ Foldath, ſhews, that a good heart often lies concealed under a gloomy and ſullen character.
+
+
Morna was the name of a country in the ſouth of Connaught, once famous for being the
+ reſidence of an Arch-Druid. The cave of Morna was thought to be inhabited by the ſpirits of the
+ chiefs of the Fir-bolg, and their poſterity ſent to enquire there, as to an oracle, concerning
+ the iſſue of their wars.
+
+
Dal ruäth, parched or ſandy field. The etymology of Dardulena is uncertain. The
+ daughter of Foldath was, probably, ſo called, from a place in Ulſter, where her father had
+ defeated part of the adherents of Artho, king of Ireland, Dor-du lena; the dark wood of
+ Moi-lena. As Foldath was proud and oſtentatious, it would appear, that he transferred the
+ name of a place, where he himſelf had been victorious, to his daughter.
+
+
“The ſuſpence, in which the mind of the reader is left here, conveys the idea of Fillan's
+ danger more forcibly home, than any deſcription that could be introduced. There is a ſort of
+ eloquence, in ſilence with propriety. A minute detail of the circumſtances of an important ſcene
+ is generally cold and inſipid. The human mind, free and fond of thinking for itſelf, is
+ diſguſted to find every thing done by the poet. It is, therefore, his buſineſs only to mark the
+ moſt ſtriking out-lines, and to allow the imaginations of his readers to finiſh the figure for
+ themſelves.”
+
The book ends in the afternoon of the third day, from the opening of the poem.
+
+
Fingal ſpeaks.
+
+
The ſpear of Temora was that which Oſcar had received, in a preſent, from Cormac, the
+ ſon of Artho, king of Ireland. It was of it that Cairbar made the pretext for quarrelling with
+ Oſcar, at the feaſt, in the firſt book.
+
+
Clu-ba, winding bay ; an arm of the ſea in Inis-huna, or the weſtern coaſt of
+ South-Britain. It was in this bay that Cathmor was wind-bound when Sul-malla came, in the
+ diſguiſe of a young warrior, to accompany him in his voyage to Ireland. Conmor, the father of
+ Sul-malla, as is inſinuated at the cloſe of the fourth book, was dead before the departure of
+ his daughter.
+
+
Lutha was the name of a valley in Morven. There dwelt Toſcar the ſon of Conloch, the father
+ of Malvina, who, upon that account, is often called the maid of Lutha. Lutha ſignifies
+ ſwift ſtream.
+
+
A dialogue between Clatho the mother and Boſmina, the ſiſter of Fillan.
+
+ Clatho.
+
“Daughter of Fingal, ariſe : thou light between thy locks. Lift thy fair head from reſt,
+ ſoft-gliding ſun-beam of Selma! I beheld thy arms, on thy breaſt, white-toſſed amidſt thy
+ wandering locks: when the ruſtling breeze of the morning came from the deſart of ſtreams. Haſt
+ thou ſeen thy fathers, Bos-mina, deſcending in thy dreams? Ariſe, daughter of Clatho; dwells
+ there aught of grief in thy ſoul ?
+
+
+ Bos-mina.
+
A thin form paſſed before me, fading as it flew: like the darkening wave of a breeze, along a
+ field of graſs. Deſcend, from thy wall, O harp, and call back the ſoul of Bos-mina. It has
+ rolled away, like a ſtream, I hear thy pleaſant ſound. I hear thee, O harp, and my voice ſhall
+ riſe.
+
How often ſhall ye ruſh to war, ye dwellers of my ſoul ? Your paths are diſtant, kings of
+ men, in Erin of blue ſtreams. Lift thy wing, thou ſouthern breeze, from Clono's darkening heath
+ : ſpread the ſails of Fingal towards the bays of his land.
+
But who is that, in his ſtrength, darkening in the preſence of war? His arm ſtretches to the
+ foe, like the beam of the fickly ſun ; when his ſide is cruſted with darkneſs; and he rolls his
+ diſmal courſe through the ſky. Who is it, but the father of Eos-mina ? Shall he return till
+ danger is paſt!
+
Fillan, thou art a beam by his ſide ; beautiful, but terrible, is thy light. Thy ſword is
+ before thee, a blue fire of night. When ſhalt thou return to thy roes; to the ſtreams of thy
+ ruſhy fields? When ſhall I behold thee from Mora, while winds ſtrew my long locks on their
+ blaſts! But ſhall a young eagle return from the field where the heroes fall!
+
+
+ Clatho.
+
Soft, as the ſong of Loda, is the voice of Selma's maid. Pleaſant to the ear of Clatho is
+ the name of the breaker of ſhield. Behold, the king comes from ocean : the ſhield of Morven is
+ borne by bards. The foe has fled before him, like the departure of miſt. I hear not the
+ ſounding wings of my eagle; the ruſhing forth of the ſon of Clatho. Thou art dark, O Fingal ;
+ ſhall the warrior never return? * * *
+
+
+
Here the ſentence is deſignedly left unfiniſhed. The ſenſe is, that he was reſolved, like a
+ deſtroying fire, to conſume Cathmor, who had killed his brother. In the midſt of this
+ reſolution, the ſituation of Fingal ſuggeſts itſelf to him, in a very ſtrong light. He reſolves
+ to return to aſſiſt the king in proſecuting the war. But then his ſhame for not defending his
+ brother, recurs to him. He is determined again to go and find out Cathmor. We may conſider him,
+ as in the act of advancing towards the enemy, when the horn of Fingal ſounded on Mora, and
+ called back his people to his preſence. This ſoliloquy is natural : the reſolutions which ſo
+ ſuddenly follow one another, are expreſſive of a mind extremely agitated with ſorrow and
+ conſcious ſhame ; yet the behaviour of Oſſian, in his execution of the commands of Fingal, is ſo
+ irreprehenſible, that it is not eaſy to determine where he failed in his duty. The truth is,
+ that when men fail in deſigns which they ardently wiſh to accompliſh, they naturally blame
+ themſelves, as the chief cauſe of their diſappointment.
+
+
“This ſcene, ſays an ingenious writer, and a good judge, is ſolemn, The poet always places
+ his chief character amidſt objects which favour the ſublime. The face of the country, the night,
+ the broken remains of a defeated army, and, above all, the attitude and ſilence of Fingal
+ himſelf, arc circumſtances calculated to impreſs an awful idea on the mind. Oſſian is moſt
+ ſucceſsful in his night-deſcriptions. Dark images ſuited the melancholy temper of his mind. His
+ poems were all compoſed after the active part of his life was over, when he was blind, and had
+ ſurvived all the companions of his youth : we therefore find a veil of melancholy thrown over
+ the whole.”
+
+
I owe the firſt paragraph of the following note to the ſame pen.
+
The abaſhed behaviour of the army of Fingal proceeds rather from ſhame than fear. The king was
+ not of a tyrannical diſpoſition : He, as he profeſſes himſelf in the fifth book,
+ never was a dreadful form, in their preſence, darkened into wrath. His voice was no thunder
+ to their ears : his eye ſent forth no death. The firſt ages of ſociety are not the times of
+ arbitrary power. As the wants of mankind are few, they retain their independence. It is an
+ advanced ſtate of civilization that moulds the mind to that ſubmiſſion to government, of which
+ ambitious magiſtrates take advantage, and raiſe themſelves into abſolute power.
+
It is a vulgar error, that the common Highlanders lived, in abject ſlavery, under their
+ chiefs. Their high ideas of, and attachment to, the heads of their families, probably, led the
+ unintelligent into this miſtake. When the honour of the tribe was concerned, the commands of the
+ chief were obeyed, without reſtriction : but, if individuals were oppreſſed, they threw
+ themſelves into the arms of a neighbouring clan, aſſumed a new name, and were encouraged and
+ protected. The fear of this deſertion, no doubt, made the chiefs cautious in their government.
+ As their conſequence, in the eyes of others, was in proportion to the number of their people,
+ they took care to avoid every thing that tended to diminiſh it.
+
It was but very lately that the authority of the laws extended to the Highlands. Before that
+ time the clans were governed, in Civil affairs, not by the verbal commands of the chief, but by
+ what they called Clechda, or the traditional precedents of their anceſtors. When
+ differences happened between individuals, ſome of the oldeſt men in the tribe were choſen
+ umpires between the parties, to decide according to the Clechda. The chief interpoſed
+ his authority, and, invariably, enforced the deciſion. In their wars, which were frequent, on
+ account of family-feuds, the chief was leſs reſerved in the execution of his authority ; and
+ even then he ſeldom extended it to the taking the life of any of his tribe. No crime was
+ capital, except murder ; and that was very unfrequent in the Highlands. No corporal puniſhment,
+ of any kind, was inflicted. The memory of an affront of this ſort would remain, for ages, in a
+ family, and they would ſeize every opportunity to be revenged, unleſs it came immediately from
+ the hands of the chief himſelf; in that caſe it was taken, rather as a fatherly correction, than
+ a legal puniſhment for offences.
+
+
This rock of Cormul is often mentioned in the preceding part of the poem, It was on it Fingal
+ and Oſſian ſtood to view the battle. The cuſtom of retiring from the army, on the night prior to
+ their engaging in battle, was univerſal among the kings of the Caledonians. Trenmor, the moſt
+ renowned of the anceſtors of Fingal, is mentioned as the firſt who inſtituted this cuſtom.
+ Succeeding bards attributed it to a hero of a latter period. In an old poem, which begins with
+ MacArcath na ceud ſról, this cuſtom of retiring from
+ the army, before an engagement, is numbered, among the wiſe inſtitutions of Fergus, the ſon of
+ Arc or Arcath, the firft king of Scots. I ſhall here tranſlate the paſſage; in ſome other note I
+ may probably, give all that remains of the poem. Fergus of the hundred ſtreams, ſon
+ of Arcath who fought of old : thou didſt firſt retire at night: when the foe rolled before thee,
+ in ecchoing fields. Nor bending in reſt is the king : he gathers battles in his ſoul. Fly, ſon
+ of the ſtranger ; with morn he ſhall ruſh abroad. When, or by whom, this poem was
+ written, is uncertain.
+
+
I remember to have met with an old poem, wherein a ſtory of this ſort is very happily
+ introduced. In one of the invaſions of the Danes, Ullin-clundu, a conſiderable chief, on the
+ weſtern coaſt of Scotland, was killed in a rencounter with a flying party of the enemy, who had
+ landed, at no great diſtance, from the place of his reſidence. The few followers who attended
+ him were alſo ſlain. The young wife of Ullin-clundu, who had not heard of his fall. fearing the
+ worſt, on account of his long delay, alarmed the reſt of his tribe, who went in ſearch of him
+ along the ſhore. They did not find him; and the beautiful widow became diſconſolate. At length
+ he was diſcovered, by means of his dog, who ſat on a rock beſide the body, for ſome days. The
+ ſtanza concerning the dog, whoſe name was Du-chos, or Blackfoot, is deſcriptive.
+
+ “Dark-ſided Du-chos! feet of wind! cold is thy ſeat on rocks. He (the dog) ſees the roe:
+ his ears are high ; and half he bounds away, He looks around ; but Ullin ſleeps; he droops
+ again his head. The winds come paſt ; dark Duchos thinks, that Ullin's voice is there. But
+ ſtill he beholds him ſilent, laid amidſt the waving heath. Dark ſided Duchos, his voice no more
+ ſhall ſend thee over the heath !”
+
+
+
In order to illuſtrate this paſſage, it is proper to lay before the reader the ſcene of the
+ two preceding battles. Beween the hills of Mora and Lona lay the plain of Moi-lena, through
+ which ran the river Lubar. The firſt battle, wherein Gaul, the ſon of Mozni, commanded on the
+ Caledonian ſide, was fought on the banks of Lubar. As there was little advantage obtained, on
+ either ſide, the armies, after the battle, retained their former poſitions.
+
In the ſecond battle, wherein Fillan commanded, the Iriſh after the fall of Foldath, were
+ driven up the hill of Lona; but, upon the coming of Cathmor to their aid, they regained their
+ former ſituation, and drove back the Caledonians, in their turn; ſo that Lubar winded again
+ in their hoſt.
+
+
Borbar-duthul, the father of Cathmor, was the brother of that Colc-ulla, who is ſaid, in the
+ beginning of the fourth book, to have rebelled againſt Cormac king of Ireland. Borbar-duthul
+ ſeems to have retained all the prejudice of his family againſt the ſucceſſion of the poſterity
+ of Conar, on the Iriſh throne. From this ſhort epiſode we learn ſome facts which tend to throw
+ light on the hiſtory of the times. It appears, that, when Swaran invaded Ireland, he was only
+ oppoſed by the Caël, who poſſeſſed Ulſter, and the north of that iſland. Calmar, the ſon of
+ Matha, whoſe gallant behaviour and death are related in the third book of Fingal, was the only
+ chief of the race of the Fir-bolg, that joined the Cael, or Iriſh Caledonians, during the
+ invaſion of Swaran. The indecent joy, which Borbar-duthul expreſſed, upon the death of Calmar,
+ is well ſuited with that ſpirit of revenge, which ſubſiſted, univerſally, in every country where
+ the feudal ſyſtem was eſtabliſhed. It would appear that ſome perſon had carried to Borbar-duthul
+ that weapon, with which, it was pretended, Calmar had been killed.
+
+
The voices of Erin, a poetical expreſſion for the bards of Ireland.
+
+
Not only the kings, but every petty chief, had anciently their bards attending them, in the
+ field ; and thoſe bards, in proportion to the power of the chiefs, who retained them, had a
+ number of inferior bards in their train. Upon ſolemn occaſions, all the bards, in the army,
+ would join in one chorus; either when they celebrated their victories, or lamented the death of
+ a perſon, worthy and renowned, ſlain in the war. The words were of the compoſition of the
+ arch-bard, retained by the king himſelf, who generally attained to that high office on account
+ of his ſuperior genius for poetry. As the perſons of the bards were ſacred, and the emoluments
+ of their office conſiderable, the order, in ſucceeding times, became very numerous and inſolent.
+ It would appear, that, after the introduction of Chriſtianity, ſome ſerved in the double
+ capacity of bards and clergymen. It was, from this circumſtance, that they had the name of
+ Chlére, which is, probably, derived from the Latin Clericus. The Chlére, be
+ their name derived from what it will, became, at laſt, a public nuiſance; for, taking advantage
+ of their ſacred character, they went about, in great bodies, and lived, at diſcretion, in the
+ houſes of the chiefs ; till another party, of the ſame order, drove them away by mere dint of
+ ſatire. Some of the indelicate diſputes of theſe worthy poetical combatants are handed down, by
+ tradition, and ſhew how much the bards, at laſt, abuſed the privileges, which the admiration of
+ their countrymen had conferred on the order. It was this inſolent behaviour that induced the
+ chiefs to retrench their number, and to take away thoſe privileges which they were no longer
+ worthy to enjoy. Their indolence, and diſpoſition to lampoon, extinguiſhed all the poetical
+ fervour, which diſtinguiſhed their predeceſſors, and makes us the leſs regret the extinction of
+ the order.
+
+
Clun galo, the wife of Conmor, king of Inis-huna, and the mother of Sul-maila. She is here
+ repreſented, as miſſing her daughter, after ſhe had fled with Cathmor.
+
+
Sul-malla replies to the ſuppoſed queſtions of her mother. Towards the middle of this
+ paragraph ſhe calls Cathmor the ſun of her ſoul, and continues the metaphor throughout.
+ This book ends, we may ſuppoſe, about the middle of the third night, from the opening of the
+ poem.
+
+
As the miſt, which roſe from the lake of Lego, occaſioned diſeaſes and death, the bards
+ feigned that it was the reſidence of the ghoſts of the deceaſed, during the interval between
+ their death, and the pronouncing of the funeral elegy over their tombs ; for it was not
+ allowable, without that ceremony was performed, for the ſpirits of the dead to mix with their
+ anceſtors, in their airy halls. It was the buſineſs of the ſpirit of the neareſt
+ relation to the deceaſed, to take the miſt of Lego, and pour it over the grave. We find here
+ Conar, the ſon of Trenmor, the firſt king of Ireland, performing this office for Fillan, as it
+ was in the cauſe of the family of Conar, that that hero was killed,
+
+
The following is the ſingular ſentiment of a frigid bard : “More pleaſing to me is the
+ night of Cona, dark-ſtreaming from Oſſian's harp; more pleaſant it is to me, than a white
+ boſomed dweller between my arms; than a fair-handed daughter of heroes, in the hour of
+ reſt.”
+
Tho' tradition is not very ſatisfactory concerning the hiſtory of this poet, it has taken care
+ to inform us, that he was very old when he wrote the diſtich, a circumſtance, which we
+ might have ſuppoſed, without the aid of tradition.
+
+
It was the opinion of ancient times, that, on the night preceding the death of a perſon
+ worthy and renowned, the harps of thoſe bards, who were retained by his family, emitted
+ melancholy ſounds. This was attributed to the light touch of ghofts; who were ſuppofed
+ to have a fore-knowlege of events. The ſame opinion prevailed long in the north, and the
+ particular ſound was called, the warning voice of the dead. The voice of
+ death, mentioned in the preceding ſentence, was of a different kind. Each perſon was
+ ſuppoſed to have an attendant ſpirit, who aſſumed his form and voice, on the night preceding his
+ death, and appeared, to ſome, in the attitude, in which the perſon was to die. The voices of death were the foreboding ſhrieks of thoſe ſpirits.
+
+
Fingal is ſaid to have never been overcome in battle. From this proceeded that title of
+ honour which is always beſtowed on him in tradition, Fion gal na
+ buai', Fingal of victories. In a poem, juſt now in my hands,
+ which celebrates ſome of the great actions of Arthur the famous Britiſh hero, that appellation
+ is often beſtowed on him. The poem, from the phraſeology, appears to be ancient; and is,
+ perhaps, tho' that is not mentioned, a tranſlation from the Welſh language.
+
+
Claon-mal, crooked eye brow. From the retired life of this perſon, is inſinuated,
+ that he was of the order of the Druids; which ſuppoſition is not, at all, invalidated by the
+ appellation of king of harps, here beſtowed on him ; for all agree that the bards were
+ of the number of the Druids originally.
+
+
Són-mor, tall handſome man. He was the father of Borbar-duthal, chief of Atha, and
+ grandfather to Cathmor himſelf.
+
+
Cluan-er, man of the field. This chief was killed in battle by Cormac Mac-Conar,
+ king of Ireland, the father of Ros-crana, the firſt wife of Fingal. The ſtory is alluded to in
+ ſome ancient poems.
+
+
Suil-alluin, beautiful. the wife of Son-mor.
+
+
To avoid multiplying notes, I ſhall give here the ſignification of the names of the ſtars,
+ engraved on the ſhield, Ceanmathon, head of the bear. Col-derna, ſlant and ſharp
+ beam. Ul oicho, ruler of night. Cathlin, beam of the wave. Reul-durath,
+ ſtar of the twilight. Berthin, fire of the hill. Ton-théna, meteor of the
+ waves. Theſe etymologies, excepting that of Ceanmathon, are pretty exact. Of it I am not ſo
+ certain ; for it is not very probable, that the Firbolg had diſtinguiſhed a conſtellation, ſo
+ very early as the days of Larthon, by the name of the bear.
+
+
To travel on the wings, a poetical expreſſion for ſailing.
+
+
Larthon is compounded of Lear, ſea, and thon, wave. This name was given to
+ the chief of the firſt colony of the Firbolg, who ſettled in Ireland, on account of his knowlege
+ in navigation. A part of an old poem is ſtill extant, concerning this hero. It abounds with
+ thoſe romantic fables of giants and magicians, which diſtinguiſhed the compoſitions of the leſs
+ ancient bards. The deſcriptions, contained in it, are ingenious, and proportionable to the
+ magnitude of the perſons introduced ; but, being unnatural, they are inſipid and tedious. Had
+ the bard kept within the bounds of probability, his genius was far from being contemptible. The
+ exordium of his poem is not deſtitute of merit; but it is the only part of it, that I think
+ worthy of being preſented to the reader.
+
+ “Who firſt ſent the black ſhip, thro' ocean, like a whale thro' the burſting of foam?
+ Look, from thy darkneſs, on Cronath, Oſſian of the harps of old! Send thy light on the
+ blue-rolling waters, that I may behold the king. I ſee him dark in his own ſhell of oak!
+ ſea-toſſed Larthon, thy ſoul is ſtrong. It is careleſs as the wind of thy ſails; as the wave
+ that rolls by thy ſide. But the ſilent green iſle is before thee, with its ſons, who are tall
+ as woody Lumon ; Lumon which ſends, from its top, a thouſand ſtreams, white-wandering down its
+ ſides.”
+
+
It may, perhaps, be for the credit of this bard, to tranſlate no more of this poem, for the
+ continuation of his deſcription of the Iriſh giants betrays his want of judgment.
+
+
Lumon was a hill, in Inis-huna, near the reſidence of Sul-malla. This epiſode has an
+ immediate connection with what is ſaid of Larthon, in the deſcription of Cathmor's ſhield.
+
+
Samla, apparitions, ſo called from the viſion of Larthon, concerning his poſterity.
+
+
+
Flathal, heavenly, exquiſitely beautiful. She was the wife of Larthon.
+
+
Ferad-artho was the ſon of Cairbar Mac-Cormac king of Ireland. He was the only one remaining
+ of the race of Conar, the ſon of Trenmor, the firſt Iriſh monarch, according to Oſſian. In order
+ to make this paſſage thoroughly underſtood, it may not be improper to recapitulate ſome part of
+ what has been ſaid in preceding notes. Upon the death of Conar the ſon of Trenmor, his ſon
+ Cormac ſucceeded on the Irifh throne. Cormac reigned long. His children were, Cairbar, who
+ ſucceeded him, and Ros-crana, the firſt wife of Fingal. Cairbar, long before the death of his
+ father Cormac, had taken to wife Bos-gala, the daughter of Colgar, one of the moſt powerful
+ chiefs in Connaught, and had, by her, Artho, afterwards king of ſreland. Soon after Artho
+ arrived at man's eſtate, his mother Bos-gala died, and Cairbar married Beltanno, the daughter of
+ Conachar of Ullin, who brought him a ſon, whom he called Ferad artho, i. e. a man in the
+ place of Artho. The occaſion of the name was this. Artho, when his brother was born, was
+ abſent, on an expedition, in the ſouth of Ireland. A falſe report was brought to his father,
+ that he was killed. Cairbar, to uſe the words of a poem on the ſubject, darkened
+ for his fair-haired ſon. He turned to the young beam of light, the ſon of Baltanno of Conachar.
+ Thou ſhalt be Farad-artho, he ſaid, a fire before thy race. Cairbar, ſoon after, died, nor
+ did Artho long ſurvive him. Artho was ſucceeded, in the Iriſh throne, by his ſon Cormac, who, in
+ his minority, was murdered by Cairbar, the ſon of Borbar-duthul. Ferad-artho, ſays tradition,
+ was very young, when the expedition of Fingal, to ſettle him on the throne of Ireland, happened.
+ During the ſhort reign of young Cormac, Feradartho lived at the royal reſidence of Temora. Upon
+ the murder of the king, Condan, the bard, conveyed Ferad-artho, privately, to the cave of Cluna,
+ behind the mountain Crommal, in Ulſter, where they both lived concealed, during the uſurpation
+ of the family of Atha. A late bard has delivered the whole hiſtory, in a poem juſt now in my
+ poſſeſſion. It has little merit, if we except the ſcene between Ferad-artho, and the meſſengers
+ of Fingal, upon their arrival, in the valley of Cluna. After hearing of the great actions of
+ Fingal, the young prince propoſes the following queſtions concerning him, to Gaul and Dermid,
+ “Is the king tall as the rock of my cave? Is his ſpear a fir of Cluna ? Is he a rough-winged
+ blaſt, on the mountain, which takes the green oak by the head, and tears it from its hill?
+ Glitters Lubar within his ſtride, when he ſends his flately ſteps along. Nor is he tall, ſaid
+ Gaul, as that rock: nor glitter ſtreams within his ſtrides, but his ſoul is a mighty flood, like
+ the ſtrength of Ullin's ſeas.”
+
+
Malvina is ſuppoſed to ſpeak the following ſoliloquy.
+
+
“Malvina is like the bow of the ſhower, in the ſecret valley of ſtreams; it is bright, but
+ the drops of heaven are rolling on its blended light. They ſay, that I am fair within my locks,
+ but, on my brightneſs, is the wandering of tears. Darkneſs flies over my ſoul, as the duſky
+ wave of the breeze, along the graſs of Lutha. Yet have not the roes failed me, when I moved
+ between the hills. Pleaſant, beneath my white hand, aroſe the ſound of harps. What then,
+ daughter of Lutha, travels over thy ſoul, like the dreary path a ghoſt, along the nightly beam
+ ? Should the young warrior fall, in the roar of his troubled fields! Young virgins of Lutha
+ ariſe, call back the wandering thoughts of Malvina. Awake the voice of the harp, along my
+ ecchoing vale. Then ſhall my ſoul come forth, like a light from the gates of the morn, when
+ clouds are rolled around them, with their broken ſides.
+
“Dweller of my thoughts, by night, whoſe form aſcends in troubled fields, why doſt thou ſtir
+ up my ſoul, thou far-diſtant ſon of the king ? is that the ſhip of my love, its dark courſe
+ through the ridges of ocean? How art thou ſo ſudden, Oſcar, from the heath of ſhields ?”
+
+
The reſt of this poem conſiſts of a dialogue between Ullin and Malvina, wherein the diſtreſs
+ of the latter is carried to the higheſt pitch.
+
+
The Iriſh compoſitions concerning Fingal invariably ſpeaks of him as a giant. Of theſe
+ Hibernian poems there are now many in my hands. From the language, and alluſions to the times in
+ which they were writ, I ſhould fix the date of their compoſition in the fifteenth and ſixteenth
+ centuries. In ſome paſſages, the poetry is far from wanting merit, but the fable is unnatural,
+ and the whole conduct of the pieces injudicious. I ſhall give one inſtance of the extravagant
+ fictions of the Iriſh bards, in a poem which they, moſt unjuſtly, aſcribe to Oſſian. The ſtory
+ of it is this: Ireland being threatened with an invaſion from ſome part of Scandinavia, Fingal
+ ſent Oſſian, Oſcar, and Ca-olt, to watch the bay, in which, it was expected, the enemy was to
+ land. Oſcar, unluckily, fell aſleep, before the Scandinavians appeared ; and, great as he was,
+ ſays the Iriſh bard, he had one bad property, that no leſs could waken him, before his time,
+ than cutting off one of his fingers, or throwing a great ſtone againſt his head ; and it was
+ dangerous to come near him on thoſe occaſions, till he had recovered himſelf, and was fully
+ awake.
+
Ca-olt, who was employed by Oſſian to waken his ſon, made choice of throwing the ſtone againſt
+ his head, as the leaſt dangerous expedient. The ſtone, rebounding from the hero's head, ſhook,
+ as it rolled along, the hill for three miles round. Oſcar roſe in rage, fought bravely, and,
+ ſingly, vanquiſhed a wing of the enemy's army. Thus the bard goes on, till Fingal put an end to
+ the war, by the total rout of the Scandinavians. Puerile, and even deſpicable, as theſe fictions
+ are, yet Keating and O'Flaherty have no better authority than the poems which contain them, for
+ all that they write concerning Fion Mac-comnal, and the pretended militia of Ireland.
+
+
Tla-min, mildly-ſoft. The loves of Clonar and Tlamin were rendered famous in the
+ north, by a fragment of a lyric poem. It is a dialogue between Clonar and Tlamin. She begins
+ with a ſoliloquy, which he overhears.
+
+ TLAMIN.
+
“Clonar, ſon of Conglas of I-mor, young hunter of dun-ſided roes! where art thou laid,
+ amidſt ruſhes, beneath the paſſing wing of the breeze? I behold thee, my love, in the plain of
+ thy own dark ſtreams! The clung thorn is rolled by the wind, and ruſtles along his ſhield.
+ Bright in his locks he lies : the thoughts of his dreams fly, darkening, over his face. Thou
+ thinkeſt of the battles of Oſſian, young ſon of the ecchoing iſle !
+
“Half hid, in the grove, I ſit down. Fly back, ye miſts of the hill. Why ſhould ye hide her
+ love from the blue eyes of Tlamin of harps?
+
+
+ Clonar.
+
“As the ſpirit, ſeen in a dream, flies off from our opening eyes, we think, we behold his
+ bright path between the cloſing hills ; ſo fled the daughter of Clun-gal, from the ſight of
+ Clonar of ſhields. Ariſe, from the gathering of trees; blue-eyed Tlamin ariſe.
+
+
+ Tlamin.
+
“I turn me away from his ſteps. Why ſhould he know of my love! My white breaſt is heaving
+ over ſighs, as foam on the dark courſe of ſtreams. But he paſſes away, in his arms ! Son of
+ Conglas, my ſoul is ſad.
+
+
+ Clonar,
+
“It was the ſhield of Fingal! the voice of kings from Selma of harps! My path is towards
+ green Erin. Ariſe, fair light, from thy ſhades. Come to the field of my ſoul, there is the
+ ſpreading of hoſts. Ariſe, on Clonar's troubled ſoul, young daughter of blue ſhielded Clungal.”
+
+
+
Clungal was the chief of I-mor, one of the Hebrides.
+
+
Fingal and Cathmor. The conduct here is perhaps proper. The numerous deſcriptions of ſingle
+ combats have already exhauſted the ſubject. Nothing new, nor adequate to our high idea of the
+ kings, can be ſaid. A column of miſt is thrown over the whole, and the combat is left
+ to the imagination of the reader. Poets have almoſt univerſally failed in their deſcriptions of
+ this ſort. Not all the ſtrength of Homer could ſuſtain, with dignity, the minutiæ of a
+ ſingle combat. The throwing of a ſpear, and the braying of a ſhield, as ſome of our own poets
+ moſt elegantly expreſs it, convey no magnificent, though they are ſtriking ideas. Our
+ imagination ſtretches beyond, and conſequently, deſpiſes, the deſcription. It were, therefore,
+ well, for ſome poets, in my opinion, (tho' it is, perhaps, ſomewhat ſingular) to have,
+ ſometimes, thrown miſt over their ſingle combats.
+
+
Fingal is very much celebrated, in tradition, for his knowlege in the virtues of herbs. The
+ Iriſh poems, concerning him, often repreſent him, curing the wounds which his chiefs received in
+ battle. They fable concerning him, that he was in poſſeſſion of a cup, containing the eſſence of
+ herbs, which inſtantaneouſly healed wounds. The knowlege of curing the wounded, was, till of
+ late, univerſal among the Highlanders. We hear of no other diſorder, which required the ſkill of
+ phyſic. The wholſomeneſs of the climate, and an active life, ſpent in hunting, excluded
+ diſeaſes.
+
+
Cathmor reflects, with pleaſure, even in his laſt moments, on the relief he had afforded to
+ ftrangers. The very tread of their feet was pleaſant in his ear. His hoſpitality was not paſſed
+ unnoticed by the bards; for, with them, it became a proverb, when they deſcribed the hoſpitable
+ diſpoſition of a hero, that he was like Cathmor of Atha, the friend of ſtrangers. It
+ will ſeem ſtrange, that, in all the Iriſh poems, there is no mention made of Cathmor. This muſt
+ be attributed to the revolutions and domeſtic confuſions which happened in that iſland, and
+ utterly cut off all the real traditions concerning ſo ancient a period. All that we have related
+ of the ſtate of lreland before the fifth century is of late invention, and the work of ill
+ informed ſenachies and injudicious bards.
+
+
The Celtic nations had ſome idea of rewards, and perhaps of puniſhments, after death. Thoſe
+ who behaved, in life, with bravery and virtue, were received, with joy, to the airy halls of
+ their fathers; but the dark in ſoul, to uſe the expreſſion of the poet, were ſpurned
+ away from the habitation of heroes, to wander on all the winds. Another opinion, which
+ prevailed in thoſe times, tended not a little to make individuals emulous to excel one another
+ in martial atchievements. It was thought, that, in the hall of clouds, every one had a
+ ſeat, raiſed above others, in proportion as he excelled them, in valour, when he lived.
+
+
There are ſome ſtones ſtill to be ſeen in the north, whick were erected as memorials of ſome
+ remarkable tranſactions between the ancient chiefs. There are generally found, beneath them,
+ ſome piece of arms, and a bit of half-burnt wood. The cauſe of placing the laſt there is not
+ mentioned in tradition.
+
+
The erecting of his ſtandard on the bank of Lubar, was the ſignal which Fingal, in the
+ beginning of the book, promiſed to give to the chiefs, who went to conduct Ferad-artho to the
+ army, ſhould he himſelf prevail in battle. This ſtandard here is called, the ſun-beam.
+ The reaſon of this appellation, I gave in my notes on the poem intitled Fingal.
+
+
The ſcene is changed to the valley of Lona, whither Sulmalla had been ſent, by Cathmor,
+ before the battle. Clonmal, an aged bard, or rather druid, as he ſeems here to be endued with a
+ preſcience of events, had long dwelt there, in a cave. This ſcene is calculated to throw a
+ melancholy gloom over the mind.
+
+
Cathmor had promiſed, in the ſeventh book, to come to the cave of Clonmal, after the battle
+ was over.
+
+
Tradition relates, that Oſſian, the next day after the deciſive battle between Fingal and
+ Cathmor, went to find out Sul-malla, in the valley of Lona, His addreſs to her follows :
+
+
“Awake thou daughter of Conmor, from the fern-ſkirted cavern of Lona. Awake, thou ſun-beam in
+ deſarts ; warriors one day muſt fail. They move forth, like terrible lights ; but, often, their
+ cloud is near. Go to the valley of ſtreams, to the wandering of herds, on Lumon; there dwells,
+ in his lazy miſt, the man of many days. But he is unknown, Sulmalla, like the thiſtle of the
+ rocks of roes; it ſhakes its grey beard, in the wind, and falls, unſeen of our eyes. Not ſuch
+ are the kings of men, their departure is a meteor of fire, which pours its red courſe, from the
+ deſart, over the boſom of night.
+
“He is mixed with the warriors of old, thoſe fires that have hid their heads. At times ſhall
+ they come forth in ſong. Not forgot has the warrior failed. He has not ſeen, Sul-malla, the
+ fall of a beam of his own: no fair-haired ſon, in his blood, young troubler of the field. I am
+ lonely, young branch of Lumon, I may hear the voice of the feeble, when my ſtrength ſhall have
+ failed in years, for young Oſcar has ceaſed, on his field,” — * *
+
+
Sul-malla returned to her own country, She makes a conſiderable figure in another poem ; her
+ behaviour in that piece accounts for that partial regard with which the poet ought to ſpeak of
+ her throughout Temora,
+
+
Before I finiſh my notes, it may not be altogether improper to obviate an objection, which
+ may be made to the credibility of the ſtory of Temora. It may be aſked, whether it is probable,
+ that Fingal could perform ſuch actions as are aſcribed to him in this book, at an age when his
+ grandſon, Oſcar, had acquired ſo much reputation in arms. To this it may be anſwered, that
+ Fingal was but very young [book 4th] when he took to wife Ros-crana, who ſoon after became the
+ mother of Oſſian. Oſſian was alſo extremely young when he married Ever-allin, the mother of
+ Oſcar. Tradition relates, that Fingal was but eighteen years old at the birth of his ſon Oſſian
+ ; and that Oſſian was much about the ſame age, when Oſcar, his ſon, was born. Oſcar, perhaps,
+ might be about twenty, when he was killed, in the battle of Gabhra, [book 1ſt] ſo the age of
+ Fingal, when the deciſive battle was fought between him and Cathmor, was juſt fifty-ſix years.
+ In thoſe times of activity and health, the natural ſtrength and vigour of a man was little
+ abated, at ſuch an age ; ſo that there is nothing improbable in the actions of Fingal, as
+ related in this book.
+
+
I-thonn, iſland of waves, one of the uninhabited weſtern iſles.
+
Cuthona the daughter of Rumar, whom Toſcar had carried away by force.
+
It was long thought, in the north of Scotland, that ſtorms were raiſed by the ghoſts of the
+ deceaſed. This notion is ſtill entertained by the vulgar; for they think that whirlwinds, and
+ ſudden ſqualls of wind are occaſioned by ſpirits, who tranſport themſelves, in that manner, from
+ one place to another.
+
Ma-ronnan was the brother of Toſcar,
+
Selámath, beautiful to behold, the name of Toſcar's reſidence, on the coaſt of
+ Ulſter, near the mountain Cromla.
+
Cu-thona, the mournful ſound of the waves; a poetical name given her on account of
+ her mourning to the ſound of the waves; her name in tradition is Gorm-huil, the blue-eyed
+ maid.
+
The grave.
+
It was the opinion of the times, that the arms left by the heroes at home, became bloody the
+ very inſtant their owners were killed, though at ever ſo great a diſtance.
+
Lutha, ſwift ſtream.
+
+
His father was one of Fingal's principal bards, and he had a poetical genius.
+
+
Oſſian ſpeaks. He calls Malvina a beam of light, and continues the metaphor throughout the
+ paragraph.
+
+
The deſcription of this ideal palace of Fingal is agreeable to the notions of thoſe times,
+ concerning the ſtate of the deceaſed, who were ſuppoſed to purſue, after death, the pleaſures
+ and employments of their former life. The ſituation of the Celtic heroes, in their ſeparate
+ ſtate, if not entirely happy, is more agreeable, than the notions of the antient Greeks
+ concerning their departed heroes.
+
+
Oſſian who had a great friendſhip for Malvina, both on account of her love for his ſon Oſcar,
+ and her attention to himſelf.
+
+
That is, the young virgins who ſung the funeral elegy over her tomb.
+
+
Tradition is entirely ſilent concerning what paſſed in the north, immediately after the death
+ of Fingal and all his heroes ; by which it would ſeem that the actions of their ſucceſſors were
+ not to be compared to thoſe of the renowned Fingalians.
+
+
Toſcar was the ſon of that Conloch, who was alſo father to the lady, whoſe unfortunate death
+ is related in the laſt epiſode of the ſecond book of Fingal.
+
+
Barrathón, a promontory in the midſt of waves,
+
+
The meaning is, that Fingal remembered his own great actions, and conſequently would not
+ ſully them by engaging in a petty war againſt Uthal, who was ſo far his inferior in valour and
+ power.
+
+
Nina-thoma, the daughter of Torth'ma, who had been confined to a deſart iſland by her lover
+ Uthal.
+
+
Finthormo, the palace of Uthal. The names in this epiſode are not of a Celtic original.
+
+
Oſſian might have thought that his killing a boar on his firſt landing in Berrathon, was a
+ good omen of his future ſucceſs in that iſland. The preſent Highlanders look, with a degree of
+ ſuperſtition, upon the ſucceſs of their firſt action, after they have engaged in any deſperate
+ undertaking.
+
+
To mourn over the fall of their enemies, was a practice univerſal among the Celtic heroes
+ This is more agreeable to humanity, than the ſhameful inſulting of the dead, ſo common in Homer,
+ and after him, ſervilely copied by all his imitators, the humane Virgil not excepted, who have
+ been more ſucceſsful in borrowing the imperfections of that great poet, than in their imitations
+ of his beauties.
+
+
Oſſian ſpeaks.
+
+
This deſcription of the power of Fingal over the winds and ſtorms, and the image of his
+ taking the ſun, and hiding him in the clouds, do not correſpond with the preceding paragraph,
+ where he is repreſented as a feeble ghoſt, and no more the terror of the
+ valiant ; but it agrees with the notion of the times concerning the ſouls of the deceaſed,
+ who, it was ſuppoſed, had the command of the winds and ſtorms, but took no concern in the
+ affairs of men.
+
+
Ryno, the ſon of Fingal, who was killed in Ireland, in the war againſt Swaran, was remarkable
+ for the beauty of his perſon, his ſwiftneſs and great exploits. Minvâne, the daughter of Morni,
+ and ſiſter to Gaul, was in love with Ryno. Her lamentation over her lover follows.
+
+
She bluſhing ſad, from Morven's rocks, bends over the darkly-rolling ſea.
+ She ſees the youth in all their arms,. Where, Kyno, where art thou?
+
Our dark looks told that he was low ! That pale the hero flew on clouds! That in the graſs of
+ Morven's hills, his feeble voice was heard in wind!
+
And is the ſon of Fingal fallen on Ullin's moſſy plains? Strong was the arm that vanquiſhed
+ him! Ah me! I am alone !
+
Alone I ſhall not be, ye winds! that lift my dark-brown hair. My ſighs ſhall not long mix
+ with your ſtream; for I muſt ſleep with Ryno.
+
I ſee thee not, with beauty's ſteps, returning from the chace. The night is round Minvâne's
+ love. Dark ſilence dwells with Ryno.
+
Where are thy dogs, and where thy bow ? Thy ſhield that was ſo ſtrong ? Thy ſword like
+ heaven's deſcending fire ? The bloody ſpear of Ryno ?
+
I ſee them mixed in thy deep ſhip; I ſee them ſtained with blood. No arms are in thy narrow
+ hall, O darkly-dwelling Ryno!
+
When will the morning come, and ſay, “ariſe, thou king of ſpears! ariſe, the hunters are
+ abroad. The hinds are near thee, Ryno!”
+
Away, thou fair-haired morning, away! the ſlumbering king hears thee not! The hinds bound
+ over his narrow tomb ; for death dwells round young Ryno.
+
But I will tread ſoftly, my king! and ſteal to the bed of thy repoſe. Minvâne will lie in
+ ſilence; nor diſturb the ſlumbering Ryno.
+
The maids ſhall ſeek me; but they ſhall not find me : they ſhall follow my departure with
+ ſongs. But I ſhall not hear you, O maids: I ſleep with fair-haired Ryno.
+
+
+
Plin. 1. 6.
+
Cæſ. 1.5. Tac. Agric. c. 2.
+
Cæſar. Pomp. Mel. Tacitus.
+
Diod. Sic. 1. 5.
+
Strabo, 1.7.
+
Cæſ. 1. 6. Liv. 1. 5. Tac de mor. Germ.
+
Cæſ.1.6.
+
Fer-gubreth, the man to judge.
+
Culdich.
Carac'huil, terrible
+ eye. Carac-'healla, terrible look, Carac-challamh, a ſort of upper
+ garment.
+
Car-avon, Winding river.
+
Tacitus de mor. Germ.
+
Abbé de la Bleterie Remarques ſur la Germaine.
+
St. Hierom, ad Cteſiphon,
+
Dio. Sic, 1. 5.
+
War. de antiq. Hybern. præ p. 1.
+
In Faulkner's Dublin Journal, of the 1ſt December, 1761, appeared the following Advertiſement
+ : two weeks before my firſt publication appeared in London.
+
Speedily will be publiſhed, by a gentleman of this kingdom, who hath been, for ſome time paft,
+ employed in tranſlating and writing hiſtorical Notes to
FINGAL, A
+ poem
, Originally wrote in the Iriſh or Erſe language. In the preface to which, the
+ tranſlator, who is a perfect maſter of the Iriſh tongue, will give an account of the manners and
+ cuſtoms of the antient Iriſh or Scotch ; and, therefore, moſt humbly intreats the public, to wait
+ for his edition, which will appear in a ſhort time, as he will ſet forth all the blunders and
+ abſurdities in the edition now printing in London, and ſhew the ignorance of the Engliſh
+ tranſlator, in his knowlege of Iriſh grammar, not underſtanding any part of that accidence.
+
+
Olaus Wormius, in the appendix to his Treatiſe de Literatura Runica, has given a particular
+ account of the Gothic poetry, commonly called Runic, from Runes, which ſignifies the
+ Gothic letters. He informs us that there were no fewer than 136 different kinds of meaſure or
+ verſe uſed in their Vyſes ; and though we are accuſtomed to call rhyme a Gothic invention, he
+ ſays expreſly, that among all theſe meaſures, rhyme, or correſpondence of final ſyllables, was
+ never employed. He analyſes the ſtructure of one of theſe kinds of verſe, that in which the poem
+ of Lodbrog, afterwards quoted, is written ; which exhibits a very ſingular ſpecies of harmony, if
+ it can be allowed that name, depending neither upon rhyme nor upon metrical feet, or quantity of
+ ſyllables, but chiefly upon the number of the ſyllables, and the diſpoſition of the letters. In
+ every ſtanza was an equal number of lines: in every line ſix ſyllables. In each diſtich, it was
+ requiſite that three words ſhould begin with the ſame letter ; two of the correſponding words
+ placed in the firſt line of the diſtich, the third, in the ſecond line. In each line were alſo
+ required two ſyllables, but never the final ones, formed either of the ſame conſonants, or ſame
+ vowels. As an example of this meaſure, Olaus gives us theſe two Latin lines conſtructed exactly
+ according to the above rules of Runic verſe;
+ Chriſtus caput noſtrum
+ Coronet te bonis. The initial letters of Chriſtus, Caput, and Coronet, make the
+ three correſponding letters of the diſtich. In the firſt line, the firſt ſyllables of Chriſtos
+ and of noſtrum ; in the ſecond line, the on in coronet and in bonis make the requiſite
+ correſpondence of ſyllables. Frequent inverſions and tranſpoſitions were permitted in this
+ poetry; which. would naturally follow from ſuch laborious attention to the collocation of words.
+
+
The curious on this ſubject may conſult likewiſe Dr. Hicks's Theſaurus Linguarum
+ Septentrionalium; particularly the 23rd chapter of his Grammatica Anglo Saxonica & Mæſo
+ Gothica; where they will find a full account of the ſtructure of the Anglo-Saxon verſe, which
+ nearly reſembled the Gothic. They will find alſo ſome ſpecimens both of Gothic and Saxon Poetry.
+ An extract, which Dr. Hicks has given from the work of one of the Daniſh Scalders, entitled,
+ Hervarer Saga, containing an evocation from the dead, may be ſound in the 6th volume of
+ Miſcellany Poems, publiſhed by Mr. Dryden.
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Haud poſt longum tempus
+ Cum in Gotlandia acceſſimus
+ Ad ſerpentis immenſi necem
+ Tunc impetravimus Thoram
+ Ex hoc vocarunt me virum
+ Quod ſerpentem tranſfodi
+ Hirſutam braccam ob illam cædem
+ Cuſpide ictum intuli in colubrum
+ Ferro lucidorum ſtupendiorum.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Multum juvenis fui quando acquiſivimus
+ Orientem verſus in Oreonico freto
+ Vulnerum amnes avidæ feræ
+ Et flavipedi avi
+ Accepimus ibidem ſonuerunt
+ Ad ſublimes galeas
+ Dura ferra magnam eſcam
+ Omnis erat oceanus vulnus
+ Vadavit corvus in ſanguine cæſorum.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Alte tulimus tune lanceas
+ Quando viginti annos numeravimus
+ Et celebrem laudem comparavimus paſſim
+ Vicimus octo barones
+ In oriente ante Dimini portum
+ Aquilæ impetravimus tunc ſufficientem
+ Hoſpitii ſumptum in illa ſtrage
+ Sudor decidit in vulnerum
+ Oceano perdidit exercitus ætatem.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Pugnæ facta copia
+ Cum Helſingianos poſtulavimus
+ Ad aulam Odini
+ Naves direximus in eſtium Viſtulæ
+ Mucro potuit tum mordere
+ Omnis erat vulnus unda
+ Terra rubefacta calido
+ Frendebat gladius in loricas
+ Gladius findebat clypeos.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Memini neminem tunc fugiſſe
+ Priuſquam in navibus
+ Heraudus in bello caderet
+ Non findit navibus
+ Alius baro præſtantior
+ Mare ad portum
+ In navibus longis poſt ilium
+ Sic attulit princeps paſſim
+ Alacre in bellum, cor.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Exercitus abjecit clypeos
+ Cum haſta volavit
+ Ardua ad virorum pectora
+ Momordit Scarforum cautes
+ Cladius in pugna
+ Sanguineus erat clypeus
+ Antequam Rafho rex caderet
+ Fluxit ex virorum capitibus
+ Calidas in loricas ſudor.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Habere potuerunt tum, corvi
+ Ante Indirorum inſulas
+ Sufficientem prædam dilaniandam
+ Acquiſivimus feris carnivoris
+ Plenum prandium unico actu
+ Difficile erat unius facere mentionem
+ Oriente ſole
+ Spicula, vidi pungere,
+ Propulerunt arcus ex ſe ferra.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Altum mugierunt enſes
+ Antequam in Laneo campo
+ Eiſlinus rex cecidit
+ Proceſſimus auro, ditati
+ Ad terram proſtratorum dimicandum
+ Gladius ſecuit clypeorum
+ Picturas in galearum conventu,
+ Cervicum muſtum ex vulneribus
+ Diffuſum per cerebrum fiſſum.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Tenuimus clypeos in ſanguine
+ Cum haſtam unximus
+ Ante Boring holmum
+ Telorum nubes diſrumpunt clypeum
+ Extruſit arcus ex ſe metallum,
+ Volnir cecidit in conflictu.
+ Non erat illo rex major
+ Cæſi diſperſi late per littora
+ Feræ amplectebantur eſcam.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Pugna manifeſte creſcebat
+ Antequam Freyr rex caderet
+ In Flandorum terra
+ Cpit cæruleus ad incidendum
+ Sanguine illitus in auream
+ Loricam in pugna
+ Durus armorum mucro olim
+ Virgo deploravit matutinam lanienam
+ Multa præda dabatur feris.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Centies centenos vidi jacere
+ In navibus
+ Ubi Ænglanes vocatur
+ Navigavimus ad pugnam
+ Per ſex dies antequam exercitus miſſam
+ In exortu ſolis
+ Coactus eſt pro noſtris gladiis
+ Valdiofur in bello occumbere
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Ruit pluvia ſanguinis de gladiis
+ Præceps in Bardafyrde
+ Pallidum corpus pro accipitribus
+ Murmumvit arcus ubi mucro
+ Acriter mordebat loricas
+ In conflictu,
+ Odini pileus gales.
+ Cucurrit arcus ad vulnus
+ Venenate acutus conſperſus ſudore ſanguineo.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Tenuimus magica ſcuta
+ Alte in pugnæ ludo
+ Ante Hiadningum ſinum
+ Videre licuit tum viros
+ Qui gladiis lacerarunt clypeos
+ In gladiatorio murmure
+ Galeæ attritæ virorum
+ Erat ſicut ſplendidam virginem
+ In lecto, juxta ſe collocare.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Dura venit tempeſtas clypeis
+ Cadaver cecidit in terram
+ In Nortumbria
+ Erat circa matutinum tempus
+ Hominibus neceſſum erat fugere
+ Ex prælio ubi acute
+ Caſſidis campos mordebant gladii
+ Erat hoc veluti juvenem viduam
+ In primaria ſede oſculari.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Herthiofe evaſit fortunatus
+ In Auſtralibus Orcadibus ipſe
+ Victoriæ in noſtris hominibus
+ Cogrebatur in armorum nimbo,
+ Rogvaldus occumbere
+ Iſte venit ſummus ſuper accipitres
+ Luctus in gladiorum ludo
+ Strenue jactabat concuſſor
+ Galeæ ſanguinis teli.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Quilibet jacebat tranſverſim ſupra alium
+ Gaudebat pugna lætus
+ Accipiter ob gladiorum ludum
+ Non fecit aquilam aut aprum
+ Qui Irlandiam gubernavit
+ Conventus fiebat ferri et clypei
+ Marſtanus rex jejunis
+ Fiebat in vedræ ſinu
+ Præda data corvis.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Bellatorem multum vidi cadere
+ Mante ante machæram
+ Virum in mucronum diſſidio
+ Filio meo incidit mature
+ Gladius juxta cor
+ Egillus fecit Agnerum ſpoliatum
+ Imperterritum virum vita
+ Sonuit lancea prope Hamdi
+ Griſeam loricam ſplendebant vexilla.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Verborum tenaces vidi diſſecare
+ Haud minutim pro lupis
+ Endili maris enſibus
+ Erat per hebdomadæ ſpatium
+ Quaſi mulieres vinum apportarent
+ Rubefactæ erant naves
+ Valde in ſtrepitu armorum
+ Sciſſa erat lorica
+ In Scioldungorum prælio.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Pulcricomum vidi crepuſcuaſcere
+ Virginis amatorem circa matutinum
+ Et confabulationis amicum viduarum
+ Erat ſicut calidum balneum
+ Vinei vaſis nympha portaret
+ Nos in Ilæ freto
+ Antequam Orn rex caderet
+ Sanguineum clypeum vidi ruptum
+ Hoc invertit virorum vitam.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Egimus gladiorum ad cædem
+ Ludum in Lindis inſula
+ Cum regibus tribus
+ Pauci potuerunt inde lætari
+ Cecidit multus in rictum ferarum
+ Accipiter dilaniavit carnem cum lupo
+ Ut ſatur inde diſcederet
+ Hybernorum ſanguinis in oceanum
+ Copioſe decidit per mactationis tempus.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Alte gladius mordebat clypeos
+ Tune cum aurei colors
+ Haſta fricabat loricas
+ Videre licuit in Onlugs inſula
+ Per ſæcula multum poſt
+ Ibi fuit ad gladiorum ludos
+ Reges proceſſerunt
+ Rubicundum erat circa inſulam,
+ At volans Draco vulnerum.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Quid eſt viro forti morte certius
+ Etſi ipſe in armorum nimbo
+ Adverſus collocatus ſit
+ Sæpe deplorat ætatem
+ Qui nunquam premitur
+ Malum ferunt timidum incitare
+ Aquilam ad gladiorum ludum
+ Meticuloſus venit nuſpiam
+ Cordi ſuo uſui.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Hoc numero æquum
+ Ut procedat
+ In contactu gladiorum
+ Juvenis unus contra alterum
+ Non retrocedat vir a viro
+ Hoc fuit viri fortis nobilitas diti
+ Semper debet amoris
+ Amicus virginum,
+ Audax eſſe in fremitu armorum.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Hoc videtur mihi re vera
+ Quod fata ſequimur
+ Rarus tranſgreditur fata Parcarum
+ Non deſtinavi Ellæ
+ De vitæ exitu meæ
+ Cum ego ſanguinem ſemimortuus tegerem
+ Et naves in aquas protruſi
+ Paſſim impetravimus tum feris
+ Eſcam in Scotiæ ſinubus.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Hoc ridere me facit ſemper
+ Quod Balderi patris ſcamne
+ Parata ſcio in aula
+ Bibemus cereviſiam brevi
+ Ex concavis crateribus craniorum
+ Non gemit vir fortis contra mortem
+ Magnifici in Odini domibus
+ Non venio diſperabundis
+ Verbis ad Odini aulam.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Hic vellent nunc omnes
+ Filii Aſlaugæ gladiis
+ Amarum bellum excitare
+ Si exacte ſcirent
+ Calamitates noſtras
+ Quem non pauci angues
+ Venenati me diſcerpunt
+ Matrem accepi meis
+ Filiis ita ut corda valeant.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Valde inclinatur ad hæreditatem
+ Crudele ſtat nocumentum a vipera
+ Anguis inhabitat aulam cordis
+ Speramus alterius ad Othini
+ Virgam in Ellæ ſanguine
+ Filiis meis liveſcet
+ Sua ira rubeſcet
+ Non acres juvenes
+ Seſſionem tranquillam facient.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Habeo quinquagies
+ Prælia ſub ſignis facta
+ Ex belli invitatione et ſemel
+ Minime putavi hominum
+ Quod me futurus eſſet
+ Juvenis didici mucronem rubefacore
+ Alius rex præſtantior
+ Nos Aſæ invitabunt
+ Non eſt lugenda mors.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Fert animus finire
+ Invitant me Dyſæ
+ Quas ex Othini aula
+ Othinus mihi miſit
+ Lætus cereviſiam cum Aſis
+ In ſumma ſede,
+ Bibam vitæ elapſæ
+ Sunt horæ
+ Ridens moriar.
+
+
This was the name of his enemy who had condemned him to death.
+
Tea Tus TOY TihW[hivu? TE toe Bede: Te K0%} BATH. K) Acidats Bzgdo pee UparnTraet x, romrzi.
+ Strabo, lib. 4.
+
E 1o% Top GuTalGg Kal TeurTH ppehav, z Bagdss cropcteoiv. 876 oO per” deyavun, TzI5 Augzis
+ Cries, 5 fatv Upto y 5z5; z% PAcaoFnueote Diodor. Sicul. I. 5.
Per haec loca (ſpeaking of Gaul) hominibus paulatim excultis, viguere studia
+ laudabilium doctrinarum ; inchoata per Bardos & Euhages & Druidas. Et Bardi quidem
+ fortia virorum illuſtrium facta heroicis compoſita verſibus, cum dulcibus lyrae modulis
+ cantitarunt. Euhages vero ſcrutantes ſeriem & ſublimia naturae pandere conabantur. Inter hos,
+ Druidae ingeniis celfiores, ut auctoritas Pythagorae decrevit, ſodalitiis adſtricti conſortiis,
+ quaeftionibus altarum occultarumque rerum erecti ſunt ; & deſpectantes humana pronuntiarunt
+ animas immoriales. Amm. Marcellinus. l. 15. cap. 9.
+
Vid. Caesar de bello Gall. lib. 6.
+
Surely among the wild Laplanders, if any where, barbarity is in its moſt perfect ſtate. Yet
+ their love ſongs, which Scheffer has given us in his Lapponia, are a proof that natural
+ tenderneſs of ſentiment may be ſound in a country, into which the leaſt glimmering of ſcience has
+ never penetrated, To moſt Engliſh readers theſe ſongs are well known by the elegant tranſlations
+ of them in the Spectator, No. 366 and 406. I ſhall ſubjoin Scheffer's Latin verſion of one of
+ them, which has the appearance of being ſtrictly literal. Sol, clariſſimum
+ emitte lumen in paludem Orra. Si eniſus in ſumma picearum cacumina ſcirem me viſurum Orra
+ paludem, in ea eniterer, ut viderem inter quos amica, mea efſet flores; omnes ſuſcinderem
+ frutices ibi enatos, omnes ramos præſecarem, hos virentes ramos. Curſum nubium efſem ſecutus, quæ
+ iter ſuum inſtituunt verſus paludem Orra, fi ad te volare poſſem alis, cornicum alis. Sed mihi
+ deſunt alæ, alæ querquedulæ, pedeſque, anſerum pedes plantæve bonæ, quæ deferre me valeant ad te.
+ Satis expectaſti diu ; per tot dies, tot dies tuos optimos, oculis tuis jucundiſimis, corde tuo
+ amiciſimo. Quod ſi longiſſime velles effugere, cito tamen te conſequerer. Quid firmius validiuſve
+ eſſe poteſt quam contorti nervi, catenæve ferræ, quæ duriſſime ligant? Sic amor contorquet caput
+ noſtrum, mutat cogitationes & ſententias. Puerorum voluntas, voluntas venti; juvenum
+ cogitationes, longæ cogitationes. Quos ſi andirem omnes, a via, a via juſta declinarem. Unum eſt
+ confilium quod capiam ; ita ſcio viam rectiorem me reperturum.
Schefferi Lapponia, Cap.
+ 25.
+
When Edward I. conquered Wales, he put to death all the Welch bards. This cruel policy plainly
+ ſhews, how great an influence he imagined the ſongs of theſe bards to have over the minds of the
+ people; and of what nature he judged that influience to be. The Welch bards were of the ſame
+ Celtic race with the Scottish and Irish.
+
Their ſkill in navigation need not at all ſurprize us. Living in the weſtern iſlands, along
+ the coaſt, or in a country which is every where interſected with arms of the ſea, one of the
+ firſt objeCts of their attention, from the earlieſt time, muſt have been how to traverſe the
+ waters. Hence that knowlege of the ſtars, ſo neceſſary for guiding them by night, of which we
+ find ſeveral traces in Oſſian's works ; particularly in the beautiful deſcription of Cathmor's
+ ſhield, in the 7th book of Temora. Among all the northern maritime nations, navigation was very
+ early ſtudied, Piratical incurſions were the chief means they employed for acquiring booty ; and
+ were among the firſt exploits which diſtinguiſhed them in the world. Even the ſavage Americans
+ were at their firſt diſcovery found to poſſeſs the moſt ſurprizing ſkill and dexterity in
+ navigating their immenſe lakes and rivers.
+
The deſcription of Cuthullin's chariot, in the 1ſt book of Fingal, has been objected to by
+ ſome, as repreſenting greater magnificence than is conſiſtent with the ſuppoſed poverty of that
+ age, But this chariot is plainly only a horſe-litter ; and the gems mentioned in the deſcription,
+ are no other than the ſhining ſtones or pebbles, known to be frequently found along the weſtern
+ coaſt of Scotland.
+
Iliad xvi. 83c. Il. xvii. 127.
+
When he commands his ſons, after Swaran is taken priſoner, to “purſue the reſt of Lochlin,
+ over the heath of Lena; that no veſſel may hereafter bound on the dark-rolling waves of
+ Iniſtore;” he means not aſſuredly, as ſome have miſrepreſented him, to order a general ſlaughter
+ of the foes, and to prevent their ſaving themſelves by flight ; but, like a wiſe general, he
+ commands his chiefs to render the victory complete, by a total rout of the enemy ; that they
+ might adventure no more for the future, to fit out any fleet againſt him or his
+ allies.
+
Job iv 13—17
+
Odyſſ. Lib. II.
+
The ſcene of this encounter of Fingal with the ſpirit of Loda is laid in Iniſtore, or the
+ iſlands of Orkney ; and in the deſcription of Fingal's landing there, it is ſaid, ``A rock bends
+ along the coaſt with all its echoing wood. On the top is the circle of Loda, with the moſſy ſtone
+ of power.” In confirmation of Oſſian's topography, it is proper to acquaint the reader that in
+ theſe iſlands, as I have been well informed, there are many pillars, and circles of ſtones, ſtill
+ remaining, known by the name of the ſtones and circles of Loda, or Loden; to which ſome degree of
+ ſuperſtitious regard is annexed to this day. Theſe iſlands, until the year 1468, made a part of
+ the Daniſh dominions. Their ancient language, of which there are yet ſome remains among the
+ natives, is called the Norſe; and is a dialect, not of the Celtic, but of the Scandinavian
+ tongue. The manners and the ſuperſtitions of the inhabitants, are quite diſtinct from thoſe of
+ the Highlands and weſtern iſles of Scotland. Their ancient ſongs too, are of a different ſtrain
+ and character, turning upon magical incantations and evocations from the dead, which were the
+ favourite ſubjects of the old Runic poetry. They have many traditions among them of wars in
+ former times with the inhabitants of the weſtern iſlands.
+
Vid. Huetius de origine fabularum Romanenſium.
+
See the rules of poetical deſcription excellently illuſtrated by lord Kaims, in his Elements
+ of Criticiſm, vol. iii. chap. 21. Of narration and deſcription.
+
Odyſſ.II.211. Iliad 23. 98.
+
See Elements of Criticiſm. ch 19. vol, 3.
+
There is a remarkable propriety in this compariſon. Tt is intended to explain the effect of
+ ſoft and mournful muſic. Armin appears diſturbed at a performance of this kind. Carmor ſays to
+ him, “Why burſts the ſigh of Armin? Is there a cauſe to mourn? The ſong comes with its muſic to
+ melt and pleaſe the ear. It is like ſoft miſt, &c.” that is, ſuch mournful ſongs have a happy
+ effect to ſoften the heart, and to improve it by tender emotions, as the moiſture of the miſt
+ refreſhes and nouriſhes the flowers ; whilſt the ſadneſs they occaſion is only tranſient, and
+ ſoon diſpelled by the ſucceeding occupations and amuſements of life: “The ſun returns in its
+ ſtrength, and the miſt is gone.”
+
Iliad, iv. 446. and Iliad, viii. 60.
+
Iliad, xiv. 393.
+
Iliad, iv. 275.
+
Iliad, v. 522.
+
Iliad, xxii.26.
+
Iliad, xvii. 53
+
Iliad, xiii. 298.
+
See Dr Lowth de Sacra Poeſi Hebræorum.
+
Iſaiah xvii. 13.
+
Numbers xiii, 32, 33.
+
Milton's Lycidas. See Theocrit. Idyll. I.
+ πᾷ ποκ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἦσθ᾽, ὅκα Δάφνις ἐτάκετο, πᾷ ποκα, Νύμφαι; &c And Virg.
+ Eclog. 10.
+ Quæ nemora, aut qui vos faltus habuere, puellæ
+
The noted ſaying of Julius Cæſar, to the pilot in a ſtorm; `` Quid times? Cæſarem vehis;” is
+ magnanimous and ſublime. Lucan, not ſatisfied with this ſimple conciſeneſs, reſolved to amplify
+ and improve the thought. Obſerve, how every time he twiſts it round, it departs farther from the
+ ſublime, till, at laſt, it ends in tumid declamation.
+ Sperne minas, inquit, Pelagi, ventoque furenti
+ Trade finum. Italiam, fi coelo auctore, recuſas,
+ Me, pete. Sola tibi cauſa hæc eſt juſta timoris
+ Vetorem non noſſe tuum ; quem numina nunquam
+ Deſtituunt; de quo male tunc fortuna meretur,
+ Cur poſt vota venit; medias perrumpe procellas
+ Tutelâ ſecure meâ, Cœli iſte fretique,
+ Non puppis noſtræ, labor eſt, Hanc Cæſare preſfam
+ A fluctu defendit onus.
+ —— Quid tanti ſtrage paratur,
+ Ignoras ? Quærit pelagi coelique tumultu
+ Quid prafiet fortuna mihi.————
Pharsal. V. 578.
+
+
Oſſian himſelf is poetically called the voice of Cona.
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+
+ The Poems of Ossian : TEI edition
+
+ transcribed and encoded by
+ Lou Burnard
+
+
+
+ Prepared for Ossian Online (http://ossianonline.org/)
+
+
+
Distributed via the GitHub repository https://github.com/lb42/Ossian_1773
+
Ossian Online is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International
+ License
+
+
+ The poems of Ossian. Translated by James Macpherson esq... A new edition, carefully
+ corrected and greatly improvedLondonPrinted for W
+ Strahan and T. Becket in the Strand...MDCCLXXIIINYPL digital facsimile (Vol 1)NYPL digital facsimile (Vol 2)NLS digital facsimile (Vol 1)NLS digital facsimile (Vol 2)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
Spacing between punctuation marks and words has been retained, except for double quotes, and
+ foot note sigla. Linebreaks in the source have been removed. Long S and other unusual
+ characters preserved where a Unicode representation exists.
+
Decorative and functional features of the source copies have not been encoded and reproduced.
+ These include printers' ornaments and rules, running titles, catchwords, signature marks, and
+ press figures.
+
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End-of-line hyphenation silently removed where appropriate(not in cases where the hyphenation
+ would be preserved if occuring mid-line).
+
Where a hyphenated word straddles a page-break in the source text, the complete word is
+ encoded before the page-break in the XML file.
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+ as given in the source.
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+
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+ THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.
+ TRANSLATED By JAMES MACPHERSON, Eſq:
+ IN TWO VOLUMES.
+ VOL. II.
+
+ A NEW EDITION, Carefully corrected, and greatly improved.
+ LONDON: Printed for W. Strahan; and T. Becket,
+ in the Strand, Bookſeller to their Royal Highneſſes the Prince of Wales and
+ Biſhop of Osnabrugh.
+ MDCCLXXIII.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
+
+ TEMORA,
+ Book I — — Page 1
+ Book II. — — 29
+ Book III. — — 53
+ Book IV. — — 75
+ Book V. — — 97
+ Book VI. — — 117
+ Book VII. — — 139
+ Book VIII. — — 157
+
+ CONLATH and CUTHONA, — 181
+ BERRATHON, — — — 191
+ A DISSERTATION concerning the ÆRA of OSSIAN, — — 211
+ A DISSERTATION concerning the POEMS of OSSIAN, — 233
+ A critical DISSERTATION on the POEMS of OSSIAN, — 281
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK I.
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book I.
+
Cairbar, the ſon of Borbar-duthul, lord of Atha in Connaught the moſt potent chief of the
+ race of the Firbolg, having murdered, at Temora the royal palace, Cormac the ſon of Artho, the
+ young king of Ireland, uſurped the throne. Cormac was lineally deſcended from Conar the ſon of
+ Trenmor, the great grandfather of Fingal, king of thoſe Caledonians who inhabited the weſtern
+ coaſt of Scotland. Fingal reſented the behaviour of Cairbar, and reſolved to paſs over into
+ Ireland, with an army, to re-eſtabliſh the royal family on the Iriſh throne. Early intelligence
+ of his deſigns coming to Cairbar, he aſſembled ſome of his tribes in Ulſter, and at the ſame time
+ ordered his brother Cathmor to follow him ſpeedily with an army, from Temora. Such was the
+ ſituation of affairs when the Caledonian invaders appeared on the coaſt of Ulſter.
+
The poem opens in the morning. Cairbar is repreſented as retired from the reſt of the army,
+ when one of his ſcouts brought him news of the landing of Fingal. He aſſembles a council of his
+ chiefs. Foldath the chief of Morna haughtily deſpiſes the enemy ; and is reprimanded warmly by
+ Malthos. Cairbar, after hearing their debate, orders a feaſt to be prepared, to which, by his
+ bard Olla, he invites Oſcar the ſon of Oſſian ; reſolving to pick a quarrel with that hero, and
+ ſo have ſome pretext for killing him. Oſcar came to the feaſt; the quarrel happened ; the
+ followers of both fought, and Cairbar and Oſcar fell by mutual wounds. The noiſe of the battle
+ reached Fingal's army. The king came on, to the relief of Oſcar, and the Iriſh fell back to the
+ army of Cathmor, who was advanced to the banks of the river Lubar, on the heath of Moilena.
+ Fingal, after mourning over his grandſon, ordered Ullin the chief of his bards to carry his body
+ to Morven, to be there interred. Night coming on, Althan, the ſon of Conachar, relates to the
+ king the particulars of the murder of Cormac. Fillan, the ſon of Fingal, is ſent to obſerve the
+ motions of Cathmar by night, which concludes the action of the firſt day. The ſcene of this book
+ is a plain, near the hill of Mora, which roſe on the borders of the heath of Moilena, in Ulſter.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK I.
+
The blue waves of Erin roll in light. The mountains are covered with day.
+ Trees ſhake their duſky heads, in the breeze. Grey torrents pour their noiſy ſtreams. Two green
+ hills, with aged oaks, ſurround a narrow plain. The blue courſe of a ſtream is there. On its
+ banks ſtood Cairbar
+
Cairbar, the ſon of Borbar duthul, was deſcended lineally from Lathon the chief of the
+ Firbolg, the firſt colony who ſettled in the ſouth of Ireland. The Cael were in poſſeſſion of
+ the northern coaſt of that kingdom, and the firſt monarchs of Ireland were of their race. Hence
+ aroſe thoſe differences between the two nations, which terminated, at laſt, in the murder of
+ Cormac, and the uſurpation of Cairbar, lord of Atha, who is mentioned in this place.
+ of Atha. His ſpear ſupports the king : the red eye of his fear is ſad. Cormac riſes in
+ his ſoul, with all his ghaſtly wounds.
+
+ The grey form of the youth appears in darkneſs. Blood pours from
+ his airy ſide. Cairbar thrice threw his ſpear on earth. Thrice he ſtroaked his beard. His ſteps
+ are ſhort. He often ſtops. He toſſes his ſinewy arms. He is like a cloud in the deſart, varying
+ its form to every blaſt. The valleys are ſad around, and fear, by turns, the ſhower ! The king,
+ at length, reſumed his ſoul. He took his pointed ſpear, He turned his eye to Moi-lena, The ſcouts
+ of blue ocean came. They came with ſteps of fear, and often looked behind. Cairbar knew that the
+ mighty were near ! He called his gloomy chiefs.
+
The ſounding ſteps of his warriors came. They drew, at once, their ſwords.
+ There Morlath
+
Mór-lath,great in the day of battle, Hidalla, mildly looking hero. Cor-mar,
+ expert at ſea. Milth-os, ſlow to ſpeak. Foldath, generous.
+
Foldath, who is here ſtrongly marked, makes a great figure in the ſequel of the poem. His
+ fierce, uncomplying character is ſuſtained throughout. He ſeems, from a paſſage in the ſecond
+ book, to have been Cairbar's greateſt confident, and to have had a principal hand in the
+ conſpiracy againſt Cormac king of Ireland. His tribe was one of the moſt conſiderable of the
+ race of the Fir-bolg.
+ ſtood with darkened face. Hidalla's long hair ſighs in wind. Red-haired Cormar bends on
+ his ſpear, and rolls his ſide-long-looking eyes. Wild is the look of Malthos from beneath too
+
+
+ ſhaggy brows. Foldath ſtands, like an oozy rock, that covers its
+ dark ſides with foam. His ſpear is like Slimora's fir, that meets the wind of heaven. His ſhield
+ is marked with the ſtrokes of battle. His red eye deſpiſes danger. Theſe and a thouſand other
+ chiefs ſurrounded the king of Erin, when the ſcout of ocean came, Morannal
+
Mór-annal, ſtrong-breath; a very proper name for a ſcout.
+ , from ſtreamy Moi-lena. His eyes hang forward from his face. His lips are trembling,
+ pale!
+
“Do the chiefs of Erin ſtand,” he ſaid, “ſilent as the grove of evening?
+ Stand they, like a ſilent wood, and Fingal on the coaſt ? Fingal, who is terrible in battle, the
+ king of ſtreamy Morven ! “Haſt thou ſeen the warrior?” ſaid Cairbar with a ſigh. “Are his heroes
+ many on the coaſt ? Lifts he the ſpear of battle? Or comes the king in peace?” In peace he comes
+ not, king of Erin. I have ſeen his forward ſpear
+
Mor-annal here alludes to the particular appearance of Fingal's ſpear. If a man, upon his
+ firſt landing in a ſtrange country, kept the point of his ſpear forward, it denoted in thoſe
+ days that he came in a hoſtile manner, and accordingly he was treated as an enemy; if he kept
+ the point behind him, it was a token of friendſhip, and he was immediately invited to the feaſt,
+ according to the hoſpitality of the times.
+ . It is a meteor of death. The blood of thouſands
+
+ is on its ſteel. He came firſt to the ſhore, ſtrong in the grey
+ hair of age. Full roſe his ſinewy limbs, as he ſtrode in his might. That ſword is by his ſide,
+ which gives no ſecond
+
This was the famous ſword of Fingal, made by Luno, a ſmith of Lochlin, and after him
+ poetically called the ſon of Luno: it is ſaid of this ſword, that it killed a man at
+ every ſtroke ; and that Fingal never uſed it but in times of the greateſt danger.
+ wound. His ſhield is terrible, like the bloody moon, aſcending through a ſtorm. Then came
+ Oſſian king of ſongs. Then Morni's ſon, the firſt of men. Connal leaps forward on his ſpear.
+ Dermid ſpreads his dark-brown locks. Fillan bends his bow, the young hunter of ſtreamy Moruth.
+ But who is that before them, like the terrible courſe of a ſtream ! It is the ſon of Oſſian,
+ bright between his locks! His long hair falls on his back. His dark brows are half-incloſed in
+ ſteel. His ſword hangs looſe on his ſide. His ſpear glitters as he moves. I fled from his
+ terrible eyes, king of high Temora !”
+
“Then fly, thou feeble man,” ſaid Foldath's gloomy wrath. “Fly to the grey
+ ſtreams of thy land, ſon of the little ſoul ! Have not I ſeen that Oſcar? I beheld the chief in
+ war. He is of the mighty in danger : but there are others who lift the ſpear. Erin has many ſons
+ as brave, king
+
+ of Temora of Groves ! Let Foldath meet him in his ſtrength. Let
+ me ſtop this mighty ſtream. My ſpear is covered with blood. My ſhield is like the wall of
+ Tura!”
+
“Shall Foldath
+
The oppoſite characters of Foldath and Malthos are ſtrongly marked in ſubſequent parts of the
+ poem. They appear always in oppoſition. The feuds between their families, which were the ſource
+ of their hatred to one another, are mentioned in other poems.
+ alone meet the foe?” replied the dark-browed Malthos. “Are they not on our coaft, like
+ the waters of many ſtreams? Are not theſe the chiefs, who vanquiſhed Swaran, when the ſons of
+ green Erin fled ? Shall Foldath meet their braveſt hero ? Foldath of the heart of pride ! take
+ the ſtrength of the people! and let Malthos come. My ſword is red with ſlaughter, but who has
+ heard my words
+
That is, who has heard my vaunting ? He intended the expreſſion as a rebuke to the
+ ſelf-praife of Foldath.
+ ?”
+
“Sons of green Erin,” ſaid Hidalla
+
Hidalla was the chief of Clonra, a ſmall diſtrict on the banks of the lake of Lego. The
+ beauty of his perſon, his eloquence and genius for poetry are afterwards mentioned.
+ , “let not Fingal hear your words. The foe might rejoice, and his arm be ſtrong in the
+ land. Ye are brave, O warriors! Ye are tempeſts in war. Ye are, like ſtorms, which meet the rocks
+ without fear, and overturn the woods. But let us move
+
+ in our ſtrength, ſlow as a gathered cloud ! Then ſhall the mighty
+ tremble ; the ſpear ſhall fall from the hand of the valiant. We ſee the cloud of death, they will
+ ſay, while ſhadows fly over their face. Fingal will mourn in his age. He ſhall behold his flying
+ fame. The ſteps of his chiefs will ceaſe in Morven. The moſs of years ſhall grow in Selma.”
+
Cairbar heard their words, in ſilence, like the cloud of a ſhower : it
+ ſtands dark on Cromla, till the lightning burſts its ſide. The valley gleams with heaven's flame
+ ; the ſpirits of the ſtorm rejoice. So ſtood the ſilent king of Temora; at length his words broke
+ forth. “Spread the feaſt on Moi-lena. Let my hundred bards attend. Thou, red-hair'd Olla, take
+ the harp of the king. Go to Oſcar chief of ſwords. Bid Oſcar to our joy. To-day we feaſt and hear
+ the ſong : to-morrow break the ſpears! Tell him that I have raiſed the tomb of Cathol
+
Cathol the ſon of Maronnan, or Moran, was murdered by Cairbar, for his attachment to the
+ family of Cormac. He had attended Oſcar to the war of Inis-thona, where they contracted
+ a great friendſhip for one another. Oſcar, immediately after the death of Cathol, had ſent a
+ formal challenge to Cairbar, which he prudently declined, but conceived a ſecret hatred againſt
+ Oſcar, and had beforehand contrived to kill him at the feaſt, to which he here invites him.
+ ; that bards gave his friend to the winds. Tell him that Cairbar has heard of his fame,
+ at the
+
+ ſtream of reſounding Carun
+
He alludes to the battle of Oſcar againſt Caros, king of ſhips; who is ſuppoſed to
+ be the ſame with Carauſius the uſurper.
+ . Cathmor
+
Cathmor, great in battle, the ſon of Borbar-duthul, and brother of Cairbar king of
+ Ireland, had, before the inſurrection of the Firbolg, paſſed over into Inis-huna, ſuppoſed to be
+ a part of South-Britain, to aſſiſt Conmor king of that place againſt his enemies. Cathmor was
+ ſucceſsful in the war, but, in the courſe of it, Conmor was either killed, or died a natural
+ death. Cairbar, upon intelligence of the deſigns of Fingal to dethrone him, had diſpatched a
+ meſſenger for Cathmor, who returned into Ireland a few days before the opening of the poem.
+
Cairbar here takes advantage of his brother's abſence, to perpetrate his ungenerous deſigns
+ againſt Oſcar ; for the noble ſpirit of Cathmor, had he been preſent, would not have permitted
+ the laws of that hoſpitality, for which he was ſo renowned himſelf, to be violated. The brothers
+ form a contraſt : we do not deteſt the mean ſoul of Cairbar more, than we admire the
+ difintereſted and generous mind of Cathmor.
+ my brother is not here. He is not here with his thouſands, and our arms are weak. Cathmor
+ is a foe to ſtrife at the feaſt! His ſoul is bright as that ſun! But Cairbar muſt fight with
+ Oſcar, chiefs of woody Temora! His words for Cathol were many : the wrath of Cairbar burns. He
+ ſhall fall on Moi-lena. My fame ſhall riſe in blood.”
+
Their faces brightened round with joy. They ſpread over Moilena. The feaſt
+ of ſhells is prepared. The ſongs of bards ariſe. The
+
+ chiefs of Selma heard their joy
+
Fingal's army heard the joy that was in Cairbar's camp. The character given of Cathmor is
+ agreeable to the times. Some, through oſtentation, were hoſpitable ; and others fell naturally
+ into a cuſtom handed down from their anceſtors. But what marks ſtrongly the character of
+ Cathmor, is his averſion to praiſe ; for he is repreſented to dwell in a wood to avoid the
+ thanks of his gueſts; which is ſtill a higher degree of generoſity than that of Axylus in Homer
+ : for the poet does not ſay, but the good man might, at the head of his own table, have heard
+ with pleaſure the praiſe beſtowed on him by the people he entertained.
+
No nation in the world carried hoſpitality to a greater length than the ancient Scots. it was
+ even infamous, for many ages, in a man of condition, to have the door of his Houſe ſhut at all,
+ lest, as the bards expreſs it, the stranger should come and
+ behold his contracted soul, Some of the chiefs were poſſeſſed of this hoſpitable
+ diſpoſition to an extravagant degree ; and the bards, perhaps upon a private account, never
+ failed to recommend it, in their eulogiums. “Cean uia' na dai”, or the point to
+ which all the roads of the ſtrangers lead, was an invariable epithet given by them to the
+ chiefs; on the contrary, they diſtinguiſhed the inhoſpitable by the title of the cloud which
+ the ſtrangers ſhun. This laſt however was ſo uncommon, that in all the old poems I have
+ ever met with, I found but one man branded with this ignominious appellation; and that, perhaps,
+ only founded upon a private quarrel, which ſubſiſted between him and the patron of the bard, who
+ wrote the poem,
+ . We thought that mighty Cathmor came. Cathmor the friend of ſtrangers! the brother of
+ red-haired Cairbar. Their ſouls were not the ſame. The light of heaven was in the boſom of
+ Cathmor. His towers roſe on the banks of Atha : ſeven paths led to his halls. Seven chiefs ſtood
+ on the
+
+ paths, and called the ſtranger to the feaſt! But Cathmor dwelt
+ in the wood, to ſhun the voice of praiſe !
+
Olla came with his ſongs. Oſcar went to Cairbar's feaſt. Three hundred
+ warriors ſtrode, along Moi-lena of the ſtreams. The grey dogs bounded on the heath : Their
+ howling reached afar. Fingal ſaw the departing hero. The ſoul of the king was ſad. He dreaded
+ Cairbar's gloomy thoughts, amid the feaſt of ſhells. My ſon raiſed high the ſpear of Cormac. An
+ hundred bards met him with ſongs. Cairbar concealed with ſmiles the death, that was dark in his
+ ſoul. The feaſt is ſpread. The ſhells reſound. Joy brightens the face of the hoſt. But it was
+ like the parting beam of the ſun, when he is to hide his red head, in a ſtorm !
+
Cairbar riſes in his arms. Darkneſs gathers on his brow. The hundred harps
+ ceaſe at once. The clang
+
When a chief was determined to kill a perſon already in his power, it was uſual to ſignify,
+ that his death was intended, by the ſound of a ſhield ſtruck with the blunt end of a ſpear; at
+ the ſame time that a bard at a diſtance raiſed the death ſong.
+ of ſhields is heard. Far diſtant on the heath Olla raiſed a ſong of woe. My ſon knew the
+ ſign of death; and riſing ſeized his ſpear. “Oſcar,” ſaid the dark-red
+
+ Cairbar, “I behold the ſpear
+
Cormac, the ſon of Arth, had given the ſpear, which is here the ſoundation of the quarrel, to
+ Oſcar when he came to congratulate him, upon Swaran's being expelled from Ireland.
+ of Erin. The ſpear of Temora
+
Ti' mór-i', the houſe of the great king, the name of the royal palace of the ſupreme
+ kings of Ireland.
+ glitters in thy hand, ſon of woody Morven! It was the pride of an hundred
+
Hundred here is an indefinite number, and is only intended to expreſs a great many.
+ It was probably the hyperbolical phraſes of bards, that gave the firſt hint to the Iriſh
+ Senachies to place the origin of their monarchy in ſo remote a period as they have done.
+ kings. The death of heroes of old. Yield it, ſon of Oſſian, yield it to car-borne Cairbar
+ !”
+
“Shall I yield,” Oſcar replied, “the gift of Erin's injured king: the gift
+ of fair-haired Cormac, when Oſcar ſcattered his foes? I came to Cormac's halls of joy, when
+ Swaran fled from Fingal. Gladneſs roſe in the face of youth. He gave the ſpear of Temora. Nor did
+ he give it to the feeble : neither to the weak in ſoul. The darkneſs of thy face is no ſtorm to
+ me: nor are thine eyes the flame of death. Do I fear thy clanging ſhield? Tremble I at Olla's
+ ſong ? No : Cairbar, frighten the feeble : Oſcar is a rock!”
+
+
+
“Wilt thou not yield the ſpear ?” replied the rifing pride of Cairbar. “Are
+ thy words ſo mighty, becauſe Fingal is near ? Fingal with aged locks, from Morven's hundred
+ groves ! He has fought with little men. But he muſt vaniſh before Cairbar, like a thin pillar of
+ miſt before the winds of Atha
+
Atha, ſhallow river : the name of Cairbar's ſeat in Connaught.
+ !” “Were he who fought with little men, near Atha's haughty chief: Atha's chief would
+ yield green Erin to avoid his rage ! Speak not of the mighty, O Cairbar! Turn thy ſword on me.
+ Our ſtrength is equal : but Fingal is renowned ! the firſt of mortal men!”
+
Their people ſaw the darkening chiefs. Their crowding ſteps are heard
+ around. Their eyes roll in fire. A thouſand ſwords are half unſheathed. Red-haired Olla raiſed
+ the ſong of battle. The trembling joy of Oſcar's ſoul aroſe : the wonted joy of his ſoul when
+ Fingal's horn was heard. Dark as the ſwelling wave of ocean before the rifing winds, when it
+ bends its head near the coaſt, came on the hoſt of Cairbar !
+
Daughter of Toſcar
+
Malvina, the daughter of Toſcar, to whom is addrefſed that part of the poem which related to
+ the death of Oſcar her lover.
+ ! why that tear? He is not fallen yet. Many were the deaths of his arm before my hero
+ fell !
+
+
+
+ Behold they fall before my ſon, like groves
+ in the deſart; when an angry ghoſt ruſhes through night, and takes their green heads in his hand
+ ! Morlath falls. Maronnan dies. Conachar trembles in his blood! Cairbar ſhrinks before Oſcar's
+ ſword! He creeps in darkneſs behind a ſtone. He lifts the ſpear in ſecret ; he pierces my Oſcar's
+ ſide ! He falls forward on his ſhield : his knee ſuſtains the chief. But ſtill his ſpear is in
+ his hand. See gloomy Cairbar
+
The Iriſh hiſtorians place the death of Cairbar, in the latter end of the third century: they
+ ſay, he was killed in battle againſt Oſcar the ſon of Oſſian, but deny that he fell by his
+ hand.
+
It is, however, certain, that the Iriſh bards diſguiſe, in ſome meaſure, this part of their
+ hiſtory. An Iriſh poem on this ſubjet, which, undoubtedly, was the ſource of their information,
+ concerning the battle of Gabhra, where Cairbar fell, is juſt now in my hands. As a tranſlation
+ of the poem (which, tho' evidently no very ancient compoſition, does not want poetical merit)
+ would extend this note to too great a length, I ſhall only give the ſtory of it in brief, with
+ ſome extracts from the original Iriſh.
+
Oſcar, ſays the Iriſh bard, was invited to a feaſt, at Temora, by Cairbar king of Ireland. A
+ diſpute aroſe between the two heroes, concerning the exchange of ſpears, which was uſually made,
+ between the gueſts and their hoſt, upon ſuch occaſions, In the courſe of their altercation,
+ Cairbar ſaid, in a boaſtful manner, that he would hunt on the hills of Albion, and carry the
+ ſpoils of it into lreland, in ſpite of all the efforts of its inhabitants. The original words
+ are ;
+
+ Briathar buan ſin ; Briathar buan
+ A bheireadh an Cairbre rua',
+ Gu tuga' ſe ſealg, agus creach
+ A h'Albin an la'r na mhaireach.
+
+
Oſcar replied, that, the next day, he himſelf would carry into Albion the ſpoils of the five
+ provinces of Ireland; in ſpite of the oppoſition of Cairbar.
+
+ Briathar eile an aghai' fin
+ A bheirea' an t' Oſcar, og, calma
+ Gu'n tugadh ſe fealg agus creach
+ Do dh' Albin an la'r na mhaireach, &c,
+
+
Oſcar, in conſequence of his threats, began to lay waſte Ireland ; but as he returned with the
+ ſpoil into Ulſter, thro' the narrow paſs of Gabhra (Caorl ghlen Ghabhra) he was met, by
+ Cairbar, and a battle enſued, in which both the heroes fell by mutual wounds. The bard gives a
+ very curious liſt of the followers of Oſcar, as they marched to battle. They appear to have been
+ five hundred in number, commanded, as the poet expreſſes it, by five heroes of the blood of
+ kings This poem mentions Fingal, as arriving from Scotland. before Oſcar died of his
+ wounds.
+ falls! The ſteel pierced his forehead, and
+
+
+ divided his red hair behind. He lay, like a ſhattered rock,
+ which Cromla ſhakes from its ſhaggy ſide; when the green-vallied Erin ſhakes its mountains, from
+ ſea to ſea!
+
But never more ſhall Oſcar riſe! He leans on his boſſy ſhield. His ſpear is
+ in his terrible hand. Brin's ſons ſtand diſtant and dark. Their ſhouts ariſe, like crouded
+ ſtreams. Moi-lena ecchoes wide. Fingal heard the ſound. He took the ſpear of Selma. His ſteps are
+ before us on the heath. He ſpoke the words of woe.
+
+ “I hear the noiſe of war. Young Oſcar is alone. Riſe, ſons of
+ Morven : join the hero's ſword!”
+
Ossian ruſhed along the heath. Fillan bounded over Moi-lena. Fingal ſtrode
+ in his ſtrength. The light of his ſhield is terrible. The ſons of Erin ſaw it far diſtant. They
+ trembled in their ſouls. They knew that the wrath of the king aroſe : and they foreſaw their
+ death. We firſt arrived. We fought. Erin's chiefs withſtood our rage. But when the king came, in
+ the ſound of his courſe, what heart of ſteel could ſtand! Erin fled over Moi-lena. Death purſued
+ their flight. We ſaw Oſcar on his ſhield. We ſaw his blood around. Silence darkened every face.
+ Each turned his back and wept. The king ſtrove to hide his tears. His grey beard whiſtled in the
+ wind. He bends his head above the chief. His words are mixed with ſighs.
+
“Art thou fallen, O Oſcar, in the midſt of thy courſe? the heart of the aged
+ beats over thee! He ſees thy coming wars! The wars which ought to come he ſees ! They are cut off
+ from thy fame! When ſhall joy dwell at Selma? When ſhall grief depart from Morven? My ſons fall
+ by degrees: Fingal is the laſt of his race. My fame begins to paſs away. Mine
+
+ age will be without friends. I ſhall ſit a grey cloud in my
+ hall. I ſhall not hear the return of a ſon, in his ſounding arms. Weep, ye heroes of Morven !
+ never more ſhall Oſcar rife !”
+
And they did weep, O Fingal ! Dear was the hero to their ſouls. He went out
+ to battle, and the foes vaniſhed. He returned, in peace, amidſt their joy. No father mourned his
+ ſon ſlain in youth : no brother his brother of love. They fell, without tears, for the chief of
+ the people is low! Bran
+
Bran was one of Fingal's dogs. Bran ſignifies a mountain-ſtream.
+ is howling at his feet : gloomy Luäth is ſad, for he had often led them to the chace; to
+ the bounding roe of the deſart !
+
When Oſcar ſaw his friends around, his heaving breaſt aroſe. “The groans,”
+ he ſaid, “of aged chiefs: The howling of my dogs: The ſudden burſts of the ſong of grief, have
+ melted Oſcar's ſoul. My ſoul, that never melted before. It was like the ſteel of my ſword.
+ Oſſian, carry me to my hills! Raiſe the ſtones of my renown. Place the horn of a deer : place my
+ ſword by my ſide. The torrent hereafter may raiſe the earth : the hunter may find the ſteel and
+ ſay, “This has been Oſcar's ſword, the pride of other years!” “Falleſt thou, ſon of my fame !
+ Shall I never ſee thee, Oſcar ! When
+
+ others hear of their ſons; ſhall I not hear of thee? The moſs is
+ on thy four grey ſtones. The mournful wind is there. The battle ſhall be fought without thee.
+ Thou ſhalt not purſue the dark-brown hinds. When the warrior returns from battles, and tells of
+ other lands; “I have ſeen a tomb,” he will ſay, “by the roaring ſtream, the dark dwelling of a
+ chief. He fell by car-borne Oſcar, the firſt of mortal men,” I, perhaps, ſhall hear his voice. A
+ beam of joy will riſe in my ſoul.”
+
Night would have deſcended in ſorrow, and morning returned in the ſhadow of
+ grief. Our chiefs would have ſtood, like cold dropping rocks on Moi-lena, and have forgot the war
+ ; did not the king diſperſe his grief, and raiſe his mighty voice. The chiefs, as new-wakened
+ from dreams, lift up their heads around.
+
“How long on Moi-lena ſhall we weep? How long pour in Erin our tears? The mighty will not
+ return. Oſcar ſhall not rife in his ſtrength. The valiant muſt fall in their day, and be no more
+ known on their hills. Where are our fathers, O warriors ! the chiefs of the times of old ? They
+ have ſet like ſtars that have ſhone. We only hear the ſound of their praiſe. But they were
+ renowned in their years: the terror of other times. Thus ſhall we paſs away, in the
+
+
+ day of our fall. Then let us be renowned when we may ; and
+ leave our fame behind us, like the laſt beams of the ſun, when he hides his red head in the weſt.
+ The traveller mourns his abſence, thinking of the flame of his beams. Ullin my aged bard! take
+ thou the ſhip of the king. Carry Oſcar to Selma of harps. Let the daughters of Morven weep. We
+ muſt fight in Erin, for the race of fallen Cormac. The days of my years begin to fail. I feel the
+ weakneſs of my arm. My fathers bend from their clouds, to receive their grey-hair'd ſon. But,
+ before I go hence, one beam of fame ſhall rife. My days ſhall end, as my years begun, in fame. My
+ life ſhall be one ſtream of light to bards of other times!”
+
Ullin rais'd his white ſails. The wind of the ſouth came forth. He bounded
+ on the waves toward Selma. I remained in my grief, but my words were not heard. The feaſt is
+ ſpread on Moi-lena. An hundred heroes reared the tomb of Cairbar. No ſong is raiſed over the
+ chief. His ſoul had been dark and bloody. The bards remembered the fall of Cormac ! what could
+ they ſay in Cairbar's praiſe ?
+
Night came rolling down. The light of an hundred oaks aroſe, Fingal ſat
+ beneath a tree.
+
+ Old Althan
+
Althan, the ſon of Conachar, was the chief bard of Arth king of Ireland. After the death of
+ Arth, Althan attended his ſon Cormac, and was preſent at his death. He had made his eſcape from
+ Cairbar, by the means of Cathmor, and coming to Fingal, related, as here, the death of his
+ maſter Cormac.
+ ſtood in the midſt. He told the tale of fallen Cormac. Althan the ſon of Conachar, the
+ friend of car-borne Cuthullin. He dwelt with Cormac in windy Temora, when Semo's ſon fell at
+ Lego's ſtream. The tale of Althan was mournful. The tear was in his eye, when he ſpoke.
+
+
Althan ſpeaks.
+ “The ſetting ſon was yellow on Dora
+
Doira, the woody ſide of a mountain; it is here a hill in the neighbourhood of
+ Temora.
+ . Grey evening began to deſcend. Temora's woods ſhook with the blaſt of the unconſtant
+ wind. A cloud gathered in the weſt. A red ſtar looked from behind its edge. I ſtood in the wood
+ alone. I ſaw a ghoſt on the darkening air! His ſtride extended from hill to hill. His ſhield was
+ dim on his ſide. It was the ſon of Semo. I knew the warrior's face. But he paſſed away in his
+ blaſt; and all was dark around ! My ſoul was ſad. I went to the hall of ſhells. A thouſand lights
+ aroſe. The hundred bards had ſtrung the harp. Cormac ſtood in
+
+ the midſt, like the morning ſtar, when it rejoices on the
+ eaſtern hill, and its young beams are bathed in ſhowers. Bright and ſilent is its progreſs aloft,
+ but the cloud, that ſhall hide it, is near! The ſword of Artho
+
Arth, or Artho, the father of Cormac king of Ireland.
+ was in the hand of the king. He looked with joy on its poliſhed ſtuds: thrice he
+ attempted to draw it, and thrice he failed; his yellow locks are ſpread on his ſhoulders : his
+ cheeks of youth are red. I mourned over the beam of youth, for he was ſoon to ſet!”
+
“Althan!” he ſaid, with a ſmile, “didſt thou behold my father? Heavy is the
+ ſword of the king; ſurely his arm was ſtrong. O that I were like him in battle, when the rage of
+ his wrath aroſe! then would I have met, with Cuthullin, the car-borne ſon of Cantéla! But years
+ may come on, O Althan ! and my arm be ſtrong. Haſt thou heard of Semo's ſon, the ruler of high
+ Temora? He might have returned with his fame. He promiſed to return to-night. My bards wait him
+ with ſongs. My feaſt is ſpread in the hall of kings.”
+
I heard Cormac in ſilence, My tears began to flow. I hid them with my aged
+ locks., The king perceived my grief. “Son of Conachar !”
+
+ he ſaid, “is the ſon of Semo
+
Cuthullin is called the king of Tura from a caſtle of that name on the coaſt of Ulſter, where
+ he dwelt, before he undertook the management of the affairs of Ireland, in the minority of
+ Cormac.
+ low? Why burſts the ſigh in ſecret ? Why deſcends the tear? Comes the car-borne Torlath?
+ Comes the ſound of red-haired Cairbar? They come ! for I behold thy grief. Moſſy Tura's chief is
+ low ! Shall I not ruſh to battle ? But I cannot lift the ſpear ! O had mine arm the ſtrength of
+ Cuthullin, ſoon would Cairbar fly ; the fame of my fathers would be renewed; and the deeds of
+ other times!”
+
He took his bow. The tears flow down, from both his ſparkling eyes. Grief
+ ſaddens round. The bards bend forward, from their hundred harps. The lone blaſt touched their
+ trembling ſtrings. The ſound
+
That prophetic ſound, mentioned in other poems, which the harps of the bards emitted before
+ the death of a perſon worthy and renowned. It is here an omen of the death of Cormac, which,
+ ſoon after, followed.
+ is ſad and low ! A voice is heard at a diſtance, as of one in grief. It was Carril of
+ other times, who came from dark Slimora
+
Slimora, a hill in Connaught, near which Cuthullin was killed.
+ . He told of the fall of Cuthullin. He told of his mighty deeds. The people were ſcattered
+ round his tomb. Their arms lay on
+
+ the ground. They had forgot the war, for he, their fire, was
+ ſeen no more
+
“But who,” ſaid the ſoft-voiced Carril, “who come like bounding roes? Their
+ ſtature is like young trees in the valley, growing in a ſhower ! Soft and ruddy are their cheeks
+ ! Fearleſs ſouls look forth from their eyes! Who but the ſons of Uſnoth
+
Uſnoth chief of Etha, a diſtrict on the weſtern coaſt of Scotland, had three ſons, Nathos,
+ Althos, and Ardan, by Slisſama the ſiſter of Cuthullin. The three brothers, when very young,
+ were ſent over to Ireland by their father, to learn the uſe of arms under their uncle, whoſe
+ military fame was very great in that kingdom. They had juſt arrived in Ulſter when the news of
+ Cuthullin's death arrived. Nathos, the eldeſt of the three brothers, took the command of
+ Cuthullin's army, and made head againſt Cairbar the chief of Atha. Cairbar having, at laſt,
+ murdered young king Cormac, at Temora, the army of Nathos ſhifted ſides, and the brothers were
+ obliged to return into Ulſter, in order to paſs over into Scotland. The ſequel of their mournful
+ ſtory is related, at large, in the poem of Dar-thula.
+ , chief of ſtreamy Etha ? The people riſe on every ſide, like the ſtrength of an
+ half-extinguiſhed fire, when the winds come, ſudden, from the deſart, on their ruſtling wings.
+ Sudden glows the dark brow of the hill; the paſſing mariner lags, on his winds. The ſound of Caithbat's
+
Caithbait was grandfather to Cuthullin; and his ſhield was made uſe of to alarm his poſterity
+ to the battles of the family.
+ ſhield was heard.
+
+ The warriors ſaw Cuthullin
+
That is, they ſaw a manifeſt likeneſs between the perſon of Nathos and Cuthullin.
+ in Nathos. So rolled his ſparkling eyes! his ſteps were ſuch on heath ! Battles are
+ fought at Lego. The ſword of Nathos prevails. Soon ſhalt thou behold him in thy halls, king of
+ Temora of groves !”
+
“Soon may I behold the chief!” replied the blue-eyed king. “But my ſoul is
+ ſad for Cuthullin. His voice was pleaſant in mine ear. Often have we moved, on Dora, to the chace
+ of the dark-brown hinds. His bow was unerring on the hills. He ſpoke of mighty men. He told of
+ the deeds of my fathers. I felt my riſing joy. But ſit thou at the feaſt, O Carril, I have often
+ heard thy voice. Sing in praiſe of Cuthullin. Sing of Nathos of Etha
+
Nathos the ſon of Uſnoth.
+ !
+
Day roſe on Temora, with all the beams of the eaſt. Crathin came to the hall, the ſon of old Gelláma
+
Geal-lamha, white-handed.
+ . “I behold,” he ſaid, “a cloud in the deſart, king of Erin! a cloud it ſeemed at firſt,
+ but now a croud of men! One ſtrides before them in his ſtrength. His red hair flies in wind. His
+ ſhield glitters to the beam of the eaſt. His ſpear is in his hand.” “Call him to the feaſt
+
+
+ of Temora,” replied the brightening king. “My hall is the houſe
+ of ſtrangers, ſon of generous Gelláma ! It is perhaps the chief of Etha, coming in all his
+ renown, Hail, mighty
+
From this expreſſion, we underſtand, that Cairbar had entered the palace of Temora, in the
+ midſt of Cormac's ſpeech.
+ ſtranger! art thou of the friends of Cormac? But Carril, he is dark, and unlovely. He
+ draws his ſword. Is that the ſon of Uſnoth, bard of the times of old?”
+
“It is not the ſon of Uſnoth !” ſaid Carril. “It is Cairbar thy foe. Why
+ comeſt thou in thy arms to Temora ? chief of the gloomy brow. Let not thy ſword riſe againſt
+ Cormac! Whither doſt thou turn thy ſpeed ?” He paſſed on in darkneſs. He ſeized the hand of the
+ king. Cormac foreſaw his death ; the rage of his eyes aroſe. “Retire, thou chief of Atha ! Nathos
+ comes with war. Thou art bold in Cormac's hall, for his arm is weak.” The ſword entered the ſide
+ of the king. He fell in the halls of his fathers. His fair hair is in the duſt. His blood is
+ ſmoaking round.
+
Art thou fallen in thy halls
+
Althan ſpeaks.
+ ?” ſaid Carril. “O ſon of noble Artho. The ſhield of Cuthullin was not near. Nor the ſpear
+ of thy father. Mournful are the mountains of Erin, for the
+
+ chief of the people is low ! Bleſt be thy ſoul, O Cormac ! Thou
+ art darkened in thy youth.”
+
His words came to the ears of Cairbar. He cloſed
+
That is, himſelf and Carril, as it afterwards appears.
+ us in the midſt of darkneſs. He feared to ſtretch his ſword to the bards
+
The perſons of the bards were ſo ſacred, that even he, who had juſt murdered his ſovereign,
+ feared to kill them.
+ , though his ſoul was dark. Long we pined alone! At length, the noble Cathmor
+
Cathmor appears the ſame diſintereſted hero upon every occaſion. His humanity and generoſity
+ were unparalleled : in ſhort, he had no fault, but too much attachment to ſo bad a brother as
+ Cairbar. His family connection with Cairbar prevails, as he expreſſes it, over every other
+ conſideration, and makes him engage in a war, of which he does not approve.
+ came. He heard our voice from the cave. He turned the eye of his wrath on Cairbar.
+
“Brother of Cathmor,” he ſaid, “how long wilt thou pain my ſoul? Thy heart
+ is a rock. Thy thoughts are dark and bloody ! But thou art the brother of Cathmor ; and Cathmor
+ ſhall ſhine in thy war. But my ſoul is not like thine : thou feeble hand in fight! The light of
+ my boſom is ſtained with thy deeds. Bards will not ſing of my renown : They may ſay, “Cathmor was
+ brave, but he fought for gloomy Cairbar.” They will paſs over my tomb in ſilence. My fame ſhall
+ not be heard. Cairbar ! looſe
+
+ the bards. They are the ſons of future times. Their voice ſhall
+ be heard in other years ; after the kings of Temora have failed.” We came forth at the words of
+ the chief. We ſaw him in his ſtrength. He was like thy youth, O Fingal, when thou firſt did lift
+ the ſpear. His face was like the plain of the ſun, when it is bright. No darkneſs travelled over
+ his brow. But he came with his thouſands to aid the red-haired Cairbar. Now he comes to revenge
+ his death, O king of woody Morven.”
+
“Let Cathmor come,” replied the king. “I love a foe ſo great. His ſoul is
+ bright. His arm is ſtrong. His battles are full of fame. But the little ſoul is a vapour that
+ hovers round the marſhy lake. It never riſes on the green hill, leſt the winds ſhould meet it
+ there. Its dwelling is in the cave, it ſends forth the dart of death ! Our young heroes, O
+ warriors, are like the renown of our fathers. They fight in youth. They fall. Their names are in
+ ſong. Fingal is amid his darkening years. He muſt not fall, as an aged oak, acroſs a ſecret
+ ſtream. Near it are the ſteps of the hunter, as it lies beneath the wind, “How has that tree
+ fallen?” he ſays, and, whiſtling, ſtrides along. Raiſe the ſong of joy, ye bards of Morven. Let
+ our ſouls forget the paſt. The red ſtars look on us from
+
+ clouds, and ſilently deſcend. Soon ſhall the grey beam of the
+ morning riſe, and ſhew us the foes of Cormac. Fillan ! my ſon, take thou the ſpear of the king.
+ Go to Mora's dark-brown ſide. Let thine eyes travel over the heath. Obſerve the foes of Fingal :
+ Obſerve the courſe of generous Cathmor. I hear a diſtant ſound, like falling rocks in the deſart.
+ But ſtrike thou thy ſhield, at times, that they may not come thro' night, and the fame of Morven
+ ceaſe. I begin to be alone, my fon. I dread the fall of my renown!”
+
The voice of bards aroſe. The King leaned on the ſhield of Trenmor. Sleep
+ deſcended on his eyes. His future battles aroſe in his dreams. The hoſt are ſleeping around.
+ Dark-haired Fillan obſerves the foe. His ſteps are on a diſtant hill. We hear, at times, his
+ clanging ſhield.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK II.
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book II.
+
This book opens, we may ſuppoſe, about midnight, with a ſoliloquy of Oſſian, who had retired,
+ from the reſt of the army, to mourn for his ſon Oſcar. Upon hearing the noiſe of Cathmor's army
+ approaching, he went to find out his brother Fillan, who kept the watch, on the hill of Mora, in
+ the front of Fingal's army. In the converſation of the brothers, the epiſode of Conar, the ſon of
+ Trenmor, who was the firſt king of Ireland, is introduced, which lays open the origin of the
+ conteſts between the Cael and Firbolg, the two nations who firſt poſſeſſed themſelves of that
+ iſland. Oſſian kindles a fire on Mora ; upon which Cathmor deſiſted from the deſign he had formed
+ of ſurpriſing the army of the Caledonians. He calls a council of his chiefs; reprimands Foldath
+ for adviſing a night-attack, as the Iriſh army were ſo much ſuperior in number to the enemy. The
+ bard Fonar introduces the ſtory of Crothar, the anceſtor of the king, which throws further light
+ on the hiſtory of Ireland, and the original pretenſions of the family of Atha, to the throne of
+ that kingdom. The Iriſh chiefs lie down to reſt, and Cathmor himſelf undertakes the watch. In his
+ circuit, round the army, he is met by Oſſian. The interview of the two heroes is deſcribed.
+ Cathmor obtains a promiſe from Oſſian, to order a funeral elegy to be ſung over the grave of
+ Cairbar; it being the opinion of the times, that the ſouls of the dead could not be happy, till
+ their elegies were ſung by a bard. Morning comes. Cathmor and Oſſian part; and the latter,
+ caſually meeting with Carril the ſon of Kinſena, ſends that bard, with a funeral ſong, to the
+ tomb of Cairbar.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ T E M O R A: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK II.
+
+
Though this book has little action, it is not the leaſt important part of Temora. The poet,
+ in ſeveral epiſodes, runs up the cauſe of the war to the very ſource. The firſt population of
+ Ireland, the wars between the two nations who originally poſſeſſed that iſland, its firſt race
+ of kings, and the revolutions of its government, are important facts, and are delivered by the
+ poet, with ſo little mixture of the fabulous, that one cannot help preferring his accounts to
+ the improbable fictions of the Scotch and Iriſh hiſtorians. The Mileſian fables bear about them
+ the marks of a late invention. To trace their legends to their ſource would be no difficult taſk
+ ; but a diſquiſition of this ſort would extend this note too far.
+ Father of heroes! O Trenmor ! High dweller of eddying winds! where the
+ dark-red thunder marks the troubled clouds ! Open thou thy ſtormy halls. Let the bards of old be
+ near. Let them draw near, with ſongs and their half-viewleſs harps. No dweller of miſty valley
+ comes ! No hunter unknown at his ſtreams ! It is the carborne Oſcar, from the fields of
+ war.
+
+ Sudden is thy change, my ſon, from what thou wert on dark
+ Moilena! The blaſt folds thee in its ſkirt, and ruffles through the ſky ! Doſt thou not behold
+ thy father, at the ſtream of night? The chiefs of Morven ſleep far-diſtant. They have loſt no ſon
+ : But ye have loſt a hero, chiefs of reſounding Morven! Who could equal his ſtrength, when battle
+ rolled againſt his ſide, like the darkneſs of crowded waters? Why this cloud on Oſſian's ſoul ?
+ It ought to burn in danger. Erin is near with her hoſt. The king of Selma is alone. Alone thou
+ ſhalt not be, my father, while I can lift the ſpear !
+
I rose, in all my arms. I roſe and liſtened to the wind. The ſhield of Fillan
+
We underſtand, from the preceding book, that Cathmor was near with an army. When Cairbar was
+ killed, the tribes who attended him fell back to Cathmor; who, as it afterwards appears, had
+ taken a reſolution to ſurprize Fingal by night. Fillan was diſpatched to the hill of Mora, which
+ was in the front of the Caledonians, to obſerve the motions of Cathmor. In this ſituation were
+ affairs when Oſſian, upon hearing the noiſe of the approaching enemy, went to find out his
+ brother. Their converſation naturally introduces the epiſode, concerning Conar the ſon of
+ Trenmor, the firſt Iriſh monarch, which is ſo neceſſary to the underſtanding the foundation of
+ the rebellion and uſurpation of Cairbar and Cathmor. Fillan was the youngeſt of the ſons of
+ Fingal, then living. He and Boſmina, mentioned in the battle of Lora, were the only
+ children of the king, by Clatho the daughter of Cathulla king of Inis-tore, whom he had taken to
+ wife, after the death of Ros-crana, the daughter of Cormac Mac-Conar king of Ireland.
+ is
+
+
+ not heard. I tremble for the ſon of Fingal. “Why ſhould the
+ foe come by night? Why ſhould the dark-haired warrior fail ?” Diſtant, ſullen murmurs riſe : like
+ the noiſe of the lake of Lego, when its waters ſhrink, in the days of froſt, and all its burſting
+ ice reſounds. The people of Lara look to heaven, and foreſee the ſtorm! My ſteps are forward on
+ the heath. The ſpear of Oſcar in my hand! Red ſtars looked from high. I gleamed, along the
+ night.
+
I saw Fillan ſilent before me, bending forward from Mora's rock. He heard
+ the ſhout of the foe. The joy of his ſoul aroſe. He heard my ſounding tread, and turned his
+ lifted ſpear. “Comeſt thou, ſon of night, in peace ? Or doſt thou meet my wrath? The foes of
+ Fingal are mine. Speak, or fear my ſteel. I ſtand not, in vain, the ſhield of Morven's race.”
+ “Never mayſt thou ſtand in vain, ſon of blue eyed Clatho! Fingal begins to be alone. Darkneſs
+ gathers on the laſt of his days. Yet he has two
+
That is, two ſons in Ireland. Fergus, the ſecond ſon of Fingal, was, at that time, on an
+ expedition, which is mentioned in one of the leſſer poems. He, according to ſome traditions, was
+ the anceſtor of Fergus, the ſon of Erc or Arcath, commonly called Fergus the ſecond in
+ the Scotch hiſtories. The beginning of the reign of Fergus over the Scots, is placed, by the
+ moſt approved annals of Scotland, in the fourth year of the fifth age : a full century after the
+ death of Oſſian. The genealogy of his family is recorded thus by the Highland Senachies;
+ Fergus Mac Arcath Mac Chongael, Mac-Fergus, Mac-Fien-gäal na buai'; i. e. Fergus the
+ ſon of Arcath, the ſon of Congal, the ſon of Fergus, the ſon of Fingal the victorious.
+ This ſubject is treated more at large, in the diſſertation annexed to the poem.
+ ſons who ought to ſhine in war. Who
+
+
+
+ ought to be two beams of light, near the ſteps of his
+ departure.”
+
“Son of Fingal,” replied the youth, “it is not long ſince I raiſed the
+ ſpear. Few are the marks of my ſword in war. But Fillan's ſoul is fire! The chiefs of Bolga
+
The ſouthern parts of Ireland went, for ſome time, under the name of Bolga, from the Fir-bolg
+ or Belgæ of Britain, who ſettled a colony there. Bolg ſignifies a quiver, from
+ which proceeds Fir-bolga i. e. bow-men ; ſo called from their uſing bows, more
+ than any of the neighbouring nations.
+ crowd around the ſhield of generous Cathmor. Their gathering is on that heath. Shall my
+ ſteps approach their hoſt? I yielded to Oſcar alone, in the ſtrife of the race, on Cona !”
+
“Fillan, thou ſhalt not approach their hoſt; nor fall before thy fame is
+ known. My name is heard in ſong : when needful I advance. From the ſkirts of night I ſhall view
+ them over all their gleaming tribes. Why, Fillan, didſt thou ſpeak of Oſcar! Why awake my ſigh? I
+ muſt forget
+
After this paſſage, Oſcar is not mentioned in all Temora. The ſituations of the characters
+ who act in the poem are ſo intereſting, that others, foreign to the ſubject, could not be
+ introduced with any luſtre. Though the epiſode, which follows, may ſeem to flow naturally enough
+ from the converſation of the brothers, yet I have ſhewn, in a preceding note, and, more at
+ large, in the diſſertation annexed to this collection, that the poet had a farther deſign in
+ view.
+ the warrior, till the ſtorm is rolled
+
+
+
+ away. Sadneſs ought not to dwell in danger, nor the tear in
+ the eye of war. Our fathers forgot their fallen ſons, till the noiſe of arms was paſt. Then
+ ſorrow returned to the tomb, and the ſong of bards aroſe.” The memory of thoſe, who fell, quickly
+ followed the departure of war: When the tumult of battle is paſt, the ſoul, in ſilence, melts
+ away, for the dead.
+
Conar
+
Conar, the firſt king of Ireland, was the ſon of Trenmor, the great-grand-father of Fingal.
+ It was on account of this family-connection, that Fingal was engaged in ſo many wars in the
+ cauſe of the race of Conar. Tho' few of the actions of Trenmor are mentioned, he was the moſt
+ renowned name of antiquity. The moſt probable opinion concerning him is, that he was the firſt,
+ who united the tribes of the Caledonians, and commanded them, in chief, againſt the incurſions
+ of the Romans. The genealogiſts of the North have traced his family far back, and given a liſt
+ of his anceſtors to Cuan-mór nan lan, or Conmor of the ſwords, who, according to them,
+ was the firſt who croſſed the great ſea, to Caledonia, from which circumſtance his name
+ proceeded, which ſignifies Great ocean. Genealogies of ſo ancient a date, however, are
+ little to be depended upon.
+ was the brother of Trathal, firſt of mortal men. His battles were on every coaſt. A
+ thouſand ſtreams rolled down the blood of his foes. His fame filled green Erin, like a pleaſant
+ gale.
+
+
+ The nations gathered in Ullin, and they bleſſed the king; the
+ king of the race of their fathers, from the land of Selma.
+
The chiefs
+
The chiefs of the Fir-bolg who poſſeſſed themſelves of the ſouth of Ireland, prior, perhaps,
+ to the ſettlement of the Caël of Caledonia, and the Hebrides, in Ulſter. From the
+ ſequel, it appears that the Fir-bolg were, by much, the moſt powerful nation; and it is probable
+ that the Caël muſt have ſubmitted to them, had they not received ſuccours from their
+ mother-country, under the command of Conar.
+ of the ſouth were gathered, in the darkneſs of their pride. In the horrid cave of Muma,
+ they mixed their ſecret words. Thither often, they ſaid, the ſpirits of their fathers came;
+ ſhewing their pale forms from the chinky rocks : reminding them of the honor of Bolga. “Why
+ ſhould Conar reign,” they ſaid, “the ſon of reſounding Morven ?”
+
They came forth, like the ſtreams of the deſart, with the roar of their
+ hundred tribes. Conar was a rock before them : broken they rolled on every ſide. But often they
+ returned, and the ſons of Selma fell. The king ſtood, among the tombs of his warriors. He darkly
+ bent his mournful face. His ſoul was rolled into itſelf ; and he had marked the place, where he
+ was to fall ; when Trathal came, in his ſtrength, his brother from cloudy Morven. Nor did he come
+
+
+ alone, Colgar
+
Colg-er, fiercely-looking warrior. Sulin-corma, blue eyes. Colgar was the
+ eldeſt of the ſons of Trathal: Comhal, who was the father of Fingal, was very young when the
+ preſent expedition to Ireland happened, It is remarkable, that, of all the anceſtors of Fingal,
+ tradition makes the leaſt mention of Comhal ; which, probably, proceeded from the unfortunate
+ life and untimely death of that hero. From ſome paſſages, concerning him, we learn, indeed, that
+ he was brave, but he wanted conduct.
+ was at his ſide; Colgar the ſon of the King and of white-boſomed Solin-corma.
+
As Trenmor, cloathed with meteors, deſcends from the halls of thunder,
+ pouring the dark ſtorm before him over the troubled ſea ; ſo Colgar deſcended to battle, and
+ waſted the ecchoing field. His father rejoiced over the hero : but an arrow came! His tomb was
+ raiſed, without a tear. The King was to revenge his ſon. He lightened forward in battle, till
+ Bolga yielded at her ſtreams !
+
When peace returned to the land : When his blue waves bore the king to
+ Morven : then he remembered his ſon, and poured the ſilent tear. Thrice did the bards, at the
+ cave of Furmono, call the ſoul of Colgar. They called him to the hills of his land. He heard them
+ in his miſt, Trathal placed his ſword in the cave, that the ſpirit of his ſon might rejoice.
+
+
+
+ “Colgar
+
The poem begins here to mark ſtrongly the character of Fillan, who is to make ſo great a
+ figure in the ſequel. He has the impatience, the ambition and fire which are peculiar to a young
+ hero. Kindled with the fame of Colgar, he forgets his untimely fall. From Fillan's expreſſions
+ in this paſſage, it would ſeem, that he was neglected by Fingal, on account of his youth.
+ , ſon of Trathal!” ſaid Fillan, “thou wert renowned in youth! But the king hath not marked
+ my ſword, bright-ſtreaming on the field. I go forth with the crowd. I return, without my fame.
+ But the foe approaches, Oſſian ! I hear their murmur on the heath. The ſound of their ſteps is
+ like thunder, in the boſom of the ground, when the rocking hills ſhake their groves, and not a
+ blaſt pours from the darkened ſky !”
+
Ossian turned ſudden on his ſpear. He raiſed the flame of an oak on high. I
+ ſpread it large, on Mora's wind. Cathmor ſtopt in his courſe. Gleaming he ſtood, like a rock, on
+ whoſe ſides are the wandering of blaſts; which ſeize its ecchoing ſtreams and clothe them over
+ with ice. So ſtood the friend
+
Cathmor is diſtinguiſhed, by this honourable title, on account of his generoſity to
+ ſtrangers, which was ſo great as to be remarkable even in thoſe days of hoſpitality.
+ of ſtrangers ! The winds lift his heavy locks. Thou art the talleſt of the race of Erin,
+ king of ſtreamy Atha !
+
+
+
+ “First of bards,” ſaid Cathmor, “Fonar
+
Fónar, the man of ſong. Before the introduction of Chriſtianity a name was not
+ impoſed upon any perſon, till he had diſtinguiſhed himſelf by ſome remarkable action, from which
+ his name ſhould be derived.
+ , call the chiefs of Erin. Call red-hair'd Cormar : dark-browed Malthos: the
+ ſide-long-looking gloom of Maronan. Let the pride of Foldath appear. The red-rolling eye of
+ Turlotho. Nor let Hidalla be forgot ; his voice, in danger, is the ſound of a ſhower, when it
+ falls in the blaſted vale, near Atha's falling ſtream.” Pleaſant is its ſound, on the plain,
+ whilſt broken thunder travels over the ſky !”
+
They came, in their clanging arms. They bent forward to his voice, as if a
+ fpirit of their fathers ſpoke from a cloud of night. Dreadful ſhone they to the light; like the
+ fall of the ſtream of Brumo
+
Brumo was a place of worſhip (Fing. b. 6.) in Craca, which is ſuppoſed to be one of the iſles
+ of Shetland. It was thought, that the ſpirits of the deceaſed haunted it, by night, which adds
+ more terror to the deſcription introduced here. The horrid circle of Brumo, where often,
+ they ſaid, the ghoſts of the dead howled round the ſtone of fear.
+ , when the meteor lights it, before the nightly ſtranger. Shuddering, he ſtops in his
+ journey, and looks up for the beam of the morn !
+
+
+
+
“Why
+
From this paſſage, it appears, that it was Foldath who had adviſed the night-attack. The
+ gloomy character of Foldath is properly contraſted to the generous, the open Cathmor.
+ delights Foldath,” ſaid the king, “to pour the blood of foes, by night ? Fails his arm in
+ battle, in the beams of day ? Few are the foes before us, why ſhould we clothe us in ſhades? The
+ valiant delight to ſhine, in the battles of their land! Thy counſel was in vain, chief of Morna !
+ The eyes of Morven do not ſleep. They are watchful, as eagles, on their moſſy rocks. Let each
+ collect, beneath his cloud, the ſtrength of his roaring tribe. To-morrow I move, in light, to
+ meet the foes of Bolga? Mighty
+
By this exclamation Cathmor intimates that he intends to revenge the death of his brother
+ Cairbar.
+ was he, that is low, the race of Borbar-Duthul !”
+
“Not unmarked !” ſaid Foldath, “were my ſteps before thy race. In light, I
+ met the foes of Cairbar. The warrior praiſed my deeds. But his ſtone was raiſed without a tear?
+ No bard ſung
+
To have no funeral elegy ſung over his tomb, was, among the Celtæ, reckoned the greateſt
+ misfortune that could befal a man ; as his ſoul could not otherwiſe be admitted to the airy
+ hall of his fathers.
+ over Erin's king. Shall his foes rejoice along their moſſy hills? No: they muſt not
+ rejoice ! He was the friend of Foldath ! Our words were mixed, in ſecret, in Morna's ſilent cave;
+ whilſt
+
+
+ thou, a boy in the field, purſuedſt the thiſtle's beard. With
+ Morna's ſons I ſhall ruſh abroad, and find the foe, on his duſky hills. Fingal ſhall lie, without
+ his ſong, the grey-haired king of Selma.”
+
“Dost thou think, thou feeble man,” replied Cathmor, half-enraged : “Doſt
+ thou think Fingal can fall, without his fame, in Erin? Could the bards be ſilent, at the tomb of
+ Selma's king ? The ſong would burſt in ſecret ! the ſpirit of the king would rejoice! It is when
+ thou ſhalt fall, that the bard ſhall forget the ſong. Thou art dark, chief of Morna, though thine
+ arm is a tempeſt in war. Do I forget the king of Erin, in his narrow houſe? My ſoul is not loſt
+ to Cairbar, the brother of my love! I marked the bright beams of joy, which travelled over his
+ cloudy mind, when I returned, with fame, to Atha of the ſtreams.”
+
Tall they removed, beneath the words of the king. Each to his own dark tribe
+ ; where, humming, they rolled on the heath, faint-glittering to the ſtars: like waves, in a rocky
+ bay, before the nightly wind. Beneath an oak, lay the chief of Atha. His ſhield, a duſky round,
+ hung high. Near him, againſt a rock, leaned
+
+
+ the fair ſtranger
+
By the ſtranger of Inis huna, is meant Sulmalla, the daughter of Conmor king of
+ Inis-huna, the ancient name of that part of South-Britain, which is next to the Iriſh coaſt. She
+ had followed Cathmor in diſguiſe. Her ſtory is related at large in the fourth book.
+ of Inis-huna: that beam of light, with wandering locks, from Lumon of the roes. At
+ diſtance roſe the voice of Fonar, with the deeds of the days of old. The ſong fails, at times, in
+ Lubar's growing roar !
+
“Crothar
+
Crothar was the anceſtor of Cathmor, and the firſt of his family, who had ſettled in Atha, It
+ was, in his time, that the firſt wars were kindled between the Fir-bolg and Cal. The propriety
+ of the epiſode is evident; as the conteſt which originally roſe between Crothar and Conar,
+ ſubſiſted afterwards between their poſterity, and was the foundation of the ſtory of the poem.
+
+ ,” begun the bard,“firſt dwelt at Atha's moſſy ſtream! A thouſand
+
From this circumſtance we may learn that the art of building with ſtone was not known in
+ Ireland ſo early as the days of Crothar. When the colony were long ſettled in the country, the
+ arts of civil life began to increaſe among them, for we find mention made of the towers of
+ Atha in the time of Cathmor, which could not well be applied to wooden buildings. In
+ Caledonia they begun very early to build with ſtone. None of the houſes of Fingal, excepting
+ Ti-foirmal, were of wood. Ti-foirmal was the great hall where the bards met to repeat their
+ compoſitions annually, before they ſubmitted them to the judgment of the king in Selma. By ſome
+ accident or other, this wooden houſe happened to be burnt, and an ancient bard, in the character
+ of Oſſian, has left us a curious catalogue of the furniture which it contained. The poem is not
+ juſt now in my hands, otherwiſe I would lay here a tranſlation of it before the reader. It has
+ little poetical merit, and evidently bears the marks of a later period.
+ oaks, from the mountains, formed his ecchoing hall. The gathering of the people was
+ there, around the feaſt of the blue-eyed king. But who, among his chiefs, was like the ſtately
+ Crothar ? Warriors kindled in his preſence. The young
+
+
+
+ ſigh of the virgins roſe. In Alnecma
+
Alnecma, or Alnecmacht, was the ancient name of Connaught. Ullin is ſtill the Iriſh name of
+ the province of Ulſter. To avoid the multiplying of notes, I ſhall here give the ſignification
+ of the names in this epiſode. Drumardo, high ridge, Cathmin, calm in battle
+ Cón-lamha, ſoft hand, Turloch, man of the quiver. Cormul, blue eye.
+
+ was the warrior honoured: the firſt of the race of Bolga.”
+
“He purſued the chace in Ullin : on the moſs covered top of Drumardo. From
+ the wood looked the daughter of Cathmin, the blue-rolling eye of Con-lama. Her ſigh roſe in
+ ſecret. She bent her head, midſt her wandering locks. The moon looked in, at night, and ſaw the
+ white-toſſing of her arms ; for ſhe thought of the mighty Crothar, in the ſeaſon of dreams.”
+
+
+
+ “Three days feaſted Crothar with Cathmin. On
+ the fourth they awaked the hinds. Con-lama moved to the chace, with all her lovely ſteps. She met
+ Crothar in the narrow path. The bow fell, at once, from her hand. She turned her face away, and
+ half-hid it with her locks. The love of Crothar roſe. He brought the white-boſomed maid to Atha.
+ Bards raiſed the ſong in her preſence. Joy dwelt round the daughter of Cathmin.”
+
The pride of Turloch roſe, a youth who loved the white-handed Con-láma. He
+ came, with battle, to Alnecma; to Atha of the roes. Cormul went forth to the ſtrife, the brother
+ of car-borne Crothar. He went forth, but he fell. The ſigh of his people roſe. Silent and tall,
+ acroſs the ſtream, came the darkening ſtrength of Crothar : he rolled the foe from Alnecoma. He
+ returned, mid the joy of Con-lama.”
+
“Battle on battle comes. Blood is poured on blood. The tombs of the valiant
+ riſe. Erin's clouds are hung round with ghoſts. The chiefs of the ſouth gathered round the
+ ecchoing ſhield of Crothar. He came, with death, to the paths of the foe. The virgins wept, by
+ the ſtreams of Ullin. They looked to the miſt of the hill ; No hunter deſcended from its folds.
+ Silence
+
+
+ darkened in the land. Blaſts ſighed lonely on graſſy
+ tombs.”
+
“Descending like the eagle of heaven, with all his ruſtling wings, when he
+ forſakes the blaſt, with joy, the ſon of Trenmor came; Conar, arm of death, from Morven of the
+ groves. He poured his might along green Erin. Death dimly ſtrode behind his ſword. The ſons of
+ Bolga fled, from his courſe, as from a ſtream, that burſting from the ſtormy deſart, rolls the
+ fields together, with all their ecchoing woods. Crothar
+
The delicacy here, with regard to Crothar, is proper. As he was the anceſtor of Cathmor, to
+ whom the epiſode is addreſſed, the bard ſoftens his defeat, by only mentioning that his people
+ fled. Cathmor took the ſong of Fonar in an unfavourable light. The bards, being of the order of
+ the Druids, who pretended to a foreknowlege of events, were ſuppoſed to have ſome ſupernatural
+ preſcience of futurity. The king thought, that the choice of Fonar's ſong proceeded, from his
+ foreſeeing the unfortunate iſſue of the war ; and that his own fate was ſhadowed out, in that of
+ his anceſtor Crothar. The attitude of the bard, after the reprimand of his patron, is
+ pictureſque and affecting, We admire the ſpeech of Cathmor, but lament the effect it has on the
+ feeling ſoul of the good old poet.
+ met him in battle: but Alnecma's warriors fled. The king of Atha ſlowly retired, in the
+ grief of his ſoul. He, afterwards, ſhone in the ſouth; but dim as the ſun of Autumn, when he
+ viſits, in his robes of miſt, Lara of
+
+
+ dark ſtreams. The withered graſs is covered with dew : the
+ field, tho' bright, is ſad !”
+
“Why wakes the bard before me,” ſaid Cathmor, “the memory of thoſe who fled?
+ Has ſome ghoſt, from his duſky cloud, bent forward to thine ear; to frighten Cathmor from the
+ field, with the tales of old ? Dwellers of the ſkirts of night, your voice is but a blaſt to me;
+ which takes the grey thiſtle's head, and ſtrews its beard on ſtreams. Within my boſom is a voice.
+ Others hear it not. His ſoul forbids the king of Erin to ſhrink back from war.”
+
Abashed the bard ſinks back in night : retired he bends above a ſtream. His
+ thoughts are on the days of Atha, when Cathmor heard his ſong with joy. His tears come rolling
+ down. The winds are in his beard. Erin ſleeps around. No ſleep comes down on
+ Cathmor's eyes. Dark, in his ſoul, he ſaw the ſpirit of low-laid Cairbar. He ſaw him, without his
+ ſong, rolled in a blaſt of night. He roſe. His ſteps were round the hoſt. He ſtruck, at times,
+ his ecchoing ſhield. The ſound reached Oſſian's ear, on Mora's moſſy brow.
+
“Fillan,” I ſaid, “the foes advance. I hear the ſhield of war. Stand thou in
+ the narrow path, Oſſian ſhall mark their courſe, If
+
+
+ over my fall the hoſt ſhould pour ; then be thy buckler heard.
+ Awake the king on his heath, leſt his fame ſhould fly away.” I ſtrode in all my rattling arms;
+ wide-bounding over a ſtream that darkly-winded, in the field, before the king of Atha. Green
+ Atha's king, with lifted ſpear, came forward on my courſe. Now would we have mixed in horrid
+ fray, like two contending ghoſts, that bending forward, from two clouds, ſend forth the roaring
+ winds; did not Oſſian behold, on high, the helmet of Erin's kings. The Eagle's wing ſpread above
+ it, ruſtling in the breeze. A red ſtar looked thro' the plumes. I ſtopt the lifted ſpear.
+
“The helmet of kings is before me! Who art thou ſon of night? Shall Oſſian's
+ ſpear be renowned, when thou art lowly-laid ?” At once he dropt the gleaming lance. Growing
+ before me ſeemed the form. He ſtretched his hand in night. He ſpoke the words of kings.
+
“Friend of the ſpirits of heroes, do I meet thee thus in ſhades? I have
+ wiſhed for thy ſtately ſteps in Atha, in the days of joy. Why ſhould my ſpear now ariſe ? The ſun
+ muſt behold us, Oſſian; when we bend, gleaming, in the ſtrife. Future warriors ſhall mark the
+ place : and, ſhuddering, think of other years, They
+
+
+ ſhall mark it, like the haunt of ghoſts, pleaſant and dreadful
+ to the ſoul.”
+
“Shall it then be forgot,” I ſaid, “where we meet in peace? Is the
+ remembrance of battles always pleaſant to the ſoul? Do not we behold, with joy, the place where
+ our fathers feaſted ? But our eyes are full of tears, on the fields of their war. This ſtone
+ ſhall riſe, with all its moſs, and ſpeak to other years. “Here Cathmor and Oſſian met! the
+ warriors met in peace !” When thou, O ſtone, ſhalt fail. When Lubar's ſtream ſhall roll away !
+ then ſhall the traveller come, and bend here, perhaps, in reſt. When the darkened moon is rolled
+ over his head, our ſhadowy forms may come, and, mixing with his dreams, remind him of this place.
+ But why turneſt thou ſo dark away, ſon of Borbar-duthul
+
Borbar-duthul, the ſurly warrior of the dark brown eyes. That his name ſuited well
+ with his character, we may eaſily conceive, from the ſtory delivered concerning him, by Malthos,
+ toward the end of the ſixth book. He was the brother of that Colculla, who is mentioned in the
+ epiſode which begins the fourth book.
+ ?”
+
“Not forgot, ſon of Fingal, ſhall we aſcend theſe winds. Our deeds are
+ ſtreams of light, before the eyes of bards. But darkneſs is rolled on Atha : the king is low,
+ without his
+
+
+ ſong: ſtill there was a beam towards Cathmor from his ſtormy
+ ſoul; like the moon, in a cloud, amidſt the dark-red courſe of thunder.”
+
“Son of Erin,” I replied, “my wrath dwells not, in his earth
+
This reply abounds with the ſentiments of a noble mind. Tho', of all men living, he was the
+ moſt injured by Cairbar, yet he lays aſide his rage as the foe was low. How different
+ is this from the behaviour of the heroes of other ancient poems ? Cynthius aurem vellit.
+ . My hatred flies, on eagle-wing, from the foe that is low. He ſhall hear the ſong of
+ bards. Cairbar ſhall rejoice on his winds,”
+
Cathmor's ſwelling ſoul aroſe. He took the dagger from his ſide; and placed
+ it gleaming in my hand. He placed it, in my hand, with ſighs, and, ſilent, ſtrode away, Mine eyes
+ followed his departure. He dimly gleamed, like the form of a ghoſt, which meets a traveller, by
+ night, on the dark-ſkirted heath. His words are dark like ſongs of old : with morning ſtrides the
+ unfiniſhed ſhade away !
+
The morning of the ſecond day, from the opening of the poem comes on. After the death of
+ Cuthullin, Carril, the ſon of Kinfena, his bard, retired to the cave of Tura, which was in the
+ neighbourhood of Moi-lena, the fcene of the poem of Temora. His caſual appearance here enables
+ Oſſian to fulfil immediately the promiſe he had made to Cathmor, of cauſing the funeral
+ ſong to be pronounced over the tomb of Cairbar. This book takes up only the ſpace of a few
+ hours.
+
+
Who comes from Lubar's vale? From the ſkirts of the morning miſt ? The drops
+ of
+
+
+ heaven are on his head. His ſteps are in the paths of
+ the ſad. It is Carril of other times. He comes from Tura's ſilent cave. I behold it dark in the
+ rock, thro' the thin folds of miſt. There, perhaps, Cuthullin ſits, on the blaſt which bends its
+ trees. Pleaſant is the ſong of the morning from the bard of Erin!
+
“The waves crowd away,” ſaid Carril. “They crowd away for fear. They hear
+ the ſound of thy coming forth, O ſun! Terrible is thy beauty, ſon of heaven, when death is
+ deſcending on thy locks: when thou rolleſt thy vapors before thee, over the blaſted hoſt. But
+ pleaſant is thy beam to the hunter, ſitting by the rock in a ſtorm, when thou ſheweſt thyſelf
+ from the parted cloud, and brighteneſt his dewy locks: he looks down on the ſtreamy vale, and
+ beholds the deſcent of roes! How long ſhalt thou riſe on war, and roll, a bloody ſhield, thro'
+ heaven ? I ſee the deaths of heroes, dark-wandering over thy face!”
+
“Why wander the words of Carril?” I ſaid. “Does the ſon of heaven mourn ? He
+ is unſtained in his courſe, ever rejoicing in his fire.
+
+
+ Roll on, thou careleſs light. Thou too, perhaps, muſt fall.
+ Thy darkening hour may ſeize thee, ſtruggling, as thou rolleſt through thy ſky. But pleaſant is
+ the voice of the bard: pleaſant to Oſſian's ſoul! It is like the ſhower of the morning, when it
+ comes through the ruſtling vale, on which the ſun looks thro miſt, juſt riſing from his rocks.
+ But this is no time, O bard, to ſit down, at the ſtrife of ſong. Fingal is in arms on the vale.
+ Thou ſeeft the flaming ſhield of the king. His face darkens between his locks. He beholds the
+ wide rolling of Erin. Does not Carril behold that tomb, beſide the roaring ſtream ? Three ſtones
+ lift their grey heads, beneath a bending oak. A king is lowly laid ! Give thou his ſoul to the
+ wind. He is the brother of Cathmor ! Open his airy hall! Let thy ſong be a ſtream of joy to
+ Cairbar's darkened ghoſt.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK III.
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book III.
+
Morning coming on, Fingal, after a ſpeech to his people, devolves the
+ command on Gaul, the ſon of Morni ; it being the cuſtom of the times, that the king ſhould not
+ engage, till the neceſſity of affairs required his ſuperior valour and conduct. The king and
+ Oſſian retire to the rock of Cormul, which overlooked the field of battle. The bards ſing the
+ war-ſong. The general conflict is deſcribed. Gaul, the ſon of Morni, diſtinguiſhes himſelf ;
+ kills Tur-lathon, chief of Moruth, and other chiefs of leſſer name. On the other hand, Foldath,
+ who commanded the Iriſh army (for Cathmor, after the example of Fingal, kept himſelf from battle)
+ fights gallantly ; kills Connal, chief of Dun-lora, and advances to engage Gaul himſelf. Gaul, in
+ the mean time, being wounded in the hand, by a random arrow, is covered by Fillan, the ſon of
+ Fingal, who performs prodigies of valour. Night comes on. The horn of Fingal recalls his army.
+ The bards meet them, with a congratulatory ſong, in which the praiſes of Gaul and Fillan are
+ particularly celebrated. The chiefs ſit down at a feaſt; Fingal miſſes Connal. The epiſode of
+ Connal and Duthcaron is introduced ; which throws further light on the ancient hiſtory of
+ Ireland. Carril is diſpatched to raiſe the tomb of Connal. The action of this book takes up the
+ ſecond day, from the opening of the poem.
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK III.
+
Who is that, at blue-ſtreaming Lubar ? Who, by the bending hill of roes ?
+ Tall, he leans on an oak torn from high, by nightly winds. Who but Comhal's ſon, brightening in
+ the laſt of his fields? His grey hair is on the breeze. He half unſheaths the ſword of Luno. His
+ eyes are turned to Moi-lena, to the dark moving of foes. Doſt thou hear the voice of the king? It
+ is like the burſting of a ſtream, in the deſart, when it comes, between its ecchoing rocks, to
+ the blaſted field of the ſun !
+
“Wide-skirted comes down the foe! Sons of woody Selma, ariſe. Be ye like the
+ rocks of our land, on whoſe brown ſides are the rolling of ſtreams. A beam of joy comes on my
+ ſoul. I ſee the foe mighty before me. It is
+
+ when he is feeble, that the ſighs of Fingal
+ are heard : leſt death ſhould come, without renown, and darkneſs dwell on his tomb. Who ſhall
+ lead the war, againſt the hoſt of Alnecma ? It is, only when danger grows, that my ſword ſhall
+ ſhine. Such was the cuſtom, heretofore, of Trenmor the ruler of winds! and thus deſcended to
+ battle the blue-ſhielded Trathal !”
+
The Chiefs bend toward the king. Each darkly ſeems to claim the war. They
+ tell, by halves, their mighty deeds. They turn their eyes on Erin. But far before the reſt the
+ ſon of Morni ſtands. Silent he ſtands, for who had not heard of the battles of Gaul? They roſe
+ within his ſoul. His hand, in ſecret, ſeized the ſword. The ſword which he brought from Strumon,
+ when the ſtrength of Morni failed
+
Strumon, ſtream of the hill, the name of the ſeat of the family of Gaul, in the
+ neighbourhood of Selma. During Gaul's expedition to Tromathon, mentioned in the poem of
+ Oithona, Morni his father died. Morni ordered the ſword of Strumon, (which had
+ been preſerved, in the family, as a relique, from the days of Colgach, the moſt renowned of his
+ anceftors) to be laid by his ſide, in the tomb: at the ſame time, leaving it in charge to his
+ ſon, not to take it from thence, till he was reduced to the laſt extremity. Not long after, two
+ of his brothers being ſlain, in battle, by Coldaronnan, Chief of Clutha, Gaul went to his
+ father's tomb to take the ſword. His addreſs to the ſpirit of the deceaſed hero, is the ſubject
+ of the following ſhort poem.
+
+ Gaul.
+
“Breaker of ecchoing ſhields, whoſe head is deep in ſhades; hear me from the darkneſs of
+ Clora, O ſon of Colgach, hear!
+
No ruſtling, like the eagle's wing, comes over the courſe of my ſtreams. Deep boſomed in the
+ midſt of the deſart, O king of Strumon, hear!
+
Dwelleſt thou in the ſhadowy breeze, that pours its dark wave over the graſs? Ceaſe to ſtrew
+ the beard of the thiſtle ; O chief of Clora, hear!
+
Or rideſt thou on a beam, amidſt the dark trouble of clouds ? Poureſt thou the loud wind on
+ ſeas, to roll their blue waves over iſles ? hear me, father of Gaul; amidſt thy terrors,
+ hear!
+
The ruſtling of eagles is heard, the murmuring oaks ſhake their heads on the hills : dreadful
+ and pleaſant is thy approach, friend of the dwelling of heroes.
+
+
+ Morni.
+
Who awakes me, in the midſt of my cloud, where my locks of miſt ſpread on the winds? Mixed
+ with the noiſe of ſtreams, why riſes the voice of Gaul ?
+
+
+ Gaul.
+
My foes are around me, Morni: their dark ſhips deſcend from their waves. Give the ſword of
+ Stramon, that beam which thou hideſt in thy night.
+
+
+ Morni.
+
Take the ſword of reſounding Stramon ; I look on thy war, my ſon ; I look, a dim meteor,
+ from my cloud : blue-ſhielded Gaul, deſtroy.”
+
+ .
+
+
+
+ On his ſpear leans Fillan of Selma
+
Clatho was the daughter of Cathulla, king of Iniſtore. Fingal, in one of his expeditions to
+ that iſland, fell in love with Clatho, and took her to wife, after the death of Roscrana, the
+ daughter of Cormac, king of Ireland.
+
Clatho was the mother of Ryno, Fillan, and Boſmina, mentioned in the battle of Lora.
+ Fillan is often called the ſon of Clatho, to diſtinguiſh him from thoſe ſons which Fingal had by
+ Ros-crána.
+ , in the wandering of his locks. Thrice he raiſes his eyes
+
+
+ to Fingal: his voice thrice fails him, as he ſpeaks. My
+ brother could not boaſt of battles: at once he ſtrides away. Bent over a diſtant ſtream he
+ ſtands: the tear hangs in his eye. He ſtrikes, at times, the thiſtle's head, with his inverted
+ ſpear. Nor is he unſeen of Fingal. Sidelong he beholds his ſon. He beholds him, with burſting joy
+ ; and turns, amid his crowded ſoul. In ſilence turns the king toward Mora of woods. He hides the
+ big tear with his locks. At length his voice is heard.
+
“First of the ſons of Morni! Thou rock that defieſt the ſtorm! Lead thou my
+ battle, for the race of low-laid Cormac. No boy's ſtaff is thy ſpear : no harmleſs beam of light
+ thy ſword. Son of Morni of ſteeds, behold the foe ! Deſtroy ! Fillan, obſerve the chief! He is
+ not calm in ſtrife : nor burns he, heedleſs, in battle. My ſon, obſerve the chief! He is ſtrong
+ as Lubar's ſtream, but never foams and roars. High on cloudy Mora, Fingal ſhall behold the war.
+ Stand, Oſſian
+
Ullin being ſent to Morven with the body of Oſcar, Oſſian attends his father, in quality of
+ chief bard.
+ , near thy father, by the falling
+
+ ſtream. Raiſe the voice, O bards! Selma, move beneath the
+ ſound. It is my latter field. Clothe it over with light.”
+
As the ſudden riſing of winds; or diſtant rolling of troubled ſeas, when ſome dark ghoſt, in
+ wrath, heaves the billows over an iſle: an iſle, the ſeat of miſt, on the deep, for many
+ dark-brown years ! So terrible is the ſound of the hoſt, wide-moving over the field. Gaul is tall
+ before them. The ſtreams glitter within his ſtrides. The bards raiſe the ſong by his ſide. He
+ ſtrikes his ſhield between. On the ſkirts of the blaſt, the tuneful voices riſe.
+
“On Crona,” ſaid the bards, “there burſts a ſtream by night. It ſwells in
+ its own dark courſe, till morning's early beam. Then comes it white from the hill, with the rocks
+ and their hundred groves. Far be my ſteps from Crona. Death is tumbling there. Be ye a ſtream
+ from Mora, ſons of cloudy Morven !”
+
“Who riſes, from his car, on Clutha ? The hills are troubled before the king
+ ! The dark woods eccho round, and lighten at his ſteel. See him, amidſt the foe, like Colgach's
+
There are ſome traditions, but, I believe, of late invention, that this Colgach was the ſame
+ with the Galgacus of Tacitus. He was the anceſtor of Gaul, the ſon of Morni, and appears, from
+ ſome, really ancient, traditions, to have been king, or Vergobret, of the Caledonians ; and
+ hence proceeded the pretenſions of the family of Morni to the throne, which created a good deal
+ of diſturbance, both to Comhal and his ſon Fingal. The firſt was killed in battle by that tribe
+ ; and it was after Fingal was grown up, that they were reduced to obedience. Colgach ſignifies
+ fiercely-looking ; which is a very proper name for a warrior, and is probably the
+ origin of Galgacus; though I believe it a matter of mere conjecture, that the Colgach here
+ mentioned was the ſame with that hero. I cannot help obſerving, that the ſong of the bards is
+ conducted with propriety. Gaul, whoſe experience might have rendered his conduct cautious in
+ war, has the example of his father, juſt ruſhing to battle, ſet before his eyes. Fillan, on the
+ other hand, whoſe youth might make him impetuous and unguarded in action, is put in mind of the
+ ſedate and ſerene behaviour of Fingal upon like occaſions,
+ ſportful
+
+
+ ghoſt; when he ſcatters the clouds, and rides the eddying
+ winds! It is Morni
+
The expedition of Morni to Clutha, alluded to here, is handed down in tradition.
+ of bounding ſteeds Be like thy father, O Gaul!”
+
“Selma is opened wide. Bards take the trembling harps. Ten youths bear the
+ oak of the feaſt. A diſtant ſun-beam marks the hill. The duſty waves of the blaſt fly over the
+ fields of graſs. Why art thou ſilent, O Selma? The king returns with all his fame. Did not the
+ battle roar ; yet peaceful is his brow ? It roared, and Fingal overcame. Be like thy father, O
+ Fillan !”
+
They move beneath the ſong. High wave their arms, as ruſhy fields, beneath
+ autumnal
+
+ winds. On Mora ſtands the king in arms. Miſt flies round his
+ buckler abroad; as, aloft, it hung on a bough, on Cormul's moſſy rock. In ſilence I ſtood by
+ Fingal, and turned my eyes on Cromla's
+
The mountain Cromla was in the neighbourhood of the ſcene of this poem ; which was nearly the
+ ſame with that of Fingal.
+ wood; leſt I ſhould behold the hoſt, and ruſh amid my ſwelling ſoul. My foot is forward
+ on the heath. I glittered, tall, in ſteel : like the falling ſtream of Tromo, which nightly winds
+ bind over with ice. The boy ſees it, on high, gleaming to the early beam : toward it he turns his
+ ear, and wonders why it is ſo ſilent !
+
Nor bent over a ſtream is Cathmor, like a youth in a peaceful field. Wide he
+ drew forward the war, a dark and troubled wave. But when he beheld Fingal on Mora ; his generous
+ pride aroſe, “Shall the chief of Atha fight, and no king in the field? Foldath lead my people
+ forth. Thou art a beam of fire.”
+
Forth-issues Foldath of Morna, like a cloud, the robe of ghoſts. He drew his
+ ſword, a flame, from his ſide. He bade the battle move. The tribes, like ridgy waves, dark pour
+ their ſtrength around. Haughty is his ſtride before
+
+ them. His red eye rolls in wrath. He calls Cormul chief of Dunratho
+
Dun-ratho, a hill, with a plain on its top; Corm-uil, blue eye. Foldath
+ diſpatches here, Cormul to lie in ambuſh behind the army of the Caledonians. This ſpeech ſuits
+ with the character of Foldath, which is, throughout, haughty and preſumptuous. Towards the
+ latter end of this ſpeech, we find the opinion of the times, concerning the unhappineſs of the
+ ſouls of thoſe who were buried without the funeral ſong. This doctrine was inculcated by the
+ bards, to make their order reſpectable and neceſſary.
+ ; and his words were heard.
+
“Cormul, thou beholdeſt that path. It winds green behind the foe. Place thy
+ people there; leſt Selma ſhould eſcape from my ſword. Bards of green-valleyed Erin, let no voice
+ of yours ariſe. The ſons of Morven muſt fall without ſong. They are the foes of Cairbar.
+ Hereafter ſhall the traveller meet their dark, thick miſt on Lena, where it wanders, with their
+ ghoſts, beſide the reedy lake. Never ſhall they riſe, without ſong, to the dwelling of
+ winds.”
+
Cormul darkened, as he went. Behind him ruſhed his tribe. They ſunk beyond
+ the rock. Gaul ſpoke to Fillan of Selma ; as his eye purſued the courſe of the dark-eyed chief of
+ Dunratho. “Thou beholdeft the ſteps of Cormul! Let thine arm be ſtrong! When he is low, ſon
+
+
+ of Fingal, remember Gaul in war. Here I fall forward into
+ battle, amid the ridge of ſhields.”
+
The ſign of death aſcends: the dreadful ſound of Morni's ſhield, Gaul pours
+ his voice between. Fingal riſes on Mora. He ſaw them, from wing to wing, bending at once in
+ ſtrife. Gleaming, on his own dark hill, ſtood Cathmor of ſtreamy Atha. The kings were like two
+ ſpirits of heaven, ſtanding each on his gloomy cloud; when they pour abroad the winds, and lift
+ the roaring ſeas. The blue-tumbling of waves is before them, marked with the paths of whales.
+ They themſelves are calm and bright. The gale lifts ſlowly their locks of miſt!
+
What beam of light hangs high in air! What beam, but Morni's dreadful ſword
+ ! Death is ſtrewed on thy paths, O Gaul! Thou foldeſt them together in thy rage. Like a young oak
+ falls Tur-lathon
+
Tur-lathon, broad trunk of a tree. Móruth, great ſtream. Oichaoma, wild
+ maid. Dun-lora, the hill of the noiſy ſtream. Duth-caron, dark-brown man.
+
+ , with his branches round him. His high-boſomed ſpouſe ſtretches her white arms, in
+ dreams, to the returning chief, as ſhe ſleeps by gurgling Moruth, in her diſordered locks. It is
+ his ghoſt, Oichoma. The
+
+ chief is lowly laid. Hearken not to the winds for Turlathon's
+ ecchoing ſhield. It is pierced, by his ſtreams. Its ſound is paſt away.
+
Not peaceful is the hand of Foldath. He winds his courſe in blood. Connal
+ met him in fight. They mixed their clanging ſteel. Why ſhould mine eyes behold them! Connal, thy
+ locks are grey ! Thou wert the friend of ſtrangers, at the moſs-covered rock of Dun-lora. When
+ the ſkies were rolled together : then thy feaſt was ſpread. The ſtranger heard the winds without;
+ and rejoiced at thy burning oak. Why, ſon of Duth-caron, art thou laid in blood ! The blaſted
+ tree bends above thee. Thy ſhield lies broken near. Thy blood mixes with the ſtream ; thou
+ breaker of the ſhields!
+
Ossian took the ſpear, in his wrath. But Gaul ruſhed forward on Foldath. The
+ feeble paſs by his ſide: his rage is turned on Morna's Chief. Now they had raiſed their deathful
+ ſpears : unſeen an arrow came. It pierced the hand of Gaul. His ſteel fell ſounding to earth.
+ Young Fillan came
+
Fillan had been diſpatched by Gaul to oppoſe Cormal, who had been ſent by Foldath to lie in
+ ambuſh behind the Caledonian army. It appears that Fillan had killed Cormal, otherwiſe, he could
+ not be ſuppoſed to have poſſeſſed himſelf of the ſhield of that chief.
+ , with Cormul's ſhield ! He
+
+ ſtretched it large before the chief. Foldath ſent his ſhouts
+ abroad, and kindled all the field : as a blaſt that lifts the wide-winged flame, over Lumon's
+ ecchoing groves
+
Lumon, bending hill; a mountain in Inis huna, or that part of South-Britain which is
+ over-againſt the Iriſh coaſt.
+ .
+
“Son of blue-eyed Clatho,” ſaid Gaul, “O Fillan, thou art a beam from
+ heaven; that, coming on the troubled deep, binds up the tempeſt's wing. Cormul is fallen before
+ thee. Early art thou in the fame of thy fathers. Ruſh not too far, my hero. I cannot lift the
+ ſpear to aid. I ſtand harmleſs in battle: but my voice ſhall be poured abroad. The ſons of Selma
+ ſhall hear, and remember my former deeds.”
+
His terrible voice roſe on the wind. The hoſt bends forward in fight. Often
+ had they heard him, at Strumon, when he called them to the chace of the hinds. He ſtands tall,
+ amid the war, as an oak in the ſkirts of a ſtorm, which now is clothed on high, in miſt : then
+ ſhews its broad, waving head. The muſing hunter lifts his eye, from his own ruſhy field !
+
My ſoul purſues thee, O Fillan, through the path of thy fame. Thou rolledſt
+ the foe before thee. Now Foldath, perhaps, may fly : but night comes down with its clouds.
+ Cathmor's horn is heard on high. The ſons of Selma hear
+
+ the voice of Fingal, from Mora's gathered miſt. The bards pour
+ their ſong, like dew, on the returning war.
+
“Who comes from Strumon,” they ſaid, “amid her wandering locks? She is
+ mournful in her ſteps, and lifts her blue eyes toward Erin. Why art thou ſad, Evir-choma
+
Evir-choama, mild and ftately maid, the wife of Gaul. She was the daughter of
+ Caſdu-conglaſs, chief of I-dronlo, one of the Hebrides.
+ ? Who is like thy chief in renown? He deſcended dreadful to battle; he returns, like a
+ light from a cloud. He raiſed the ſword in wrath : they ſhrunk before blue-ſhielded Gaul !”
+
“Joy, like the ruſtling gale, comes on the ſoul of the king. He remembers
+ the battles of old ; the days, wherein his fathers fought. The days of old return on Fingal's
+ mind, as he beholds the renown of his ſon. As the ſun rejoices, from his cloud, over the tree his
+ beams have raiſed, as it ſhakes its lonely head on the heath ; ſo joyful is the king over Fillan
+ !”
+
“As the rolling of thunder on hills, when Lara's fields are ſtill and dark,
+ ſuch are the ſteps of Selma pleaſant and dreadful to the ear. They return with their ſound, like
+ eagles to their darkbrowed rock, after the prey is torn on the field, the dun ſons of the
+ bounding hind, Your
+
+ fathers rejoice from their clouds, ſons of ſtreamy
+ Selma !”
+
Such was the nightly voice of bards, on Mora of the hinds. A flame roſe,
+ from an hundred oaks, which winds had torn from Cormul's ſteep. The feaſt is ſpread in the midſt
+ : around ſat the gleaming chiefs. Fingal is there in his ſtrength. The eagle-wing
+
The kings of Caledonia and Ireland had a plume of eagle's feathers, by way of ornament, in
+ their helmets. It was from this diſtinguiſhed mark that Oſſian knew Cathmor, in the ſecond book.
+
+ of his helmet ſounds. The ruſtling blaſts of the weſt, unequal ruſh through night. Long
+ looks the king in ſilence round : at length, his words are heard.
+
“My ſoul feels a want in our joy. I behold a breach among my friends. The
+ head of one tree is low. The ſqually wind pours in on Selma. Where is the chief of Dun-lora ?
+ Ought Connal to be forgot at the feaſt? When did he forget the ſtranger, in the midſt of his
+ ecchoing hall? Ye are ſilent in my preſence! Connal is then no more. Joy meet thee, O warrior,
+ like a ſtream of light. Swift be thy courſe to thy fathers, along the roaring winds. Oſſian, thy
+ ſoul is fire: kindle the memory of the king. Awake the battles of Connal, when firſt he ſhone in
+ war. The locks of Connal were grey. His days
+
+ of youth
+
After the death of Comhal, and during the uſurpation of the tribe of Morni, Fingal was
+ educated in private by Duthcaron. It was then he contracted that intimacy with Connal, the ſon
+ of Duthcaron, which occaſions his regretting ſo much his fall. When Fingal was grown up, he ſoon
+ reduced the tribe of Morni; and, as it appears from the ſubſequent epiſode, ſent Duthcaron and
+ his ſon Connal to the aid of Cormac, the ſon of Conar, king of Ireland, who was driven to the
+ laſt extremity, by the inſurrections of the Firbolg. This epiſode throws farther light on the
+ conteſts between the Cael and Firbolg.
+ were mixed with mine. In one day Duthcaron firſt ſtrung our bows, againſt the roes of
+ Dun-lora.”
+
“Many,” I ſaid, “are our paths to battle, in green vallied Erin. Often did
+ our ſails ariſe, over the blue-tumbling waves ; when we came, in other days, to aid the race of
+ Conar. The ſtrife roared once in Alnecma, at the foam-covered ſtreams of Duth-úla
+
Duth úla, a river in Connaught ; it ſignifies, dark-ruſhing water.
+ . With Cormac deſcended to battle Duthcaron from cloudy Selma. Nor deſcended Duthcaron
+ alone, his ſon was by his ſide, the long-haired youth of Connal lifting the firſt of his ſpears.
+ Thou didſt command them, O Fingal, to aid the king of Erin.”
+
“Like the burſting ſtrength of ocean, the ſons of Bolga ruſhed to war. Colc-ulla
+
Colc-ulla, firm look in readineſs ; he was the brother of Borbar-duthul, the father
+ of Cairbar and Cathmor, who after the death of Cormac, the ſon of Artho, ſucceſſively mounted
+ the Iriſh throne.
+ was before
+
+ them, the chief of blue-ſtreaming Atha. The battle was mixed
+ on the plain. Cormac
+
Cormac, the ſon of Conar, the ſecond king of Ireland, of the race of the Caledonians. This
+ inſurrecton of the Firbolg happened towards the latter end of the long reign of Cormac. He never
+ poſſeſſed the Iriſh throne peaceably. The party of the family of Atha had made ſeveral attempts
+ to overturn the ſucceſſion in the race of Conar, before they effected it, in the minority of
+ Cormac, the ſon of Artho. Ireland, from the moſt ancient accounts concerning it, ſeems to have
+ been always ſo diſturbed by domeſtic commotions, that it is difficult to ſay, whether it ever
+ was, for any length of time, ſubject to one monarch. It is certain, that every province, if not
+ every ſmall diſtrict, had its own king. One of theſe petty princes aſſumed, at times, the title
+ of king of Ireland, and, on account of his ſuperior force, or in caſes of public danger, was
+ acknowledged by the reſt as ſuch ; but the ſucceſſion, from father to ſon, does not appear to
+ have been eſtabliſhed. It was the diviſions amongſt themſelves, ariſing from the bad
+ conſtitution of their government, that, at laſt, ſubjected the Iriſh to a foreign yoke.
+ ſhone in his own ſtrife, bright as the forms of his fathers. But, far before the reſt,
+ Duthcaron hewed down the foe. Nor ſlept the arm of Connal, by his father's ſide. Colc-ulla
+ prevailed on the plain : like ſcattered miſt, fled the people of Cormac
+
The inhabitants of Ullin or Ulſter, who were of the race of the Caledonians, ſeem, alone, to
+ have been the firm friends to the ſucceſſion in the family of Conar. The Firbolg were only
+ ſubject to them by conſtraint, and embraced every opportunity to throw off their yoke.
+ .”
+
“Then roſe the ſword of Duthcaron, and the ſteel of broad-ſhielded Connal.
+ They ſhaded
+
+ their flying friends, like two rocks with their heads of pine.
+ Night came down on Duth-ula: ſilent ſtrode the chiefs over the field. A mountain-ſtream roared
+ acroſs the path, nor could Duthcaron bound over its courſe. Why ſtands my father? ſaid Connal. I
+ hear the ruſhing foe.”
+
“Fly, Connal,” he ſaid. “Thy father's ſtrength begins to fail. I come
+ wounded from battle. Here let me reſt in night. “But thou ſhalt not remain alone,” ſaid Connal's
+ burſting ſigh. “My ſhield is an eagle's wing to cover the king of Dun-lora.” He bends dark above
+ his father. The mighty Duthcaron dies.”
+
Day roſe, and night returned. No lonely bard appeared, deep-muſing on the
+ heath: and could Connal leave the tomb of his father, till he ſhould receive his fame? He bent
+ the bow againſt the roſe of Duth-ula. He ſpread the lonely feaſt. Seven nights he laid his head
+ on the tomb, and ſaw his father in his dreams. He ſaw him rolled, dark, in a blaſt, like the
+ vapor of reedy Lego. At length the ſteps of Colgan
+
Colgan, the ſon of Cathmul, was the principal bard of Cormac, king of Ireland, The following
+ dialogue, on the loves of Fingal and Ros-crana, may be aſcribed to him
+
+ Ros-crana.
+
By night, came a dream to Ros crána! I feel my beating ſoul. No viſion of the forms of the
+ dead, came to the blue eyes of Erin. But, riſing from the wave of the north, I beheld him
+ bright in his locks. I beheld the ſon of the king. My beating ſoul is high. I laid my head down
+ in night; again aſcended the form, Why delayeſt thou thy coming, young rider of ſtormy
+ waves!
+
But, there, far-diſtant, he comes; where ſeas roll their green ridges in miſt! Young dweller
+ of my ſoul; why doſt thou delay—
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
It was the ſoft voice of Moi-lena ! the pleaſant breeze of the valley of roes ! But why doſt
+ thou hide thee in ſhades ? Young love of heroes riſe. Are not thy ſteps covered with light? In
+ thy groves thou appeareſt, Ros-crana, like the ſun in the gathering of clouds. Why doſt thou
+ hide thee in ſhades? Young love of heroes riſe.
+
+
+ Ros-crana.
+
My fluttering ſoul is high! Let me turn from the ſteps of the king, He has heard my ſecret
+ voice, and ſhall my blue eyes roll, in his preſence ? Roe of the hill of moſs, toward thy
+ dwelling I move. Meet me, ye breezes of Mora, as I move through the valley of winds. But why
+ ſhould he aſcend his ocean ? Son of heroes, my ſoul is thine! My ſteps ſhall not move to the
+ deſart : the light of Ros-crána is here,
+
+
+ Fingal.
+
It was the light tread of a ghoſt, the fair dweller of eddying winds. Why deceiveſt thou me,
+ with thy voice ? Here let me reſt in ſhades. Shouldſt thou ſtretch thy white arm, from thy
+ grove, thou ſun-beam of Cormac of Erin !
+
+
+ Ros-crana.
+
He is gone! and my blue-eyes are dim; faint-rolling, in all my tears, But, there, I behold
+ him, alone; king of Selma, my ſoul is thine. Ah me! what clanging of armour! Colc-ulla of Atha
+ is near!
+
+ came, the bard of high Temora. Duthcaron
+
+
+ received his fame, and brightened, as he roſe on the wind.”
+
+
+
+ “Pleasant to the ear,” ſaid Fingal, “is the
+ praiſe of the kings of men ; when their bows are ſtrong in battle; when they ſoften at the ſight
+ of the ſad. Thus let my name be renowned, when bards ſhall lighten my riſing ſoul. Carril, ſon of
+ Kinfena ! take the bards and raiſe a tomb. Tonight let Connal dwell, within his narrow houſe. Let
+ not the ſoul of the valiant wander on the winds. Faint glimmers the moon on Moi-lena, through the
+ broad-headed groves of the hill! Raiſe ſtones, beneath its beam, to all the fallen in war. Though
+ no chiefs were they, yet their hands were ſtrong in fight. They were my rock in danger. The
+ mountain from which I ſpread my eagle-wings. Thence am I renowned. Carril forget not the low
+ !”
+
Loud, at once, from the hundred bards, roſe the ſong of the tomb. Carril
+ ſtrode before them, they are the murmur of ſtreams behind his ſteps. Silence dwells in the vales
+ of Moi-lena, where each, with its own dark rill, is winding between the hills. I heard the voice
+ of the bards, leſſening, as they moved along. I leaned forward from my ſhield ; and felt the
+ kindling of my ſoul. Half-formed the words of my ſong, burſt forth upon the wind. So hears a
+ tree, on the vale, the voice of ſpring around. It pours its green leaves to the ſun. It ſhakes:
+ its lonely
+
+ head. The hum of the mountain bee is near it; the hunter ſees
+ it, with joy, from the blaſted heath.
+
Young Fillan, at a diſtance ſtood. His helmet lay glittering on the ground.
+ His dark hair is looſe to the blaſt. A beam of light is Clatho's ſon ! He heard the words of the
+ king, with joy. He leaned forward on his ſpear.
+
“My ſon,” ſaid car-borne Fingal; “I ſaw thy deeds, and my ſoul was glad. The
+ fame of our fathers, I ſaid, burſts from its gathering cloud. Thou art brave, ſon of Clatho : but
+ headlong in the ſtrife. So did not Fingal advance, though he never feared a foe. Let thy people
+ be a ridge behind. They are thy ſtrength in the field. Then ſhalt thou be long renowned, and
+ behold the tombs of the old. The memory of the paſt returns, my deeds in other years : when firſt
+ I deſcended from ocean on the green-valleyed iſle.”
+
We bend towards the voice of the king. The moon looks abroad from her cloud.
+ The grey-ſkirted miſt is near : the dwelling of the ghoſts!
+
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK IV.
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book IV.
+
The ſecond night continues. Fingal relates, at the feaſt, his own firſt
+ expedition into Ireland, and his marriage with Ros-crána, the daughter of Cormac, king of that
+ iſland. The Iriſh chiefs convene in the preſence of Cathmor. The ſituation of the king deſcribed.
+ The ſtory of Sul-mala, the daughter of Conmor, king of Inis-huna, who, in the diſguiſe of a young
+ warrior, had followed Cathmor to the war. The ſullen behaviour of Foldath, who had commanded in
+ the battle of the preceding day, renews the difference between him and Malthos; but Cathmor,
+ interpoſing, ends it. The chiefs feaſt, and hear the ſong of Fonar the bard. Cathmor returns to
+ reſt, at a diſtance from the army. The ghoſt of his brother Cairbar appears to him in a dream;
+ and obſcurely foretels the iſſue of the war. The ſoliloquy of the king. He diſcovers Sul-malla.
+ Morning comes. Her ſoliloquy cloſes the book.
+
+
+
+
+ T E M O R A: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK IV.
+
+
This epiſode has an immediate connection with the ſtory of Connal and Duth-caron, in the
+ latter end of the third book. Fingal, ſitting beneath an oak, near the palace of Selma,
+ diſcovers Connal juſt landing from Ireland. The danger which threatened Cormac king of Ireland
+ induces him to ſail immediately to that iſland. The ſtory is introduced, by the king, as a
+ pattern for the future behaviour of Fillan, whoſe raſhneſs in the preceding battle is
+ reprimanded.
+ “Beneath an oak,” ſaid the king, “I ſat on Selma's ſtreamy rock, when
+ Connal roſe, from the ſea, with the broken ſpear of Duth-caron. Far-diſtant ſtood the youth. He
+ turned away his eyes. He remembered the ſteps of his father, on his own green hills. I darkened
+ in my place. Duſky thoughts flew over my ſoul. The kings of Erin roſe before me. I
+ half-unſheathed the
+
+ ſword. Slowly approached the chiefs. They lifted up their
+ ſilent eyes. Like a ridge of clouds, they wait for the burſting forth of my voice. My voice was,
+ to them, a wind from heaven to roll the miſt away.”
+
“I bade my white ſails to riſe, before the roar of Cona's wind. Three
+ hundred youths looked, from their waves, on Fingal's boſſy ſhield. High on the maſt it hung, and
+ marked the dark-blue ſea. But when night came down, I ſtruck, at times, the warning boſs : I
+ ſtruck, and looked on high, for fiery-haired Ul-erin
+
Ul-erin, the guide to Ireland, a ſtar known by that name in the days of Fingal, and
+ very uſeful to thoſe who ſailed, by night, from the Hebrides, or Caledonia, to the coaſt of
+ Ulſter.
+ . Nor abſent was the ſtar of heaven. It travelled red between the clouds. I purſued the
+ lovely beam, on the faint-gleaming deep. With morning, Erin roſe in miſt. We came into the bay of
+ Moi-lena, where its blue waters tumbled, in the boſom of ecchoing woods. Here Cormac, in his
+ ſecret hall, avoids the ſtrength of Colc-ulla. Nor he alone avoids the foe. The blue eye of
+ Ros-crana is there : Ros-crana
+
Ros-crána, the beam of the riſing ſun; ſhe was the mother of Oſſian. The Iriſh bards
+ relate ſtrange fictions concerning this princeſs. Their ſtories, however, concerning Fingal, if
+ they mean him by Fion Mac-Comnal, are ſo inconſiſtent and notoriouſly fabulous, that
+ they do not deſerve to be mentioned ; for they evidently bear, along with them, the marks of
+ late invention.
+ , white-handed maid, the daughter of the king!”
+
+
+
+ “Grey, on his pointleſs ſpear, came forth
+ the aged ſteps of Cormac. He ſmiled, from his waving locks, but grief was in his ſoul. He ſaw us
+ few before him, and his ſigh aroſe. “I ſee the arms of Trenmor, he ſaid; and theſe are the ſteps
+ of the king ! Fingal! thou art a beam of light to Cormac's darkened ſoul. Early is thy fame, my
+ ſon: but ſtrong are the foes of Erin. They are like the roar of ſtreams in the land, ſon of
+ car-borne Comhal !” “Yet they may be rolled
+
Cormac had ſaid that the foes were like the roar of ſtreams, and Fingal continues
+ the metaphor. The ſpeech of the young hero is ſpirited, and conſiſtent with that ſedate
+ intrepidity, which eminently diſtinguiſhes his character throughout.
+ away,” I ſaid in my riſing ſoul. “We are not of the race of the feeble, king of
+ blue-ſhielded hoſts! Why ſhould fear come amongſt us, like a ghoſt of night? The ſoul of the
+ valiant grows, when foes increaſe in the field. Roll no darkneſs, king of Erin, on the young in
+ war!”
+
“The burſting tears of the king came down. He ſeized my hand in ſilence.
+ “Race of the daring Trenmor!” at length he ſaid, “I roll no cloud before thee. Thou burneſt in
+ the fire
+
+ of thy fathers. I behold thy fame. It marks thy courſe in
+ battle, like a ſtream of light. But wait the coming of Cairbar
+
Cairbar, the ſon of Cormac, was afterwards king of Ireland. His reign was ſhort. He was
+ ſucceeded by his ſon Artho, the father of that Cormac who was murdered by Cairbar the ſon of
+ Borbar-duthul. Cairbar, the ſon of Cormac, long after his ſon Artho was grown to man's eſtate,
+ had, by his wife Beltanno, another ſon, whoſe name was Ferad-artho. He was the only one
+ remaining of the race of Conar the firſt king of [reland, when Fingal's expedition againſt
+ Cairbar the ſon of Borbar-duthul happened. See more of Ferad artho in the eighth book.
+ , my ſon muſt join thy ſword. He calls the ſons of Erin, from all their diſtant
+ ſtreams.”
+
“We came to the hall of the king, where it roſe in the midſt of rocks, on
+ whoſe dark ſides, were the marks of ſtreams of old. Broad oaks bend around with their moſs. The
+ thick birch is waving near. Half-hid, in her ſhady grove, Ros-crana raiſes the ſong. Her white
+ hands move on the harp. I beheld her blue-rolling eyes. She was like a ſpirit
+
The attitude of Ros-crana is illuſtrated by this ſimile; for the ideas of thoſe times,
+ concerning the ſpirits of the deceaſed, were not ſo gloomy and difagreeable, as thoſe of
+ ſucceeding ages. The ſpirits of women, it was ſuppoſed, retained that beauty, which they
+ poſſeſſed while living, and tranſported themſelves, from place to place, with that gliding
+ motion, which Homer aſcribes to the gods. The deſcriptions which poets, leſs ancient than
+ Oſſian, have left us of thoſe beautiful figures, that appeared ſometimes on the hills, are
+ elegant and pictureſque. They compare them to the rain-bow on ſtreams ; or, the
+ gilding of ſun-beams on the hills.
+
A chief who lived three centuries ago, returning from the war, underſtood that his wife or
+ miſtreſs was dead. A bard introduces him ſpeaking the following ſoliloquy, when he came within
+ ſight of the place, where he had left her, at his departure.
+
“My ſoul darkens in ſorrow. I behold not the ſmoak of my hall. No grey dog bounds at my
+ ſtreams. Silence dwells In the valley of trees.
+
“Is that a rain-bow on Crunath? It flies: and the ſky is dark. Again, thou moveſt, bright, on
+ the heath, thou ſunbeam cloathed in a ſhower! Hah! it is ſhe, my love: her gliding courſe on the
+ boſom of winds!”
+
In ſucceeding times the beauty of Roſcrana paſſed into a proverb; and the higheſt compliment,
+ that could be paid to a woman, was to compare her perſon with the daughter of
+ Cormac.
+
+
+ 'S tu fein an Ros crána,
+ Siol Chormaec na n'ioma lan.
+
+
+ of heaven half-folded in the ſkirt of a cloud !”
+
+
+
+
“Three days we feaſt at Moi-lena. She riſes bright in my troubled ſoul.
+ Cormac beheld me dark. He gave the white-boſomed maid. She comes with bending eye, amid the
+ wandering of her heavy locks. She came! Straight the battle roared. Colc-ulla appeared : I took
+ my ſpear. My ſword roſe, with my people, againſt the ridgy foe. Alnecma fled, Colc-ulla fell.
+ Fingal returned with fame.”
+
Renowned is he, O Fillan, who fights, in the ſtrength of his hoſt. The bard
+ purſues his
+
+ ſteps, thro' the land of the foe. But he who fights alone, few
+ are his deeds to other times! He ſhines, to-day, a mighty light. To-morrow, he is low. One ſong contains his fame. His name is on One dark field. He
+ is forgot ; but where his tomb ſends forth the tufted graſs.”
+
Such are the words of Fingal, on Mora of the roes. Three bards, from the
+ rock of Cormul, pour down the pleaſing ſong. Sleep deſcends, in the ſound, on the broad-ſkirted
+ hoſt. Carril returned, with the bards, from the tomb of Dun-lora's chief. The voice of morning
+ ſhall not come, to the duſky bed of Duth-caron. No more ſhalt thou hear the tread of roes, around
+ thy narrow houſe!
+
As roll the troubled clouds, round a meteor of night, when they brighten
+ their ſides, with its light, along the heaving ſea: ſo gathers Erin, around the gleaming form of
+ Cathmor. He, tall in the midſt, careleſs lifts, at times, his ſpear : as
+ ſwells or falls the ſound of Fonar's diſtant harp.
+
In order to illuſtrate this paſſage, I ſhall give, here, the hiſtory on which it is founded,
+ as I have gathered it from tradition. The nation of the Firbolg who inhabited the ſouth of
+ ireland, being originally deſcended from the Belgæ, who poſſeſſed the ſouth and ſouth-weſt coaſt
+ of Britain, kept up, for many ages, an amicable correſpondence with their mother-country ; and
+ ſent aid to the Britiſh Belgæ, when they were preſſed by the Romans or other new-comers from the
+ continent. Con-mor, king of Inis-huna, (that part of South-Britain which is over-againſt the
+ Iriſh coaſt) being attacked, by what enemy is not mentioned, ſent for aid to Cairbar, lord of
+ Atha, the moſt potent chief of the Firbolg. Cairbar diſpatched his brother Cathmor to the
+ afſiſtance of Con-mor. Cathmor, after various viciſſitudes of fortune, put an end to the war, by
+ the total defeat of the enemies of Inis-huna, and returned in triumph to the reſidence of
+ Con-mor. There, at a feaſt, Sul-malla, the daughter of Con-mor, fell deſperately in love with
+ Cathmor, who, before her paſſion was diſcloſed, was recalled to Ireland by his brother Cairbar,
+ upon the news of the intended expedition of Fingal, to re-eſtabliſh the family of Conar on the
+ Iriſh throne. The wind being contrary, Cathmor remained, for three days, in a neighbouring bay,
+ during which time Sul-malla diſguiſed herſelf in the habit of a young warrior, and came to offer
+ him her ſervice, in the war. Cathmor accepted of the propoſal, ſailed for Ireland, and arrived
+ in Ulſter a few days before the death of Cairbar.
+ Near him leaned, againſt a
+
+
+ rock, Sul-malla
+
Sul-malla, ſlowly-roiling eyes, Caon-mór, mild and tall, Inis-huna,
+ green iſland.
+ of blue eyes, the white-boſomed daughter of Conmor, king of Inis-huna. To his aid came
+ blue-ſhielded Cathmor, and rolled his foes away. Sul-malla beheld him ſtately in the hall of
+ feaſts. Nor careleſs rolled the eyes of Cathmor on the long-haired maid!
+
The third day aroſe, when Fithil
+
Fithil, an inferior bard. It may either be taken here for the proper name of a man,
+ or in the literal ſenſe, as the bards were the heralds and meſſengers of thoſe times. Cathmor,
+ it is probable, was abſent, when the rebellion of his brother Cairbar, and the aſſaſſination of
+ Cormac, king of Ireland, happened. Cathmor and his followers had only arrived, from Inis-huna,
+ three days before the death of Cairbar, which ſufficiently clears his character from any
+ imputation of being concerned in the conſpiracy, with his brother.
+ came, from Erin of the ſtreams. He told of the
+
+
+ lifting up of the ſhield
+
The ceremony which was uſed by Fingal, when he prepared for an expedition, is related thus in
+ tradition. A bard, at midnight, went to the hall, where the tribes feaſted upon ſolemn
+ occaſions, raiſed the war-ſong, and thrice called the ſpirits of their deceaſed
+ anceſtors to come, on their clouds, to behold the actions of their children. He then
+ fixed the ſhield of Trenmor, on a tree on the rock of Selma, ſtriking it, at times,
+ with the blunt end ofa ſpear, and ſinging the war-ſong between. Thus he did, for three
+ ſucceſſive nights, and, in the mean time, meſſengers were diſpatched to call together the
+ tribes; or, to uſe an ancient expreſſion, to call them from all their ſtreams. This
+ phraſe alludes to the ſituation of the reſidences of the clans, which were generally fixed in
+ valleys, where the torrents of the neighbouring mountains were colleted into one body, and
+ became large ſtreams or rivers. The lifting up of the ſhield, was the phraſe
+ for beginning a war.
+ in Selma : He told of the danger of Cairbar. Cathmor raiſed the ſail at Cluba : but the
+ winds were in other lands. Three days he remained on the coaft, and turned his eyes on Conmor's
+ halls, He remembered the daughter of ſtrangers, and his ſigh aroſe. Now when the winds awaked the
+ wave: from the hill came a youth in arms; to lift the ſword with Cathmor, in his ecchoing fields.
+ It was the white-armed Sul-malla. Secret ſhe dwelt
+
+ beneath her helmet. Her ſteps were in the path of the king :
+ on him her blue eyes rolled with joy, when he lay by his roaring ſtreams! But Cathmor thought,
+ that, on Lumon, ſhe ſtill purſued the roes. He thought, that fair on a rock, ſhe ſtretched her
+ white hand to the wind ; to feel its courſe from Erin, the green dwelling of her love. He had
+ promiſed to return, with his white-boſomed ſails. The maid is near thee, O Cathmor ! leaning on
+ her rock.
+
The tall forms of the chiefs ſtand around ; all but dark-browed Foldath
+
The ſurly attitude of Foldath is a proper preamble to his after-behaviour. Chaſſed with the
+ diſappointment of the victory which he promiſed himſelf, he becomes paſſionate and over-bearing.
+ The quarrel which ſucceeds between him and Malthos, is introduced, to raiſe the character of
+ Cathmor, whoſe ſuperior worth ſhines forth, in his manly manner of ending the difference between
+ the chiefs.
+ . He leaned againſt a diſtant tree, rolled into his haughty ſoul. His buſhy hair whiſtles
+ in wind. At times, burſts the hum of a ſong. He ſtruck the tree, at length, in wrath ; and ruſhed
+ before the king ! Calm and ſtately, to the beam of the oak, aroſe the form of young Hidalla. His
+ hair falls round his bluſhing cheek, in wreaths of waving light. Soft was his voice in Clon-ra
+
Claon-rath, winding field. The th are ſeldom pronounced audibly in the
+ Galic language.
+ , in the valley of
+
+ his fathers, Soft was his voice when he touched the harp, in
+ the hall, near his roaring ſtreams !
+
“King of Erin,” ſaid Hidalla, “now is the time to feaſt. Bid the voice of
+ bards ariſe. Bid them roll the night away. The ſoul returns, from ſong, more terrible to war.
+ Darkneſs ſettles on Erin. From hill to hill bend the ſkirted clouds. Far and grey, on the heath,
+ the dreadful ſtrides of ghoſts are ſeen : the ghoſts of thoſe who fell bend forward to their
+ ſong. Bid, O Cathmor, the harps to riſe, to brighten the dead, on their wandering blaſts.”
+
“Be all the dead forgot,” ſaid Foldath's burſting wrath. “Did not I fail in
+ the field? Shall I then hear the ſong? Yet was not my courſe harmleſs in war. Blood was a ſtream
+ around my ſteps. But the feeble were behind me. The foe has eſcaped from my ſword. In Clonra's
+ vale touch thou the harp. Let Dura anſwer to the voice of Hidalla, Let ſome maid look, from the
+ wood, on thy long, yellow locks. Fly from Lubar's ecchoing plain. This is the field of heroes
+ !”
+
“King of Erin
+
This ſpeech of Malthos is, throughout, a ſevere reprimand to the bluſtering behaviour of
+ Foldath.
+ ,” Malthos ſaid, “it is Thine to lead in war. Thou
+ art a fire to our eyes, on the dark-brown field. Like a blaſt
+
+ thou haſt paſt over hoſts. Thou haſt laid them low in blood. But who has heard thy words returning
+ from the field ? The wrathful delight in death : Their remembrance reſts on the wounds of their
+ ſpear. Strife is folded in their thoughts: their words are
+ ever heard. Thy courſe, chief of Morna, was like a troubled ſtream. The dead were rolled on thy
+ path ; but others alſo lift the ſpear. We were not feeble behind thee ; but the foe was
+ ſtrong.”
+
Cathmor beheld the riſing rage, and bending forward of either chief: for,
+ half-unſheathed, they held their ſwords, and rolled their ſilent eyes. Now would they have mixed
+ in horrid fray, had not the wrath of Cathmor burned. He drew his ſword: it gleamed thro' night,
+ to the high-flaming oak ! “Sons of pride,” ſaid the king, “allay your ſwelling ſouls. Retire in
+ night. Why ſhould my rage ariſe? Should I contend with both in arms? It is no
+ time for ſtrife ! Retire, ye clouds, at my feaſt. Awake my ſoul no more.”
+
They ſunk from the King on either ſide ; like
+
This compariſon is favourable to the ſuperiority of Cathmor over his two chiefs, I ſhall
+ illuſtrate this paſſage with another from a fragment of an ancient poem, juſt now in my hands.
+ “As the ſun is above the vapours, which his beams have raiſed ; ſo is the ſoul of the king above
+ the ſons of fear. They roll dark below him; he rejoices in the robe of his beams. But when
+ feeble deeds wander on the ſoul of the king, he is a darkened ſun rolled along the ſky: the
+ valley is ſad below : flowers wither beneath the drops of the night.”
+ two columns of morning miſt, when the
+
+
+ ſun riſes, between them, on his glittering rocks. Dark is their
+ rolling on either ſide; each toward its reedy pool !
+
Silent ſat the chiefs at the feaſt. They look, at times, on Atha's king,
+ where he ſtrode, on his rock, amid his ſettling ſoul. The hoſt lie, along the field. Sleep
+ deſcends on Moi-lena. The voice of Fonar aſcends alone, beneath his diſtant tree. It aſcends in
+ the praiſe of Cathmor, ſon of Larthon
+
Lear-thon, ſea wave, the name of the chief of that colony of the Fir-bolg, which
+ firſt migrated into Ireland. Larthon's firſt ſettlement in that country is related in the
+ ſeventh book. He was the anceſtor of Cathmor ; and is here called Larthon of Lumon,
+ from a high hill of that name in Inis-huna, the ancient ſeat of the Fir-bolg. The character of
+ Cathmor is preſerved. He had mentioned, in the firſt book, the averſion of that chief to praiſe,
+ and we find him here lying at the ſide of a ſtream, that the noiſe of it might drown the voice
+ of Fonar, who, according to the cuſtom of the times, ſung his eulogium in his evening
+ ſong. Though other chiefs, as well as Cathmor, might be averſe to hear their own praiſe, we
+ find it the univerſal policy of the times, to allow the bards to be as extravagant as they
+ pleaſed in their encomiums on the leaders of armies, in the preſence of their people. The
+ vulgar, who had no great ability to judge for themſelves, received the characters of their
+ princes, entirely upon the faith of their bards.
+ of Lumon. But Cathmor did not hear his praiſe. He lay at the roar
+
+ of a ſtream. The ruſtling breeze of night flew over his
+ whiſtling locks,
+
His brother came to his dreams, half-ſeen from his low-hung cloud. Joy roſe
+ darkly in his face. He had heard the ſong of Carril
+
Carril, the ſon of Kinfena, by the orders of Oſſian, ſung the funeral elegy at the tomb of
+ Cairbar. See the ſecond book, towards the end. In all theſe poems, the viſits of ghoſts, to
+ their living friends, are ſhort, and their language obſcure, both which circumſtances tend to
+ throw a ſolemn gloom on theſe ſupernatural ſcenes. Towards the latter end of the ſpeech of the
+ ghoſt of Cairbar, he foretels the death of Cathmor, by enumerating thoſe ſignals which,
+ according to the opinion of the times, preceded the death of a perſon renowned. It was thought
+ that the ghoſts of deceaſed bards ſung, for three nights preceding the death (near the place
+ where his tomb was to be raiſed) round an unſubſtantial figure which repreſented the body of the
+ perſon who was to die.
+ . A blaſt ſuſtained his dark-ſkirted cloud ; which he ſeized in the boſom of night, as he
+ roſe, with his fame, towards his airy hall. Half-mixed with the noiſe of the ſtream, he poured
+ his feeble words.
+
“Joy meet the ſoul of Cathmor. His voice was heard on Moi-lena. The bard
+ gave his ſong to Cairbar. He travels on the wind. My form is in my father's hall, like the
+ gliding of a terrible light, which darts acroſs the deſart, in a ſtormy night. No bard ſhall be
+ wanting at thy tomb, when thou art lowly laid. The ſons of ſong love the valiant. Cathmor, thy
+ name
+
+ is a pleaſant gale. The mournful ſounds ariſe ! On Lubar's field
+ there is a voice ! Louder ſtill, ye ſhadowy ghoſts ! The dead were full of fame! Shrilly ſwells
+ the feeble ſound. The rougher blaſt alone is heard ! Ah, ſoon is Cathmor low!” Rolled into
+ himſelf he flew, wide on the boſom of winds. The old oak felt his departure, and ſhook its
+ whiſtling head. Cathmor ſtarts from reſt. He takes his deathful ſpear. He lifts his eyes around.
+ He ſees but dark-ſkirted night.
+
“It
+
The ſoliloquy of Cathmor ſuits the magnanimity of his character. Though ſtaggered at firſt
+ with the prediction of Cairbar's ghoſt, he ſoon comforts himſelf with the agreeable proſpect of
+ his future renown; and, like Achilles, prefers a ſhort and glorious life, to an obſcure length
+ of years in retirement and eaſe.
+ was the voice of the king,” he ſaid. “But now his form is gone. Unmarked is your path in
+ the air, ye children of the night. Often like a reflected beam, are ye ſeen in the deſart wild :
+ but ye retire in your blaſts, before our ſteps approach. Go then, ye feeble race! Knowledge with
+ you there is none ! Your joys are weak, and like the dreams of our reſt, or the light-winged
+ thought, that flies acroſs the ſoul. Shall Cathmor ſoon be low ? Darkly laid in his narrow houſe
+ ? Where no morning comes, with her half-opened eyes? Away, thou ſhade!
+
+ to fight is mine! All further thought away! I ruſh forth, on
+ eagle wings, to ſeize my beam of fame. In the lonely vale of ſtreams, abides the narrow
+
An indolent and unwarlike life was held in extreme contempt. Whatever a philoſopher may ſay,
+ in praiſe of quiet and retirement, I am far from thinking, but they weaken and debaſe the human
+ mind. When the faculties of the ſoul are not exerted, they loſe their vigour, and low and
+ circumſcribed notions take the place of noble and enlarged ideas. Action, on the contrary, and
+ the viciſſitudes of fortune which attend it, call forth, by turns, all the powers of the mind,
+ and, by exerciſing, ſtrengthen them. Hence it is, that in great and opulent ſtates, when
+ property and indolence are ſecured to individuals, we ſeldom meet with that ſtrength of mind,
+ which is ſo common in a nation, not far advanced in civilization. It is a curious, but juſt,
+ obſervation ; that great kingdoms ſeldom produce great characters, which muſt be altogether
+ attributed to that indolence and diſſipation, which are the inſeparable companions of too much
+ property and ſecurity. Rome, it is certain, had more real great men within it, when its power
+ was confined within the narrow bounds of Latium, than when its dominion extended over all the
+ known world ; and one petty ſtate of the Saxon heptarchy had, perhaps, as much genuine ſpirit in
+ it, as the two Britiſh kingdoms united. As a ſtate, we are much more powerful than our
+ anceſtors, but we would loſe by comparing individuals with them.
+ ſoul. Years roll on. ſeaſons return, but he is ſtill unknown. In a blaſt comes cloudy
+ death, and lays his grey head low. His ghoſt is folded in the vapour of the fenny field. Its
+ courſe is never on hills, nor moſſy vales of wind. So ſhall not Cathmor depart. No boy in the
+ field was he, who only marks the bed of
+
+ roes, upon the ecchoing hills. My iſſuing forth was with kings.
+ My joy in dreadful plains : where broken hoſts are rolled away, like ſeas before the wind.”
+
So ſpoke the king of Alnecma, brightening in his rifing ſoul. Valour, like a
+ pleaſant flame, is gleaming within his breaſt. Stately is his ſtride on the heath! The beam of
+ eaſt is poured around. He ſaw his grey hoſt on the field, wide-ſpreading their ridges in light.
+ He rejoiced, like a ſpirit of heaven, whoſe ſteps come forth on the ſeas, when he beholds them
+ peaceful round, and all the winds are laid. But ſoon he awakes the waves, and rolls them large to
+ ſome ecchoing ſhore.
+
On the ruſhy bank of a ſtream, ſlept the daughter of Inis-huna. The helmet
+ had fallen from her head. Her dreams were in the lands of her fathers. There
+ morning is on the field. Grey ſtreams leap down from the rocks. The breezes, in ſhadowy waves,
+ fly over the ruſhy fields. There is the ſound that prepares for the chace. There the moving of warriors from the hall. But tall above the reſt is ſeen the
+ hero of ſtreamy Atha. He bends his eye of love on Sul-malla, from his ſtately ſteps. She turns, with pride, her face away, and careleſs bends the bow.
+
+
+
Such were the dreams of the maid, when Cathmor of Atha came. He ſaw her fair
+ face before him, in the midſt of her wandering locks. He knew the maid of Lumon. What ſhould
+ Cathmor do? His ſighs ariſe. His tears come down. But ſtraight he turns away. “This is no time,
+ king of Atha, to awake thy ſecret ſoul. The battle is rolled before thee, like a troubled
+ ſtream.”
+
He ſtruck that warning boſs
+
In order to underſtand this paſſage, it is neceſſary to look to the deſcription of Cathmor's
+ ſhield in the ſeventh book. This ſhield had ſeven principal boſſes, the ſound of each of which,
+ when ſtruck with a ſpear, conveyed a particular order from the king to his tribes. The ſound of
+ one of them, as here, was the ſignal for the army to aſſemble.
+ , wherein dwelt the voice of war. Erin roſe around him, like the ſound of eagle-wing.
+ Sul-malla ſtarted from ſleep, in her diſordered locks. She ſeized the helmet from earth. She
+ trembled in her place. “Why ſhould they know in Erin of the daughter of Inis-huna ?” She
+ remembered the race of kings. The pride of her ſoul aroſe! Her ſteps are behind a rock, by the
+ blue-winding ſtream
+
This was not the valley of Lona to which Sul-malla afterwards retired.
+ of a vale : where dwelt the dark-brown hind ere yet the war aroſe. Thither came the voice
+ of Cathmor, at times, to Sul-malla's ear. Her
+
+ ſoul is darkly ſad. She pours her words on wind.
+
“The dreams of Inis-huna departed. They are diſperſed from my ſoul. I hear
+ not the chace in my land. I am concealed in the ſkirt of war. I look forth from my cloud. No beam
+ appears to light my path. I behold my warrior low ; for the broad-ſhielded king is near, he that
+ overcomes in danger, Fingal from Selma of ſpears ! Spirit of departed Conmor ! are thy ſteps on
+ the boſom of winds? Comeſt thou, at times, to other lands, father of ſad Sul-malla ? Thou doſt
+ come ! I have heard thy voice at night; while yet I roſe on the wave to Erin of the ſtreams. The
+ ghoſt of fathers, they ſay
+
Con-mor, the father of Sul-malla, was killed in that war, from which Cathmor delivered
+ Inis-huna. Lormar his ſon ſucceeded Conmor. It was the opinion of the times, when a perſon was
+ reduced to a pitch of miſery, which could admit of no alleviation, that the ghoſts of his
+ anceſtors called his ſoul away. This ſupernatural kind of death was called the
+ voice of the dead; and is believed by the ſuperſtitious vulgar to this day. There is no
+ people in the world, perhaps, who give more univerſal credit to apparitions, and the viſits of
+ the ghoſts of the deceaſed to their friends, than the ancient Scots. This is to be attributed as
+ much, at leaſt, to the ſituation of the country they poſſeſs, as to that credulous diſpoſition
+ which diſtinguiſhes an unenlightened people. As their buſineſs was feeding of cattle, in dark
+ and extenſive deſarts, ſo their journeys lay over wide and unfrequented heaths, where, often,
+ they were obliged to ſleep in the open air, amidſt the whiſtling of winds, and roar of
+ water-falls. The gloomineſs of the ſcenes around them was apt to beget that melancholy
+ diſpoſition of mind, which moſt readily receives impreſſions of the extraordinary and
+ ſupernatural kind, Falling aſleep in this gloomy mood, and their dreams being diſturbed by the
+ noiſe of the elements around, it is no matter of wonder, that they thought they heard the
+ voice of the dead, This voice of the dead, however, was, perhaps, no more than
+ a ſhriller whiſtle of the winds in an old tree, or in the chinks of a neighbouring rock. It is
+ to this cauſe I aſcribe thoſe many and improbable tales of ghoſts, which we meet with in the
+ Highlands: for, in other reſpects, we do not find that the inhabitants are more credulous than
+ their neighbours.
+ , call away the
+
+
+ ſouls of their race, while they behold them lonely in the
+ midſt of woe. Call me, my father, away ! When Cathmor is low on earth. Then ſhall Sul-malla be
+ lonely in the midſt of woe !”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK V.
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book V.
+
The poet, after a ſhort addreſs to the harp of Cona, deſcribes the arrangement of both armies
+ on either ſide of the river Lubar. Fingal gives the command to Fillan ; but, at the ſame time,
+ orders Gaul, the ſon of Morni, who had been wounded in the hand in the preceding battle, to
+ aſſiſt him with his counſel. The army of the Fir-bolg is commanded by Foldath. The general onſet
+ is deſcribed. The great actions of Fillan. He kills Rothmar and Culmin. But when Fillan conquers,
+ in one wing, Foldath preſſes hard on the other. He wounds Dermid, the ſon of Duthno, and puts the
+ whole wing to flight. Dermid deliberates with himſelf, and, at laſt, reſolves to put a ſtop to
+ the progreſs of Foldath, by engaging him in ſingle combat. When the two chiefs were approaching
+ towards one another, Fillan came ſuddenly to the relief of Dermid ; engaged Foldath, and killed
+ him. The behaviour of Malthos towards the fallen Foldath. Fillan puts the whole army of the
+ Fir-bolg to flight. The book cloſes with an addreſs to Clatho, the mother of that hero.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK V.
+
Thou dweller between the ſhields, that hang, on high, in Oſſian's hall!
+ Deſcend from thy place, O harp, and let me hear thy voice! Son of Alpin, ſtrike the ſtring. Thou
+ muſt awake the ſoul of the bard. The murmur of Lora's
+
Lora is often mentioned; it was a ſmall and rapid ſtream in the neighbourhood of Selma. There
+ is no veſtige of this name now remaining ; though it appears from a very old ſong, which the
+ tranſlator has ſeen, that one of the ſmall rivers on the north-weſt coaſt was called Lora ſome
+ centuries ago.
+ ſtream has rolled the tale away. I ſtand in the cloud of years. Few are its openings
+ toward the paſt; and when the viſion comes, it is but dim and dark. I hear thee, harp of Selma !
+ my ſoul returns, like a breeze, which the ſun brings back to the vale, where dwelt the lazy miſt
+ !
+
+ Lubar
+
From ſeveral paſſages in the poem we may form a diſtinct idea of the ſcene of the action of
+ Temora. At a ſmall diſtance from one another roſe the hills of Mora and Lora; the firſt
+ poſſeſſed by Fingal, the ſecond by the army of Cathmor. Through the intermediate plain ran the
+ ſmall river Lubar, on the banks of which all the battles were fought, excepting that between
+ Cairbar and Oſcar, related in the firſt book. This laſt mentioned engagement happened to the
+ north of the hill of Mora, of which Fingal took poſſeſſion, after the army of Cairbar fell back
+ to that of Cathmor. At ſome diſtance, but within ſight of Mora, towards the weſt, Lubar iſſued
+ from the mountain of Crommal, and, after a ſhort courſe through the plain of Moi lena,
+ diſcharged itſelf into the ſea near the field of battle. Behind the mountain of Crommal ran the
+ ſmall ſtream of Lavath, on the banks of which Ferad-artho, the ſon of Cairbre, the only perſon
+ remaining of the race of Conar, lived concealed in a cave, during the uſurpation of Cairbar, the
+ ſon of Borbar-duthul.
+ is bright before me in the windings of its vale. On either ſide, on their hills, riſe the
+ tall forms of the kings. Their people are poured around them, bending forward to their words: as
+ if their fathers ſpoke, deſcending from the winds. But they themſelves are like two rocks in the
+ midſt; each with its dark head of pines, when they are ſeen in the deſart, above low-failing
+ miſt. High on their face are ſtreams, which ſpread their foam on blaſts of wind!
+
Beneath the voice of Cathmor pours Erin, like the ſound of flame. Wide they
+ come down to Lubar. Before them is the ſtride of Foldath. But Cathmor retires to his hill,
+ beneath his
+
+ bending oak. The tumbling of a ſtream is near the king. He
+ lifts, at times, his gleaming ſpear. It is a flame to his people, in the midſt of war. Near him
+ ſtands the daughter of Con-mor, leaning on a rock. She did not rejoice at the ſtrife. Her ſoul
+ delighted not in blood. A valley
+
It was to this valley Sul-malla retired, during the laſt and deciſive battle between Fingal
+ and Cathmor. It is deſcribed in the ſeventh book, where it is called the vale of Lona, and the
+ reſidence of a Druid.
+ ſpreads green behind the hill, with its three blue ſtreams. The ſun is there in ſilence.
+ The dun mountain-roes come down. On theſe are turned the eyes of Sul-malla in her thoughtful
+ mood.
+
Fingal beholds Cathmor, on high, the ſon of Borbar-duthul ! he beholds the
+ deep-rolling of Erin, on the darkened plain. He ſtrikes that warning boſs, which bids the people
+ to obey ; when he ſends his chiefs before them, to the field of renown. Wide riſe their ſpears to
+ the ſun. Their ecchoing ſhields reply around. Fear, like a vapour, winds not among the hoſt: for
+ he, the king, is near, the ſtrength of ſtreamy Selma. Gladneſs brightens the
+ hero. We hear his words with joy.
+
“Like the coming forth of winds, is the ſound of Selma's ſons! They are
+ mountain waters, determined in their courſe. Hence is
+
+ Fingal renowned. Hence is his name in other lands. He was not a
+ lonely beam in danger ; for your ſteps were always near! But never was Fingal a dreadful form, in
+ your preſence, darkened into wrath. My voice was no thunder to your ears. Mine eyes ſent forth no
+ death. When the haughty appeared, I beheld them not. They were forgot at my feaſts. Like miſt
+ they melted away. A young beam is before you! Few are his paths to war ! They are few, but he is
+ valiant. Defend my dark-haired ſon. Bring Fillan back with joy. Hereafter he may ſtand alone, His
+ form is like his fathers. His ſoul is a flame of their fire. Son of car-borne Morni, move behind
+ the youth. Let thy voice reach his ear, from the ſkirts of war. Not unobſerved rolls battle,
+ before thee, breaker of the ſhields!”
+
The king ſtrode, at once, away to Cormul's lofty rock. Intermitting, darts
+ the light, from his ſhield, as, ſlow the king of heroes moves. Sidelong rolls his eye o'er the
+ heath, as forming advance the lines. Graceful, fly his halfgrey locks, round his kingly features,
+ now lightened with dreadful joy. Wholly mighty is the chief! Behind him dark and flow I moved.
+ Straight came forward the ſtrength of Gaul. His ſhield hung looſe on its thong. He ſpoke, in
+ haſte,
+
+ to Oſſian. “Bind
+
It is neceſſary to remember, that Gaul was wounded; which occaſions his requiring here the
+ aſſiſtance of Oſſian to bind his ſhield on his ſide,
+ , ſon of Fingal, this ſhield ! Bind it high to the ſide of Gaul. The foe may behold it,
+ and think I lift the ſpear. If I ſhould fall, let my tomb be hid in the field ; for fall I muſt
+ without fame. Mine arm cannot lift the ſteel. Let not Evir-choma hear it, to bluſh between her
+ locks. Fillan, the mighty behold us ! Let us not forget the ſtrife. Why ſhould they come, from their hills, to aid our flying field ?”
+
He ſtrode onward, with the ſound of his ſhield. My voice purſued him, as he
+ went, “Can the ſon of Morni fall, without his fame in Erin? But the deeds of the mighty are
+ forgot by themſelves. They ruſh careleſs over the fields of renown. Their words are never heard
+ !” I rejoiced over the ſteps of the chief. I ſtrode to the rock of the king, where he ſat, in his
+ wandering locks, amid the mountain-wind !
+
In two dark ridges bend the hoſts, toward each other, at Lubar. Here Foldath
+ riſes a pillar of darkneſs : there brightens the youth of Fillan. Each, with his ſpear in the
+ ſtream, ſent forth the voice of war. Gaul ſtruck the ſhield of Selma. At once they plunge in
+ battle! Steel pours its gleam on ſteel : like the fall of ſtreams
+
+ ſhone the field, when they mix their foam together, from two
+ dark-browed rocks ! Behold he comes the ſon of fame He lays the people low ! Deaths ſit on blaſts
+ around him ! Warriors ſtrew thy paths, O Fillan !
+
Rothmar
+
Roth-mar, the ſound of the ſea before a ſtorm. Druman-ard, high-ridge.
+ Cul-min, ſoft-haired. Cull-allin, beautiful locks. Strutha, ſtreamy
+ river.
+ , the ſhield of warriors, ſtood between two chinky rocks. Two oaks, which winds had bent
+ from high, ſpread their branches on either ſide. He rolls his darkening eyes on Fillan, and,
+ ſilent, ſhades his friends. Fingal ſaw the approaching fight. The hero's ſoul aroſe. But as the
+ ſtone of Loda
+
By the ſtone of Loda is meant a place of worſhip among the Scandinavians. The Caledonians in
+ their many expeditions to Orkney and Scandinavia, became acquainted with ſome of the rites of
+ the religion, which prevailed in thoſe countries, and the ancient poetry frequently alludes to
+ them. There are ſome ruins, and circular pales of ſtone, remaining ſtill in Orkney, and the
+ iſlands of Shetland, which retain, to this day, the name of Loda or Loden.
+ They ſeem to have differed materially, in their conſtruction, from thoſe Druidical monuments
+ which remain in Britain, and the weſtern iſles. The places of worſhip among the Scandinavians
+ were originally rude and unadorned. In after ages, when they opened a communication with other
+ nations, they adopted their manners, and built temples. That at Upſal, in Sweden, was amazingly
+ rich and magnificent. Harquin, of Norway, built one, near Drontheim, little inferior to the
+ former; and it went always under the name of Loden. Mallet, introduction a l'hiſtoire de
+ Dannemarc.
+ falls, ſhook,
+
+ at once, from rocking Druman-ard, when ſpirits heave the earth
+ in their wrath ; ſo fell blue-ſhielded Rothmar.
+
Near are the ſteps of Culmin. The youth came, burſting into tears. Wrathful
+ he cut the wind, ere yet he mixed his ſtrokes with Fillan. He had firſt bent the bow with
+ Rothmar, at the rock of his own blue ſtreams. There they had marked the place of the roe, as the
+ ſun-beam flew over the fern. Why, ſon of Cul-allin! Why, Culmin, doſt thou ruſh on that beam
+
The poet, metaphorically, calls Fillan a beam of light. Culmin, mentioned here, was the ſon
+ of Clonmar, chief of Strutha, by the beautiful Cul-allin. She was ſo remarkable for the beauty
+ of her perſon, that ſhe is introduced, frequently, in the ſimilies and alluſions of ancient
+ poetry. Mar Chulaluin Strutha nan ſian ; Lovely as
+ Cul-allin of Strutha of the ſtorms.
+ of light? It is a fire that conſumes. Son of Cul-allin retire. Your fathers were not
+ equal, in the glittering ſtrife of the field. The mother of Culmin remains in the hall. She looks
+ forth on blue-rolling Strutha. A whirlwind riſes, on the ſtream, dark-eddying round the ghoſt of
+ her ſon. His dogs
+
Dogs were thought to be ſenſible of the death of their maſter, let it happen at ever ſo great
+ a diſtance. It was alſo the opinion of the times, that the arms which warriors left at home
+ became bloody, when they themſelves fell in battle. It was from thoſe ſigns that Cul-allin is
+ ſuppoſed to underſtand that her ſon is killed ; in which ſhe is confirmed by the appearance of
+ his ghoſt. Her ſudden and ſhort exclamation is more judicious in the poet, than if ſhe had
+ extended her complaints to a greater length. The attitude of the fallen youth, and Fillan's
+ reflexions over him, come forcibly back on the mind, when we conſider, that the ſuppoſed
+ ſituation of the father of Culmin, was ſo ſimilar to that of Fingal, after the death of Fillan
+ himſelf.
+ are howling
+
+
+ in their place. His ſhield is bloody in the hall. “Art thou
+ fallen, my fair-haired ſon, in Erin's diſmal war ?”
+
As a roe, pierced in ſecret, lies panting, by her wonted ſtreams ; the
+ hunter ſurveys her feet of wind : He remembers her ſtately bounding before. So lay the ſon of
+ Cul-allin, beneath the eye of Fillan. His hair is rolled in a little ſtream. His blood wanders on
+ his ſhield. Still his hand holds the ſword, that failed him in the midſt of danger. “Thou art
+ fallen,” ſaid Fillan, “ere yet thy fame was heard. Thy father ſent thee to war. He expects to
+ hear of thy deeds. He is grey, perhaps, at his ſtreams, His eyes are toward Moi-lena. But thou
+ ſhalt not return, with the ſpoil of the fallen foe !”
+
Fillan pours the flight of Erin before him, over the reſounding heath. But,
+ man on man, fell Morven before the dark-red rage of Foldath : for, far on the field, he poured
+ the roar of half his tribes. Dermid ſtands before him in wrath. The ſons of Selma gathered
+ around.
+
+ But his ſhield is cleft by Foldath. His people fly over the
+ heath.
+
Then ſaid the foe, in his pride, “They have fled. My fame begins! Go,
+ Malthos, go bid Cathmor guard the dark-rolling of ocean ; that Fingal may not eſcape from my
+ ſword. He muſt lie on earth. Beſide ſome fen ſhall his tomb be ſeen. It ſhall
+ riſe without a ſong. His ghoſt ſhall hover, in miſt, over the reedy pool.”
+
Malthos heard, with darkening doubt. He rolled his ſilent eyes. He knew the
+ pride of Foldath. He looked up to Fingal on his hills: then darkly turning, in doubtful mood, he
+ plunged his ſword in war.
+
In Clono's
+
This valley had its name from Clono, ſon of Lethmal of Lora, one of the anceſtors of Dermid,
+ the ſon of Duthno. His hiſtory is thus related in an old poem. In the days of Conar, the ſon of
+ Trenmor, the firſt king of Ireland, Clono paſſed over into that kingdom, from Caledonia, to aid
+ Conar againſt the Fir-bolg. Being remarkable for the beauty of his perſon, he ſoon drew the
+ attention of Sulmin, the young wife of an Iriſh chief. She diſcloſed her paſſion, which was not
+ properly returned by the Caledonian. The lady ſickened, thro' diſappointment, and her love for
+ Clono came to the ears of her huſband. Fired with jealouſy, he vowed revenge. Clono, to avoid
+ his rage, departed from Temora, in order to paſs over into Scotland ; and, being benighted in
+ the valley mentioned, here, he laid him down to ſleep. There Lethmal deſcended in the dreams
+ of Clono, and told him that danger was near.
+
+ Ghoſt of Lethmal.
+
“Ariſe from thy bed of moſs; ſon of low-laid Lethmal, ariſe. The ſound of the coming of
+ foes, deſcends along the wind.
+
+
+ Clono.
+
Whoſe voice is that, like many ſtreams, in the ſeaſon of my reſt ?
+
+
+ Ghoſt of Lethmal.
+
Ariſe, thou dweller of the ſouls of the lovely ; ſon of Lethmal, ariſe,
+
+
+ Clono.
+
How dreary is the night! The moon is darkened in the ſky; red are the paths of ghoſts, along
+ its ſullen face! Green-ſkirted meteors ſet around. Dull is the roaring of ſtreams, from the
+ valley of dim forms. I hear thee, ſpirit of my father, on the eddying courſe of the wind. I
+ hear thee ; but thou bendeſt not, forward, thy tall form, from the ſkirts of night.”
+
+
As Clono prepared to depart, the huſband of Sulmin came up, with his numerous attendants.
+ Clono defended himſelf, but, after a gallant reſiſtance, he was overpowered and ſlain. He was
+ buried in the place where he was killed, and the valley was called after his name. Dermid, in
+ his requeſt to Gaul the ſon of Morni, which immediately follows this paragraph, alludes to the
+ tomb of Clono, and his own connection with that unfortunate chief.
+ narrow vale, where bend two trees above the ſtream, dark, in his grief, ſtood
+
+
+
+ Duthno's ſilent ſon. The blood pours from the ſide of Dermid.
+ His ſhield is broken near. His ſpear leans againſt a ſtone. Why, Dermid, why ſo ſad? “I hear the
+ roar of battle. My
+
+ people are alone. My ſteps are ſlow on the heath; and no
+ ſhield is mine. Shall he then prevail ? It is then after Dermid is ſlow! I will call thee forth,
+ O Foldath, and meet thee yet in fight.”
+
He took his ſpear, with dreadful joy. The ſon of Morni came. “Stay, ſon of
+ Duthno, ſtay thy ſpeed. Thy ſteps are marked with blood. No boſſy ſhield is thine. Why ſhouldſt
+ thou fall unarmed?” “Son of Morni! give thou thy ſhield. It has often rolled back the war. I
+ ſhall ſtop the chief, in his courſe. Son of Morni! behold that ſtone! It lifts its grey head
+ thro' graſs. There dwells a chief of the race of Dermid. Place me there in night.”
+
He ſlowly roſe againſt the hill. He ſaw the troubled field: The gleaming
+ ridges of battle, disjoined and broken round. As diſtant fires, on heath by night, now ſeem as
+ loſt in ſmoak; now rearing their red ſtreams on the hill, as blow or ceaſe the winds : ſo met the
+ intermitting war the eye of broad-ſhielded Dermid. Thro' the hoſt are the ſtrides of Foldath,
+ like ſome dark ſhip on wintry waves, when ſhe iſſues from between two iſles, to ſport on
+ reſounding ocean !
+
Dermid, with rage, beholds his courſe. He ſtrives to ruſh along. But he
+ fails amid his
+
+ ſteps; and the big tear comes down. He ſounds his father's
+ horn. He thrice ſtrikes his boſſy ſhield. He calls thrice the name of Foldath, from his roaring
+ tribes. Foldath, with joy, beholds the chief. He lifts aloft his bloody ſpear. As a rock is
+ marked with ſtreams, that fell troubled down its ſide in a ſtorm; ſo, ſtreaked with wandering
+ blood, is the dark chief of Morna ! The hoſt, on either ſide, withdraw from the contending of
+ kings. They raiſe, at once, their gleaming points. Ruſhing comes Fillan of Selma. Three paces
+ back Foldath withdraws, dazzled with that beam of light, which came, as iſſuing from a cloud, to
+ ſave the wounded chief. Growing in his pride he ſtands. He calls forth all his ſteel.
+
As meet two broad-winged eagles, in their ſounding ſtrife, in winds : ſo
+ ruſh the two chiefs, on Moi-lena, into gloomy fight. By turns are the ſteps of the kings
+
Fingal and Cathmor.
+ forward on their rocks above; for now the duſky war ſeems to deſcend on their ſwords.
+ Cathmor feels the joy of warriors, on his moſſy hill: their joy in ſecret, when dangers rife to
+ match their ſouls. His eye is not turned on Lubar, but on Selma's dreadful king. He beholds him,
+ on Mora, riſing in his arms.
+
+
+
Foldath
+
The fall of Foldath, if we may believe tradition, was predicted to him, before he had left
+ his own country to join Cairbar, in his deſigns on the Iriſh throne. He went to the cave of
+ Morna, to enquire of the ſpirits of his fathers, concerning the ſucceſs of the enterpriſe of
+ Cairbar. The reſponſes of oracles are always attended with obſcurity, and liable to a double
+ meaning: Foldath, therefore, put a favourable interpretation on the prediction, and purſued his
+ adopted plan of aggrandizing himſelf with the family of Atha.
+
+ Foldath, addreſſing the ſpirits of his fathers.
+
Dark, I ſtand in your preſence; fathers of Foldath, hear. Shall my ſteps paſs over Atha, to
+ Ullin of the roes ?
+
+
+ The Anſwer.
+
Thy ſteps ſhall paſs over Atha, to the green dwelling of kings. There ſhall thy ſtature
+ ariſe, over the fallen, like a pillar of thunder-clouds. There, terrible in darkneſs, ſhalt
+ thou ſtand, till the reflected beam, or Clon-cath of Moruth, come; Moruth of
+ many ſtreams, that roars in diſtant lands.”
+
+
Cloncath, or reflected beam, ſay my traditional authors, was the name of the ſword of
+ Fillan; ſo that it was, in the latent ſignification of the word Clonath, that the
+ deception lay. My principal reaſon for introducing this note, is, that this tradition ſerves to
+ ſhew, that the religion of the Fir-bolg differed from that of the Caledonians, as we never find
+ the latter enquiring of the ſpirits of their deceafed anceſtors.
+ falls on his ſhield. The ſpear of Fillan pierced the king. Nor looks the youth on the
+ fallen, but onward rolls the war. The hundred voices of death ariſe. “Stay, ſon of Fingal, ſtay
+ thy ſpeed. Beholdeſt thou not that gleaming form, - a dreadful ſign of death ?
+
+ Awaken not the king of Erin. Return, ſon of blue-eyed
+ Clatho.”
+
Malthos
+
The characters of Foldath and Malthos are ſuſtained. They were both dark and ſurly, but each
+ in a different way. Foldath was impetuous and cruel., Malthos ſtubborn and incredulous. Their
+ attachment to the family of Atha was equal; their bravery in battle the ſame. Foldath was vain
+ and oſtentatious: Malthos unindulgent but generous. His behaviour here, towards his enemy
+ Foldath, ſhews, that a good heart often lies concealed under a gloomy and ſullen character.
+ beholds Foldath low. He darkly ſtands above the chief. Hatred is rolled from his ſoul. He
+ ſeems a rock in a deſart, on whoſe dark ſide are the trickling of waters ; when the ſlow-ſailing
+ miſt has left it, and all its trees are blaſted with winds. He ſpoke to the dying hero, about the
+ narrow houſe. “Whether ſhall thy grey ſtone rife in Ullin, or in Morna's
+
Morna was the name of a country in the ſouth of Connaught, once famous for being the
+ reſidence of an Arch-Druid. The cave of Morna was thought to be inhabited by the ſpirits of the
+ chiefs of the Fir-bolg, and their poſterity ſent to enquire there, as to an oracle, concerning
+ the iſſue of their wars.
+ woody land ? where the ſun looks, in ſecret, on the blue ſtreams of Dalrutho
+
Dal ruäth, parched or ſandy field. The etymology of Dardulena is uncertain. The
+ daughter of Foldath was, probably, ſo called, from a place in Ulſter, where her father had
+ defeated part of the adherents of Artho, king of Ireland, Dor-du lena; the dark wood of
+ Moi-lena. As Foldath was proud and oſtentatious, it would appear, that he transferred the
+ name of a place, where he himſelf had been victorious, to his daughter.
+ ?
+
+
+ There are the ſteps of thy daughter, blue-eyed Dardu-lena
+ !”
+
“Rememberest thou her,” ſaid Foldath, “becauſe no ſon is mine: no youth to
+ roll the battle before him, in revenge of me ? Malthos, I am revenged. I was not peaceful in the
+ field. Raiſe the tombs of thoſe I have ſlain, around my narrow houſe. Often ſhall I forſake the
+ blaſt, to rejoice above their graves; when I behold them ſpread around, with their long-whiſtling
+ graſs.”
+
His ſoul ruſhed to the vale of Morna, to Dardu-lena's dreams, where ſhe
+ ſlept, by Dalrutho's ſtream, returning from the chace of the hinds. Her bow is near the maid,
+ unſtrung. The breezes fold her long hair on her breaſts. Cloathed in the beauty of youth, the
+ love of heroes lay. Dark-bending, from the ſkirts of the wood, her wounded father ſeemed to come.
+ He appeared, at times, then hid himſelf in miſt. Burfting into tears ſhe roſe. She knew that the
+ chief was low. To her came a beam from his ſoul, when folded in its ſtorms.
+
+
+ Thou wert the laſt of his race, O blue-eyed Dardu-lena !
+
Wide-spreading over ecchoing Lubar, the flight of Bolga is rolled along.
+ Fillan hangs forward on their ſteps. He ſtrews, with dead, the heath. Fingal rejoices over his
+ ſon. Blue-ſhielded Cathmor roſe
+
“The ſuſpence, in which the mind of the reader is left here, conveys the idea of Fillan's
+ danger more forcibly home, than any deſcription that could be introduced. There is a ſort of
+ eloquence, in ſilence with propriety. A minute detail of the circumſtances of an important ſcene
+ is generally cold and inſipid. The human mind, free and fond of thinking for itſelf, is
+ diſguſted to find every thing done by the poet. It is, therefore, his buſineſs only to mark the
+ moſt ſtriking out-lines, and to allow the imaginations of his readers to finiſh the figure for
+ themſelves.”
+
The book ends in the afternoon of the third day, from the opening of the poem.
+ .
+
Son of Alpin, bring the harp. Give Fillan's praiſe to the wind. Raiſe high
+ his praiſe, in mine ear, while yet he ſhines in war.
+
“Leave, blue-eyed Clatho, leave thy hall ! Behold that early beam of thine!
+ The hoſt is withered in its courſe. No further look, it is dark. Light-trembling from the harp,
+ ſtrike, virgins, ſtrike the ſound. No hunter he deſcends, from the dewy haunt of the bounding
+ roe. He bends not his bow on the wind ; nor ſends his grey arrow abroad.
+
+
+ Deep-folded in red war! See battle roll
+ againſt his ſide. Striding amid the ridgy ſtrife, he pours the deaths of thouſands forth. Fillan
+ is like a ſpirit of heaven, that deſcends from the ſkirt of winds. The troubled ocean feels his
+ ſteps, as he ſtrides from wave to wave. His path kindles behind him. Iſlands ſhake their heads on
+ the heaving ſeas! Leave, blue-eyed Clatho, leave thy hall!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK VI.
+
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book VI.
+
This book opens with a ſpeech of Fingal, who ſees Cathmor deſcending to the
+ aſſiſtance of his flying army. The king diſpatches Oſſian to the relief of Fillan. He himſelf
+ retires behind the rock of Cormul, to avoid the ſight of the engagement between his ſon and
+ Cathmor. Oſſian advances. The deſcent of Cathmor deſcribed. He rallies the army, renews the
+ battle, and, before Oſſian could arrive, engages Fillan himſelf. Upon the approach of Oſſian, the
+ combat between the two heroes ceaſes. Oſſian and Cathmor prepare to fight, but night coming on
+ prevents them. Oſſian returns to the place where Cathmor and Fillan fought. He finds Fillan
+ mortally wounded, and leaning againſt a rock. Their diſcourſe. Fillan dies: his body is laid, by
+ Oſſian, in a neighbouring cave. The Caledonian army return to Fingal. He queſtions them about his
+ ſon, and, underſtanding that he was killed, retires, in ſilence, to the rock of Cormul. Upon the
+ retreat of the army of Fingal, the Fir-bolg advance. Cathmor finds Bran, one of the dogs of
+ Fingal, lying on the ſhield of Fillan, before the entrance of the cave, where the body of that
+ hero lay. His reflections thereupon. He returns, in a melancholy mood, to his army. Malthos
+ endeavours to comfort him, by the example of his father Borbar-duthal. Cathmor retires to reſt.
+ The ſong of Sul-malla concludes the book, which ends about the middle of the third night, from
+ the opening of the poem.
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK: VI.
+
+
Fingal ſpeaks.
+ “Cathmor riſes on his hill! Shall Fingal take the ſword of Luno? But
+ what ſhould become of thy fame, ſon of white-boſomed Clatho? Turn not thine eyes from Fingal,
+ fair daughter of Iniſtore. I ſhall not quench thy early beam. It ſhines along my ſoul. Riſe,
+ wood-ſkirted Mora, riſe between the war and me! Why ſhould Fingal behold the ſtrife, leſt his
+ dark-haired warrior ſhould fall ! Amidſt the ſong, O Carril, pour the ſound of the trembling
+ harp! Here are the voices of rocks! and there the bright tumbling of waters. Father of Oſcar lift
+ the ſpear ! Defend the young in arms. Conceal thy ſteps from Fillan. He
+
+ muſt not know that I doubt his ſteel. No cloud of mine ſhall
+ riſe, my ſon, upon thy ſoul of fire !”
+
He ſunk behind his rock, amid the ſound of Carril's ſong. Brightening, in my
+ growing ſoul, I took the ſpear of Temora
+
The ſpear of Temora was that which Oſcar had received, in a preſent, from Cormac, the
+ ſon of Artho, king of Ireland. It was of it that Cairbar made the pretext for quarrelling with
+ Oſcar, at the feaſt, in the firſt book.
+ . I ſaw, along Moi-lena, the wild tumbling of battle; the ſtrife of death, in gleaming
+ rows, disjoined and broken round. Fillan is a beam of fire. From wing to wing is his waſteful
+ courſe. The ridges of war melt before him. They are rolled, in ſmoak, from the fields !
+
Now is the coming forth of Cathmor, in the armour of kings! Dark-waves the
+ eagle's wing, above his helmet of fire. Unconcerned are his ſteps, as if they were to the chace
+ of Erin. He raiſes, at times, his terrible voice. Erin, abaſhed, gathers round. Their ſouls
+ return back, like a ſtream. They wonder at the ſteps of their fear. He roſe, like the beam of the
+ morning, on a haunted heath : the traveller looks back, with bending eye, on the field of
+ dreadful forms ! Sudden, from the rock of Moilena, are Sul malla's trembling ſteps. An oak
+
+
+ takes the ſpear from her hand. Half-bent ſhe looſes the
+ lance. But then are her eyes on the king, from amid her wandering locks! No friendly ſtrife is
+ before thee ! No light contending of bows, as when the youth of Inis-huna
+
Clu-ba, winding bay ; an arm of the ſea in Inis-huna, or the weſtern coaſt of
+ South-Britain. It was in this bay that Cathmor was wind-bound when Sul-malla came, in the
+ diſguiſe of a young warrior, to accompany him in his voyage to Ireland. Conmor, the father of
+ Sul-malla, as is inſinuated at the cloſe of the fourth book, was dead before the departure of
+ his daughter.
+ come forth beneath the eye of Conmor !
+
As the rock of Runo, which takes the paſſing clouds as they fly, ſeems
+ growing, in gathered darkneſs, over the ſtreamy heath ; ſo ſeems the chief of Atha taller, as
+ gather his people around. As different blaſts fly over the ſea, each behind its dark-blue wave,
+ ſo Cathmor's words, on every ſide, pour his warriors forth. Nor ſilent on his hill is Fillan. He
+ mixes his words with his ecchoing ſhield. An eagle he ſeemed, with ſounding wings, calling the
+ wind to his rock, when he ſees the coming forth of the roes, on Lutha's
+
Lutha was the name of a valley in Morven. There dwelt Toſcar the ſon of Conloch, the father
+ of Malvina, who, upon that account, is often called the maid of Lutha. Lutha ſignifies
+ ſwift ſtream.
+ ruſhy field !
+
+ Now they bend forward in battle. Death's hundred voices ariſe.
+ The kings, on either ſide, were like fires on the ſouls of the hoſts. Oſſian bounded along. High
+ rocks and trees ruſh tall between the war and me. But I hear the noiſe of ſteel, between my
+ clanging arms. Rifing, gleaming, on the hill, I behold the backward ſteps of hoſts : their
+ backward ſteps, on either ſide, and wildly-looking eyes. The chiefs were met in dreadful fight!
+ The two blue-ſhielded kings! Tall and dark, through gleams of ſteel, are ſeen the ſtriving
+ heroes! I ruſh. My fears for Fillan fly, burning acroſs my ſoul.
+
I come. Nor Cathmor flies; nor yet comes on; he ſidelong ſtalks along. An
+ icy rock, cold, tall he ſeems. I call forth all my ſteel. Silent awhile we ſtride, on either ſide
+ of a ruſhing ſtream : then, ſudden turning, all at once, we raiſe our pointed ſpears! We raiſe
+ our ſpears, but night comes down. It is dark and ſilent round ; but where the diſtant ſteps of
+ hoſts are ſounding over the heath!
+
I come to the place where Fillan fought. Nor voice, nor ſound is there. A
+ broken helmet lies on earth, a buckler cleft in twain. Where, Fillan, where art thou, young chief
+ of ecchoing Morven ? He hears me leaning on a rock,
+
+ which bends its grey head over the ſtream. He hears ; but
+ ſullen, dark he ſtands. At length I ſaw the hero !
+
“Why ſtandeſt thou, robed in darkneſs, ſon of woody Selma ? Bright is thy
+ path, my brother, in this dark-brown field ! Long has been thy ſtrife in battle! Now the horn of
+ Fingal is heard. Aſcend to the cloud of thy father, to his hill of feaſts. In the evening miſt he
+ ſits, and hears the ſound of Carril's harp. Carry joy to the aged, young breakers of the ſhields
+ !”
+
“Can the vanquiſhed carry joy ? Oſſian, no ſhield is mine ! It lies broken
+ on the field. The eagle-wing of my helmet is torn. It is when foes fly before them, that fathers
+ delight in their ſons. But their ſighs burſt forth, in ſecret, when their young warriors yield.
+ No : Fillan ſhall not behold the king! Why ſhould the hero mourn ?”
+
“Son of blue-eyed Clatho! O Fillan, awake not my ſoul ! Wert thou not a
+ burning fire before him ? Shall he not rejoice? Such fame belongs not to Oſſian ; yet is the king
+ ſtill a ſun to me. He looks on my ſteps, with joy. Shadows never riſe on his face. Aſcend, O
+ Fillan, to Mora ! His feaſt is ſpread in the folds of miſt.”
+
“Ossian! give me that broken ſhield : theſe feathers that are rolled in the
+ wind. Place them
+
+ near to Fillan, that leſs of his fame may fall. Oſſian, I
+ begin to fail. Lay me in that hollow rock. Raiſe no ſtone above, left one ſhould aſk about my
+ fame. I am fallen in the firſt of my fields; fallen without renown. Let thy voice alone ſend joy to my flying ſoul. Why ſhould the bard know where dwells the loſt beam of Clatho
+
A dialogue between Clatho the mother and Boſmina, the ſiſter of Fillan.
+
+ Clatho.
+
“Daughter of Fingal, ariſe : thou light between thy locks. Lift thy fair head from reſt,
+ ſoft-gliding ſun-beam of Selma! I beheld thy arms, on thy breaſt, white-toſſed amidſt thy
+ wandering locks: when the ruſtling breeze of the morning came from the deſart of ſtreams. Haſt
+ thou ſeen thy fathers, Bos-mina, deſcending in thy dreams? Ariſe, daughter of Clatho; dwells
+ there aught of grief in thy ſoul ?
+
+
+ Bos-mina.
+
A thin form paſſed before me, fading as it flew: like the darkening wave of a breeze, along a
+ field of graſs. Deſcend, from thy wall, O harp, and call back the ſoul of Bos-mina. It has
+ rolled away, like a ſtream, I hear thy pleaſant ſound. I hear thee, O harp, and my voice ſhall
+ riſe.
+
How often ſhall ye ruſh to war, ye dwellers of my ſoul ? Your paths are diſtant, kings of
+ men, in Erin of blue ſtreams. Lift thy wing, thou ſouthern breeze, from Clono's darkening heath
+ : ſpread the ſails of Fingal towards the bays of his land.
+
But who is that, in his ſtrength, darkening in the preſence of war? His arm ſtretches to the
+ foe, like the beam of the fickly ſun ; when his ſide is cruſted with darkneſs; and he rolls his
+ diſmal courſe through the ſky. Who is it, but the father of Eos-mina ? Shall he return till
+ danger is paſt!
+
Fillan, thou art a beam by his ſide ; beautiful, but terrible, is thy light. Thy ſword is
+ before thee, a blue fire of night. When ſhalt thou return to thy roes; to the ſtreams of thy
+ ruſhy fields? When ſhall I behold thee from Mora, while winds ſtrew my long locks on their
+ blaſts! But ſhall a young eagle return from the field where the heroes fall!
+
+
+ Clatho.
+
Soft, as the ſong of Loda, is the voice of Selma's maid. Pleaſant to the ear of Clatho is
+ the name of the breaker of ſhield. Behold, the king comes from ocean : the ſhield of Morven is
+ borne by bards. The foe has fled before him, like the departure of miſt. I hear not the
+ ſounding wings of my eagle; the ruſhing forth of the ſon of Clatho. Thou art dark, O Fingal ;
+ ſhall the warrior never return? * * *
+
+ !”
+
+
+
+
+
“Is thy ſpirit on the eddying winds, O Fillan, young breaker of ſhield !
+ Joy purſue my hero, through his folded clouds. The forms of thy fathers, O Fillan, bend to
+ receive their ſon. I behold the ſpreading of their fire on Mora : the blue-rolling of their miſty
+ wreaths. Joy meet thee my brother! But we are dark and ſad! I behold the foe round the aged. I
+ behold the waſting away of his fame. Thou art left alone in the field, O grey-haired king of
+ Selma !”
+
I laid him in the hollow rock, at the roar of the nightly ſtream. One red
+ ſtar looked in on the hero. Winds lift, at times, his locks. I liſten. No ſound is heard. The
+ warrior flept ! As lightening on a cloud, a thought came ruſhing along my ſoul. My eyes roll in
+ fire: my
+
+ ſtride was in the clang of ſteel. “I will find thee, king of
+ Erin! in the gathering of thy thouſands find thee. Why ſhould that cloud eſcape, that quenched
+ our early beam? Kindle your meteors on your hills, my fathers. Light my daring ſteps. I will
+ conſume in wrath
+
Here the ſentence is deſignedly left unfiniſhed. The ſenſe is, that he was reſolved, like a
+ deſtroying fire, to conſume Cathmor, who had killed his brother. In the midſt of this
+ reſolution, the ſituation of Fingal ſuggeſts itſelf to him, in a very ſtrong light. He reſolves
+ to return to aſſiſt the king in proſecuting the war. But then his ſhame for not defending his
+ brother, recurs to him. He is determined again to go and find out Cathmor. We may conſider him,
+ as in the act of advancing towards the enemy, when the horn of Fingal ſounded on Mora, and
+ called back his people to his preſence. This ſoliloquy is natural : the reſolutions which ſo
+ ſuddenly follow one another, are expreſſive of a mind extremely agitated with ſorrow and
+ conſcious ſhame ; yet the behaviour of Oſſian, in his execution of the commands of Fingal, is ſo
+ irreprehenſible, that it is not eaſy to determine where he failed in his duty. The truth is,
+ that when men fail in deſigns which they ardently wiſh to accompliſh, they naturally blame
+ themſelves, as the chief cauſe of their diſappointment.
+ . But ſhould not I return ! The king is without a ſon, grey-haired among his foes! His arm
+ is not as in the days of old. His fame grows dim in Erin. Let me not behold him, laid low in his
+ latter field. But can I return to the king ? Will he not aſk about his ſon ? “Thou oughteſt to
+ defend young Fillan.” Oſſian will meet the foe! Green Erin, thy ſounding tread is pleaſant
+
+
+ to my ear. I ruſh on thy ridgy hoſt, to ſhun the eyes of
+ Fingal. I hear the voice of the king, on Mora's miſty top ! He calls his two ſons! I come, my
+ father, in my grief. I come like an eagle, which the flame of night met in the deſart, and
+ ſpoiled of half his wings !”
+
Distant
+
“This ſcene, ſays an ingenious writer, and a good judge, is ſolemn, The poet always places
+ his chief character amidſt objects which favour the ſublime. The face of the country, the night,
+ the broken remains of a defeated army, and, above all, the attitude and ſilence of Fingal
+ himſelf, arc circumſtances calculated to impreſs an awful idea on the mind. Oſſian is moſt
+ ſucceſsful in his night-deſcriptions. Dark images ſuited the melancholy temper of his mind. His
+ poems were all compoſed after the active part of his life was over, when he was blind, and had
+ ſurvived all the companions of his youth : we therefore find a veil of melancholy thrown over
+ the whole.”
+ , round the king, on Mora, the broken ridges of Morven are rolled. They turned their eyes
+ : each darkly bends, on his own aſhen ſpear. Silent ſtood the king in the midſt. Thought on
+ thought rolled over his ſoul. As waves on a ſecret mountain-lake, each with its back of foam. He
+ looked ; no ſon appeared, with his long-beaming ſpear. The ſighs roſe, crowding, from his ſoul ;
+ but he concealed his grief. At length I ſtood beneath an oak. No voice of mine was heard. What
+ could I ſay to Fingal in his hour of woe? His
+
+ words roſe, at length, in the midſt : the people ſhrunk
+ backward as he ſpoke
+
I owe the firſt paragraph of the following note to the ſame pen.
+
The abaſhed behaviour of the army of Fingal proceeds rather from ſhame than fear. The king was
+ not of a tyrannical diſpoſition : He, as he profeſſes himſelf in the fifth book,
+ never was a dreadful form, in their preſence, darkened into wrath. His voice was no thunder
+ to their ears : his eye ſent forth no death. The firſt ages of ſociety are not the times of
+ arbitrary power. As the wants of mankind are few, they retain their independence. It is an
+ advanced ſtate of civilization that moulds the mind to that ſubmiſſion to government, of which
+ ambitious magiſtrates take advantage, and raiſe themſelves into abſolute power.
+
It is a vulgar error, that the common Highlanders lived, in abject ſlavery, under their
+ chiefs. Their high ideas of, and attachment to, the heads of their families, probably, led the
+ unintelligent into this miſtake. When the honour of the tribe was concerned, the commands of the
+ chief were obeyed, without reſtriction : but, if individuals were oppreſſed, they threw
+ themſelves into the arms of a neighbouring clan, aſſumed a new name, and were encouraged and
+ protected. The fear of this deſertion, no doubt, made the chiefs cautious in their government.
+ As their conſequence, in the eyes of others, was in proportion to the number of their people,
+ they took care to avoid every thing that tended to diminiſh it.
+
It was but very lately that the authority of the laws extended to the Highlands. Before that
+ time the clans were governed, in Civil affairs, not by the verbal commands of the chief, but by
+ what they called Clechda, or the traditional precedents of their anceſtors. When
+ differences happened between individuals, ſome of the oldeſt men in the tribe were choſen
+ umpires between the parties, to decide according to the Clechda. The chief interpoſed
+ his authority, and, invariably, enforced the deciſion. In their wars, which were frequent, on
+ account of family-feuds, the chief was leſs reſerved in the execution of his authority ; and
+ even then he ſeldom extended it to the taking the life of any of his tribe. No crime was
+ capital, except murder ; and that was very unfrequent in the Highlands. No corporal puniſhment,
+ of any kind, was inflicted. The memory of an affront of this ſort would remain, for ages, in a
+ family, and they would ſeize every opportunity to be revenged, unleſs it came immediately from
+ the hands of the chief himſelf; in that caſe it was taken, rather as a fatherly correction, than
+ a legal puniſhment for offences.
+ .
+
+
+
+
“Where is the ſon of Selma, he who led in war? I behold not his ſteps, among
+ my people, returning from the field. Fell the young bounding roe, who was ſo ſtately on my hills?
+ He fell; for ye are ſilent. The ſhield of war is cleft in twain, Let his armour be near to Fingal
+ ; and the ſword of dark-brown Luno. I am waked on my hills; with morning I deſcend to war.”
+
High
+
This rock of Cormul is often mentioned in the preceding part of the poem, It was on it Fingal
+ and Oſſian ſtood to view the battle. The cuſtom of retiring from the army, on the night prior to
+ their engaging in battle, was univerſal among the kings of the Caledonians. Trenmor, the moſt
+ renowned of the anceſtors of Fingal, is mentioned as the firſt who inſtituted this cuſtom.
+ Succeeding bards attributed it to a hero of a latter period. In an old poem, which begins with
+ MacArcath na ceud ſról, this cuſtom of retiring from
+ the army, before an engagement, is numbered, among the wiſe inſtitutions of Fergus, the ſon of
+ Arc or Arcath, the firft king of Scots. I ſhall here tranſlate the paſſage; in ſome other note I
+ may probably, give all that remains of the poem. Fergus of the hundred ſtreams, ſon
+ of Arcath who fought of old : thou didſt firſt retire at night: when the foe rolled before thee,
+ in ecchoing fields. Nor bending in reſt is the king : he gathers battles in his ſoul. Fly, ſon
+ of the ſtranger ; with morn he ſhall ruſh abroad. When, or by whom, this poem was
+ written, is uncertain.
+ on Cormul's rock, an oak is flaming to the wind. The grey ſkirts of miſt are rolled
+ around ; thither ſtrode the King in his wrath.
+
+
+ Diſtant from the hoſt he always lay, when battle burnt within
+ his ſoul. On two ſpears hung his ſhield on high ; the gleaming ſign of death ; that ſhield, which
+ he was wont to ſtrike, by night, before he ruſhed to war. It was then his warriors knew, when the
+ king was to lead in ſtrife; for never was this buckler heard, till the wrath of Fingal aroſe.
+ Unequal were his ſteps on high, as he ſhone in the beam of the oak ; he was dreadful as the form
+ of the ſpirit of night, when he cloaths, on hills, his wild geſtures with miſt, and, iſſuing
+ forth, on the troubled ocean, mounts the car of winds.
+
Nor ſettled, from the ſtorm, is Erin's ſea of war! they glitter, beneath the
+ moon, and, low-humming, ſtill roll on the field. Alone are the ſteps of Cathmor, before them on
+ the heath ; he hangs forward, with all his arms, on Morven's flying hoſt. Now had he come to the
+ moſſy cave, where Fillan lay in night. One tree was bent above the ſtream, which glittered over
+ the rock. There ſhone to the moon the broken
+
+ ſhield of Clatho's ſon; and near it, on graſs, lay
+ hairy-footed Bran
+
I remember to have met with an old poem, wherein a ſtory of this ſort is very happily
+ introduced. In one of the invaſions of the Danes, Ullin-clundu, a conſiderable chief, on the
+ weſtern coaſt of Scotland, was killed in a rencounter with a flying party of the enemy, who had
+ landed, at no great diſtance, from the place of his reſidence. The few followers who attended
+ him were alſo ſlain. The young wife of Ullin-clundu, who had not heard of his fall. fearing the
+ worſt, on account of his long delay, alarmed the reſt of his tribe, who went in ſearch of him
+ along the ſhore. They did not find him; and the beautiful widow became diſconſolate. At length
+ he was diſcovered, by means of his dog, who ſat on a rock beſide the body, for ſome days. The
+ ſtanza concerning the dog, whoſe name was Du-chos, or Blackfoot, is deſcriptive.
+
+ “Dark-ſided Du-chos! feet of wind! cold is thy ſeat on rocks. He (the dog) ſees the roe:
+ his ears are high ; and half he bounds away, He looks around ; but Ullin ſleeps; he droops
+ again his head. The winds come paſt ; dark Duchos thinks, that Ullin's voice is there. But
+ ſtill he beholds him ſilent, laid amidſt the waving heath. Dark ſided Duchos, his voice no more
+ ſhall ſend thee over the heath !”
+
+ . He had miſſed the chief on Mora, and ſearched him along the wind. He thought that the
+ blue-eyed hunter ſlept ; he lay upon his ſhield. No blaſt came over the heath, unknown to
+ bounding Bran.
+
Cathmor ſaw the white-breaſted dog; he ſaw the broken ſhield. Darkneſs is
+ blown back on his ſoul; he remembers the falling away of the people. They come, a ſtream ; are
+ rolled away ; another race ſucceeds, “But ſome mark the fields, as they paſs, with their own
+ mighty
+
+ names. The heath, through dark-brown years, is theirs; ſome
+ blue ſtream winds to their fame. Of theſe be the chief of Atha, when he lays him down on earth.
+ Often may the voice of future times meet Cathmor in the air : when he ſtrides from wind to wind,
+ or folds himſelf in the wing of a ſtorm.”
+
Green Erin gathered round the king, to hear the voice of his power. Their
+ joyful faces bend, unequal, forward, in the light of the oak. They who were terrible were removed
+ : Lubar
+
In order to illuſtrate this paſſage, it is proper to lay before the reader the ſcene of the
+ two preceding battles. Beween the hills of Mora and Lona lay the plain of Moi-lena, through
+ which ran the river Lubar. The firſt battle, wherein Gaul, the ſon of Mozni, commanded on the
+ Caledonian ſide, was fought on the banks of Lubar. As there was little advantage obtained, on
+ either ſide, the armies, after the battle, retained their former poſitions.
+
In the ſecond battle, wherein Fillan commanded, the Iriſh after the fall of Foldath, were
+ driven up the hill of Lona; but, upon the coming of Cathmor to their aid, they regained their
+ former ſituation, and drove back the Caledonians, in their turn; ſo that Lubar winded again
+ in their hoſt.
+ winds again in their hoſt. Cathmor was that beam from heaven which ſhone when his people
+ were dark. He was honoured in the midſt. Their ſouls roſe with ardour around. The king alone no
+ gladneſs ſhewed ; no ſtranger he to war !
+
“Why is the king ſo fad,” ſaid Malthos eagle-eyed? “Remains there a foe at
+ Lubar? Lives
+
+ there among them, who can lift the ſpear ? Not ſo peaceful was
+ thy father, Borbar-duthul
+
Borbar-duthul, the father of Cathmor, was the brother of that Colc-ulla, who is ſaid, in the
+ beginning of the fourth book, to have rebelled againſt Cormac king of Ireland. Borbar-duthul
+ ſeems to have retained all the prejudice of his family againſt the ſucceſſion of the poſterity
+ of Conar, on the Iriſh throne. From this ſhort epiſode we learn ſome facts which tend to throw
+ light on the hiſtory of the times. It appears, that, when Swaran invaded Ireland, he was only
+ oppoſed by the Caël, who poſſeſſed Ulſter, and the north of that iſland. Calmar, the ſon of
+ Matha, whoſe gallant behaviour and death are related in the third book of Fingal, was the only
+ chief of the race of the Fir-bolg, that joined the Cael, or Iriſh Caledonians, during the
+ invaſion of Swaran. The indecent joy, which Borbar-duthul expreſſed, upon the death of Calmar,
+ is well ſuited with that ſpirit of revenge, which ſubſiſted, univerſally, in every country where
+ the feudal ſyſtem was eſtabliſhed. It would appear that ſome perſon had carried to Borbar-duthul
+ that weapon, with which, it was pretended, Calmar had been killed.
+ , king of ſpears. His rage was a fire that always burned : his joy over fallen foes was
+ great. Three days feaſted the grey-haired hero, when he heard that Calmar fell : Calmar, who
+ aided the race of Ullin, from Lara of the ſtreams. Often did he feel, with his hands, the ſteel
+ which, they ſaid, had pierced his foe. He felt it, with his hands, for Borbar-duthul's eyes had
+ failed. Yet was the king a ſun to his friends; a gale to lift their branches round. Joy was
+ around him in his halls: he loved the ſons of
+
+ Bolga. His name remains in Atha, like the awful memory of
+ ghoſts, whoſe preſence was terrible, but they blew the ſtorm away. Now let the voices
+
The voices of Erin, a poetical expreſſion for the bards of Ireland.
+ of Erin raiſe the ſoul of the king; he that ſhone when war was dark, and laid the mighty
+ low. Fonar, from that grey browed rock, pour the tale of other times : pour it on wide-ſkirted
+ Erin, as it ſettles round.”
+
“To me,” ſaid Cathmor, “no ſong ſhall riſe ; nor Fonar ſit on the rock of Lubar. The mighty
+ there are laid low. Difturb not their ruſhing ghoſts. Far, Malthos, far remove the ſound of
+ Erin's ſong. I rejoice not over the foe, when he ceaſes to lift the ſpear. With morning we pour
+ our ſtrength abroad. Fingal is wakened on his ecchoing hill.”
+
Like waves, blown back by ſudden winds, Erin retired, at the voice of the
+ king. Deep-rolled into the field of night, they ſpread their humming tribes. Beneath his own
+ tree, at intervals, each
+
Not only the kings, but every petty chief, had anciently their bards attending them, in the
+ field ; and thoſe bards, in proportion to the power of the chiefs, who retained them, had a
+ number of inferior bards in their train. Upon ſolemn occaſions, all the bards, in the army,
+ would join in one chorus; either when they celebrated their victories, or lamented the death of
+ a perſon, worthy and renowned, ſlain in the war. The words were of the compoſition of the
+ arch-bard, retained by the king himſelf, who generally attained to that high office on account
+ of his ſuperior genius for poetry. As the perſons of the bards were ſacred, and the emoluments
+ of their office conſiderable, the order, in ſucceeding times, became very numerous and inſolent.
+ It would appear, that, after the introduction of Chriſtianity, ſome ſerved in the double
+ capacity of bards and clergymen. It was, from this circumſtance, that they had the name of
+ Chlére, which is, probably, derived from the Latin Clericus. The Chlére, be
+ their name derived from what it will, became, at laſt, a public nuiſance; for, taking advantage
+ of their ſacred character, they went about, in great bodies, and lived, at diſcretion, in the
+ houſes of the chiefs ; till another party, of the ſame order, drove them away by mere dint of
+ ſatire. Some of the indelicate diſputes of theſe worthy poetical combatants are handed down, by
+ tradition, and ſhew how much the bards, at laſt, abuſed the privileges, which the admiration of
+ their countrymen had conferred on the order. It was this inſolent behaviour that induced the
+ chiefs to retrench their number, and to take away thoſe privileges which they were no longer
+ worthy to enjoy. Their indolence, and diſpoſition to lampoon, extinguiſhed all the poetical
+ fervour, which diſtinguiſhed their predeceſſors, and makes us the leſs regret the extinction of
+ the order.
+ bard ſat down with his harp.
+
+
+ They raiſed the ſong, and touched the ſtring : each to the
+ chief he loved. Before a burning oak Sul-malla touched, at times, the harp. She touched the harp,
+ and heard, between, the breezes in her hair. In darkneſs near, lay the king of Atha, beneath an
+ aged tree. The beam of the oak was turned from him ; he ſaw the maid, but was not ſeen. His ſoul
+ poured forth,
+
+ in ſecret, when he beheld her fearful eye, “But battle is
+ before thee, ſon of Borbar-duthul.”
+
Amidst the harp, at intervals, ſhe liſtened whether the warrior ſlept. Her
+ ſoul was up; ſhe longed, in ſecret, to pour her own ſad ſong. The field is ſilent. On their
+ wings, the blaſts of night retire. The bards had ceaſed; and meteors came, red-winding with their
+ ghoſts. The ſky grew dark ; the forms of the dead were blended with the clouds. But heedleſs
+ bends the daughter of Conmor, over the decaying flame. Thou wert alone in her ſoul, car-borne
+ chief of Atha. She raiſed the voice of the ſong, and touched the harp between.
+
“Clun-galo
+
Clun galo, the wife of Conmor, king of Inis-huna, and the mother of Sul-maila. She is here
+ repreſented, as miſſing her daughter, after ſhe had fled with Cathmor.
+ came; ſhe miſſed the maid. Where art thou, beam of light ? Hunters, from the moſſy rock,
+ ſaw ye the blue-eyed fair? Are her ſteps on graſſy Lumon ; near the bed of roes? Ah me! I behold
+ her bow in the hall. Where art thou, beam of light ?”
+
“Cease
+
Sul-malla replies to the ſuppoſed queſtions of her mother. Towards the middle of this
+ paragraph ſhe calls Cathmor the ſun of her ſoul, and continues the metaphor throughout.
+ This book ends, we may ſuppoſe, about the middle of the third night, from the opening of the
+ poem.
+ , love of Conmor, ceaſe; I hear thee
+
+ not on the ridgy heath, My eye is turned to the king, whoſe
+ path is terrible in war. He for whom my ſoul is up, in the ſeaſon of my reſt. Deep-boſomed in war
+ he ſtands, he beholds me not from his cloud. Why, ſun of Sulmalla, doſt thou not look forth ? I
+ dwell in darkneſs here; wide over me flies the ſhadowy miſt. Filled with dew are my locks : look
+ thou from thy cloud, O ſun of Sul-malla's ſoul.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK VII.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book VII.
+
This book begins, about the middle of the third night from the opening of
+ the poem. The poet deſcribes a kind of miſt, which roſe, by night, from the lake of Lego, and was
+ the uſual reſidence of the ſouls of the dead, during the interval between their deceaſe and the
+ funeral ſong. The appearance of the ghoſt of Fillan above the cave where his body lay. His voice
+ comes to Fingal, on the rock of Cormul. The king ſtrikes the ſhield of Trenmor, which was an
+ infallible ſign of his appearing in arms himſelf. The extraordinary effect of the ſound of the
+ ſhield. Sul-malla, ſtarting from ſleep, awakes Cathmor. Their affecting diſcourſe, She inſiſts
+ with him, to ſue for peace ; he reſolves to continue the war, He directs her to retire to the
+ neighbouring valley of Lona which was the reſidence of an old Druid, until the battle of the next
+ day ſhould be over. He awakes his army with the ſound of his ſhield. The ſhield deſcribed. Fonar,
+ the bard, at the deſire of Cathmor, relates the firſt ſettlement of the Fir-bolg in Ireland,
+ under their leader Larthon. Morning comes. Sul-malla retires, to the valley of Lona. A Lyric ſong
+ concludes the book.
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK VII.
+
From the wood-ſkirted waters of Lego, aſcend at times, grey-boſomed miſts ;
+ when the gates of the weſt are cloſed, on the ſun's eagle-eye. Wide, over Lara's ſtream, is
+ poured the vapour dark and deep: the moon, like a dim ſhield, is ſwimming thro' its folds. With
+ this, clothe the ſpirits of old their ſudden geſtures on the wind, when they ſtride, from blaſt
+ to blaſt, along the duſky night. Often, blended with the gale, to ſome warrior's grave
+
As the miſt, which roſe from the lake of Lego, occaſioned diſeaſes and death, the bards
+ feigned that it was the reſidence of the ghoſts of the deceaſed, during the interval between
+ their death, and the pronouncing of the funeral elegy over their tombs ; for it was not
+ allowable, without that ceremony was performed, for the ſpirits of the dead to mix with their
+ anceſtors, in their airy halls. It was the buſineſs of the ſpirit of the neareſt
+ relation to the deceaſed, to take the miſt of Lego, and pour it over the grave. We find here
+ Conar, the ſon of Trenmor, the firſt king of Ireland, performing this office for Fillan, as it
+ was in the cauſe of the family of Conar, that that hero was killed,
+ , they
+
+
+ roll the miſt, a grey dwelling to his ghoſt, until the ſongs
+ ariſe.
+
A sound came from the deſart ; it was Conar, king of Inis-fail. He poured
+ his miſt on the grave of Fillan, at blue-winding Lubar. Dark and mournful ſat the ghoſt, in his
+ grey ridge of ſmoak. The blaſt, at times, rolled him together : but the form returned again. It
+ returned with bending eyes, and dark winding of locks of miſt.
+
It was
+
The following is the ſingular ſentiment of a frigid bard : “More pleaſing to me is the
+ night of Cona, dark-ſtreaming from Oſſian's harp; more pleaſant it is to me, than a white
+ boſomed dweller between my arms; than a fair-handed daughter of heroes, in the hour of
+ reſt.”
+
Tho' tradition is not very ſatisfactory concerning the hiſtory of this poet, it has taken care
+ to inform us, that he was very old when he wrote the diſtich, a circumſtance, which we
+ might have ſuppoſed, without the aid of tradition.
+ dark. The ſleeping hoſt were ſtill, in the ſkirts of night. The flame decayed, on the
+ hill of Fingal; the king lay lonely on his ſhield. His eyes were half-cloſed in ſleep ; the voice
+ of Fillan came. “Sleeps the huſband of
+
+ Clatho ? Dwells the father of the fallen in reſt ? Am I
+ forgot in the folds of darkneſs; lonely in the ſeaſon of night ?”
+
“Why doſt thou mix, ſaid the king, with the dreams of thy father? Can I
+ forget thee, my ſon, or thy path of fire in the field ? Not ſuch come the deeds of the valiant on
+ the ſoul of Fingal. They are not there a beam of lightning, which is ſeen, and is then no more. I
+ remember thee, O Fillan, and my wrath begins to riſe.”
+
The king took his deathful ſpear, and ſtruck the deeply-ſounding ſhield :
+ his ſhield that hung high in night, the diſmal ſign of war ! Ghoſts fled on every ſide, and
+ rolled their gathered forms on the wind. Thrice from the winding vale aroſe the voice of deaths.
+ The harps
+
It was the opinion of ancient times, that, on the night preceding the death of a perſon
+ worthy and renowned, the harps of thoſe bards, who were retained by his family, emitted
+ melancholy ſounds. This was attributed to the light touch of ghofts; who were ſuppofed
+ to have a fore-knowlege of events. The ſame opinion prevailed long in the north, and the
+ particular ſound was called, the warning voice of the dead. The voice of
+ death, mentioned in the preceding ſentence, was of a different kind. Each perſon was
+ ſuppoſed to have an attendant ſpirit, who aſſumed his form and voice, on the night preceding his
+ death, and appeared, to ſome, in the attitude, in which the perſon was to die. The voices of death were the foreboding ſhrieks of thoſe ſpirits.
+ of the bards, untouched, ſound mournful over the hill.
+
+
+ He ſtruck again the ſhield; battles roſe in
+ the dreams of his hoſt. The wide-tumbling ſtrife is gleaming over their ſouls. Blue-ſhielded
+ kings deſcend to war. Backward-looking armies fly; and mighty deeds are half-hid, in the bright
+ gleams of ſteel.
+
But when the third ſound aroſe, deer ſtarted from the clefts of their rocks.
+ The ſcreams of fowl are heard, in the deſart, as each flew, frighted on his blaſt. The ſons of
+ Selma half-roſe, and half-aſſumed their ſpears. But ſilence rolled back on the hoſt: they knew
+ the ſhield of the king. Sleep returned to their eyes; the field was dark and ſtill.
+
No ſleep was thine in darkneſs, blue-eyed daughter of Conmor! Sul-malla heard the dreadful
+ ſhield, and roſe, amid the night. Her ſteps are towards the king of Atha. “Can danger ſhake his
+ daring ſoul !” In doubt, ſhe ſtands, with bending eyes. Heaven burns with all its ſtars.
+
Again the ſhield reſounds ! She ruſhed. She ſtopt. Her voice half-roſe. It
+ failed. She ſaw him, amidſt his arms, that gleamed to heaven's fire. She ſaw him dim in his
+ locks, that roſe to nightly wind. Away, for fear, ſhe turned her ſteps. “Why ſhould the king of
+ Erin
+
+ awake? Thou art not a dream to his reſt, daughter of
+ Inis-huna.”
+
More dreadful rings the ſhield. Sul-malla ſtarts. Her helmet falls.
+ Loud-ecchoes Lubar's rock, as over it rolls the ſteel. Burſting from the dreams of night, Cathmor
+ half-roſe, beneath his tree. He ſaw the form of the maid, above him, on the rock. A red ſtar,
+ with twinkling beam, looked thro' her floating hair.
+
“Who comes thro' night to Cathmor, in the ſeaſon of his dreams? Bring'ſt
+ thou ought of war? Who art thou, ſon of night? Stand'ſt thou before me, a form of the times of
+ old? A voice from the fold of a cloud, to warn me of the danger of Erin ?”
+
“Nor lonely ſcout am I, nor voice from folded cloud,” the ſaid ; “but I warn
+ thee of the danger of Erin. Doſt thou hear that ſound ? It is not the feeble, king of Atha, that
+ rolls his ſigns on night.”
+
“Let the warrior roll his ſigns,” he replied; “to Cathmor they are the
+ ſounds of harps. My joy is great, voice of night, and burns over all my thoughts. This is the
+ muſic of kings, on lonely hills, by night; when they light their daring ſouls, the ſons of mighty
+ deeds! The feeble dwell alone, in the valley of the breeze ; where miſts
+
+
+ lift their morning ſkirts, from the blue-winding ſtreams.”
+
“Not feeble, king of men, were they, the fathers of my race. They dwelt in
+ the folds of battle, in their diſtant lands. Yet delights not my ſoul, in the ſigns of death! He
+
Fingal is ſaid to have never been overcome in battle. From this proceeded that title of
+ honour which is always beſtowed on him in tradition, Fion gal na
+ buai', Fingal of victories. In a poem, juſt now in my hands,
+ which celebrates ſome of the great actions of Arthur the famous Britiſh hero, that appellation
+ is often beſtowed on him. The poem, from the phraſeology, appears to be ancient; and is,
+ perhaps, tho' that is not mentioned, a tranſlation from the Welſh language.
+ , who never yields, comes forth : O ſend the bard of peace !”
+
Like a dropping rock, in the deſart, ſtood Cathmor in his tears. Her voice
+ came, a breeze, on his ſoul, and waked the memory of her land ; where ſhe dwelt by her peaceful
+ ſtreams, before he came to the war of Conmor.
+
“Daughter of ſtrangers,” he ſaid ; (ſhe trembling turned away) “long have I
+ marked thee in thy ſteel, young pine of Inis-huna. But my ſoul, I ſaid, is folded in a ſtorm. Why
+ ſhould that beam ariſe, till my ſteps return in peace? Have I been pale in thy preſence, as thou
+ bidſt me to fear the king? The time of
+
+ danger, O maid, is the ſeaſon of my ſoul; for then it
+ ſwells, a mighty ſtream, and rolls me on the foe.”
+
“Beneath the moſs-covered rock of Lona, near his own loud ſtream ; grey in
+ his locks of age, dwells Clonmal
+
Claon-mal, crooked eye brow. From the retired life of this perſon, is inſinuated,
+ that he was of the order of the Druids; which ſuppoſition is not, at all, invalidated by the
+ appellation of king of harps, here beſtowed on him ; for all agree that the bards were
+ of the number of the Druids originally.
+ king of harps. Above him is his ecchoing tree, and the dun bounding of roes. The noiſe of
+ our ſtrife reaches his ear, as he bends in the thoughts of years. There let thy reſt be,
+ Sul-malla, until our battle ceaſe. Until I return, in my arms, from the ſkirts of the evening
+ miſt, that riſes, on Lona, round the dwelling of my love.”
+
A light fell on the ſoul of the maid ; it roſe kindled before the king. She
+ turned her face to Cathmor, from amidſt her waving locks.“Sooner ſhall the eagle of heaven be
+ torn, from the ſtream of his roaring wind, when he ſees the dun prey, before him, the young ſons
+ of the bounding roe, than thou, O Cathmor, be turned from the ſtrife of renown. Soon may I ſee
+ thee, warrior, from the ſkirts of the evening
+
+ miſt, when it is rolled around me, on Lona of the ſtreams.
+ While yet thou art diſtant far, ſtrike, Cathmor, ſtrike the ſhield, that joy may return to my
+ darkened ſoul, as I lean on the moſſy rock. But if thou ſhouldſt fall, I am in the land of
+ ſtrangers; O ſend thy voice, from thy cloud, to the maid of Inis-huna.”
+
“Young branch of green-headed Lumon, why doſt thou ſhake in the ſtorm? Often
+ has Cathmor returned, from darkly-rolling wars. The darts of death are but hail to me ; they have
+ often rattled along my ſhield. I have riſen brightened from battle, like a meteor from a ſtormy
+ cloud. Return not, fair beam, from thy vale, when the roar of battle grows. Then might the foe
+ eſcape, as from my fathers of old.”
+
“They told to Son-mor
+
Són-mor, tall handſome man. He was the father of Borbar-duthal, chief of Atha, and
+ grandfather to Cathmor himſelf.
+ , of Clunar
+
Cluan-er, man of the field. This chief was killed in battle by Cormac Mac-Conar,
+ king of Ireland, the father of Ros-crana, the firſt wife of Fingal. The ſtory is alluded to in
+ ſome ancient poems.
+ , who was ſlain by Cormac in fight. Three days darkened Son-mor, over his brother's fall.
+ His ſpouſe beheld the ſilent king, and foreſaw his ſteps to war. She prepared the bow, in ſecret,
+
+
+ to attend her blue-ſhielded hero. To her dwelt darkneſs, at
+ Atha, when he was not there. From their hundred ſtreams, by night, poured down the ſons of
+ Alnecma. They had heard the ſhield of the king, and their rage aroſe. In clanging arms, they
+ moved along, towards Ullin of the groves. Son-mor ſtruck his ſhield, at times, the leader of the
+ war.”
+
“Far behind followed Sul-allin
+
Suil-alluin, beautiful. the wife of Son-mor.
+ , over the ſtreamy hills. She was a light on the mountain, when they croſſed the vale
+ below. Her ſteps were ſtately on the vale, when they roſe on the moſſy hill. She feared to
+ approach the king, who left her in ecchoing Atha. But when the roar of battle roſe; when hoſt was
+ rolled on hoſt; when Son-mor burnt, like the fire of heaven in clouds, with her ſpreading hair
+ came Sul-allin; for ſhe trembled for her king. He ſtopt the ruſhing ſtrife to ſave the love of
+ heroes. The foe fled by night ; Clunar ſlept without his blood ; the blood which ought to be
+ poured upon the warrior's tomb.”
+
“Nor roſe the rage of Son-mor, but his days were ſilent and dark. Sul-allin
+ wandered, by her grey ſtreams, with her tearful eyes. Often did ſhe look, on the hero, when he
+ was folded
+
+ in his thoughts. But ſhe ſhrunk from his eyes, and turned her
+ lone ſteps away. Battles roſe, like a tempeſt, and drove the miſt from his ſoul. He beheld, with
+ joy, her ſteps in the hall, and the white riſing of her hands on the harp.”
+
To avoid multiplying notes, I ſhall give here the ſignification of the names of the ſtars,
+ engraved on the ſhield, Ceanmathon, head of the bear. Col-derna, ſlant and ſharp
+ beam. Ul oicho, ruler of night. Cathlin, beam of the wave. Reul-durath,
+ ſtar of the twilight. Berthin, fire of the hill. Ton-théna, meteor of the
+ waves. Theſe etymologies, excepting that of Ceanmathon, are pretty exact. Of it I am not ſo
+ certain ; for it is not very probable, that the Firbolg had diſtinguiſhed a conſtellation, ſo
+ very early as the days of Larthon, by the name of the bear.
+ In his arms ſtrode the chief of Atha, to where his ſhield hung, high,
+ in night : high on a moſſy bough, over Lubar's ſtreamy roar. Seven boſſes roſe on the ſhield; the
+ ſeven voices of the king, which his warriors received, from the wind, and marked over all their
+ tribes.
+
On each boſs is placed a ſtar of night; Canmathon with beams unſhorn ;
+ Col-derna rifing from a cloud : Uloicho robed in miſt; and the ſoft beam of Caitlin glittering on
+ a rock. Smiling, on its own blue wave, Reldurath half-ſinks its weſtern light. The red eye of
+ Berthin looks, thro' a grove, on the hunter, as he returns, by night, with the ſpoils of the
+
+
+ bounding roe. Wide, in the midſt, aroſe the cloudleſs beams
+ of Ton-thena, that ſtar which looked, by night, on the courſe of the ſea-toſſed Larthon :
+ Larthon, the firſt of Bolga's race, who travelled on the winds
+
To travel on the wings, a poetical expreſſion for ſailing.
+ . White-boſomed ſpread the ſails of the king, towards ſtreamy Inis-fail ; dun night was
+ rolled before him, with its ſkirts of miſt. Unconſtant blew the winds, and rolled him from wave
+ to wave. Then roſe the fiery-haired Ton-thena, and ſmiled from her parted cloud. Larthon
+
Larthon is compounded of Lear, ſea, and thon, wave. This name was given to
+ the chief of the firſt colony of the Firbolg, who ſettled in Ireland, on account of his knowlege
+ in navigation. A part of an old poem is ſtill extant, concerning this hero. It abounds with
+ thoſe romantic fables of giants and magicians, which diſtinguiſhed the compoſitions of the leſs
+ ancient bards. The deſcriptions, contained in it, are ingenious, and proportionable to the
+ magnitude of the perſons introduced ; but, being unnatural, they are inſipid and tedious. Had
+ the bard kept within the bounds of probability, his genius was far from being contemptible. The
+ exordium of his poem is not deſtitute of merit; but it is the only part of it, that I think
+ worthy of being preſented to the reader.
+
+ “Who firſt ſent the black ſhip, thro' ocean, like a whale thro' the burſting of foam?
+ Look, from thy darkneſs, on Cronath, Oſſian of the harps of old! Send thy light on the
+ blue-rolling waters, that I may behold the king. I ſee him dark in his own ſhell of oak!
+ ſea-toſſed Larthon, thy ſoul is ſtrong. It is careleſs as the wind of thy ſails; as the wave
+ that rolls by thy ſide. But the ſilent green iſle is before thee, with its ſons, who are tall
+ as woody Lumon ; Lumon which ſends, from its top, a thouſand ſtreams, white-wandering down its
+ ſides.”
+
+
It may, perhaps, be for the credit of this bard, to tranſlate no more of this poem, for the
+ continuation of his deſcription of the Iriſh giants betrays his want of judgment.
+ bleſſed the well-known beam, as it ſaint-gleamed on the deep.
+
+
+
+ Beneath the ſpear of Cathmor, roſe that
+ voice which awakes the bards. They came, dark-winding, from every ſide; each with the ſound of
+ his harp. Before them rejoiced the king, as the traveller, in the day of the ſun; when he hears,
+ far-roiling around, the murmur of moſſy ſtreams ; ſtreams that burſt, in the deſart, from the
+ rock of roes.
+
“Why,” ſaid Fonar, “hear we the voice of the king, in the ſeaſon of his
+ reſt? Were the dim forms of thy fathers bending in thy dreams ? Perhaps they ſtand on that cloud,
+ and wait for Fonar's ſong; often they come to the fields where their ſons are to lift the ſpear.
+ Or ſhall our voice ariſe for him who lifts the ſpear no more; he that conſumed the field, from
+ Morna of the groves ?”
+
“Not forgot is that cloud in war, bard of other times. High ſhall his tomb
+ rife, on Moi-lena, the dwelling of renown. But, now,
+
+ roll back my ſoul to the times of my fathers : to the years
+ when firſt they roſe, on Inis-huna's waves. Nor alone pleaſant to Cathmor is the remembrance of
+ wood-covered Lumon. Lumon of the ſtreams, the dwelling of white-boſomed maids.”
+
Lumon was a hill, in Inis-huna, near the reſidence of Sul-malla. This epiſode has an
+ immediate connection with what is ſaid of Larthon, in the deſcription of Cathmor's ſhield.
+ Lumon of the ſtreams, thou riſeſt on Fonar's ſoul ! Thy ſun is on thy
+ ſide, on the rocks of thy bending trees. The dun roe is ſeen from thy furze ; the deer lifts his
+ branchy head; for he ſees, at times, the hound, on the half-covered heath. Slow, on the vale, are
+ the ſteps of maids; the white-armed daughters of the bow : they lift their blue eyes to the hill,
+ from amidſt their wandering locks. Not there is the ſtride of Larthon, chief of Inis-huna. He
+ mounts the wave on his own dark oak, in Cluba's ridgy bay. That oak which he cut from Lumon, to
+ bound along the ſea. The maids turn their eyes away, leſt the king ſhould be lowly-laid ; for
+ never had they ſeen a ſhip, dark rider of the wave !”
+
“Now he dares to call the winds, and to mix with the miſt of ocean. Blue Inis-fail roſe, in
+
+
+ ſmoak; but dark-ſkirted night came down. The ſons of Bolga
+ feared. The fiery haired Ton-théna roſe. Culbin's bay received the ſhip, in the boſom of its
+ ecchoing woods. There, iſſued a ſtream, from Duthuma's horrid cave; where ſpirits gleamed, at
+ times, with their half-finiſhed forms.”
+
“Dreams deſcended on Larthon : he ſaw ſeven ſpirits of his fathers. He heard
+ their half-formed words, and dimly beheld the times to come. He beheld the kings of Atha, the
+ ſons of future days. They led their hoſts, along the field, like ridges of miſt, which winds
+ pour, in autumn, over Atha of the groves.”
+
“Larthon raiſed the hall of Samla
+
Samla, apparitions, ſo called from the viſion of Larthon, concerning his poſterity.
+
+ , to the muſic of the harp. He went forth to the roes of Erin, to their wonted ſtreams.
+ Nor did he forget green-headed Lumon ; he often bounded over his ſeas, to where white-handed Flathal
+
Flathal, heavenly, exquiſitely beautiful. She was the wife of Larthon.
+ looked from the hill of roes. Lumon of the foamy ſtreams, thou riſeſt on Fonar's ſoul
+ !”
+
Morning pours from the eaſt. The miſty heads of the mountains riſe. Valleys
+ ſhew, on
+
+ every ſide, the grey-winding of their ſtreams. His hoſt
+ heard the ſhield of Cathmor : at once they roſe around ; like a crowded ſea, when firſt it feels
+ the wings of the wind. The waves know not whither to roll; they lift their troubled heads.
+
Sad and ſlow retired Sul-malla to Lona of the ſtreams. She went, and often
+ turned ; her blue eyes rolled in tears. But when ſhe came to the rock, that darkly-covered Lona's
+ vale : ſhe looked, from her burſting ſoul, on the king ; and ſunk, at once, behind,
+
Son of Alpin, ſtrike the ſtring. Is there aught of joy in the harp? Pour it
+ then on the ſoul of Oſſian : it is folded in miſt, I hear thee, O bard, in my night. But ceaſe
+ the lightly-trembling ſound. The joy of grief belongs to Oſſian, amidſt his dark-brown years.
+
Green thorn of the hill of ghoſts, that ſhakeſt thy head to nightly winds! I
+ hear no ſound in thee; is there no ſpirit's windy ſkirt now ruſtling in thy leaves ? Often are
+ the ſteps of the dead, in the dark-eddying blaſts; when the moon, a dun ſhield, from the eaſt, is
+ roiled along the ſky.
+
Ullin, Carril, and Ryno, voices of the days of old! Let me hear you, while
+ yet it is
+
+ dark, to pleaſe and awake my ſoul. I hear you not, ye ſons
+ of ſong. in what hall of the clouds is your reſt? Do you touch the ſhadowy harp, robed with
+ morning miſt, where the ruſtling ſun comes forth from his green-headed waves ?
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK VIII.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT to Book VIII.
+
The fourth morning, from the opening of the poem, comes on. Fingal, ſtill continuing in the
+ place, to which he had retired on the preceding night, is ſeen, at intervals, thro' the miſt,
+ which covered the rock of Cormul. The deſcent of the king is deſcribed. He orders Gaul, Dermid,
+ and Carril the bard, to go to the valley of Cluna, and conduct, from thence, to the Caledonian
+ army, Ferad-artho, the ſon of Cairbre, the only perſon remaining of the family of Conar, the
+ firſt king of Ireland. The king takes the command of the army, and prepares for battle. Marching
+ towards the enemy, he comes to the cave of Lubar, where the body of Fillan lay. Upon ſeeing his
+ dog Bran, who lay at the entrance of the cave, his grief returns. Cathmor arranges the Iriſh army
+ in order of battle. The appearance of that hero. The general conflict is deſcribed. The actions
+ of Fingal and Cathmor. A ſtorm. The total rout of the Firbolg. The two kings engage, in a column
+ of miſt, on the banks of Lubar. Their attitude and conference after the combat. The death of
+ Cathmor. Fingal reſigns the ſpear of Trenmor to Oſſian. The ceremonies obſerved on that
+ occaſion. The ſpirit of Cathmor, in the mean time, appears to Sul-malla, in the valley of Lona.
+ Her ſorrow. Evening comes on. A feaſt is prepared. The coming of Ferad-artho is announced by the
+ ſongs of a hundred bards. The poem cloſes, with a ſpeech of Fingal.
+
+
+
+
+
+ TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM. BOOK VIII.
+
As when the wintry winds have ſeized the waves of the mountain-lake, have
+ ſeized them, in ſtormy night, and cloathed them over with ice; white, to the hunter's early eye,
+ the billows ſtill ſeem to roll. He turns his ear to the ſound of each unequal ridge. But each is
+ ſilent, gleaming, ſtrewn with boughs and tufts of graſs, which ſhake and whiſtle to the wind,
+ over their grey ſeats of froſt. So ſilent ſhone to the morning the ridges of Morven's hoſt, as
+ each warrior looked up from his helmet towards the hill of the king; the cloud-covered hill of
+ Fingal, where he ſtrode, in the folds of miſt. At times is the hero ſeen, greatly dim in all his
+ arms.
+
+ From thought to thought rolled the war, along his mighty
+ ſoul.
+
Now is the coming forth of the king. Firſt appeared the ſword of Luno; the
+ ſpear half iſſuing from a cloud, the ſhield ſtill dim in miſt. But when the ſtride of the king
+ came abroad, with all his grey, dewy locks in the wind ; then roſe the ſhouts of his hoſt over
+ every moving tribe. They gathered, gleaming, round, with all their ecchoing ſhields. So riſe the
+ green ſeas round a ſpirit, that comes down from the ſqually wind. The traveller hears the ſound
+ afar, and lifts his head over the rock. He looks on the troubled bay, and thinks he dimly ſees
+ the form. The waves ſport, unwieldy, round, with all their backs of foam.
+
Far-distant ſtood the ſon of Morni, Duthno's race, and Cona's bard. We ſtood
+ far-diſtant ; each beneath his tree. We ſhunned the eyes of the king; we had not conquered in the
+ field. A little ſtream rolled at my feet: I touched its light wave, with my ſpear. I touched it
+ with my ſpear; nor there was the ſoul of Oſſian. It darkly roſe, from thought to thought, and
+ ſent abroad the ſigh.
+
“Son of Morni,” ſaid the king, “Dermid, hunter of roes ! why are ye dark,
+ like two rocks, each with its trickling waters? No wrath gathers
+
+ on Fingal's ſoul, againſt the chiefs of men. Ye are my
+ ſtrength in battle; the kindling of my joy in peace. My early voice has been a pleaſant gale to
+ your ears, when Fillan prepared the bow. The ſon of Fingal is not here, nor yet the chace of the
+ bounding roes. But why ſhould the breakers of ſhields ſtand, darkened, far away ?”
+
Tall they ſtrode towards the king ; they ſaw him turned to Mora's wind. His
+ tears came down, for his blue-eyed ſon, who ſlept in the cave of ſtreams. But he brightened
+ before them, and ſpoke to the broad-ſhielded kings.
+
“Crommal, with woody rocks, and miſty top, the field of winds, pours forth,
+ to the fight, blue Lubar's ſtreamy roar. Behind it rolls clear-winding Lavath, in the ſtill vale
+ of deer. A cave is dark in a rock ; above it ſtrong-winged eagles dwell; broad-headed oaks,
+ before it, ſound in Cluna's wind. Within, in his locks of youth, is Ferad-artho
+
Ferad-artho was the ſon of Cairbar Mac-Cormac king of Ireland. He was the only one remaining
+ of the race of Conar, the ſon of Trenmor, the firſt Iriſh monarch, according to Oſſian. In order
+ to make this paſſage thoroughly underſtood, it may not be improper to recapitulate ſome part of
+ what has been ſaid in preceding notes. Upon the death of Conar the ſon of Trenmor, his ſon
+ Cormac ſucceeded on the Irifh throne. Cormac reigned long. His children were, Cairbar, who
+ ſucceeded him, and Ros-crana, the firſt wife of Fingal. Cairbar, long before the death of his
+ father Cormac, had taken to wife Bos-gala, the daughter of Colgar, one of the moſt powerful
+ chiefs in Connaught, and had, by her, Artho, afterwards king of ſreland. Soon after Artho
+ arrived at man's eſtate, his mother Bos-gala died, and Cairbar married Beltanno, the daughter of
+ Conachar of Ullin, who brought him a ſon, whom he called Ferad artho, i. e. a man in the
+ place of Artho. The occaſion of the name was this. Artho, when his brother was born, was
+ abſent, on an expedition, in the ſouth of Ireland. A falſe report was brought to his father,
+ that he was killed. Cairbar, to uſe the words of a poem on the ſubject, darkened
+ for his fair-haired ſon. He turned to the young beam of light, the ſon of Baltanno of Conachar.
+ Thou ſhalt be Farad-artho, he ſaid, a fire before thy race. Cairbar, ſoon after, died, nor
+ did Artho long ſurvive him. Artho was ſucceeded, in the Iriſh throne, by his ſon Cormac, who, in
+ his minority, was murdered by Cairbar, the ſon of Borbar-duthul. Ferad-artho, ſays tradition,
+ was very young, when the expedition of Fingal, to ſettle him on the throne of Ireland, happened.
+ During the ſhort reign of young Cormac, Feradartho lived at the royal reſidence of Temora. Upon
+ the murder of the king, Condan, the bard, conveyed Ferad-artho, privately, to the cave of Cluna,
+ behind the mountain Crommal, in Ulſter, where they both lived concealed, during the uſurpation
+ of the family of Atha. A late bard has delivered the whole hiſtory, in a poem juſt now in my
+ poſſeſſion. It has little merit, if we except the ſcene between Ferad-artho, and the meſſengers
+ of Fingal, upon their arrival, in the valley of Cluna. After hearing of the great actions of
+ Fingal, the young prince propoſes the following queſtions concerning him, to Gaul and Dermid,
+ “Is the king tall as the rock of my cave? Is his ſpear a fir of Cluna ? Is he a rough-winged
+ blaſt, on the mountain, which takes the green oak by the head, and tears it from its hill?
+ Glitters Lubar within his ſtride, when he ſends his flately ſteps along. Nor is he tall, ſaid
+ Gaul, as that rock: nor glitter ſtreams within his ſtrides, but his ſoul is a mighty flood, like
+ the ſtrength of Ullin's ſeas.”
+ , blue-eyed king, the ſon
+
+
+ of broad-ſhielded Cairbar, from Ullin of the roes. He liſtens
+ to the voice of Condan, as, grey, he bends in feeble light. He liſtens, for his foes dwell in the
+ ecchoing halls of Temora.
+
+
+ He comes, at times, abroad, in the ſkirts of miſt, to
+ pierce the bounding roes. When the ſun looks on the field, nor by the rock; nor ſtream, is he! He
+ ſhuns the race of Bolga, who dwell in his father's hall. Tell him, that Fingal lifts the ſpear,
+ and that his foes, perhaps, may fail.”
+
“Lift up, O Gaul, the ſhield before him. Stretch, Dermid, Temora's ſpear. Be
+ thy voice in his ear, O Carril, with the deeds of his fathers. Lead him to green Moi-lena, to the
+ duſky field of ghoſts; for there, I fall forward, in battle, in the folds of war. Before dun
+ night deſcends, come to high Dunmora's top. Look, from the grey ſkirts of miſt, on Lena of the
+ ſtreams. If there my ſtandard ſhall float on wind, over Lubar's gleaming ſtream, then has not
+ Fingal failed in the laſt of his fields.”
+
Such were his words; nor aught replied the ſilent, ſtriding kings. They
+ looked ſide-long, on Erin's hoſt, and darkened, as they went. Never before had they left the
+ king, in the midſt of the ſtormy field. Behind them, touching at
+
+ times his harp, the grey-haired Carril moved. He foreſaw the
+ fall of the people, and mournful was the ſound! It was like a breeze that comes, by fits, over
+ Lego's reedy lake ; when ſleep half-deſcends on the hunter, within his moſſy cave. “Why bends the bard of Cona,” ſaid Fingal, “over his ſecret ſtream ? Is this a time for
+ ſorrow, father of low-laid Oſcar? Be the warriors
+
Malvina is ſuppoſed to ſpeak the following ſoliloquy.
+
+
“Malvina is like the bow of the ſhower, in the ſecret valley of ſtreams; it is bright, but
+ the drops of heaven are rolling on its blended light. They ſay, that I am fair within my locks,
+ but, on my brightneſs, is the wandering of tears. Darkneſs flies over my ſoul, as the duſky
+ wave of the breeze, along the graſs of Lutha. Yet have not the roes failed me, when I moved
+ between the hills. Pleaſant, beneath my white hand, aroſe the ſound of harps. What then,
+ daughter of Lutha, travels over thy ſoul, like the dreary path a ghoſt, along the nightly beam
+ ? Should the young warrior fall, in the roar of his troubled fields! Young virgins of Lutha
+ ariſe, call back the wandering thoughts of Malvina. Awake the voice of the harp, along my
+ ecchoing vale. Then ſhall my ſoul come forth, like a light from the gates of the morn, when
+ clouds are rolled around them, with their broken ſides.
+
“Dweller of my thoughts, by night, whoſe form aſcends in troubled fields, why doſt thou ſtir
+ up my ſoul, thou far-diſtant ſon of the king ? is that the ſhip of my love, its dark courſe
+ through the ridges of ocean? How art thou ſo ſudden, Oſcar, from the heath of ſhields ?”
+
+
The reſt of this poem conſiſts of a dialogue between Ullin and Malvina, wherein the diſtreſs
+ of the latter is carried to the higheſt pitch.
+ remembered in peace; when ecchoing ſhields are heard no more. Bend, then, in grief, over
+ the
+
+ flood, where blows the mountain breeze. Let them paſs on
+ thy ſoul, the blue-eyed dwellers of the tomb. But Erin rolls to war ; wide-tumbling, rough, and
+ dark. Lift, Oſſian, lift the ſhield. I am alone, my ſon!”
+
As comes the ſudden voice of winds to the becalmed ſhip of Inis-huna, and
+ drives it large, along the deep, dark rider of the wave; ſo the voice of Fingal ſent Oſſian,
+ tall, along the heath. He lifted high his ſhining ſhield, in the duſky wing of war : like the
+ broad, blank moon, in the ſkirt of a cloud, before the ſtorms ariſe.
+
Loud, from moſs-covered Mora, poured down, at once, the broad-winged war.
+ Fingal led his people forth, king of Morven of ſtreams. On high ſpreads the eagle's wing. His
+ grey hair is poured on his ſhoulders broad. In thunder are his mighty ſtrides. He often ſtood,
+ and ſaw behind, the wide-gleaming rolling of armour. A rock he ſeemed, grey over with ice, whoſe
+ woods are high in wind. Bright ſtreams leap from its head, and ſpread their foam on blaſts.
+
Now he came to Lubar's cave, where Fillan darkly ſlept. Bran ſtill lay on
+ the broken ſhield : the eagle-wing is ſtrewed by the winds. Bright, from withered furze, looked
+ forth the hero's ſpear. Then grief ſtirred the ſoul of the king, like whirlwinds blackening on a
+ lake. He
+
+ turned his ſudden ſtep, and leaned on his bending ſpear.
+
White-breasted Bran came bounding with joy to the known path of Fingal. He
+ came, and looked towards the cave, where the blue-eyed hunter lay, for he was wont to ſtride,
+ with morning, to the dewy bed of the roe. It was then the tears of the king came dawn, and all
+ his ſoul was dark. But as the riſing wind rolls away the ſtorm of rain, and leaves the white
+ ſtreams to the ſun, and high hills with their heads of graſs : ſo the returning war brightened
+ the mind of Fingal. He bounded
+
The Iriſh compoſitions concerning Fingal invariably ſpeaks of him as a giant. Of theſe
+ Hibernian poems there are now many in my hands. From the language, and alluſions to the times in
+ which they were writ, I ſhould fix the date of their compoſition in the fifteenth and ſixteenth
+ centuries. In ſome paſſages, the poetry is far from wanting merit, but the fable is unnatural,
+ and the whole conduct of the pieces injudicious. I ſhall give one inſtance of the extravagant
+ fictions of the Iriſh bards, in a poem which they, moſt unjuſtly, aſcribe to Oſſian. The ſtory
+ of it is this: Ireland being threatened with an invaſion from ſome part of Scandinavia, Fingal
+ ſent Oſſian, Oſcar, and Ca-olt, to watch the bay, in which, it was expected, the enemy was to
+ land. Oſcar, unluckily, fell aſleep, before the Scandinavians appeared ; and, great as he was,
+ ſays the Iriſh bard, he had one bad property, that no leſs could waken him, before his time,
+ than cutting off one of his fingers, or throwing a great ſtone againſt his head ; and it was
+ dangerous to come near him on thoſe occaſions, till he had recovered himſelf, and was fully
+ awake.
+
Ca-olt, who was employed by Oſſian to waken his ſon, made choice of throwing the ſtone againſt
+ his head, as the leaſt dangerous expedient. The ſtone, rebounding from the hero's head, ſhook,
+ as it rolled along, the hill for three miles round. Oſcar roſe in rage, fought bravely, and,
+ ſingly, vanquiſhed a wing of the enemy's army. Thus the bard goes on, till Fingal put an end to
+ the war, by the total rout of the Scandinavians. Puerile, and even deſpicable, as theſe fictions
+ are, yet Keating and O'Flaherty have no better authority than the poems which contain them, for
+ all that they write concerning Fion Mac-comnal, and the pretended militia of Ireland.
+ , on his
+
+
+ ſpear, over Lubar, and ſtruck his ecchoing ſhield. His
+ ridgy hoſt bend forward, at once, with all their pointed ſteel.
+
Nor Erin heard, with fear, the ſound : wide they came rolling along. Dark
+ Malthos, in the wing of war, looks forward from ſhaggy brows. Next roſe that beam of light
+ Hidalla ; then the ſide-long-looking gloom of Maronnan. Blue-ſhielded Clonar lifts the ſpear ;
+ Cormar ſhakes his buſhy locks on the wind. Slowly, from behind a rock, roſe the bright form of
+ Atha. Firſt appeared his two pointed ſpears, then the half of his burniſhed ſhield ; like the
+ riſing of a nightly meteor, over the vale of ghoſts. But when he ſhone all abroad : the hoſts
+ plunged, at once, into ſtrife. The gleaming waves of ſteel are poured on either ſide.
+
As meet two troubled ſeas, with the rolling of all their waves, when they
+ feel the wings of
+
+ contending winds, in the rock-ſided firth of Lumon; along the
+ ecchoing hills is the dim courſe of ghoſts : from the blaſt fall the torn groves on the deep,
+ amidſt the foamy path of whales. So mixed the hoſts! Now Fingal; now Cathmor came abroad. The
+ dark tumbling of death is before them : the gleam of broken ſteel is rolled on their ſteps, as,
+ loud, the high-bounding kings hewed down the ridge of ſhields.
+
Maronnan fell, by Fingal, laid large acroſs a ſtream. The waters gathered by
+ his ſide, and leapt grey over his boſſy ſhield. Clonar is pierced by Cathmor: nor yet lay the
+ chief on earth. An oak ſeized his hair in his fall. His helmet rolled on the ground. By its
+ thong, hung his broad ſhield; over it wandered his ſtreaming blood. Tla-min
+
Tla-min, mildly-ſoft. The loves of Clonar and Tlamin were rendered famous in the
+ north, by a fragment of a lyric poem. It is a dialogue between Clonar and Tlamin. She begins
+ with a ſoliloquy, which he overhears.
+
+ TLAMIN.
+
“Clonar, ſon of Conglas of I-mor, young hunter of dun-ſided roes! where art thou laid,
+ amidſt ruſhes, beneath the paſſing wing of the breeze? I behold thee, my love, in the plain of
+ thy own dark ſtreams! The clung thorn is rolled by the wind, and ruſtles along his ſhield.
+ Bright in his locks he lies : the thoughts of his dreams fly, darkening, over his face. Thou
+ thinkeſt of the battles of Oſſian, young ſon of the ecchoing iſle !
+
“Half hid, in the grove, I ſit down. Fly back, ye miſts of the hill. Why ſhould ye hide her
+ love from the blue eyes of Tlamin of harps?
+
+
+ Clonar.
+
“As the ſpirit, ſeen in a dream, flies off from our opening eyes, we think, we behold his
+ bright path between the cloſing hills ; ſo fled the daughter of Clun-gal, from the ſight of
+ Clonar of ſhields. Ariſe, from the gathering of trees; blue-eyed Tlamin ariſe.
+
+
+ Tlamin.
+
“I turn me away from his ſteps. Why ſhould he know of my love! My white breaſt is heaving
+ over ſighs, as foam on the dark courſe of ſtreams. But he paſſes away, in his arms ! Son of
+ Conglas, my ſoul is ſad.
+
+
+ Clonar,
+
“It was the ſhield of Fingal! the voice of kings from Selma of harps! My path is towards
+ green Erin. Ariſe, fair light, from thy ſhades. Come to the field of my ſoul, there is the
+ ſpreading of hoſts. Ariſe, on Clonar's troubled ſoul, young daughter of blue ſhielded Clungal.”
+
+
+
Clungal was the chief of I-mor, one of the Hebrides.
+ ſhall weep, in the hall, and ſtrike her heaving breaſt.
+
+
+ Nor did Oſſian forget the ſpear, in the
+ wing of his war. He ſtrewed the field with dead. Young Hidalla came. “Soft voice of ſtreamy
+ Clonra ! Why doſt thou lift the ſteel? O that we met, in the ſtrife of ſong, in thy own ruſhy
+ vale !” Malthos beheld him low, and darkened as he ruſhed along. On either ſide of a ſtream, we
+ bend in the ecchoing ſtrife. Heaven comes rolling down : around burſt the voices of ſqually
+ winds. Hills are clothed, at times, in fire.
+
+ Thunder rolls in wreaths of miſt. In darkneſs ſhrunk the foe
+ : Morven's warriors ſtood aghaſt. Still I bent over the ſtream, amidſt my whiſtling locks.
+
Then roſe the voice of Fingal, and the ſound of the flying foe. I ſaw the
+ king, at times, in lightning, darkly-ſtriding in his might. I ſtruck my ecchoing ſhield, and hung
+ forward on the ſteps of Alnecma : the foe is rolled before me, like a wreath of ſmoak.
+
The ſun looked forth from his cloud. The hundred ſtreams of Moi-lena ſhone.
+ Slow roſe the blue columns of miſt, againſt the glittering hill. “Where are the mighty kings ?
+
Fingal and Cathmor. The conduct here is perhaps proper. The numerous deſcriptions of ſingle
+ combats have already exhauſted the ſubject. Nothing new, nor adequate to our high idea of the
+ kings, can be ſaid. A column of miſt is thrown over the whole, and the combat is left
+ to the imagination of the reader. Poets have almoſt univerſally failed in their deſcriptions of
+ this ſort. Not all the ſtrength of Homer could ſuſtain, with dignity, the minutiæ of a
+ ſingle combat. The throwing of a ſpear, and the braying of a ſhield, as ſome of our own poets
+ moſt elegantly expreſs it, convey no magnificent, though they are ſtriking ideas. Our
+ imagination ſtretches beyond, and conſequently, deſpiſes, the deſcription. It were, therefore,
+ well, for ſome poets, in my opinion, (tho' it is, perhaps, ſomewhat ſingular) to have,
+ ſometimes, thrown miſt over their ſingle combats.
+ Nor by that ſtream, nor wood, are they ! I hear the clang of arms! Their ſtrife is in the
+ boſom of
+
+ that miſt. Such is the contending of ſpirits in a nightly
+ cloud, when they ſtrive for the wintry wings of winds, and the rolling of the foam-covered
+ waves.
+
I rushed along. The grey miſt roſe. Tall, gleaming, they ſtood at Lubar.
+ Cathmor leaned againſt a rock. His half-fallen ſhield received the ſtream, that leapt from the
+ moſs above. Towards him is the ſtride of Fingal : he ſaw the hero's blood. His ſword fell ſlowly
+ to his ſide. He ſpoke, midſt his darkening joy.
+
“Yields the race of Borbar-duthul ? Or ſtill does he lift the ſpear? Not
+ unheard is thy name, at Atha, in the green dwelling of ſtrangers. It has come, like the breeze of
+ his deſart, to the ear of Fingal. Come to my hill of feaſts: the mighty fail, at times. No fire
+ am I to low-laid foes ; I rejoice not over the fall of the brave. To cloſe
+
Fingal is very much celebrated, in tradition, for his knowlege in the virtues of herbs. The
+ Iriſh poems, concerning him, often repreſent him, curing the wounds which his chiefs received in
+ battle. They fable concerning him, that he was in poſſeſſion of a cup, containing the eſſence of
+ herbs, which inſtantaneouſly healed wounds. The knowlege of curing the wounded, was, till of
+ late, univerſal among the Highlanders. We hear of no other diſorder, which required the ſkill of
+ phyſic. The wholſomeneſs of the climate, and an active life, ſpent in hunting, excluded
+ diſeaſes.
+ the wound is mine: I have known
+
+ the herbs of the hills. I ſeized their fair heads, on high,
+ as they waved by their ſecret ſtreams. Thou art dark and ſilent, king of Atha of ſtrangers.”
+
“By Atha of the ſtream,” he ſaid, “there riſes a moſſy rock. On its head is
+ the wandering of boughs, within the courſe of winds. Dark, in its face, is a cave, with its own
+ loud rill. There have I heard the tread of ſtrangers
+
Cathmor reflects, with pleaſure, even in his laſt moments, on the relief he had afforded to
+ ftrangers. The very tread of their feet was pleaſant in his ear. His hoſpitality was not paſſed
+ unnoticed by the bards; for, with them, it became a proverb, when they deſcribed the hoſpitable
+ diſpoſition of a hero, that he was like Cathmor of Atha, the friend of ſtrangers. It
+ will ſeem ſtrange, that, in all the Iriſh poems, there is no mention made of Cathmor. This muſt
+ be attributed to the revolutions and domeſtic confuſions which happened in that iſland, and
+ utterly cut off all the real traditions concerning ſo ancient a period. All that we have related
+ of the ſtate of lreland before the fifth century is of late invention, and the work of ill
+ informed ſenachies and injudicious bards.
+ , when they paſſed to my hall of ſhells. Joy roſe, like a flame, on my ſoul: I bleſt the
+ ecchoing rock. Here be my dwelling, in darkneſs; in my graſſy vale. From this I ſhall mount the
+ breeze, that purſues my thiſtle's beard; or look down, on blue-winding Atha, from its wandering
+ miſt.”
+
+
+ “Why ſpeaks the king of the tomb ?
+ Oſſian! the warrior has failed ! Joy meet thy ſoul, like a ſtream, Cathmor, friend of ſtrangers!
+ My ſon, I hear the call of years; they take my ſpear as they paſs along. Why does not Fingal,
+ they ſeem to ſay, reſt within his hall? Doſt thou always delight in blood? In the tears of the
+ ſad? No: ye dark-rolling years, Fingal delights not in blood. Tears are wintry ſtreams that waſte
+ away my ſoul. But, when I lie down to reſt, then comes the mighty voice of war. It awakes me, in
+ my hall, and calls forth all my ſteel. It ſhall call it forth no more; Oſſian, take thou thy
+ father's ſpear. Lift it, in battle, when the proud ariſe.
+
My fathers, Oſſian, trace my ſteps; my deeds are pleaſant to their eyes. Wherever I come forth
+ to battle, on my field, are their columns of miſt. But mine arm reſcued the feeble; the haughty
+ found my rage was fire. Never over the fallen did mine eye rejoice. For this
+
The Celtic nations had ſome idea of rewards, and perhaps of puniſhments, after death. Thoſe
+ who behaved, in life, with bravery and virtue, were received, with joy, to the airy halls of
+ their fathers; but the dark in ſoul, to uſe the expreſſion of the poet, were ſpurned
+ away from the habitation of heroes, to wander on all the winds. Another opinion, which
+ prevailed in thoſe times, tended not a little to make individuals emulous to excel one another
+ in martial atchievements. It was thought, that, in the hall of clouds, every one had a
+ ſeat, raiſed above others, in proportion as he excelled them, in valour, when he lived.
+ , my fathers ſhall meet me, at the gates
+
+
+ of their airy halls, tall, with robes of light, with
+ mildly-kindled eyes. But, to the proud in arms, they are darkened moons in heaven, which ſend the
+ fire of night, red-wandering over their face.”
+
“Father of heroes, Trenmor, dweller of eddying winds! I give thy ſpear to
+ Oſſian, let thine eye rejoice. Thee have I ſeen, at times, bright from between thy clouds; ſo
+ appear to my ſon, when he is to lift the ſpear: then ſhall he remember thy mighty deeds, though
+ thou art now but a blaſt.”
+
He gave the ſpear to my hand, and raiſed; at once, a ſtone on high, to ſpeak
+ to future times, with its grey head of moſs. Beneath he placed a ſword
+
There are ſome ſtones ſtill to be ſeen in the north, whick were erected as memorials of ſome
+ remarkable tranſactions between the ancient chiefs. There are generally found, beneath them,
+ ſome piece of arms, and a bit of half-burnt wood. The cauſe of placing the laſt there is not
+ mentioned in tradition.
+ in earth, and one bright boſs from his ſhield. Dark in thought, a-while, he bends : his
+ words, at length, came forth.
+
+
+ “When thou, O ſtone, ſhall moulder down,
+ and loſe thee, in the moſs of years, then ſhall the traveller come, and whiſtling paſs away. Thou
+ know'ft not, feeble man, that fame once ſhone on Moi-lena. Here Fingal reſigned his ſpear, after
+ the laſt of his fields. Paſs away, thou empty ſhade; in thy voice there is no renown. Thou
+ dwelleſt by ſome peaceful ſtream ; yet a few years, and thou art gone. No one remembers thee,
+ thou dweller of thick miſt ! But Fingal ſhall be clothed with fame, a beam of light to other
+ times; for he went forth, in ecchoing ſteel, to ſave the weak in arms.”
+
Brightening in his fame, the king ſtrode to Lubar's ſounding oak, where it
+ bent, from its rock, over the bright-tumbling ſtream. Beneath it is a narrow plain, and the ſound
+ of the fount of the rock. Here the ſtandard
+
The erecting of his ſtandard on the bank of Lubar, was the ſignal which Fingal, in the
+ beginning of the book, promiſed to give to the chiefs, who went to conduct Ferad-artho to the
+ army, ſhould he himſelf prevail in battle. This ſtandard here is called, the ſun-beam.
+ The reaſon of this appellation, I gave in my notes on the poem intitled Fingal.
+ of Morven poured its wreaths on the wind, to mark the way of Ferad-artho, from his ſecret
+ vale. Bright, from his parted weſt, the ſun of heaven looked abroad. The hero ſaw his people, and
+ heard
+
+ their ſhouts of joy. In broken ridges round, they glittered
+ to the beam. The king rejoiced, as a hunter in his own green vale, when, after the ſtorm is
+ rolled away, he ſees the gleaming ſides of the rocks. The green thorn ſhakes its head in their
+ face; from their top look forward the roes.
+
The ſcene is changed to the valley of Lona, whither Sulmalla had been ſent, by Cathmor,
+ before the battle. Clonmal, an aged bard, or rather druid, as he ſeems here to be endued with a
+ preſcience of events, had long dwelt there, in a cave. This ſcene is calculated to throw a
+ melancholy gloom over the mind.
+ Grey, at his moſſy cave, is bent the aged form of Clonmal. The eyes of
+ the bard had failed. He leaned forward, on his ſtaff. Bright, in her locks, before him, Sul-malla
+ liſtened to the tale; the tale of the kings of Atha, in the days of old. The noiſe of battle had
+ ceaſed in his ear: he ſtopt, and raiſed the ſecret ſigh. The ſpirits of the dead, they ſaid,
+ often lightened along his ſoul. He ſaw the king of Atha low, beneath his bending tree.
+
“Why art thou dark,” ſaid the maid? “The ſtrife of arms is paſt. Soon
+
Cathmor had promiſed, in the ſeventh book, to come to the cave of Clonmal, after the battle
+ was over.
+ ſhall he come to thy cave, over thy winding ſtreams. The ſun looks from the rocks of the
+ weſt. The
+
+ miſts of the lake ariſe. Grey, they ſpread on that hill,
+ the ruſhy dwelling of roes. From the miſt ſhall my king appear ! Behold, he comes in his arms.
+ Come to the cave of Clonmal, O my beſt beloved !”
+
It was the ſpirit of Cathmor, ſtalking, large, a gleaming form. He ſunk by
+ the hollow ſtream, that roared between the hills. “It was but the hunter,” ſhe ſaid,“who ſearches
+ for the bed of the roe. His ſteps are not forth to war; his ſpouſe expects him with night. He
+ ſhall, whiſtling, return, with the ſpoils of the dark-brown hinds.” Her eyes were turned to the
+ hill; again the ſtately form came down. She roſe, in the midſt of joy. He retired again in miſt.
+ Gradual vaniſh his limbs of ſmoak, and mix with the mountain-wind. Then ſhe knew that he fell!
+ “King of Erin art thou low!” Let Oſſian forget her grief; it waſtes the ſoul of age
+
Tradition relates, that Oſſian, the next day after the deciſive battle between Fingal and
+ Cathmor, went to find out Sul-malla, in the valley of Lona, His addreſs to her follows :
+
+
“Awake thou daughter of Conmor, from the fern-ſkirted cavern of Lona. Awake, thou ſun-beam in
+ deſarts ; warriors one day muſt fail. They move forth, like terrible lights ; but, often, their
+ cloud is near. Go to the valley of ſtreams, to the wandering of herds, on Lumon; there dwells,
+ in his lazy miſt, the man of many days. But he is unknown, Sulmalla, like the thiſtle of the
+ rocks of roes; it ſhakes its grey beard, in the wind, and falls, unſeen of our eyes. Not ſuch
+ are the kings of men, their departure is a meteor of fire, which pours its red courſe, from the
+ deſart, over the boſom of night.
+
“He is mixed with the warriors of old, thoſe fires that have hid their heads. At times ſhall
+ they come forth in ſong. Not forgot has the warrior failed. He has not ſeen, Sul-malla, the
+ fall of a beam of his own: no fair-haired ſon, in his blood, young troubler of the field. I am
+ lonely, young branch of Lumon, I may hear the voice of the feeble, when my ſtrength ſhall have
+ failed in years, for young Oſcar has ceaſed, on his field,” — * *
+
+
Sul-malla returned to her own country, She makes a conſiderable figure in another poem ; her
+ behaviour in that piece accounts for that partial regard with which the poet ought to ſpeak of
+ her throughout Temora,
+ .
+
+
+
+
Evening came down on Moi-lena. Grey rolled the ſtreams of the land. Loud
+ came forth the voice of Fingal : the beam of oaks aroſe. The people gathered round with gladneſs
+ ; with gladneſs blended with ſhades. They ſidelong looked to the king, and beheld his unfiniſhed
+ joy. Pleaſant, from the way of the deſart, the voice of muſic came. It ſeemed, at firſt, the
+ noiſe of a ſtream, far-diſtant on its rocks. Slow it rolled along the hill, like the ruffled wing
+ of a breeze, when it takes the tufted beard of the rocks, in the ſtill ſeaſon of night. It was
+ the voice of Condan, mixed with Carril's trembling harp. They came, with blue-eyed Ferad-artho,
+ to Mora of the ſtreams.
+
+
+ Sudden burſts the ſong from our bards,
+ on Lena : the hoſt ſtruck their ſhields midſt the ſound. Gladneſs roſe brightening on the king,
+ like the beam of a cloudy day, when it riſes, on the green hill, before the roar of winds. He
+ ſtruck the boſſy ſhield of kings; at once they ceaſe around. The people lean forward, from their
+ ſpears, towards the voice of their land
+
Before I finiſh my notes, it may not be altogether improper to obviate an objection, which
+ may be made to the credibility of the ſtory of Temora. It may be aſked, whether it is probable,
+ that Fingal could perform ſuch actions as are aſcribed to him in this book, at an age when his
+ grandſon, Oſcar, had acquired ſo much reputation in arms. To this it may be anſwered, that
+ Fingal was but very young [book 4th] when he took to wife Ros-crana, who ſoon after became the
+ mother of Oſſian. Oſſian was alſo extremely young when he married Ever-allin, the mother of
+ Oſcar. Tradition relates, that Fingal was but eighteen years old at the birth of his ſon Oſſian
+ ; and that Oſſian was much about the ſame age, when Oſcar, his ſon, was born. Oſcar, perhaps,
+ might be about twenty, when he was killed, in the battle of Gabhra, [book 1ſt] ſo the age of
+ Fingal, when the deciſive battle was fought between him and Cathmor, was juſt fifty-ſix years.
+ In thoſe times of activity and health, the natural ſtrength and vigour of a man was little
+ abated, at ſuch an age ; ſo that there is nothing improbable in the actions of Fingal, as
+ related in this book.
+ .
+
“Sons of Morven, ſpread the feaſt ; ſend the night away in ſong. Ye have
+ ſhone around me; and the dark ſtorm is paſt. My people are the windy rocks, from which I ſpread
+ my eagle
+
+ wings, when I ruſh forth to renown, and ſeize it on its
+ field. Oſſian, thou haſt the ſpear of Fingal : it is not the ſtaff of a boy with which he ſtrews
+ the thiſtle round, young wanderer of the field. No: it is the lance of the mighty, with which
+ they ſtretched forth their hands to death. Look to thy fathers, my ſon; they are awful beams.
+ With morning lead Ferad-artho forth to the ecchoing halls of Temora. Remind him of the kings of
+ Erin; the ſtately forms of old. Let not the fallen be forgot, they were mighty in the field. Let
+ Carril pour his ſong, that the kings may rejoice in their miſt. To-morrow I ſpread my ſails to
+ Selma's ſhaded walls; where ſtreamy Duthula winds through the ſeats of roes.”
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CONLATH and CUTHONA; A P O E M.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Conlath was the youngeſt of Morni's ſons, and brother to the celebrated Gaul. He was in love
+ with Cuthóna the daughter of Rumar, when Toſcar the ſon of Kinfena, accompanied by Fercuth his
+ friend, arrived, from Ireland, at Mora, where Conlath dwelt. He was hoſpitably received, and
+ according to the cuſtom of the times, feaſted, three days, with Conlath. On the fourth he ſet
+ ſail, and coaſting the iſland of waves, one of the Hebrides, he ſaw Cuthona hunting,
+ fell in love with her, and carried her away, by force, in his ſhip. He was forced, by ſtreſs of
+ weather, into I-thona a deſart iſle. In the mean-time Conlath, hearing of the rape, ſailed after
+ him, and found him on the point of ſailing for the coaſt of Ireland. They fought; and they and
+ their followers fell by mutual wounds. Cuthona did not long ſurvive: for ſhe died of grief the
+ third day after. Fingal, hearing of their unfortunate death, ſent Stormal the ſon of Moran to
+ bury them, but forgot to ſend a bard to ſing the funeral ſong over their tombs. The ghoſt of
+ Conlath comes, long after, to Oſſian, to intreat him to tranſmit, to poſterity, his and
+ Cuthona's fame. For it was the opinion of the times, that the ſouls of the deceaſed were not
+ happy, till their elegies were compoſed by a bard.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ CONLATH and CUTHONA; A POEM.
+
Did not Oſſian hear a voice? or is it the ſound of days that are no more?
+ Often does the memory of former times come, like the evening ſun, on my ſoul. The noiſe of the
+ chace is renewed. In thought, I lift the ſpear. But Oſſian did hear a voice ! Who art thou, ſon
+ of night ? The children of the feeble are aſleep. The midnight wind is in my hall. Perhaps it is
+ the ſhield of Fingal that ecchoes to the blaſt. It hangs in Oſſian's hall. He feels it ſometimes
+ with his hands. Yes! I hear thee, my friend ! Long has thy voice been abſent from mine ear ! What
+ brings thee, on thy cloud, to Oſſian, ſon of generous Morni? Are the friends of the aged near
+ thee? Where is Oſcar, ſon of fame? He was often near thee, O Conlath, when the ſound of battle
+ aroſe.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ Ghost of Conlath.
+
Sleeps the ſweet voice of Cona, in the midſt of his ruſtling hall ? Sleeps
+ Oſſian in his hall, and his friends without their fame? The ſea rolls round dark I-thona.
+
I-thonn, iſland of waves, one of the uninhabited weſtern iſles.
Our
+ tombs are not ſeen in our iſle. How long ſhall our fame be unheard, ſon of reſounding Selma
+ ?
+
+
+
+ Ossian.
+
O that mine eyes could behold thee ! Thou ſitteſt, dim, on thy cloud! Art
+ thou like the miſt of Lano? An half-extinguiſhed meteor of fire? Of what are the ſkirts of thy
+ robe? Of what is thine airy bow? He is gone on his blaſt like the ſhade of a wandering cloud.
+ Come from thy wall, O harp! Let me hear thy ſound. Let the light of memory riſe on I-thona. Let
+ me behold again my friends ! And Oſſian does behold his friends, on the dark-blue iſle. The cave
+ of Thona appears, with its moſſy rocks and bending trees. A ſtream roars at its mouth. Toſcar
+ bends over its courſe, Fercuth is ſad by his ſide. Cuthóna
+
Cuthona the daughter of Rumar, whom Toſcar had carried away by force.
ſits at a
+ diſtance, and weeps. Does the wind of
+
+ the waves deceive me? Or do I hear them ſpeak ?
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
The night was ſtormy. From their hills the groaning oaks came down, The
+ ſea darkly-tumbled beneath the blaſt. The roaring waves climbed againſt our rocks. The lightning
+ came often and ſhewed the blaſted fern. Fercuth ! I ſaw the ghoſt who embroiled the night
+
It was long thought, in the north of Scotland, that ſtorms were raiſed by the ghoſts of the
+ deceaſed. This notion is ſtill entertained by the vulgar; for they think that whirlwinds, and
+ ſudden ſqualls of wind are occaſioned by ſpirits, who tranſport themſelves, in that manner, from
+ one place to another.
. Silent he ſtood, on that bank. His robe of miſt flew on the
+ wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man he ſeemed, and full of thought !
+
+
+
+ Fercuth.
+
It was thy father, O Toſcar. He foreſees ſome death among his race. Such was his appearance
+ on Cromla, before the great Maronnan
+
Ma-ronnan was the brother of Toſcar,
fell. Erin of hills of graſs! how pleaſant
+ are thy vales? Silence is near thy blue ſtreams. The ſun is on thy fields. Soft is the
+
+
+ ſound of the harp in Seláma
+
Selámath, beautiful to behold, the name of Toſcar's reſidence, on the coaſt of
+ Ulſter, near the mountain Cromla.
. Lovely the cry of the hunter on Crómla. But we
+ are in dark I-thona, ſurrounded by the ſtorm. The billows lift their white heads above our
+ rocks. We tremble amidſt the night.
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
Whither is the ſoul of battle fled, Fercuth with locks of age? I have ſeen
+ thee undaunted in danger: thine eyes burning with joy in the fight. Whither is the ſoul of
+ battle fled? Our fathers never feared. Go: view the ſettling ſea : the ſtormy wind is laid. The
+ billows ſtill tremble on the deep. They ſeem to fear the blaſt. Go view the ſettling ſea.
+ Morning is grey on our rocks. The ſun will look ſoon from his eaſt; in all his pride of light! I
+ lifted up my ſails, with joy, before the halls of generous Conlath. My courſe was by a deſart
+ iſle : where Cuthona purſued the deer. I ſaw her, like that beam of the ſun that iſſues from the
+ cloud. Her hair was on her heaving breaſt. She, bending forward, drew the bow. Her white arm
+ ſeemed, behind her, like the ſnow of Cromla. Come to my ſoul, I ſaid, huntreſs
+
+ of the deſart iſle! But ſhe waſtes her time in tears, She thinks of the
+ generous Conlath. Where can I find thy peace, Cuthona, lovely maid !
+
+
+
+ Cu-thona
+
Cu-thona, the mournful ſound of the waves; a poetical name given her on account of
+ her mourning to the ſound of the waves; her name in tradition is Gorm-huil, the blue-eyed
+ maid.
.
+
A distant ſteep bends over the ſea, with aged trees and moſſy rocks. The
+ billow rolls at its feet. On its ſide is the dwelling of roes. The people call it Mora. There
+ the towers of my love ariſe. There Conlath looks over the ſea for his only love. The daughters
+ of the chace returned. He beheld their downcaft eyes. “Where is the daughter of Rumar ?” But
+ they anſwered not. My peace dwells on Mora, ſon of the diſtant land !
+
+
+
+ Toscar.
+
Cuthona ſhall return to her peace : to the towers of generous Conlath. He
+ is the friend of Toſcar ! I have feaſted in his halls! Riſe, ye gentle breezes of Erin. Stretch
+ my ſails toward Mora's ſhores. Cuthona ſhall reſt on Mora : but the days of Toſcar muſt be ſad.
+ I ſhall ſit in my cave in the field of the ſun. The
+
+ blaſt will ruſtle in my trees. I ſhall think it is Cuthona's
+ voice. But ſhe is diſtant far, in the halls of the mighty Conlath !
+
+
+
+ Cuthona.
+
Ha ! what cloud is that ? It carries the ghoſts of my fathers. I ſee the
+ ſkirts of their robes, like grey and watry miſt. When ſhall I fall, O Rumar ? Sad Cuthona
+ foreſees her death. Will not Conlath behold me, before I enter the narrow houſe
+
The grave.
?
+
+
+
+ Ossian.
+
He ſhall behold thee, O maid. He comes along the heaving ſea. The death of
+ Toſcar is dark on his ſpear. A wound is in his ſide ! He is pale at the cave of Thona. He ſhews
+ his ghaſtly wound. Where art thou with thy tears, Cuthona ? The chief of Mora dies. The viſion
+ grows dim, on my mind. I behold the chiefs no more ! But, O ye bards of future times, remember
+ the fall of Conlath with tears. He fell before his day. Sadneſs darkened in his hall. His mother
+ looked to his ſhield on the wall, and it was bloody
+
It was the opinion of the times, that the arms left by the heroes at home, became bloody the
+ very inſtant their owners were killed, though at ever ſo great a diſtance.
. She
+ knew that her hero fell.
+
+ Her ſorrow was heard on Mora. Art thou pale on thy rock, Cuthona, beſide
+ the fallen chiefs ? Night comes, and day returns, but none appears to raiſe their tomb. Thou
+ frighteneſt the ſcreaming fowls away. Thy tears for ever flow. Thou art pale as a watry cloud,
+ that riſes from a lake !
+
The ſons of green Selma came. They found Cuthona cold. They raiſed a tomb
+ over the heroes. She reſts at the ſide of Conlath. Come not to my dreams, O Conlath ! Thou haſt
+ received thy fame. Be thy voice far diſtant from my hall; that ſleep may deſcend at night. O
+ that I could forget my friends : till my footſteps ſhould ceaſe to be ſeen! till I come among
+ them with joy! and lay my aged limbs in the narrow houſe !
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ BERRATHON: A POEM.
+
+
+
+ ARGUMENT.
+
Fingal in his voyage to Lochlin, whither he had been invited by Starno the father of
+ Agandecca, touched at Berrathon, an iſland of Scandinavia, where he was kindly entertained by
+ Larthmor the petty king of the place, who was a vaſſal of the ſupreme kings of Lochlin. The
+ hoſpitality of Larthmor gained him Fingal's friendſhip, which that hero manifeſted, after the
+ impriſonment of Larthmor by his own ſon, by ſending Oſſian and Toſcar, the father of Malvina ſo
+ often mentioned, to reſcue Larthmor, and to puniſh the unnatural behaviour of Uthal. Uthal was
+ handſome, and, by the ladies, much admired. Nina-thoma, the beautiful daughter of Torthoma, a
+ neighbouring prince, fell in love and fled with him. He proved unconſtant; for another lady,
+ whoſe name is not mentioned, gaining his affections, he confined Nina-thoma to a deſart iſland
+ near the coaſt of Berrathon. She was relieved by Oſſian, who, in company with Toſcar, landing on
+ Berrathon, defeated the forces of Uthal, and killed him in a ſingle combat. Nina-thoma, whoſe
+ love not all the bad behaviour of Uthal could eraſe, hearing of his death, died of grief. In the
+ mean time Larthmor is reſtored, and Oſſian and Toſcar return in triumph to Fingal,
+
The poem opens with an elegy on the death of Malvina the daughter of Toſcar, and cloſes with
+ preſages of Oſſian's death.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ BERRATHON: A P O E M.
+
Bend thy blue courſe, O ſtream, round the narrow plain of
+
Lutha, ſwift ſtream.
+ Lutha. Let the green woods hang over it, from their hills: the ſun look on it at noon.
+ The thiſtle is there on its rock, and ſhakes its beard to the wind. The flower hangs its heavy
+ head, waving, at times, to the gale. “Why doſt thou awake me, O gale,” it ſeems to ſay, “I am
+ covered with the drops of heaven? The time of my fading is near, the blaſt that ſhall ſcatter my
+ leaves. Tomorrow ſhall the traveller come ; he that ſaw me in my beauty ſhall come. His eyes will
+ ſearch the field, but they will not find me?” So ſhall they ſearch in vain, for the voice of
+ Cona, after it has failed in the field. The hunter ſhall come forth in the morning, and the voice
+ of my harp
+
+ ſhall not be heard. “Where is the ſon of car-borne Fingal ?” The tear
+ will be on his cheek ! Then come thou, O Malvina, with all thy muſic, come. Lay Oſſian in the
+ plain of Lutha : let his tomb riſe in the lovely field.
+
Malvina! where art thou, with thy ſongs, with the ſoft ſound of thy ſteps? Son
+
His father was one of Fingal's principal bards, and he had a poetical genius.
+ of Alpin art thou near ? where is the daughter of Toſcar? “I paſſed, O ſon of Fingal, by
+ Tor-lutha's moſſy walls. The ſmoke of the hall was ceaſed. Silence was among the trees of the
+ hill. The voice of the chace was over. I ſaw the daughters of the bow. I aſked about Malvina, but
+ they anſwered not. They turned their faces away : thin darkneſs covered their beauty. They were
+ like ſtars, on a rainy hill, by night, each looking faintly thro' her miſt.”
+
Pleasant
+
Oſſian ſpeaks. He calls Malvina a beam of light, and continues the metaphor throughout the
+ paragraph.
+ be thy reſt, O lovely beam! ſoon haſt thou ſet on our hills ! The ſteps of thy departure
+ were ſtately, like the moon on the blue, trembling wave. But thou haſt left us in darkneſs, firſt
+ of the maids of Lutha ! We ſit, at the rock, and there is no voice; no light but
+
+ the meteor of fire ! Soon haſt thou ſet, O Malvina, daughter of generous
+ Toſcar ! But thou riſeſt like the beam of the eaſt, among the ſpirits of thy friends, where they
+ ſit, in their ſtormy halls, the chambers of the thunder ! A cloud hovers over Cona. Its blue
+ curling ſides are high. The winds are beneath it, with their wings. Within it is the dwelling
+
The deſcription of this ideal palace of Fingal is agreeable to the notions of thoſe times,
+ concerning the ſtate of the deceaſed, who were ſuppoſed to purſue, after death, the pleaſures
+ and employments of their former life. The ſituation of the Celtic heroes, in their ſeparate
+ ſtate, if not entirely happy, is more agreeable, than the notions of the antient Greeks
+ concerning their departed heroes.
+ of Fingal. There the hero ſits in darkneſs. His airy ſpear is in his hand. His ſhield
+ half covered with clouds, is like the darkened moon ; when one half ſtill remains in the wave,
+ and the other looks ſickly on the field !
+
His friends ſit around the King, on miſt ! They hear the ſongs of Ullin : he
+ ſtrikes the half-viewleſs harp. He raiſes the feeble voice. The leſſer heroes, with a thouſand
+ meteors, light the airy hall. Malvina riſes, in the midſt; a bluſh is on her cheek. She beholds
+ the unknown faces of her fathers. She turns aſide her humid eyes. “Art thou come ſo ſoon ?” ſaid
+ Fingal, “daughter of generous Toſcar.
+
+ Sadneſs dwells in the halls of Lutha. My aged ſon
+
Oſſian who had a great friendſhip for Malvina, both on account of her love for his ſon Oſcar,
+ and her attention to himſelf.
+ is ſad ! I hear the breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy locks. It comes to
+ the hall, but thou art not there. Its voice is mournful among the arms of thy fathers ! Go, with
+ thy ruſtling wing, O breeze! ſigh on Malvina's tomb. It riſes yonder beneath the rock, at the
+ blue ſtream of Lutha. The maids
+
That is, the young virgins who ſung the funeral elegy over her tomb.
+ are departed to their place. Thou alone, O breeze, mourneſt there!”
+
But who comes from the duſky weſt, ſupported on a cloud? A ſmile is on his
+ grey, watry face. His locks of miſt fly on wind. He bends forward on his airy ſpear. It is thy
+ father, Malvina ! “Why ſhineft thou, ſo ſoon, on our clouds,” he ſays, “O lovely light of Lutha!
+ But thou wert ſad, my daughter. Thy friends had paſſed away. The ſons of little men
+
Tradition is entirely ſilent concerning what paſſed in the north, immediately after the death
+ of Fingal and all his heroes ; by which it would ſeem that the actions of their ſucceſſors were
+ not to be compared to thoſe of the renowned Fingalians.
+ were in the hall. None remained of the heroes, but Oſſian king of ſpears !”
+
+
+
And doſt thou remember Oſſian, car-borne Toſcar
+
Toſcar was the ſon of that Conloch, who was alſo father to the lady, whoſe unfortunate death
+ is related in the laſt epiſode of the ſecond book of Fingal.
+ , ſon of Conloch ? The battles of our youth were many. Our ſwords went together to the
+ field. They ſaw us coming like two falling rocks. The ſons of the ſtranger fled. “There come the
+ warriors of Cona !” they ſaid. “Their ſteps are in the paths of the flying!” Draw near, ſon of
+ Alpin, to the ſong of the aged. The deeds of other times are in my ſoul. My memory beams on the
+ days that are paſt. On the days of mighty Toſcar, when our path was in the deep. Draw near, ſon
+ of Alpin, to the laſt ſound of the voice of Cona !
+
The king of Morven commanded. I raiſed my ſails to the wind. Toſcar chief of
+ Lutha ſtood at my ſide. I roſe on the dark-blue wave, Our courſe was to ſea-ſurrounded Berrathon
+
Barrathón, a promontory in the midſt of waves,
+ , the iſle of many ſtorms. There dwelt, with his locks of age, the ſtately ſtrength of
+ Larthmor. Larthmor, who ſpread the feaſt of ſhells to Fingal, when he went to Starno's halls, in
+ the days of Agandecca. But when the chief was old, the pride of his ſon aroſe ; the pride of
+ fair-haired Uthal, the love of a thouſand maids. He bound
+
+ the aged Larthmor, and dwelt in his ſounding halls !
+
Long pined the king in his cave, beſide his rolling ſea. Day did not come to
+ his dwelling ; nor the burning oak by night. But the wind of ocean was there, and the parting
+ beam of the moon. The red ſtar looked on the king, when it trembled on the weſtern wave. Snitho
+ came to Selma's hall : Snitho the friend of Larthmor's youth. He told of the king of Berrathon :
+ the wrath of Fingal aroſe. Thrice he aſſumed the ſpear, reſolved to ſtretch his hand to Uthal.
+ But the memory
+
The meaning is, that Fingal remembered his own great actions, and conſequently would not
+ ſully them by engaging in a petty war againſt Uthal, who was ſo far his inferior in valour and
+ power.
+ of his deeds roſe before the king. He ſent his ſon and Tofcar. Our joy was great on the
+ rolling ſea. We often half-unſheathed our ſwords. For never before had we fought alone, in
+ battles of the ſpear.
+
Night came down on the ocean. The winds departed on their wings. Cold and
+ pale is the moon. The red ſtars lift their heads on high. Our courſe is ſlow along the coaſt of
+ Berrathon. The white waves tumble on the rocks. “What voice is that,” ſaid Toſcar, “which comes
+ between the ſounds of the waves? It is ſoft but
+
+ mournful, like the voice of departed bards. But I behold a maid
+
Nina-thoma, the daughter of Torth'ma, who had been confined to a deſart iſland by her lover
+ Uthal.
+ . She ſits on the rock alone. Her head bends on her arm of ſnow. Her dark hair is in the
+ wind. Hear, ſon of Fingal, her ſong, it is ſmooth as the gliding ſtream.” We came to the ſilent
+ bay, and heard the maid of night.
+
“How long will ye roll around me, blue-tumbling waters of ocean ? My
+ dwelling was not always in caves, nor beneath the whiſtling tree. The feaſt was ſpread in
+ Torthóma's hall. My father delighted in my voice. The youths beheld me in the ſteps of my
+ lovelineſs. They bleſſed the dark-haired Nina-thoma. It was then thou didſt come, O Uthal ! like
+ the ſun of heaven ! The ſouls of the virgins are thine, ſon of generous Larthmor ! But why doſt
+ thou leave me alone, in the midſt of roaring waters? Was my ſoul dark with thy death? Did my
+ white hand lift the ſword ? Why then haſt thou left me alone, king of high Finthormo
+
Finthormo, the palace of Uthal. The names in this epiſode are not of a Celtic original.
+ !”
+
The tear ſtarted from my eye, when I heard the voice of the maid. I ſtood
+ before her in my arms. I ſpoke the words of peace ! “Lovely
+
+ dweller of the cave! what ſigh is in thy breaſt ? Shall Oſſian lift his
+ ſword in thy preſence, the deſtruction of thy foes? Daughter of Torthoma, riſe. I have heard the
+ words of thy grief. The race of Morven are around thee, who never injured the weak. Come to our
+ dark-boſomed ſhip! thou brighter than that ſetting moon ! Our courſe is to the rocky Berrathon,
+ to the ecchoing walls of Finthormo.” She came in her beauty ; ſhe came with all her lovely ſteps.
+ Silent joy brightened in her face; as when the ſhadows fly from the field of ſpring ; the
+ blue-ſtream is rolling in brightneſs, and the green buſh bends over its courſe !
+
The morning roſe with its beams. We came to Rothma's bay. A boar ruſhed from
+ the wood : my ſpear pierced his ſide, and he fell. I rejoiced over the blood
+
Oſſian might have thought that his killing a boar on his firſt landing in Berrathon, was a
+ good omen of his future ſucceſs in that iſland. The preſent Highlanders look, with a degree of
+ ſuperſtition, upon the ſucceſs of their firſt action, after they have engaged in any deſperate
+ undertaking.
+ . I foreſaw my growing fame. But now the ſound of Uthal's train came, from the high
+ Finthormo. They ſpread over the heath to the chace of the boar. Himſelf comes ſlowly on, in the
+ pride of his ſtrength. He lifts two pointed ſpears. On his ſide is the hero's
+
+ ſword. Three youths carry his poliſhed bows. The bounding of five dogs is
+ before him. His heroes move on, at a diſtance, admiring the ſteps of the king. Stately was the
+ ſon of Larthmor ! but his ſoul was dark! Dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it foretels
+ the ſtorms !
+
We roſe on the heath before the king. He ſtopt in the midſt of his courſe.
+ His heroes gathered around. A gray-haired bard advanced. “Whence are the ſons of the ſtrangers !”
+ began the bard of ſong. “The children of the unhappy come to Berrathon; to the ſword of car-borne
+ Uthal. He ſpreads no feaſt in his hall. The blood of ſtrangers is on his ſtreams. If from Selma's
+ walls ye come, from the moſſy walls of Fingal, chuſe three youths to go to your king to tell of
+ the fall of his people. Perhaps the hero may come and pour his blood on Uthal's ſword. So ſhall
+ the fame of Finthormo ariſe, like the growing tree of the vale!”
+
“Never will it riſe, O bard,” I ſaid in the pride of my wrath. “He would
+ ſhrink from the preſence of Fingal, whofe eyes are the flames of death. The ſon of Comhal comes,
+ and kings vaniſh before him. They are rolled together, like miſt, by the breath of his rage.
+ Shall three tell to Fingal, that his people fell?
+
+ Yes ! they may tell it, bard ! but his people ſhall fall with fame !”
+
I stood in the darkneſs of my ſtrength. Toſcar drew his ſword at my ſide.
+ The foe came on like a ſtream. The mingled ſound of death aroſe. Man took man, ſhield met ſhield
+ ; ſteel mixed its beams with ſteel. Darts hiſs thro' air. Spears ring on mails. Swords on broken
+ bucklers bound. As the noiſe of an aged grove beneath the roaring wind, when a thouſand ghoſts
+ break the trees by night, ſuch was the din of arms! But Uthal fell beneath my ſword. The ſons of
+ Berrathon fled. It was then I ſaw him in his beauty, and the tear hung in my eye! “Thou art fallen
+
To mourn over the fall of their enemies, was a practice univerſal among the Celtic heroes
+ This is more agreeable to humanity, than the ſhameful inſulting of the dead, ſo common in Homer,
+ and after him, ſervilely copied by all his imitators, the humane Virgil not excepted, who have
+ been more ſucceſsful in borrowing the imperfections of that great poet, than in their imitations
+ of his beauties.
+ , young tree,” I ſaid, “with all thy beauty round thee. Thou art fallen on thy plains, and
+ the field is bare. The winds come from the deſart! there is no ſound in thy leaves ! Lovely art
+ thou in death, ſon of car-borne Larthmor.”
+
Nina-thoma ſat on the ſhore. She heard the ſound of battle. She turned her
+ red eyes on
+
+ Lethmal, the gray-haired bard of Selma. He alone had remained on the
+ coaſt, with the daughter of Torthoma, “Son of the times of old !” ſhe ſaid, “I hear the noiſe of
+ death. Thy friends have met with Uthal and the chief is low ! O that I had remained on the rock,
+ incloſed with the tumbling waves! Then would my ſoul be ſad, but his death would not reach my
+ ear. Art thou fallen on thy heath, O ſon of high Finthormo ! Thou didſt leave me on a rock, but
+ my ſoul was full of thee. Son of high Finthormo ! art thou fallen on thy heath ?”
+
She roſe pale in her tears. She ſaw the bloody ſhield of Uthal. She ſaw it
+ in Oſſian's hand. Her ſteps were diſtracted on the heath. She flew. She found him. She fell. Her
+ ſoul came forth in a ſigh. Her hair is ſpread on his face. My burſting tears deſcend. A tomb
+ aroſe on the unhappy. My ſong of woe was heard. “Reſt, hapleſs children of youth! Reſt at the
+ noiſe of that moſſy ſtream! The virgins will ſee your tomb, at the chace, and turn away their
+ weeping eyes. Your fame will be in ſong. The voice of the harp will be heard in your praiſe. The
+ daughters of Selma ſhall hear it: your renown ſhall be in other lands. Reſt, children of youth,
+ at the noiſe of the moſſy ſtream.”
+
+
+
Two days we remained on the coaſt. The heroes of Berrathon convened. We
+ brought Larthmor to his halls. The feaſt of ſhells is ſpread. The joy of the aged was great. He
+ looked to the arms of his fathers. The arms which he left in his hall, when the pride of Uthal
+ roſe. We were renowned before Larthmor. He bleſſed the chiefs of Morven. He knew not that his ſon
+ was low, the ſtately ſtrength of Uthal ! They had told, that he had retired to the woods, with
+ the tears of grief. They had told it, but he was ſilent in the tomb of Rothma's heath.
+
On the fourth day we raiſed our ſails, to the roar of the northern wind.
+ Larthmor came to the coaſt. His bards exalted the ſong. The joy of the king was great, he looked
+ to Rothma's gloomy heath. He ſaw the tomb of his ſon. The memory of Uthal roſe. “Who of my
+ heroes,” he ſaid, “lies there? he ſeems to have been of the Kings of men. Was he renowned in my
+ halls, before the pride of Uthal roſe ?” Ye are ſilent, ſons of Berrathon! is the king of heroes
+ low ? My heart melts for thee, O Uthal ! though thy hand was againſt thy father. O that I had
+ remained in the cave! that my ſon had dwelt in Finthormo! I might have heard the
+
+ tread of his feet, when he went to the chace of the boar. I might have
+ heard his voice on the blaſt of my cave. Then would my ſoul be glad : but now darkneſs dwells in
+ my halls.”
+
Such were my deeds, ſon of Alpin, when the arm of my youth was ſtrong. Such
+
Oſſian ſpeaks.
+ the actions of Toſcar, the car-borne ſon of Conloch. But Toſcar is on his flying cloud. I
+ am alone at Lutha. My voice is like the laſt ſound of the wind, when it forfakes the woods. But
+ Oſſian ſhall not be long alone. He fees the miſt that ſhall receive his ghoſt. He beholds the
+ miſt that ſhall form his robe, when he appears on his hills. The ſons of feeble men ſhall behold
+ me, and admire the ſtature of the chiefs of old. They ſhall creep to their caves. They ſhall look
+ to the ſky with fear: for my ſteps ſhall be in the clouds. Darkneſs ſhall roll on my ſide.
+
Lead, ſon of Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. The winds begin to riſe. The
+ dark wave of the lake reſounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora with its branches bare? It
+ bends, ſon of Alpin, in the ruſtling blaſt. My harp hangs on a blaſted branch. The ſound of its
+ ſtrings is mournful. Does the wind touch thee, O harp, or is it ſome paſſing ghoſt! It is the
+ hand of Malvina! Bring me the harp,
+
+ ſon of Alpin. Another ſong ſhall riſe. My ſoul ſhall depart in the ſound.
+ My fathers ſhall hear it in their airy hall. Their dim faces ſhall hang, with joy, from their
+ clouds; and their hands receive their ſon. The aged oak bends over the ſtream. It ſighs with all
+ its moſs. The withered fern whiſtles near, and mixes, as it waves, with Oſſian's hair.
+
“Strike the harp and raiſe the ſong: be near, with all your wings, ye winds.
+ Bear the mournful ſound away to Fingal's airy hall. Bear it to Fingal's hall, that he may hear
+ the voice of his ſon. The voice of him that praiſed the mighty !”
+
“The blaſt of north opens thy gates, O king. I behold thee ſitting on miſt,
+ dimly gleaming in all thine arms. Thy form now is not the terror of the valiant. It is like a
+ watery cloud ; when we ſee the ſtars behind it, with their weeping eyes. Thy ſhield is the aged
+ moon : thy ſword a vapour half-kindled with fire. Dim and feeble is the chief, who travelled in
+ brightneſs before ! But thy ſteps
+
This deſcription of the power of Fingal over the winds and ſtorms, and the image of his
+ taking the ſun, and hiding him in the clouds, do not correſpond with the preceding paragraph,
+ where he is repreſented as a feeble ghoſt, and no more the terror of the
+ valiant ; but it agrees with the notion of the times concerning the ſouls of the deceaſed,
+ who, it was ſuppoſed, had the command of the winds and ſtorms, but took no concern in the
+ affairs of men.
+ are on the winds of the
+
+ deſart, The ſtorms are darkening in thy hand. Thou takeſt the ſun in thy
+ wrath, and hideſt him in thy clouds. The ſons of little men are afraid. A thouſand ſhowers
+ deſcend. But when thou comeſt forth in thy mildneſs ; the gale of the morning is near thy courſe.
+ The ſun laughs in his blue fields. The grey ſtream winds in its vale, The buſhes ſhake their
+ green heads in the wind. The roes bound towards the deſart.”
+
“There is a murmur in the heath ! the ſtormy winds abate! ] hear the voice
+ of Fingal. Long has it been abſent from mine ear ! “Come, Oſſian, come away,” he ſays. “Fingal
+ has received his fame. We paſſed away, like flames that had ſhone for a ſeaſon. Our departure was
+ in renown. Though the plains of our battles are dark and ſilent ; our fame is in the ſour grey
+ ſtones. The voice of Oſſian has been heard. The harp has been ſtrung in Selma. “Come Oſſian, come
+ away,” he ſays, “come, fly with thy fathers on clouds.” I come, I come, thou king of men ! The
+ life of Oſſian fails. I begin to vaniſh on Cona. My ſteps are not ſeen in Selma. Beſide the ſtone
+ of Mora I ſhall fall aſleep. The winds whiſtling in my grey hair, ſhall not awaken me. Depart on
+ thy wings, O wind : thou canſt not diſturb the reſt of the bard.
+
+ The night is long, but his eyes are heavy, Depart, thou ruſtling
+ blaſt.”
+
“But why art thou ſad, ſon of Fingal ? Why grows the cloud of thy ſoul ? The
+ chiefs of other times are departed. They have gone without their fame. The ſons of future years
+ ſhall paſs away. Another race ſhall ariſe. The people are like the waves of ocean : like the
+ leaves of woody Morven, they paſs away in the ruſtling blaſt, and other leaves lift their green
+ heads on high.”
+
Did thy beauty laſt, O Ryno
+
Ryno, the ſon of Fingal, who was killed in Ireland, in the war againſt Swaran, was remarkable
+ for the beauty of his perſon, his ſwiftneſs and great exploits. Minvâne, the daughter of Morni,
+ and ſiſter to Gaul, was in love with Ryno. Her lamentation over her lover follows.
+
+
She bluſhing ſad, from Morven's rocks, bends over the darkly-rolling ſea.
+ She ſees the youth in all their arms,. Where, Kyno, where art thou?
+
Our dark looks told that he was low ! That pale the hero flew on clouds! That in the graſs of
+ Morven's hills, his feeble voice was heard in wind!
+
And is the ſon of Fingal fallen on Ullin's moſſy plains? Strong was the arm that vanquiſhed
+ him! Ah me! I am alone !
+
Alone I ſhall not be, ye winds! that lift my dark-brown hair. My ſighs ſhall not long mix
+ with your ſtream; for I muſt ſleep with Ryno.
+
I ſee thee not, with beauty's ſteps, returning from the chace. The night is round Minvâne's
+ love. Dark ſilence dwells with Ryno.
+
Where are thy dogs, and where thy bow ? Thy ſhield that was ſo ſtrong ? Thy ſword like
+ heaven's deſcending fire ? The bloody ſpear of Ryno ?
+
I ſee them mixed in thy deep ſhip; I ſee them ſtained with blood. No arms are in thy narrow
+ hall, O darkly-dwelling Ryno!
+
When will the morning come, and ſay, “ariſe, thou king of ſpears! ariſe, the hunters are
+ abroad. The hinds are near thee, Ryno!”
+
Away, thou fair-haired morning, away! the ſlumbering king hears thee not! The hinds bound
+ over his narrow tomb ; for death dwells round young Ryno.
+
But I will tread ſoftly, my king! and ſteal to the bed of thy repoſe. Minvâne will lie in
+ ſilence; nor diſturb the ſlumbering Ryno.
+
The maids ſhall ſeek me; but they ſhall not find me : they ſhall follow my departure with
+ ſongs. But I ſhall not hear you, O maids: I ſleep with fair-haired Ryno.
+
+ ? Stood the ſtrength of car-borne Oſcar? Fingal himſelf
+
+
+ departed. The halls of his fathers forgot his ſteps. Shalt thou then
+ remain, thou aged bard! when the mighty have failed ? But my fame ſhall remain, and grow like the
+ oak of Morven ; which lifts its broad head to the ſtorm, and rejoices in the courſe of the wind !
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ A DISSERTATION CONCERNING THE ÆRA of OSSIAN.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ A DISSERTATION CONCERNING THE ÆRA of OSSIAN.
+
Inquiries into the antiquities of nations afford more pleaſure than any
+ real advantage to mankind. The ingenious may form ſyſtems of hiſtory on probabilities and a few
+ facts; but at a great diſtance of time, their accounts muſt be vague and uncertain. The infancy
+ of ſtates and kingdoms is as deſtitute of great events, as of the means of tranſmitting them to
+ poſterity: The arts of poliſhed life, by which alone facts can be preſerved with certainty, are
+ the production of a well-formed community. It is then hiſtorians begin to write, and public
+ tranſactions to be worthy remembrance. The actions of former times are left in obſcurity, or
+ magnified by uncertain traditions, Hence it is that we find ſo
+
+ much of the marvellous in the origin of every nation;
+ poſterity being always ready to believe any thing, however fabulous, that reflects honour on
+ their anceſtors.
+
The Greeks and Romans were remarkable for this weakneſs. They ſwallowed the
+ moſt abſurd fables concerning the high antiquities of their reſpective nations. Good hiſtorians,
+ however, roſe very early amongſt them, and tranſmitted, with luſtre, their great actions to
+ poſterity. It is to them that they owe that unrivalled fame they now enjoy, while the great
+ actions of other nations are involved in fables, or loſt in obſcurity. The Celtic nations afford
+ a ſtriking inſtance of this kind, They, though once the maſters of Europe from the mouth of the
+ river Oby
+
Plin. 1. 6.
, in Ruſſia, to Cape Finiſterre, the weſtern point of Gallicia in
+ Spain, are very little mentioned in hiſtory. They truſted their fame to tradition and the ſongs
+ of their bards, which, by the viciſſitude of human affairs, are long ſince loſt. Their ancient
+ language is the only monument that remains of them ; and the traces of it being ſound in places
+ ſo widely diſtant from each other, ſerves only to ſhew the extent of their ancient power, but
+ throws very little light on their hiſtory.
+
+
+ Of all the Celtic nations, that which poſſeſſed
+ old Gaul is the moſt renowned ; not perhaps on account of worth ſuperior to the reſt, but for
+ their wars with a people who had hiſtorians to tranſmit the fame of their enemies, as well as
+ their own, to poſterity. Britain was firſt peopled by them, according to the teſtimony of the
+ beſt authors
+
Cæſ. 1.5. Tac. Agric. c. 2.
; its ſituation in reſpect to Gaul makes the opinion
+ probable ; but what puts it beyond all diſpute, is that the ſame cuſtoms and language prevailed
+ among the inhabitants of both in the days of Julius Cæſar
+
Cæſar. Pomp. Mel. Tacitus.
.
+
The colony from Gaul poſſeſſed themſelves; at firſt, of that part of Britain
+ which was next to their own country ; and ſpreading northward, by degrees, as they increaſed in
+ numbers, peopled the whole iſland. Some adventurers paſſing over from thoſe parts of Britain that
+ are within ſight of Ireland, were the founders of the Iriſh nation: which is a more probable
+ ſtory than the idle fables of Mileſian and Gallician colonies. Diodorus Siculus
+
Diod. Sic. 1. 5.
mentions it as a thing well known in his time, that the
+ inhabitants of Ireland were originally Britons, and his teſtimony is unqueſtionable, when we
+ conſider
+
+ that, for many ages, the language and cuſtoms of both
+ nations were the ſame.
+
Tacitus was of opinion that the ancient Caledonians were of German extract;
+ but even the ancient Germans themſelves were Gauls. The preſent Germans, properly ſo called, were
+ not the ſame with the ancient Celtæ. The manners and cuſtoms of the two nations were ſimilar ;
+ but their language different. The Germans
+
Strabo, 1.7.
are the genuine deſcendants of the ancient Scandinavians, who
+ croſſed, in an early period, the Baltic. The Celtæ
+
Cæſ. 1. 6. Liv. 1. 5. Tac de mor. Germ.
, anciently, ſent many colonies into
+ Germany, all of whom retained their own laws, language, and cuſtoms, till they were diſſipated,
+ in the Roman empire ; and it is of them, if any colonies came from Germany into Scotland, that
+ the ancient Caledonians were deſcended.
+
But whether the Caledonians were a colony of the Celtic Germans, or the ſame
+ with the Gauls that firſt poſſeſſed themſelves of Britain, is a matter of no moment at this
+ diſtance of time. Whatever their origin was, we find them very numerous in the time of Julius
+ Agricola, which is a preſumption that they were long before ſettled in the country, The form of
+ their government was a mixture of ariſtocracy and
+
+ monarchy, as it was in all the countries where the Druids bore the
+ chief ſway. This order of men ſeems to have been formed on the ſame principles with the Dactyli
+ Idæi and Curetes of the ancients. Their pretended intercourſe with heaven, their magic and
+ divination were the ſame. The knowlege of the Druids in natural cauſes, and the properties of
+ certain things, the fruit of the experiments of ages, gained them a mighty reputation among the
+ people. The eſteem of the populace ſoon increaſed into a veneration for the order; which theſe
+ cunning and ambitious prieſts took care to improve, to ſuch a degree, that they, in a manner,
+ ingroſſed the management of civil, as well as religious, matters. It is generally allowed that
+ they did not abuſe this extraordinary power ; the preſerving their character of ſanctity was ſo
+ eſſential to their influence, that they never broke out into violence or oppreſſion. The chiefs
+ were allowed to execute the laws, but the legiſlative power was entirely in the hands of the
+ Druids
+
Cæſ.1.6.
. It was by their authority that the tribes were united, in times of the
+ greateſt danger, under one head. This temporary king, or Vergobretus
+
Fer-gubreth, the man to judge.
, was choſen by them, and generally laid
+ down his office at the end of the war. Theſe prieſts
+
+ enjoyed long this extraordinary privilege among the
+ Celtic nations who lay beyond the pale of the Roman empire. It was in the beginning of the ſecond
+ century that their power among the Caledonians begun to decline. The traditions concerning
+ Trathal and Cormac, anceſtors to Fingal, are full of the particulars of the fall of the Druids: a
+ fingular fate, it muſt be owned, of prieſts, who had once eſtabliſhed their ſuperſtition !
+
The continual wars of the Caledonians againſt the Romans hindered the better
+ ſort from initiating themſelves, as the cuſtom formerly was, into the order of the Druids. The
+ precepts of their religion were confined to a few, and were not much attended to by a people
+ inured to war. The Vergobretus, or chief magiſtrate, was choſen without the concurrence of the
+ hierarchy, or continued in his office againſt their will. Continual power ſtrengthened his
+ intereſt among the tribes, and enabled him to ſend down, as hereditary to his poſterity, the
+ office he had only received himſelf by election.
+
On occaſion of a new war againſt the King of the World, as
+ tradition emphatically calls the Roman emperor, the Druids, to vindicate the honour of the order,
+ began to reſume their ancient privilege of chuſing the Vergobretus. Garmal, the ſon of Tarno,
+ being deputed by
+
+ them, came to the grandfather of the celebrated Fingal, who was then
+ Vergobretus, and commanded him, in the name of the whole order, to lay down his office. Upon his
+ refuſal, a civil war commenced, which ſoon ended in almoſt the total extinction of the religious
+ order of the Druids. A few that remained, retired to the dark receſſes of their groves, and the
+ caves they had formerly uſed for their meditations. It is then we find them in the circle of
+ ſtones, and unheeded by the world. A total diſregard for the order, and utter abhorrence of
+ the Druidical rites enſued. Under this cloud of public hate, all that had any knowlege of the
+ religion of the Druids became extinct, and the nation fell into the laft degree of ignorance of
+ their rites and ceremonies.
+
It is no matter of wonder then, that Fingal and his ſon Oſſian diſliked the
+ Druids, who were the declared enemies to their ſucceſſion in the ſupreme magiſtracy. It is a
+ fingular caſe, it muſt be allowed, that there are no traces of religion in the poems aſcribed to
+ Oſſian ; as the poetical compoſitions of other nations are fo cloſely connected with their
+ mythology. But gods are not neceſſary, when the poet has genius. It is hard to account for it to
+ thoſe who are not made acquainted with the manner of the old Scottiſh
+
+ bards. That race of men carried their notions of
+ martial honour to an extravagant pitch. Any aid given their heroes in battle, was thought to
+ derogate from their fame ; and the bards immediately transferred the glory of the action to him
+ who had given that aid.
+
Had the poet brought down gods, as often as Homer hath done, to aſſiſt his
+ heroes, his work had not conſiſted of eulogiums on men, but of hymns to ſuperior beings. Thoſe
+ who write in the Galic language ſeldom mention religion in their profane poetry ; and when they
+ profeſſedly write of religion, they never mix with their compoſitions, the actions of their
+ heroes, This cuſtom alone, even though the religion of the Druids had not been previouſly
+ extinguiſhed, may, in ſome meaſure, excuſe the author's ſilence concerning the religion of
+ ancient times.
+
To allege, that a nation is void of all religion, would betray ignorance of
+ the hiſtory of mankind. The traditions of their fathers, and their own obſervations on the works
+ of nature, together with that ſuperſtition which is inherent in the human frame, have, in all
+ ages, raiſed in the minds of men ſome idea of a ſuperior being. Hence it is, that in the darkeſt
+ times, and amongſt the moſt barbarous nations, the very populace themſelves had ſome faint
+
+
+ notion, at leaſt, of a divinity. The Indians, who worſhip no God,
+ believe that he exiſts. It would be doing injuſtice to the author of theſe poems, to think, that
+ he had not opened his conceptions to that primitive and greateſt of all truths. But let his
+ religion be what it will, it is certain he has not alluded to Chriſtianity, or any of its rites,
+ in his poems ; which ought to fix his opinions, at leaſt, to an æra prior to that religion.
+ Conjectures, on this ſubject, muſt ſupply the place of proof. The perſecution begun by
+ Dioclefian, in the year 303, is the moſt probable time in which the firſt dawning of Chriſtianity
+ in the north of Britain can be fixed. The humane and mild character of Conſtantius Chlorus, who
+ commanded then in Britain, induced the perſecuted Chriftians to take refuge under him. Some of
+ them, through a zeal to propagate their tenets, or through fear, went beyond the pale of the
+ Roman empire, and ſettled among the Caledonians; who were ready to hearken to their doctrines, if
+ the religion of the Druids was exploded long before.
+
These miſſionaries, either through choice, or to give more weight to the
+ doctrine they advanced, took poſſeſſion of the cells and groves of the Druids; and it was from
+ this retired life they had the name of Culdees
+
Culdich.
, which in the
+
+ language of the country ſignified ſequeſtered
+ perſons. It was with one of the Culdees that Oſſian, in his extreme old age, is
+ ſaid to have diſputed concerning the Chriftian religion. This diſpute, they ſay, is extant, and
+ is couched in verſe, according to the cuſtom of the times. The extreme ignorance on the part of
+ Oſſian, of the Chriſtian tenets, ſhews, that that religion had only been lately introduced, as it
+ is not eafy to conceive, how one of the firſt rank could be totally unacquainted with a religion
+ that had been known for any time in the country. The diſpute bears the genuine marks of
+ antiquity. The obſolete phraſes and expreſſions peculiar to the times, prove it to be no forgery.
+ If Oſſian then lived at the introduction of Chriſtianity, as by all appearance he did, his epoch
+ will be the latter end of the third, and beginning of the fourth century. Tradition here ſteps in
+ with a kind of proof.
+
The exploits of Fingal againſt Caracul Carac'huil, terrible
+ eye. Carac-'healla, terrible look, Carac-challamh, a ſort of upper
+ garment., the ſon of the king of the world, are among the firſt brave
+ actions of his youth. A complete poem, which relates to this ſubject, is printed in this
+ collection.
+
+
+
In the year 210 the emperor Severus, after returning from his expedition
+ againſt the Caledonians, at York fell into the tedious illneſs of which he afterwards died. The
+ Caledonians and Maiatæ, reſuming courage from his indiſpoſition, took arms in order to recover
+ the poſſeſſions they had loſt. The enraged emperor commanded his army to march into their
+ country, and to deſtroy it with fire and ſword. His orders were but ill executed, for his ſon,
+ Caracalla, was at the head of the army, and his thoughts were entirely taken up with the hopes of
+ his father's death, and with ſchemes to ſupplant his brother Geta. --- He ſcarcely had entered
+ the enemy's country, when news was brought him that Severus was dead. --- A ſudden peace is
+ patched up with the Caledonians, and, as it appears from Dion Caſſius, the country they had loſt
+ to Severus was reſtored to them.
+
The Caracul of Fingal is no other than Caracalla, who, as the ſon of
+ Severus, the Emperor of Rome, whoſe dominions were extended almoſt over the known world, was not
+ without reaſon called the Son of the King of the world. The ſpace of time between 211,
+ the year Severus died, and the beginning of the fourth century, is not ſo great, but Oſſian the
+ ſon of Fingal, might have ſeen the Chriſtians whom the
+
+ perſecution under Diocleſian had driven beyond the
+ pale of the Roman empire.
+
In one of the many lamentations on the death of Oſcar, a battle which he
+ fought againſt Caros, king of ſhips, on the banks of the winding Carun
+
Car-avon, Winding river.
, is mentioned among his great actions. It is
+ more than probable, that the Caros mentioned here, is the ſame with the noted uſurper Caraufius,
+ who aſſumed the purple in the year 287, and ſeizing on Britain, defeated the emperor Maximian
+ Herculius, in ſeveral naval engagements, which gives propriety to his being called the King
+ of Ships. The winding Carun is that ſmall river retaining ſtill the name of Carron,
+ and runs in the neighbourhood of Agricola's wall, which Carauſius repaired to obſtruct the
+ incurſions of the Caledonians. Several other paſſages in traditions allude to the wars of the
+ Romans ; but the two juſt mentioned clearly fix the epocha of Fingal to the third century ; and
+ this account agrees exactly with the Iriſh hiſtories, which place the death of Fingal, the ſon of
+ Comhal, in the year 283, and that of Oſcar and their own celebrated Cairbre, in the year 296.
+
Some people may imagine, that the alluſions to the Roman hiſtory might have
+ been derived
+
+ by tradition, from learned men, more than from ancient poems. This
+ muſt then have happened at leaſt three ages ago, as theſe alluſions are mentioned often in the
+ compoſitions of thoſe times.
+
Every one knows what a cloud of ignorance and barbariſm overſpread the north
+ of Europe three hundred years ago. The minds of men, addicted to ſuperſtition, contracted a
+ narrowneſs that deſtroyed genius. Accordingly we find the compoſitions of thoſe times trivial and
+ puerile to the laſt degree. But let it be allowed, that, amidſt all the untoward circumſtances of
+ the age, a genius might ariſe, it is not eaſy to determine what could induce him to allude to the
+ Roman times. We find no fact to favour any deſigns which could be entertained by any man who
+ lived in the fifteenth century.
+
The ſtrongeſt objection to the antiquity of the poems now given to the
+ public under the name of Oſſian, is the improbability of their being handed down by tradition
+ through ſo many centuries. Ages of barbariſm ſome will ſay, could not produce poems abounding
+ with the diſintereſted and generous ſentiments ſo conſpicuous in the compoſitions of Oſſian; and
+ could theſe ages produce them, it is impoſſible but they muſt be loſt, or altogether corrupted in
+ a long ſucceſſion of barbarous generations.
+
+
+
These objections naturally ſuggeſt themſelves to men unacquainted with the
+ ancient ſtate of the northern parts of Britain. The bards, who were an inferior order of the
+ Druids, did not ſhare their bad fortune. They were ſpared by the victorious king, as it was
+ through their means only he could hope for immortality to his fame. They attended him in the
+ camp, and contributed to eſtabliſh his power by their ſongs. His great actions were magnified,
+ and the populace, who had no ability to examine into his character narrowly, were dazzled with
+ his fame in the rhimes of the bards. In the mean time, men aſſumed ſentiments that are rarely to
+ be met with in an age of barbariſm. The bards who were originally the diſciples of the Druids,
+ had their minds opened, and their ideas enlarged, by being initiated in the learning of that
+ celebrated order. They could form a perfect hero in their own minds, and aſcribe that character
+ to their prince. The inferior chiefs made this ideal character the model of their conduct, and by
+ degrees brought their minds to that generous ſpirit which breathes in all the poetry of the
+ times. The prince, flattered by his bards, and rivalled by his own heroes, who imitated his
+ character as deſcribed in the eulogies of his poets, endeavoured to excel his people in merit,
+
+
+ as he was above them in ſtation. This emulation continuing, formed at
+ laſt the general character of the nation, happily compounded of what is noble in barbarity, and
+ virtuous and generous in a poliſhed people.
+
When virtue in peace, and bravery in war, are the characteriſtics of a
+ nation, their actions become intereſting, and their fame worthy of immortality. A generous ſpirit
+ is warmed with noble actions, and becomes ambitious of perpetuating them. This is the true ſource
+ of that divine inſpiration, to which the poets of all ages pretended. When they found their
+ themes inadequate to the warmth of their imaginations, they varniſhed them over with fables,
+ ſupplied by their own fancy, or furniſhed by abſurd traditions. Theſe fables, however ridiculous,
+ had their abettors; poſterity either implicitly believed them, or through a vanity natural to
+ mankind, pretended that they did. They loved to place the founders of their families in the days
+ of fable, when poetry, without the fear of contradiction, could give what characters ſhe pleaſed
+ of her heroes. It is to this vanity that we owe the preſervation of what remain of the more
+ ancient poems. Their poetical merit made their heroes famous in a country where heroiſm was much
+ eſteemed and admired. The poſterity of thoſe
+
+ heroes, or thoſe who pretended to be deſcended from
+ them, heard with pleaſure the eulogiums of their anceſtors ; bards were employed to repeat the
+ poems, and to record the connection of their patrons with chiefs ſo renowned. Every chief in
+ proceſs of time had a bard in his family, and the office became at laſt hereditary. By the
+ ſucceſſion of theſe bards, the poems concerning the anceſtors of the family were handed down from
+ generation to generation; they were repeated to the whole clan on ſolemn occaſions, and always
+ alluded to in the new compoſitions of the bards. This cuſtom came down to near our own times; and
+ after the bards were diſcontinued, a great number in a clan retained by memory, or committed to
+ writing, their compoſitions, and founded the antiquity of their families on the authority of
+ their poems.
+
The uſe of letters was not known in the north of Europe till long after the
+ inſtitution of the bards : the records of the families of their patrons, their own, and more
+ ancient poems were handed down by tradition. Their poetical compoſitions were admirably contrived
+ for that purpoſe. They were adapted to muſic; and the moſt perfect harmony was obſerved. Each
+ verſe was ſo connected with thoſe which preceded or followed it, that if one line had been
+
+
+ remembered in a ſtanza, it was almoſt impoſſible to forget the reſt.
+ The cadences followed in ſo natural a gradation, and the words were ſo adapted to the common turn
+ of the voice, after it is raiſed to a certain key, that it was almoſt impoſſible, from a
+ ſimilarity of ſound, to ſubſtitute one word for another. This excellence is peculiar to the
+ Celtic tongue, and is perhaps to be met with in no other language. Nor does this choice of words
+ clog the ſenſe or weaken the expreſſion. The numerous flections of conſonants, and variation in
+ declenſion, make the language very copious.
+
The deſcendants of the Celtæ, who inhabited Britain and its iſles, were not
+ ſingular in this method of preſerving the moſt precious monuments of their nation. The ancient
+ laws of the Greeks were couched in verſe, and handed down by tradition. The Spartans, through a
+ long habit, became ſo fond of this cuſtom, that they would never allow their laws to be committed
+ to writing. The actions of great men, and the eulogiums of kings and heroes, were preſerved in
+ the ſame manner. All the hiſtorical monuments of the old Germans were comprehended in their
+ ancient ſongs
+
Tacitus de mor. Germ.
! which were either hymns to their gods, or elegies in
+ praiſe of their heroes,
+
+ and were intended to perpetuate the great events in
+ their nation which were carefully interwoven with them. This ſpecies of compoſition was not
+ committed to writing, but delivered by oral tradition
+
Abbé de la Bleterie Remarques ſur la Germaine.
. The care they took to
+ have the poems taught to their children, the uninterrupted cuſtom of repeating them upon certain
+ occaſions, and the happy meaſure of the verſe, ſerved to preſerve them for a long time
+ uncorrupted. This oral chronicle of the Germans was not forgot in the eighth century, and it
+ probably would have remained to this day, had not learning, which thinks every thing, that is not
+ committed to writing, fabulous, been introduced. It was from poetical traditions that Garcillaſſo
+ compoſed his account of the Yncas of Peru. The Peruvians had loft all other monuments of their
+ hiſtory, and it was from ancient poems which his mother, a princeſs of the blood of the Yncas,
+ taught him in his youth, that he collected the materials of his hiſtory. If other nations then,
+ that had been often overrun by enemies, and had ſent abroad and received colonies, could, for
+ many ages, preſerve, by oral tradition, their laws and hiſtories uncorrupted, it is much more
+ probable that the ancient Scots, a people ſo free of intermixture
+
+ with foreigners, and ſo ſtrongly attached to the memory of their
+ anceſtors, had the works of their bards handed down with great purity.
+
What is advanced, in this ſhort Diſſertation, it muſt be confeſſed, is mere
+ conjecture. Beyond the reach of records, is ſettled a gloom, which no ingenuity can penetrate.
+ The manners deſcribed, in theſe poems, ſuit the ancient Celtic times, and no other period, that
+ is known in hiſtory. We muſt, therefore, place the heroes far back in antiquity; and it matters
+ little, who were their contemporaries in other parts of the world. If we have placed Fingal in
+ his proper period, we do honour to the manners of barbarous times. He exercifed every manly
+ virtue in Caledonia, while Heliogabalus diſgraced human nature at Rome.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ A DISSERTATION CONCERNING THE POEMS of OSSIAN.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ A DISSERTATION CONCERNING THE POEMS of OSSIAN.
+
The hiſtory of thoſe nations, who originally poſſeſſed the north of Europe,
+ is leſs known than their manners. Deſtitute of the uſe of letters, they themſelves had not the
+ means of tranſmitting their great actions to remote poſterity. Foreign writers ſaw them only at a
+ diſtance, and deſcribed them as they found them. The vanity of the Romans induced them to
+ conſider the nations beyond the pale of their empire as barbarians; and conſequently their
+ hiſtory unworthy of being inveſtigated. Their manners and fingular character were matters of
+ curioſity, as they committed them to record. Some men, otherwiſe of great merit among ourſelves,
+ give into confined ideas on
+
+ this ſubject. Having early imbibed their idea of
+ exalted manners from the Greek and Roman writers, they ſcarcely ever afterwards have the
+ fortitude to allow any dignity of character to any nation deſtitute of the uſe of letters.
+
Without derogating from the fame of Greece and Rome, we may conſider
+ antiquity beyond the pale of their empire worthy of ſome attention. The nobler paſſions of the
+ mind never ſhoot forth more free and unreſtrained than in the times we call barbarous. That
+ irregular manner of life, and thoſe manly purſuits from which barbarity takes its name, are
+ highly favorable to a ſtrength of mind unknown in poliſhed times. In advanced ſociety the
+ characters of men are more uniform and diſguiſed. The human paſſions lie in ſome degree concealed
+ behind forms, and artificial manners; and the powers of the ſoul, without an opportunity of
+ exerting them, loſe their vigor. The times of regular government, and poliſhed manners, are
+ therefore to be wiſhed for by the feeble and weak in mind. An unſettled ſtate, and thoſe
+ convulſions which attend it, is the proper field for an exalted character, and the exertion of
+ great parts. Merit there riſes always ſuperior ; no fortuitous event can raiſe the timid and mean
+ into power. To thoſe who look upon antiquity in this light,
+
+ it is an agreeable proſpect ; and they alone can have real pleaſure
+ in tracing nations to their ſource.
+
The eſtabliſhment of the Celtic ſtates, in the north of Europe, is beyond
+ the reach of written annals. The traditions and ſongs to which they truſted their hiſtory, were
+ loſt, or altogether corrupted in their revolutions and migrations, which were ſo frequent and
+ univerſal, that no kingdom in Europe is now poſſefed by its original inhabitants. Societies were
+ formed, and kingdoms erected, from a mixture of nations, who, in proceſs of time, loſt all
+ knowlege of their own origin. If tradition could be depended upon, it is only among a people,
+ from all time, free from intermixture with foreigners. We are to look for theſe among the
+ mountains and inacceſfible parts of a country : places, on account of their barrenneſs,
+ uninviting to an enemy, or whoſe natural ſtrength enabled the natives to repel invaſions. Such
+ are the inhabitants of the mountains of Scotland. We, accordingly, find, that they differ
+ materially from thoſe who poſſeſs the low and more fertile part of the kingdom. Their language is
+ pure and original, and their manners are thoſe of an ancient and unmixed race of men. Conſcious
+ of their own antiquity, they long deſpiſed others, as a new and mixed
+
+ people. As they lived in a country only fit for
+ paſture, they were free from that toil and buſineſs, which engroſs the attention of a commercial
+ people. Their amuſement conſiſted in hearing or repeating their ſongs and traditions, and theſe
+ intirely turned on the antiquity of their nation, and the exploits of their forefathers. It is no
+ wonder, therefore, that there are more remains of antiquity among them, than among any other
+ people in Europe. Traditions, however, concerning remote periods, are only to be regarded, in ſo
+ far as they co-incide with cotemporary writers of undoubted credit and veracity.
+
No writers began their accounts from a more early period, than the
+ hiſtorians of the Scots nation. Without records, or even tradition itſelf, they give a long liſt
+ of ancient kings, and a detail of their tranſactions, with a ſcrupulous exactneſs. One might
+ naturally ſuppoſe, that, when they had no authentic annals, they ſhould, at leaſt, have recourſe
+ to the traditions of their country, and have reduced them into a regular ſyſtem of hiſtory. Of
+ both they ſeem to have been equally deſtitute. Born in the low country, and ſtrangers to the
+ ancient language of their nation, they contented themſelves with copying from one another, and
+ retailing the ſame fictions, in a new colour and dreſs.
+
+
+
+
John Fordunn was the firſt who collected thoſe fragments of the Scots
+ hiſtory, which had eſcaped the brutal policy of Edward I. and reduced them into order. His
+ accounts, in ſo far as they concerned recent tranſactions, deſerved credit : beyond a certain
+ period, they were fabulous and unſatisfactory. Some time before Fordun wrote, the king of
+ England, in a letter to the pope, had run up the antiquity of his nation to a very remote æra.
+ Fordun, poſſeſſed of all the national prejudice of the age, was unwilling that his country ſhould
+ yield, in point of antiquity, to a people, then its rivals and enemies. Deſtitute of annals in
+ Scotland, he had recourſe to Ireland, which, according to the vulgar errors of the times, was
+ reckoned the firſt habitation of the Scots. He found, there, that the Iriſh bards had carried
+ their pretenſions to antiquity as high, if not beyond any nation in Europe. It was from them he
+ took thoſe improbable fictions, which form the firſt part of his hiſtory.
+
The writers that ſucceeded Fordun implicitly followed his ſyſtem, though
+ they ſometimes varied from him in their relations of particular tranſactions, and the order of
+ ſucceſſion of their kings. As they had no new lights, and were, equally with him, unacquainted
+ with the
+
+ traditions of their country, their hiſtories contain
+ little information concerning the origin of the Scots. Even Buchanan himſelf, except the elegance
+ and vigour of his ſtile, has very little to recommend him. Blinded with political prejudices, he
+ ſeemed more anxious to turn the fictions of his predeceſſors to his own purpoſes, than to detect
+ their miſrepreſentations, or inveſtigate truth amidſt the darkneſs which they had thrown round
+ it. It therefore appears, that little can be collected from their own hiſtorians, concerning the
+ firſt migration of the Scots into Britain.
+
That this iſland was peopled from Gaul admits of no doubt. Whether colonies
+ came afterwards from the north of Europe is a matter of meer ſpeculation. When South-Britain
+ yielded to the power of the Romans, the unconquered nations to the north of the province were
+ diſtinguiſhed by the name of Caledonians. From their very name, it appears, that they
+ were of thoſe Gauls, who poſſeſſed themſelves originally of Britain. It is compounded of two
+ Celtic words, Caël ſignifying Celts, or Gauls, and
+ Dun or Don, a hill; ſo that Caël-don, or Caledonians, is as much as to
+ ſay, the Celts of the hill country. The Highlanders, to this day, call themſelves
+ Caël, their language Caëlic, or Galic, and their country
+
+
+ Caëldoch, which the Romans ſoftened into
+ Caledonia. This, of itſelf, is ſufficient to demonſtrate, they are the genuine
+ deſcendents of the ancient Caledonians, and not a pretended colony of Scots, who ſettled
+ firſt in the north, in the third or fourth century.
+
From the double meaning of the word Caël, which ſignifies
+ ſtrangers, as well as Gauls,or Celts, ſome have imagined, that the
+ anceſtors of the Caledonians were of a different race from the reſt of the Britons, and that they
+ received their name upon that account. This opinion, ſay they, is ſupported by Tacitus, who, from
+ ſeveral circumſtances, concludes, that the Caledonians were of German extraction. A diſcuſſion of
+ a point ſo intricate, at this diſtance of time, could neither be fatisfaſtory nor important.
+
Towards the latter end of the third, and beginning of the fourth century, we
+ meet with the Scots in the north. Porphyrius
+
St. Hierom, ad Cteſiphon,
makes the firſt mention of them about that time. As
+ the Scots were not heard of before that period, moſt writers ſuppoſed them to have been a colony,
+ newly come to Britain, and that the Picts were the only genuine deſcendents of the
+ ancient Caledonians. This miſtake is eaſily removed. The
+
+ Caledonians, in proceſs of time, became naturally
+ divided into two diſtinct nations, as poſſeſſing parts of the country, intirely different in
+ their nature and ſoil. The weſtern coaſt of Scotland is hilly and barren ; towards the eaſt the
+ country is plain, and fit for tillage. The inhabitants of the mountains, a roving and
+ uncontrouled race of men, lived by feeding of cattle, and what they killed in hunting. Their
+ employment did not fix them to one place. They removed from one heath to another, as ſuited beſt
+ with their convenience or inclination. They were not, therefore, improperly called, by their
+ neighbours, Scuite, or the wandering nation ; wiuch is evidently the
+ origin of the Roman name of Scoti.
+
On the other hand, the Caledonians, who poſſeſſed the eaſt coaſt of
+ Scotland, as the diviſion of the country was plain and fertile, applied themſelves to
+ agriculture, and raiſing of corn. It was from this, that the Galic name of the Picts
+ proceeded; for they are called, in that language, Cruithnich, i. e. the wheat or
+ corn-eaters. As the Picts lived in a country ſo different in its nature from that poſſeſſed
+ by the Scots, ſo their national character ſuffered a material change. Unobſtructed by mountains,
+ or lakes, their communication with one another was free and frequent.
+
+ Society, therefore, became ſooner eſtabliſhed among them, than
+ among the Scots, and, conſequently, they were much ſooner governed by civil magiſtrates and laws.
+ This, at laſt, produced ſo great a difference in the manners of the two nations, that they began
+ to forget their common origin, and almoſt continual quarrels and animoſities ſubſiſted between
+ them. Theſe animoſities, after ſome ages, ended in the ſubverſion of the Pictiſh kingdom, but not
+ in the total extirpation of the nation, according to moſt of the Scots writers, who ſeemed to
+ think it more for the honour of their countrymen to annihilate, than reduce a rival people under
+ their obedience. It is certain, however, that the very name of the Picts was loſt, and thoſe that
+ remained were ſo completely incorporated with their conquerors, that they ſoon loſt all memory of
+ their own origin.
+
The end of the Pictiſh government is placed ſo near that period, to which
+ authentic annals reach, that it is matter of wonder, that we have no monuments of their language
+ or hiſtory remaining. This favours the ſyſtem I have laid down. Had they originally been of a
+ different race from the Scots, their language of courſe would be different. The contrary is the
+ caſe. The names of places in the Pictiſh dominions,
+
+ and the very names of their kings, which are handed
+ down to us, are of Galic original, which is a convincing proof, that the two nations were, of
+ old, one and the ſame, and only divided into two governments, by the effect which their ſituation
+ had upon the genius of the people.
+
The name of Picts is ſaid to have been given by the Romans to the
+ Caledonians, who poſſeſſed the eaſt coaſt of Scotland, from their painting their bodies. The
+ ſtory is ſilly and the argument abſurd. But let us revere antiquity in her very follies. This
+ circumſtance made ſome imagine, that the Picts were of Britiſh extract, and a different race of
+ men from the Scots. That more of the Britons, who fled northward from the tyranny of the Romans,
+ ſettled in the low country of Scotland, than among the Scots of the mountains, may be eaſily
+ imagined, from the very nature of the country. It was they who introduced painting among the
+ Picts. From this circumſtance, affirm ſome antiquaries, proceeded the name of the latter, to
+ diſtinguiſh them from the Scots, who never had that art among them, and from the Britons, who
+ diſcontinued it after the Roman conqueſt.
+
The Caledonians, moſt certainly, acquired a conſiderable knowlege in
+ navigation, by their living on a coaſt interſected with many arms of
+
+ the ſea, and, in iſlands, divided, one from another, by wide and
+ dangerous firths. It is, therefore, highly probable, that they, very early, found their way to
+ the north of Ireland, which is within ſight of their own country. That Ireland was firſt peopled
+ from Britain is, at length, a matter that admits of no doubt. The vicinity of the two iſlands;
+ the exact correſpondence of the ancient inhabitants of both, in point of manners and language,
+ are ſufficient proofs, even if we had not the teſtimony of
+
Dio. Sic, 1. 5.
authors of undoubted veracity to confirm it. The abettors of the
+ moſt romantic ſyſtems of Iriſh antiquities allow it; but they place the colony from Britain in an
+ improbable and remote æra. I ſhall eaſily admit, that the colony of the Firbolg,
+ confeſſedly the Belgæ of Britain, ſettled in the ſouth of Ireland, before the Caël, or
+ Caledonians, diſcovered the north; but it is not at all likely, that the migration of the Firbolg
+ to Ireland happened many centuries before the chriſtian æra.
+
The poem of Temora throws conſiderable light on this ſubject. The accounts
+ given in it agree ſo well with what the ancients have delivered, concerning the firſt population
+ and
+
+ inhabitants of Ireland, that eyery unbiaſſed perſon
+ will confeſs them more probable, than the legends handed down, by tradition, in that country. It
+ appears, that, in the days of Trathal, grandfather to Fingal, Ireland was poſſeſſed by two
+ nations; the Firbolg or Belgæ of Britain, who inhabited the ſouth, and the
+ Caël, who paſſed over from Caledonia and the Hebrides to Ulfter. The two nations, as is uſual
+ among an unpoliſhed and lately ſettled people, were divided into ſmall dynaſties, ſubject to
+ petty kings, or chiefs, independent of one another. In this ſituation, it is probable, they
+ continued long, without any material revolution in the ſtate of the iſland, until Crothar, Lord
+ of Atha, a country in Connaught, the moſt potent chief of the Firbolg, carried away
+ Conlama, the daughter of Cathmin, a chief of the Caël, who poſſeſſed Ulſter.
+
Conlama had been betrothed ſome time before to Turloch, a chief of their own
+ nation. Turloch reſented the affront offered him by Crothar, made an irruption into Connaught,
+ and killed Cormul, the brother of Crothar, who came to oppoſe his progreſs. Crothar himſelf then
+ took arms, and either killed or expelled Turloch. The war, upon this, became general, between the
+ two nations: and the Caël were
+
+ reduced to the laſt extremity. In this ſituation, they applied, for
+ aid, to Trathal king of Morven, who ſent his brother Conar, already famous for his great
+ exploits, to their relief. Conar, upon his arrival in Ulfter, was choſen king, by the unanimous
+ conſent of the Caledonian tribes, who poſſeſſed that country. The war was renewed with vigour and
+ ſucceſs; but the Firbolg appear to have been rather repelled than ſubdued. In ſucceeding reigns,
+ we learn from epiſodes in the ſame poem, that the chiefs of Atha made ſeveral efforts to become
+ monarchs of Ireland, and to expel the race of Conar.
+
To Conar ſucceeded his ſon Cormac, who appears to have reigned long. In his
+ latter days he ſeems to have been driven to the laſt extremity, by an inſurrection of the
+ Firbolg, who ſupported the pretenſions of the chiefs of Atha to the Iriſh throne.
+ Fingal, who then was very young, came to the aid of Cormac, totally defeated Colc-ulla, chief of
+ Atha, and re-eſtabliſhed Cormac in the ſole poſſeſſion of all Ireland. It was then he fell in
+ love with, and took to wife, Roscrana, the daughter of Cormac, who was the mother of Oſſian.
+
Cormac was ſucceeded in the Iriſh throne by his ſon, Cairbre; Cairbre by
+ Artho, his ſon, who was the father of that Cormac, in whoſe
+
+ minority the invaſion of Swaran happened, which is the
+ ſubject of the poem of Fingal. The family of Atha, who had not relinquiſhed their
+ pretenflons to the Iriſh throne, rebelled in the minority of Cormac, defeated his adherents, and
+ murdered him in the palace of Temora. Cairbar, lord of Atha, upon this, mounted the throne. His
+ uſurpation ſoon ended with his life; for Fingal made an expedition into Ireland, and reſtored,
+ after various viciſſitudes of fortune, the family of Conar to the poſſeſſion of the kingdom. This
+ war is the ſubject of Temora; the events, though certainly heightened and embelliſhed by poetry,
+ ſeem, notwithſtanding, to have their ſoundation in true hiſtory.
+
Temora contains not only the hiſtory of the firſt migration of the
+ Caledonians into Ireland, it alſo preſerves ſome important facts, concerning the firſt ſettlement
+ of the Firbolg, or Belgæ of Britain, in that kingdom, under their leader
+ Larthon, who was anceſtor to Cairbar and Cathmor, who ſucceſſively mounted the Iriſh throne,
+ after the death of Cormac, the ſon of Artho. I forbear to tranſcribe the paſſage, on account of
+ its length. It is the ſong of Fonar, the bard; towards the latter end of the ſeventh book of
+ Temora. As the generations from Larthon to Cathmor, to whom the epiſode
+
+
+ is addreſſed, are not marked, as are thoſe of the family of Conar,
+ the firſt king of Ireland, we can form no judgment of the time of the ſettlement of the Firbolg.
+ It is, however, probable, it was ſome time before the Caël, or Caledonians, ſettled in Ulfter.
+ One important fact may be gathered from this hiſtory, that the Iriſh had no king before the
+ latter end of the firſt century. Fingal lived, it is ſuppoſed, in the third century ; ſo Conar,
+ the firſt monarch of the Iriſh, who was his grand-uncle, cannot be placed farther back than the
+ cloſe of the firſt. To eſtabliſh this fact, is to lay, at once, aſide the pretended antiquities
+ of the Scots and Iriſh, and to get quit of the long liſt of kings which the latter give us for a
+ millennium before.
+
Of the affairs of Scotiand, it is certain, nothing can be depended upon,
+ prior to the reign of Fergus, the ſon of Erc, who lived in the fifth century. The true hiſtory of
+ Ireland begins ſomewhat later than that period, Sir James Ware
+
War. de antiq. Hybern. præ p. 1.
, who was indefatigable in his reſearches after
+ the antiquities of his country, rejects, as mere fiction and idle romance, all that is related of
+ the ancient Iriſh, before the time of St. Patrick, and the reign of Leogaire. It is from
+
+
+ this conſideration, that he begins his hiſtory at the
+ introduction of Chriſtianity, remarking, that all that is delivered down, concerning the times of
+ paganiſm, were tales of late invention, ſtrangely mixed with anachroniſms and inconſiſtencies.
+ Such being the opinion of Ware, who had collected with uncommon induſtry and zeal, all the real
+ and pretendedly antient manuſcripts, concerning the hiſtory of his country, we may, on his
+ authority, reject the improbable and ſelf-condemned tales of Keating and O'Flaherty. Credulous
+ and puerile to the laſt degree, they have diſgraced the antiquities they meant to eſtabliſh. It
+ is to be wiſhed, that ſome able Iriſhman, who underſtands the language and records of his
+ country, may redeem, ere it is too late, the genuine antiquities of Ireland, from the hands of
+ theſe idle fabuliſts.
+
By comparing the hiſtory in theſe poems with the legends of the Scots and
+ Iriſh writers, and, by afterwards examining both by the teſt of the Roman authors, it is eaſy to
+ diſcover which is the moſt probable. Probability is all that can be eſtabliſhed on the authority
+ of tradition, ever dubious and uncertain. But when it favours the hypotheſis laid down by
+ cotemporary writers of undoubted veracity, and, as it were, finiſhes the figure of which they
+ only drew the out-lines, it
+
+ ought, in the judgment of ſober reaſon, to be preferred to
+ accounts framed in dark and diſtant periods, with little judgment, and upon no authority.
+
Concerning the period of more than a century, which intervenes between
+ Fingal and the reign of Fergus, the ſon of Erc or Arcath, tradition is dark and contradictory.
+ Some trace up the family of Fergus to a ſon of Fingal of that name, who makes a conſiderable
+ figure in Oſſian's poems. The three elder ſons of Fingal, Oſſian, Fillan, and Ryno, dying without
+ iſſue, the ſucceſſion, of courſe, devolved upon Fergus, the fourth ſon and his poſterity. This
+ Fergus, ſay ſome traditions, was the father of Congal, whoſe ſon was Arcath, the father of
+ Fergus, properly called the firſt king of Scots, as it was in his time the Caël, who
+ poſſeſſed the weſtern coaft of Scotland, began to be diſtinguiſhed, by foreigners, by the name of
+ Scots From thenceforward, the Scots and Picts, as diftinct nations, became objects of
+ attention to the hiſtorians of other countries. The internal ſtate of the two Caledonian kingdoms
+ has always continued, and ever muſt remain, in obſcurity and fable.
+
It is in this epoch we muſt fix the beginning of the decay of that ſpecies
+ of heroiſm, which ſubſiſted in the days of Fingal. There are three
+
+ ſtages in human ſociety. The firſt is the reſult of
+ conſanguinity, and the natural affection of the members of a family to one another. The ſecond
+ begins when property is eſtabliſhed, and men enter into aſſociations for mutual defence, againſt
+ the invaſions and injuſtice of neighbours. Mankind ſubmit, in the third, to certain laws and
+ ſubordinations of government, to which they truſt the ſafety of their perſons and property. As
+ the firft is formed on nature, ſo, of courſe, it is the moſt diſintereſted and noble. Men, in the
+ laſt, have leiſure to cultivate the mind, and to reſtore it, with reflection, to a primæval
+ dignity of ſentiment. The middle ſtate is the region of complete barbariſm and ignorance. About
+ the beginning of the fifth century, the Scots and Picts were advanced into the ſecond ſtage, and,
+ conſequently, into thoſe circumſcribed ſentiments, which always diſtinguiſh barbarity. The events
+ which ſoon after happened did not at all contribute to enlarge their ideas, or mend their
+ national character.
+
About the year 425, the Romans, on account of domeſtic commotions, entirely
+ forſook Britain, finding it impoſſible to defend ſo diſtant a frontier, The Picts and Scots,
+ ſeizing this favourable opportunity, made incurſions into the deſerted province. The Britons,
+ enervated by
+
+ the ſlavery of ſeveral centuries, and thoſe vices, which are
+ inſeparable from an advanced ſtate of civility, were not able to withſtand the impetuous, though
+ irregular attacks of a barbarous enemy. In the utmoſt diſtreſs, they applied to their old
+ maſters, the Romans, and (after the unfortunate ſtate of the Empire could not ſpare aid) to the
+ Saxons, a nation equally barbarous and brave, with the enemies of whom they were ſo much afraid.
+ Though the bravery of the Saxons repelled the Caledonian nations for a time, yet the latter found
+ means to extend themſelves, conſiderably, towards the ſouth. It is, in this period, we muſt place
+ the origin of the arts of Civil life among the Scots. The ſeat of government was removed from the
+ mountains to the plain and more fertile provinces of the South, to be near the common enemy, in
+ caſe of ſudden incurſions. Inſtead of roving through unfrequented wilds, in ſearch of
+ ſubſiſtance, by means of hunting, men applied to agriculture, and raiſing of corn. This manner of
+ life was the firſt means of changing the national character. The next thing which contributed to
+ it was their mixture with ſtrangers.
+
In the countries which the Scots had conquered from the Britons, it is
+ probable the moſt of the old inhabitants remained. Theſe
+
+ incorporating with the conquerors, taught them
+ agriculture, and other arts, which they themſelves had received from the Romans. The Scots,
+ however, in number as well as power, being the moſt predominant, retained ſtill their language,
+ and as many of the cuſtoms of their anceſtors, as ſuited with the nature of the country they
+ poſſeſſed. Even the union of the two Caledonian kingdoms did not much affect the national
+ character. Being originally deſcended from the ſame ſtock, the manners of the Picts and Scots
+ were as ſimilar as the different natures of the countries they poſſefſed permitted.
+
What brought about a total change in the genius of the Scots nation, was
+ their wars, and other tranſactions with the Saxons. Several counties in the ſouth of Scotland
+ were alternately poſſeſſed by the two nations. They were ceded, in the ninth age, to the Scots,
+ and, it is probable, that moſt of the Saxon inhabitants remained in poſſeſſion of their lands.
+ During the ſeveral conqueſts and revolutions in England, many fled, for refuge, into Scotland, to
+ avoid the oppreſſion of foreigners, or the tyranny of domeſtic uſurpers ; in ſo much, that the
+ Saxon race formed perhaps near one half of the Scottiſh kingdom. The Saxon manners and language
+ daily gained ground, on the tongue and
+
+ cuſtoms of the antient Caledonians, till, at laſt, the latter were
+ entirely relegated to inhabitants of the mountains, who were ſtill unmixed with ſtrangers.
+
It was after the acceſſion of territory which the Scots received, upon the
+ retreat of the Romans from Britain, that the inhabitants of the Highlands were divided into
+ clans. The king, when he kept his court in the mountains, was conſidered, by the whole nation, as
+ the chief of their blood. Their ſmall number, as well as the preſence of their prince, prevented
+ thoſe diviſions, which, afterwards, ſprung forth into ſo many ſeparate tribes. When the ſeat of
+ government was removed to the ſouth, thoſe who remained in the Highlands were, of courſe,
+ neglected. They naturally formed themſelves into ſmall ſocieties, independent of one another.
+ Each ſociety had its own regulus, who either was, or in the ſucceſſion of a few
+ generations, was regarded as chief of their blood. The nature of the country favoured an
+ inſtitution of this ſort. A few valleys, divided from one another by extenſive heaths and
+ impaſſible mountains, form the face of the Highlands. In theſe valleys the chiefs fixed their
+ reſidence. Round them, and almoſt within ſight of their dwellings, were the habitations of their
+ relations and dependents.
+
+
+
+ The ſeats of the Highland chiefs
+ were neither diſagreeable nor inconvenient. Surrounded with mountains and hanging woods, they
+ were covered from the inclemency of the weather. Near them generally ran a pretty large river,
+ which, diſcharging itſelf not far off, into an arm of the ſea, or extenſive lake, ſwarmed with
+ variety of fiſh. The woods were ſtocked with wild-fowl ; and the heaths and mountains behind them
+ were the natural ſeat of the red-deer and roe. If we make allowance for the backward ſtate of
+ agriculture, the valleys were not unfertile ; affording, if not all the conveniencies, at leaſt
+ the neceſſaries of life. Here the chief lived, the ſupreme judge and law-giver of his own people
+ ; but his ſway was neither ſevere nor unjuſt. As the populace regarded him as the chief of their
+ blood, ſo he, in return, conſidered them as members of his family. His commands therefore, though
+ abſolute and decifive, partook more of the authority of a father, than of the rigor of a judge.
+ Though the whole territory of the tribe was conſidered as the property of the chief, yet his
+ vaſſals made him no other conſideration for their lands than ſervices, neither burdenſome nor
+ frequent. As he ſeldom went from home, he was at no expense. His table
+
+ was ſupplied by his own herds, and what his numerous attendants
+ killed in hunting.
+
In this rural kind of magnificence, the Highland chiefs lived, for many
+ ages. At a diſtance from the ſeat of government, and ſecured, by the inacceſſibleneſs of their
+ country, they were free and independent. As they had little communication with ſtrangers, the
+ cuſtoms of their anceſtors remained among them, and their language retained its original purity.
+ Naturally fond of military fame, and remarkably attached to the memory of their anceſtors, they
+ delighted in traditions and ſongs, concerning the exploits of their nation, and eſpecially of
+ their own particular families. A ſucceſſion of bards was retained in every clan, to hand down the
+ memorable actions of their forefathers. As Fingal and his chiefs were the moſt renowned names in
+ tradition, the bards took care to place them in the genealogy of every great family. They became
+ famous among the people, and an object of fiction and poetry to the bards.
+
The bards erected their immediate patrons into heroes, and celebrated them
+ in their ſongs. As the circle of their knowledge was narrow, their ideas were confined in
+ proportion. A few happy expreſſions, and the manners they repreſent, may pleaſe thoſe who
+ underſtand the
+
+ language; their obſcurity and inaccuracy would diſguſt
+ in a tranſlation. It was chiefly for this reaſon, that I have rejected wholly the works of the
+ bards in my publications. Oſſian acted in a more extenſive ſphere, and his ideas ought to be more
+ noble and univerſal ; neither gives he, I preſume, ſo many of thoſe peculiarities, which are only
+ underſtood in a certain period or country. The other bards have their beauties, but not in this
+ ſpecies of compoſition. Their rhimes, only calculated to kindle a martial ſpirit among the
+ vulgar, afford very little pleaſure to genuine taſte. This obſervation only regards their poems
+ of the heroic kind; in every inferior ſpecies of poetry they are more ſucceſsful. They expreſs
+ the tender melancholy of deſponding love, with ſimplicity and nature. So well adapted are the
+ ſounds of the words to the ſentiments, that, even without any knowledge of the language they
+ pierce and diſſolve the heart. Succeſsful love is expreſſed with peculiar tenderneſs and
+ elegance. In all their compoſitions, except the heroic, which was ſolely calculated to animate
+ the vulgar, they give us the genuine language of the heart, without any of thoſe affected
+ ornaments of phraſeology, which, tho' intended to beautify ſentiments, diveſt them of their
+ natural force. The ideas, it is confeſſed,
+
+ are too local, to be admired, in another language ; to thoſe who
+ are acquainted with the manners they repreſent, and the ſcenes they deſcribe, they muſt afford
+ pleaſure and ſatiſfaction.
+
It was the locality of their deſcription and ſentiment, that, probably, has
+ kept them hitherto in the obſcurity of an almoſt loſt language. The ideas of an unpoliſhed period
+ are ſo contrary to the preſent advanced ſtate of ſociety, that more than a common mediocrity of
+ taſte is required, to reliſh them as they deſerve. Thoſe who alone are capable of transferring
+ ancient poetry into a modern language, might be better employed in giving originals of their own,
+ were it not for that wretched envy and meanneſs which affects to deſpiſe cotemporary genius. My
+ firſt publication was merely accidental. Had I then met with leſs approbation, my after-purſuits
+ would have been more profitable ; at leaft I might have continued to be ſtupid, without being
+ branded with dulneſs.
+
These poems may furniſh light to antiquaries, as well as ſome pleaſure to
+ the lovers of poetry. The firſt population of Ireland, its firſt kings, and ſeveral
+ circumſtances, which regards its connection of old with the ſouth and north of Britain, are
+ preſented in ſeveral epiſodes. The
+
+ ſubject and cataſtrophe of the poem are founded upon
+ facts, which regarded the firſt peopling of that country, and the conteſts between the two
+ Britiſh nations, who originally inhabited that iſland. In a preceding part of this Diſſertation,
+ I have ſhewn how ſuperior the probability of this ſyſtem is to the undigeſted fictions of the
+ Iriſh bards, and the more recent and regular legends of both Iriſh and Scottiſh hiſtorians. I
+ mean not to give offence to the abettors of the high antiquities of the two nations, though I
+ have all along expreſſed my doubts, concerning the veracity and abilities of thoſe who deliver
+ down their antient hiſtory. For my own part, I prefer the national fame, ariſing from a few
+ certain facts, to the legendary and uncertain annals of ages of remote and obſcure antiquity. No
+ kingdom now eſtabliſhed in Europe can pretend to equal antiquity with that of the Scots,
+ inconſiderable as it may appear in other reſpects, even according to my ſyſtem, ſo that it is
+ altogether needleſs to fix its origin a fictitious millennium before.
+
Since the firſt publication of theſe poems, many inſinuations have been
+ made, and doubts ariſen, concerning their authenticity. Whether theſe ſuſpicions are ſuggeſted by
+ prejudice, or are only the effects of malice, I neither know nor
+
+ care. Thoſe who have doubted my veracity have paid a compliment to
+ my genius ; and were even the allegation true, my ſelf-denial might have atoned for my fault.
+ Without vanity I ſay it, I think I could write tolerable poetry ; and I aſſure my antagoniſts,
+ that I ſhould not tranſlate what I could not imitate.
+
As prejudice is the effect of ignorance, I am not ſurprized at its being general. An age that
+ produces few marks of genius ought to be ſparing of admiration. The truth is, the bulk of mankind
+ have ever been led, by reputation more than taſte, in articles of literature. If all the Romans,
+ who admired Virgil, underſtood his beauties, he would have ſcarce deſerved to have come down to
+ us, through ſo many centuries. Unleſs genius were in faſhion, Homer himſelf might have written in
+ vain. He that wiſhes to come with weight, on the ſuperficial, muſt ſkim the ſurface, in their own
+ ſhallow way. Were my aim to gain the many, I wou'd write a madrigal ſooner than an heroic poem.
+ Laberius himſelf would be always ſure of more followers than Sophocles.
+
Some who doubt the authenticity of this work, with peculiar acuteneſs
+ appropriate them to the Iriſh nation. Tho' it is not eaſy to conceive how theſe poems can belong
+ to Ireland and to me, at
+
+ once, [ ſhall examine the ſubject, without further
+ animadverſion on the blunder.
+
Of all the nations deſcended from the antient Celtæ, the Scots and
+ Iriſh are the moſt ſimilar in language, cuſtoms, and manners. This argues a more intimate
+ connection between them, than a remote deſcent from the great Celtic ſtock. It is evident, in
+ ſhort, that at ſome one period or other, they formed one ſociety, were ſubject to the ſame
+ government, and were, in all reſpects, one and the ſame people. How they became divided, which
+ the colony, or which the mother nation, I have in another work amply diſcuſſed. The firft
+ circumſtance that induced me to diſregard the vulgarly-received opinion of the Hibernian
+ extraction of the Scottiſh nation, was my obſervations on their antient language. That dialect of
+ the Celtic tongue, ſpoken in the north of Scotland, is much more pure, more agreeable to its
+ mother language, and more abounding with primitives, than that now ſpoken, or even that which has
+ been written for ſome centuries back, amongſt the moſt unmixed part of the Iriſh nation. A
+ Scotchman, tolerably converſant in his own language, underſtands an Iriſh compoſition, from that
+ derivative analogy which it has to the Galic of North Britain. An Iriſhman, on the other
+ hand, without the aid of ſtudy, can never underſtand
+
+ a compoſition in the Galic tongue. This affords a proof, that the
+ Scotch Galic is the moſt original, and, conſequently, the language of a more ancient and unmixed
+ people. The Iriſh, however backward they may be to allow any thing to the prejudice of their
+ antiquity, ſeem inadvertently to acknowledge it, by the very appellation they give to the dialect
+ they ſpeak. They call their own language Caëlic, Eirinach, i. e. Caledonian
+ Iriſh, when, on the contrary, they call the dialect of North-Britain a Chaëlic, or
+ the Caledonian tongue, emphatically. A circumftance of this nature tends more to decide
+ which is the moſt antient nation, than the united teſtimonies of a whole legion of ignorant bards
+ and ſenachies, who, perhaps, never dreamed of bringing the Scots from Spain to Ireland, till ſome
+ one of them, more learned than the reſt, diſcovered, that the Romans called the firſt
+ Iberia, and the latter Hibernia. On ſuch a ſlight foundation were probably
+ built the romantic fictions, concerning the Mileſians of Ircland.
+
From internal proofs it ſufficiently appears, that the poems publiſhed under
+ the name of Oſſian, are not of Iriſh compoſition. The favourite chimæra, that Ireland is the
+ mother-country of the Scots, is totally ſubverted and ruined. The fictions concerning the
+ antiquities
+
+ of that country, which were forming for ages, and
+ growing as they came down, on the hands of ſucceſſive ſenachies and fileas, are
+ found, at laſt, to be the ſpurious brood of modern and ignorant ages. To thoſe who know how
+ tenacious the Iriſh are, of their pretended Iberian deſcent, this alone is proof
+ ſufficient, that poems, ſo ſubverſive of their ſyſtem, could never be produced by an Hibernian
+ bard. But when we look to the language, it is ſo different from the Iriſh dialect, that it would
+ be as ridiculous to think, that Milton's Paradiſe Loſt could be wrote by a Scottiſh peaſant, as
+ to ſuppoſe, that the poems aſcribed to Oſſian were writ in Ireland.
+
The pretenſions of Ireland to Oſſian proceed from another quarter. There are
+ handed down, in that country, traditional poems, concerning the Fiona, or the heroes of
+ Fion Mac Comnal. This Fion, ſay the Iriſh annaliſts, was general of the militia
+ of Ireland, in the reign of Cormac, in the third century. Where Keating and O'Flaherty learned,
+ that Ireland had an embodied militia ſo early, is not eaſy for me to determine. Their
+ information certainly did not come from the Iriſh poems,concerning Fion. I have juſt now, in my
+ hands, all that remain, of thoſe
+
+ compoſitions; but, unluckily for the antiquities of Ireland, they
+ appear to be the work of a very modern period. Every ſtanza, nay almoſt every line, affords
+ ſtriking proofs, that they cannot be three centuries old. Their alluſions to the manners and
+ cuſtoms of the fifteenth century, are ſo many, that it is matter of wonder to me, how any one
+ could dream of their antiquity. They are entirely writ in that romantic taſte, which prevailed
+ two ages ago. Giants, enchanted caſtles, dwarfs, palfreys, witches and magicians form the whole
+ circle of the poet's invention. The celebrated Fion could ſcarcely move from one hillock
+ to another, without encountering a giant, or being entangled in the circles of a magician.
+ Witches, on broomſticks, were continually hovering round him, like crows; and he had freed
+ enchanted virgins in every valley in Ireland. In ſhort, Fion, great as he was, paſſed a
+ diſagreeable life. Not only had he to engage all the miſchiefs in his own country, foreign armies
+ invaded him, aſſiſted by magicians and witches, and headed by Kings, as tall as the main-maſt of
+ a firſt rate. It muſt be owned, however, that Fion was not inferior to them in height.
+
+
+
+
+ A chos air Cromleach, druim-ard,
+ Chos eile air Crom-meal dubh,
+ Thoga Fion le lamh mhoir
+ An d'uiſge o Lubhair na fruth.
+
+ With one foot on Cromleach his brow,
+ The other on Crommal the dark,
+ Fion took up with his large hand
+ The water from Lubar of the ſtreams.
+
Cromleach and Crommal were two mountains in the neighbourhood of one another,
+ in Ulſter, and the river Lubar ran through the intermediate valley. The property of ſuch
+ a monſter as this Fion, I ſhould never have diſputed with any nation. But the bard
+ himſelf, in the poem, from which the above quotation is taken, cedes him to Scotland.
+ Fion o Albin, fiol nan laoich !
+ FionfromAlbion, race of
+ heroes !
+
Were it allowable to contradict the authority of a bard, at this diſtance of time, I ſhould
+ have given as my opinion, that this enormous Fion was of the race of the Hibernian
+ giants, of Ruanus, or ſome other celebrated name, rather than
+
+ a native of Caledonia, whoſe inhabitants, now at leaſt, are not
+ remarkable for their ſtature. As for the poetry, I leave it to the reader.
+
IfFion was ſo remarkable for his ſtature, his heroes had alſo
+ other extraordinary properties. In weight all the ſons of ſtrangers yielded to the
+ celebrated Ton-iofal ; and for hardneſs of ſkull, and, perhaps, for thickneſs too, the valiant
+ Oſcar ſtood unrivalled and alone. Oſſian himſelf had many ſingular and leſs delicate
+ qualifications, than playing on the harp; and the brave Cuthullin was of ſo diminutive a ſize, as
+ to be taken for a child of two years of age, by the gigantic Swaran. To illuſtrate this ſubject,
+ I ſhall here lay before the reader, the hiſtory of ſome of the Iriſh poems, concerning Fion Mac
+ Comnal. A tranflation of theſe pieces, if well executed, might afford ſatisfaction, in an
+ uncommon way, to the Public. But this ought to be the work of a native of Ireland. To draw forth,
+ from obſcurity, the poems of my own country, has waſted all the time I had allotted for the muſes
+ ; beſides, I am too diffident of my own abilities, to undertake ſuch a work. A gentleman in
+ Dublin accuſed me to the public, of committing blunders and abſurdities, in tranflating the
+ language of my own country, and
+
+ that before any tranſlation of mine appeared
+
In Faulkner's Dublin Journal, of the 1ſt December, 1761, appeared the following Advertiſement
+ : two weeks before my firſt publication appeared in London.
+
Speedily will be publiſhed, by a gentleman of this kingdom, who hath been, for ſome time paft,
+ employed in tranſlating and writing hiſtorical Notes to , Originally wrote in the Iriſh or Erſe language. In the preface to which, the
+ tranſlator, who is a perfect maſter of the Iriſh tongue, will give an account of the manners and
+ cuſtoms of the antient Iriſh or Scotch ; and, therefore, moſt humbly intreats the public, to wait
+ for his edition, which will appear in a ſhort time, as he will ſet forth all the blunders and
+ abſurdities in the edition now printing in London, and ſhew the ignorance of the Engliſh
+ tranſlator, in his knowlege of Iriſh grammar, not underſtanding any part of that accidence.
+ . How the gentleman came to ſee my blunders before I committed them, is not eaſy
+ to determine; if he did not conclude, that, as a Scotſman, and, of courſe deſcended of the
+ Mileſian race, I might have committed ſome of thoſe overſights, which, perhaps very unjuſtly, are
+ ſaid to be peculiar to them.
+
From the whole tenor of the Iriſh poems, concerning the Fiona, it
+ appears, that Fion Mac Comnal flouriſhed in the reign of Cormac, which is placed, by the
+ univerſal conſent of the ſenachies, in the third century. They even fix the death
+
+ of Fingal in the year 286, yet his ſon Oſſian is made cotemporary
+ with St. Patrick, who preached the goſpel in Ireland about the middle of the fifth age. Oſſian,
+ though, at that time, he muſt have been two hundred and fifty years of age, had a daughter young
+ enough to become wife to the ſaint. On account of this family connection, Patrick of the
+ Pſalms, for ſo the apoſtle of Ireland is emphatically called in the poems, took great
+ delight in the company of Oſſian, and in hearing the great actions of his family. The ſaint
+ ſometimes threw off the aufterity of his profeſſion, drunk freely, and had his ſoul properly
+ warmed with wine, to receive with becoming enthuſiaſm, the poems of his father-in-law. One of the
+ poems begins with this piece of uſeful information,
+ Lo don rabh Padric na mhúr,
+ Gun Sailm air uidh, ach a gól,
+ Ghluais é thigh Oſſian mhic Fhion,
+ O fan leis bu bhinn a ghloir.
+
The title of this poem is Teantach mor na Fiona. It appears to have been founded on
+ the ſame ſtory with the battle of Lora. The circumſtances and cataſtrophe in both are
+ much the ſame; but
+
+ the Iriſh Oſſian diſcovers the age in which
+ he lived, by an unlucky anachroniſm. After deſcribing the total route of Erragon, he very gravely
+ concludes with this remarkable anecdote, that none of the foe eſcaped, but a few, who were
+ permitted to go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. This circumſtance fixes the date of
+ the compofition of the piece ſome centuries after the famous croiſade; for, it is evident, that
+ the poet thought the time of the croiſade ſo ancient, that he confounds it with the age of
+ Fingal. Erragon, in the courſe of this poem, is often called,
+ Riogh Lochlin an do ſhloigh,
+ King of Denmark of two nations which alludes to the union of the
+ kingdoms of Norway and Denmark, a circumſtance which happened under Margaret de Waldemar, in the
+ cloſe of the fourteenth age. Modern, however, as this pretended Oſſian was, it is certain, he
+ lived before the Iriſh had dreamed of appropriating Fion, or Fingal, to
+ themſelves. He concludes the poem, with this reflection.
+ Na fagha fe comhthróm nan n' arm,
+ Erragon Mac Annir nan lánn glas
+
+
+
+ 'San n' Albin ni n' abairtair Triath
+ Agus ghlaoite an n' Fhiona as.
+
+
“Had Erragon, ſon of Annir of gleaming ſwords, avoided the equal conteſt of arms, (ſingle
+ combat) no chief ſhould have afterwards been numbered in Albion, and the
+ heroes of Fion ſhould no more be named.”
+
The next poem that falls under our obſervation is Cath-cabhra, or,
+ The death of Oſcar. This piece is founded on the ſame ſtory which we have in the firft
+ book of Temora. So little thought the author of Cath-cabhra of making Oſcar his countryman, that,
+ in the courſe of two hundred lines, of which the poems conſiſts, he puts the following expreſſion
+ thrice in the mouth of the hero :
+
+ Albin an fa d' roina m' arach.
+ Albionwhere I was born and bred .
+
The poem contains almoſt all the incidents in the firſt book of Temora. In one circumſtance the
+ bard differs materially from Oſſian. Oſcar, after he was mortally wounded by Cairbar, was carried
+ by his people to a neighbouring hill, which commanded a proſpect of the ſea. A fleet appeared at
+ a diſtance, and the hero exclaims with joy,
+
+
+ Loingeas mo ſhean-athair at' án
+ 'S iad a tiächd le cabhair chugain,
+ O Albin na n' ioma ſtuagh.
+
“It is the fleet of my grandfather, coming with aid to our field, from Albion of many waves !” —The teſtimony of this bard is ſufficient to confute the idle
+ fictions of Keating and O'Flaherty ; for, though he is far from being ancient, it is probable, he
+ flouriſhed a full century before theſe hiſtorians. He appears, however, to have been a much
+ better chriſtian than chronologer; for Fion, though he is placed two centuries before
+ St. Patrick, very devoutly recommends the ſoul of his grandſon to his Redeemer.
+
Duan a Gharibh Mac-Starn is another Iriſh poem in high repute. The grandeur of its
+ images, and its propriety of ſentiment, might have induced me to give a tranſlation of it, had
+ not I ſome expectations, which are now over, of ſeeing it in the collection of the Iriſh Oſſian's
+ poems, promiſed twelve years ſince, to the public. The author deſcends ſometimes from the region
+ of the ſublime to low and indecent deſcription; the laſt of which, the Iriſh tranſlator, no
+ doubt, will chooſe to leave in the obſcurity of the original. In this piece Cuthullin is uſed
+ with very little ceremony, for he is oft called, the dog of
+
+ Tara, in the county of Meath. This ſevere title of the
+ redoubtable Cuthullin, the moſt renowned of Iriſh champions, proceeded from the poet's
+ ignorance of etymology. Cu, voice, or commander, ſignifies alſo a
+ dog. The poet choſe the laſt, as the moſt noble appellation for his hero.
+
The ſubject of the poem is the ſame with that of the epic poem of Fingal.
+ Caribh Mac-Starn is the ſame with Oſſian's Swaran, the ſon of Starno. His ſingle combats
+ with, and his victory over all the heroes of Ireland, excepting the celebrated dog of
+ Tara, i. e. Cuthullin, afford matter for two hundred lines of tolerable poetry.
+ Caribh's progreſs in ſearch of Cuthullin, and his intrigue with the gigantic
+ Emir-bragal, that hero's wife, enables the poet to extend his piece to four hundred lines. This
+ author, it is true, makes Cuthullin a native of Ireland ; the gigantic Emir-bragal he calls the
+ guiding ſtar of the women of Ireland. The property of this enormous lady I ſhall not
+ diſpute with him, or any other. But, as he ſpeaks with great tenderneſs of the daughters of
+ the convent, and throws out ſome hints againſt the Engliſh nation, it is probable he lived
+ in too modern a period to be intimately acquainted with the genealogy of Cuthullin.
+
+
+
+
Another Iriſh Oſſian, for there were many, as appears from their difference
+ in language and ſentiment, ſpeaks very dogmatically of Fion Mac Comnal, as an Iriſhman.
+ Little can be ſaid for the judgment of this poet, and leſs for his delicacy of ſentiment. The
+ hiſtory of one of his epiſodes may, at once, ſtand as a ſpecimen of his want of both. Ireland, in
+ the days of Fion, happened to be threatened with an invaſion, by three great potentates,
+ the kings of Lochlin, Sweden, and France. lt is needleſs to inſiſt upon the impropriety of a
+ French invaſion of Ireland ; it is ſufficient for me to be faithful to the language of my author.
+ Fion, upon receiving intelligence of the intended invaſion, ſent Ca-olt, Oſſian, and
+ Oſcar, to watch the bay, in which, it was apprehended, the enemy was to land. Oſcar was the worſt
+ choice of a ſcout that could be made, for, brave as he was, he had the bad property of falling
+ very often aſleep on his poſt, nor was it poſſible to awake him, without cutting off one of his
+ fingers, or daſhing a large ſtone againſt his head. When the enemy appeared, Oſcar, very
+ unfortunately, was aſleep. Oſſian and Ca-olt conſulted about the method of wakening him, and
+ they, at laſt, fixed on the ſtone, as the leſs dangerous expedient.
+
+
+
+ Gun thog Caoilte a chlach, nach gán,
+ Agus a n' aigha' chican gun bhuail ;
+ Tri mil an tulloch gun chri', &c.
+ “Ca-olt took up a heavy ſtone, and ſtruck it againſt the hero's head. The hill ſhook for
+ three miles, as the ſtone rebounded and rolled away.”
+
Oſcar roſe in wrath, and his father
+ gravely defired him to ſpend his rage on his enemies, which he did to ſo good purpoſe, that he
+ ſingly routed a whole wing of their army. The confederate kings advanced, notwithſtanding, till
+ they came to a narrow paſs, poſſeſſed by the celebrated Ton-iofal. This name is very ſignificant
+ of the ſingular property of the hero who bore it. Ton-iofal, though brave, was ſo heavy and
+ unwieldy, that when he ſat down, it took the whole force of an hundred men to ſet him upright on
+ his feet again. Luckily for the preſervation of Ireland, the hero happened to be ſtanding when
+ the enemy appeared, and he gave ſo good an account of them, that Fion, upon his arrival,
+ found little to do, but to divide the ſpoil among his ſoldiers,
+
All theſe extraordinary heroes, Fion, Oſſian, Oſcar and Ca-olt, ſays the
+ poet, were
+
+
+ Siol Erin na gorm lánn,
+ The ſons of Erinof blue ſteel.
+
Neither ſhall I much diſpute the matter with him : He has my conſent alſo to appropriate to
+ Ireland the celebrated Ton-iofal. I ſhall only ſay, that they are different perſons from thoſe of
+ the ſame name, in the Scotch poems ; and that, though the ſtupendous valour of the firſt is ſo
+ remarkable, they have not been equally lucky with the latter, in their poet. It is ſomewhat
+ extraordinary, that Fion, who lived ſome ages before St. Patrick, ſwears like a very
+ good chriſtian :
+ Air an Dia do chum gach caſe.
+ By God, who ſhaped every caſe.
+
It is worthy of being remarked, that, in the line quoted, Oſſian, who lived in St. Patrick's
+ days, ſeems to have underſtood ſomething of the Engliſh, a language not then ſubſiſting. A
+ perſon, more ſanguine for the honour of his country than I am, might argue, from this
+ circumſtance, that this pretendedly Iriſh Oſſian was a native of Scotland ; for my countrymen are
+ univerſally allowed to have an excluſive right to the ſecond-ſight.
+
+
+
From the inſtances given, the reader may form a complete idea of the Iriſh compoſitions
+ concerning the Fiona, The greateſt part of them make the heroes of Fion,
+ Siol Albin a n'nioma caoile.
+ The race ofAlbionof many firths.
+
+
The reſt make them natives of Ireland. But, the truth is, that their authority is of little
+ conſequence on either ſide. From the inſtances I have given, they appear to have been the work of
+ a very modern period. The pious ejaculations they contain, their alluſions to the manners of the
+ times, fix them to the fifteenth century. Had even the authors of theſe pieces avoided all
+ alluſions to their own times, it is impoſſible that the poems could paſs for ancient, in the eyes
+ of any perſon tolerably converſant with the Iriſh tongue. The idiom is ſo corrupted and ſo many
+ words borrowed from the Engliſh, that the language muſt have made conſiderable progreſs in
+ Ireland before the poems were written.
+
It remains now to ſhew, how the Iriſh bards begun to appropriate the
+ Scottiſh Oſſian and his heroes to their own country. After the Engliſh conqueſt, many of the
+ natives of Ireland, averſe to a foreign yoke, either actually were in a ſtate of hoſtility with
+ the conquerors, or at leaſt, paid
+
+ little regard to their government. The Scots, in thoſe
+ ages, were often in open war, and never in cordial friendſhip with the Engliſh. The ſimilarity of
+ manners and language, the traditions concerning their common origin, and above all, their having
+ to do with the ſame enemy, created a free and friendly intercourſe between the Scottiſh and Iriſh
+ nations. As the cuſtom of retaining bards and ſenachies was common to both ; ſo each, no doubt,
+ had formed a ſyſtem of hiſtory, it matters not how much ſoever fabulous, concerning their
+ reſpective origin. It was the natural policy of the times, to reconcile the traditions of both
+ nations together, and, if poſſible, to reduce them from the ſame original ſtock.
+
The Saxon manners and language had, at that time, made great progreſs in the
+ ſouth of Scotland. The ancient language, and the traditional hiſtory of the nation, became
+ confined entirely to the inhabitants of the Highlands, then fallen, from ſeveral concurring
+ circumſtances, into the laſt degree of ignorance and barbariſm. The Iriſh, who, for ſome ages
+ before the conqueſt, had poſſeſſed a competent ſhare of that kind of learning, which then
+ prevailed in Europe, found it no difficult matter to impoſe their own fictions on the ignorant
+ Highland ſenachies. By flattering the vanity of the Highlanders, with
+
+ their long liſt of Heremonian kings and heroes, they, without
+ contradiction, aſſumed to themſelves the character of being the mother-nation of the Scots of
+ Britain. At this time, certainly, was eſtabliſhed that Hibernian ſyſtem of the original of the
+ Scots, which afterwards, for want of any other, was univerſally received. The Scots of the
+ low-country, who, by lofing the language of their anceſtors, loſt, together with it, their
+ national traditions, received, implicitly, the hiſtory of their country, from Iriſh refugees, or
+ from Highland ſenachies, perſuaded over into the Hibernian ſyſtem.
+
These circumſtances are far from being ideal. We have remaining many
+ particular traditions, which bear teſtimony to a fact, of itſelf abundantly probable. What makes
+ the matter inconteſtible is, that the antient traditional accounts of the genuine origin of the
+ Scots, have been handed down without interruption. Tho' a few ignorant ſenachies might be
+ perſuaded out of their own opinion, by the ſmoothneſs of an Iriſh tale, it was impoſſible to
+ eradicate, from among the bulk of the people, their own national traditions. Thefe traditions
+ afterwards ſo much prevailed, that the Highlanders continue totally unacquainted with the
+ pretended Hibernian extract of the Scots nation. Ignorant chronicle
+
+ writers, ſtrangers to the antient language of their country,
+ preſerved only from falling to the ground, ſo improbable a ſtory.
+
This ſubject, perhaps, is purſued further than it deſerves; but a diſcuſſion
+ of the pretenſions of Ireland, was become in ſome meaſure neceſſary. If the Iriſh poems,
+ concerning the Fiona, ſhould appear ridiculous, it is but juſtice to obferve, that they
+ are ſcarcely more ſo than the poems of other nations, at that period. On other ſubjects, the
+ bards of Ireland have diſplayed a genius for poetry. It was, alone, in matters of antiquity, that
+ they were monſtrous in their fables. Their love-ſonnets, and their elegies on the death of
+ perſons worthy or renowned, abound with ſimplicity, and a wild harmony of numbers. They become
+ more than an atonement for their errors, in every other ſpecies of poetry. But the beauty of
+ theſe pieces, depends ſo much on a certain curioſa felicitas of expreſſion in the
+ original, that they muſt appear much to diſadvantage in another language.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ A critical dissertation on the poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal.
+ by HUGH BLAIR, D. D.
+ One of the Ministers of the High Church and Professor of Rhetorick and Belles-Letters,
+ in the University of Edinburgh.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ A critical dissertation on the poems of Ossian,the son of Fingal.
+
Among the monuments remaining of the ancient ſtate of nations, few are more
+ valuable than their poems or ſongs. Hiſtory, when it treats of remote or dark ages, is ſeldom
+ very inſtructive. The beginnings of ſociety, in every country, are involved in fabulous
+ confuſion; and though they were not, they would furniſh few events worth recording. But, in every
+ period of ſociety, human manners are a curious ſpectacle; and the moſt natural pictures of
+ ancient manners are exhibited in the ancient poems of nations. Theſe preſent to us what is much
+ more valuable than the hiſtory of ſuch tranſactions as a rude age can afford—the hiſtory
+ of human imagination and paſſion. They make
+ us acquainted with the notions and feelings of our fellow creatures in the moſt artleſs ages;
+ Diſcovering what objects they admired, and what pleaſures they purſued, before thoſe refinements
+ of ſociety had taken place, which enlarge, indeed, and diverſify the tranſactions, but diſguiſe
+ the manners of mankind.
+
Beſides this merit which ancient poems have with philoſophical obſervers of
+ human nature, they have another with perſons of taſte. They promiſe ſome of the higheſt beauties
+ of poetical writing. Irregular and unpoliſhed we may expect the production of uncultivated ages
+ to be; but abounding, at the ſame time, with that enthuſiaſm, that vehemence and fire, which are
+ the ſoul of poetry: for many circumſtances of thoſe times which we call barbarous, are favourable
+ to the poetical ſpirit. That ſtate, in which human nature ſhoots wild and free, though unfit for
+ other improvements, certainly encourages the high exertions of fancy and paſſion.
+
In the infancy of ſocieties, men live ſcattered and diſperſed in the midſt
+ of ſolitary rural ſcenes, where the beauties of nature are their chief entertainment. They meet
+ with many objects to them new and ſtrange; their wonder
+ and ſurpriſe are frequently excited; and by
+ the ſudden changes of fortune occurring in their unſettled ſtate of life, their paſſions are
+ raiſed to the utmoſt; their paſſions have nothing to reſtrain them, their imagination has nothing
+ to check it. They diſplay themſelves to one another without diſguiſe, and converſe and act in the
+ uncovered ſimplicity of nature. As their feelings are ſtrong, ſo their language, of itſelf,
+ aſſumes a poetical turn. Prone to exaggerate, they deſcribe everything in the ſtrongeſt colours;
+ which of courſe renders their ſpeech pictureſque and figurative. Figurative language owes its
+ riſe chiefly to two cauſes; to the want of proper names for objects, and to the influence of
+ imagination and paſſion over the form of expreſſion. Both theſe cauſes concur in the infancy of
+ ſociety. Figures are commonly conſidered as artificial modes of ſpeech, deviſed by orators and
+ poets, after the world had advanced to a refined ſtate. The contrary of this is the truth. Men
+ never have uſed ſo many figures of ſtyle as in thoſe rude ages, when, beſides the power of a warm
+ imagination to ſuggeſt lively images, the want of proper and preciſe terms for the ideas they
+ would expreſs, obliged them to have recourſe to circumlocution, metaphor, compariſon, and all
+ thoſe ſubſtituted forms of expreſſion, which give a poetical air to language.
+ An American chief, at this day, harangues at
+ the head of his tribe in a more bold and metaphorical ſtyle than a modern European would
+ adventure to uſe in an epic poem.
+
In the progreſs of ſociety, the genius and manners of men undergo a change
+ more favourable to accuracy than to ſprightlineſs and ſublimity. As the world advances, the
+ underſtanding gains ground upon the imagination; the underſtanding is more exerciſed; the
+ imagination, leſs. Fewer objects occur that are new or ſurpriſing. Men apply themſelves to trace
+ the cauſes of things; they correct and refine one another; they ſubdue or diſguiſe their
+ paſſions; they form their exterior manners upon one uniform ſtandard of politeneſs and civility.
+ Human nature is pruned according to method and rule. Language advances from ſterility to
+ copiouſneſs, and at the ſame time from fervor and enthuſiaſm, to correctneſs and preciſion. Style
+ becomes more chaſte, but leſs animated. The progreſs of the world in this reſpect reſembles the
+ progreſs of age in man. The powers of imagination are moſt vigorous and predominant in youth;
+ thoſe of the underſtanding ripen more ſlowly, and often attain not to their maturity till the
+ imagination begins to flag. Hence poetry, which is the child of imagination, is frequently
+ moſt glowing and animated in the firſt ages
+ of ſociety As the ideas of our youth are remembered with a peculiar pleaſure, on account of their
+ livelineſs and vivacity, ſo the moſt ancient poems have often proved the greateſt favourites of
+ nations.
+
Poetry has been ſaid to be more ancient than proſe; and, however paradoxical
+ ſuch an aſſertion may ſeem, yet, in a qualified ſenſe, it is true. Men certainly never converſed
+ with one another in regular numbers; but even their ordinary language would, in ancient times,
+ for the reaſons before aſſigned, approach to a poetical ſtyle; and the firſt compoſitions
+ tranſmitted to poſterity, beyond doubt, were, in a literal ſenſe, poems; that is, compoſitions in
+ which imagination had the chief hand, formed into ſome kind of numbers, and pronounced with a
+ muſical modulation or tone. Muſic or ſong has been found coeval with ſociety among the moſt
+ barbarous nations. The only ſubjects which could prompt men, in their firſt rude ſtate, to utter
+ their thoughts in compoſitions of any length, were ſuch as naturally aſſumed the tone of poetry;
+ praiſes of their gods, or of their anceſtors; commemorations of their own warlike exploits, or
+ lamentations over their miſfortunes.
+ And, before writing was invented, no other
+ compoſitions, except ſongs or poems, could take ſuch hold of the imagination and memory, as to be
+ preſerved by oral tradition, and handed down from one race to another.
+
Hence we may expect to find poems among the antiquities of all nations. It
+ is probable, too, that an extenſive ſearch would diſcover a certain degree of reſemblance among
+ all the moſt ancient poetical productions, from whatever country they have proceeded. In a
+ ſimilar ſtate of manners, ſimilar objects and paſſions, operating upon the imaginations of men,
+ will ſtamp their productions with the ſame general character. Some diverſity will, no doubt, be
+ occaſioned by climate and genius. But mankind never bear ſuch reſembling features as they do in
+ the beginnings of ſociety. Its ſubſequent revolutions give riſe to the principal diſtinctions
+ among nations; and divert, into channels widely ſeparated, that current of human genius and
+ manners which deſcends originally from one ſpring. What we have been long accuſtomed to call the
+ oriental vein of poetry, becauſe ſome of the earlieſt poetical productions have come to us from
+ the eaſt, is probably no more oriental than Occidental: it is characteriſtical of an age rather
+ than a country,
+ and belongs, in ſome meaſure, to all nations
+ at a certain period. Of this the works of Oſſian ſeem to furniſh a remarkable proof.
+
Our preſent ſubject leads us to inveſtigate the ancient poetical remains,
+ not ſo much of the eaſt, or of the Greeks and Romans, as of the northern nations, in order to
+ diſcover whether the Gothic poetry has any reſemblance to the Celtic or Gaelic, which we are
+ about to conſider. Though the Goths, under which name we uſually comprehend all the Scandinavian
+ tribes, were a people altogether fierce and martial, and noted, to a proverb for their ignorance
+ of the liberal arts, yet they too, from the earlieſt times, had their poets and their ſongs.
+ Their poets were diſtinguiſhed by the title of Scalders, and their ſongs were termed
+ Vyſes.
+
Olaus Wormius, in the appendix to his Treatiſe de Literatura Runica, has given a particular
+ account of the Gothic poetry, commonly called Runic, from Runes, which ſignifies the
+ Gothic letters. He informs us that there were no fewer than 136 different kinds of meaſure or
+ verſe uſed in their Vyſes ; and though we are accuſtomed to call rhyme a Gothic invention, he
+ ſays expreſly, that among all theſe meaſures, rhyme, or correſpondence of final ſyllables, was
+ never employed. He analyſes the ſtructure of one of theſe kinds of verſe, that in which the poem
+ of Lodbrog, afterwards quoted, is written ; which exhibits a very ſingular ſpecies of harmony, if
+ it can be allowed that name, depending neither upon rhyme nor upon metrical feet, or quantity of
+ ſyllables, but chiefly upon the number of the ſyllables, and the diſpoſition of the letters. In
+ every ſtanza was an equal number of lines: in every line ſix ſyllables. In each diſtich, it was
+ requiſite that three words ſhould begin with the ſame letter ; two of the correſponding words
+ placed in the firſt line of the diſtich, the third, in the ſecond line. In each line were alſo
+ required two ſyllables, but never the final ones, formed either of the ſame conſonants, or ſame
+ vowels. As an example of this meaſure, Olaus gives us theſe two Latin lines conſtructed exactly
+ according to the above rules of Runic verſe;
+ Chriſtus caput noſtrum
+ Coronet te bonis. The initial letters of Chriſtus, Caput, and Coronet, make the
+ three correſponding letters of the diſtich. In the firſt line, the firſt ſyllables of Chriſtos
+ and of noſtrum ; in the ſecond line, the on in coronet and in bonis make the requiſite
+ correſpondence of ſyllables. Frequent inverſions and tranſpoſitions were permitted in this
+ poetry; which. would naturally follow from ſuch laborious attention to the collocation of words.
+
+
The curious on this ſubject may conſult likewiſe Dr. Hicks's Theſaurus Linguarum
+ Septentrionalium; particularly the 23rd chapter of his Grammatica Anglo Saxonica & Mæſo
+ Gothica; where they will find a full account of the ſtructure of the Anglo-Saxon verſe, which
+ nearly reſembled the Gothic. They will find alſo ſome ſpecimens both of Gothic and Saxon Poetry.
+ An extract, which Dr. Hicks has given from the work of one of the Daniſh Scalders, entitled,
+ Hervarer Saga, containing an evocation from the dead, may be ſound in the 6th volume of
+ Miſcellany Poems, publiſhed by Mr. Dryden.
Saxo Grammaticus
+ , a Daniſh hiſtorian of conſiderable note,
+ who flouriſhed in the thirteenth century, informs us, that very many of theſe ſongs, containing
+ the ancient traditionary ſtories of the
+ country, were found engraven upon rocks in the old Runic character, ſeveral of which he, has
+ tranſlated into Latin, and inſerted into his hiſtory. But his verſions are plainly ſo
+ paraphiaſtical, and forced into ſuch an imitation of the ſtyle and the meaſures of the Roman
+ poets, that one can form no judgment from them of the native ſpirit of the original. A more
+ curious monument of the true Gothic poetry is preſerved by Olaus Wormius in his book de
+ Literatura Runica. It is an epicedium, or funeral ſong, compoſed by Regner Lodbrog, and
+ tranſlated by Olaus, word for word, from the original. This Lodbrog was a king of Denmark, who
+ lived in the eighth century, famous for his wars and victories; and at the ſame time an eminent
+ ſcalder, or poet. It was his miſfortune to fall at laſt into the hands of one of his
+ enemies, by whom he was thrown into priſon, and condemned to he deſtroyed by ſerpents. In this
+ ſituation he ſolaced himſelf with rehearſing all the exploits of his life. The poem is divided
+ into twenty-nine ſtanzas, of ten lines each; and every ſtanza begins with theſe words,
+ “Pugnavimus enſibus,” We have fought with our ſwords. Olauſ's verſion is in many places ſo
+ obſcure as to be hardly intelligible. I have ſubjoined the whole below, exactly as he has
+ publiſhed it; and ſhall tranſlate as much as
+ may give the Engliſh reader an idea of the ſpirit and ſtrain of this kind of poetry
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Haud poſt longum tempus
+ Cum in Gotlandia acceſſimus
+ Ad ſerpentis immenſi necem
+ Tunc impetravimus Thoram
+ Ex hoc vocarunt me virum
+ Quod ſerpentem tranſfodi
+ Hirſutam braccam ob illam cædem
+ Cuſpide ictum intuli in colubrum
+ Ferro lucidorum ſtupendiorum.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Multum juvenis fui quando acquiſivimus
+ Orientem verſus in Oreonico freto
+ Vulnerum amnes avidæ feræ
+ Et flavipedi avi
+ Accepimus ibidem ſonuerunt
+ Ad ſublimes galeas
+ Dura ferra magnam eſcam
+ Omnis erat oceanus vulnus
+ Vadavit corvus in ſanguine cæſorum.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Alte tulimus tune lanceas
+ Quando viginti annos numeravimus
+ Et celebrem laudem comparavimus paſſim
+ Vicimus octo barones
+ In oriente ante Dimini portum
+ Aquilæ impetravimus tunc ſufficientem
+ Hoſpitii ſumptum in illa ſtrage
+ Sudor decidit in vulnerum
+ Oceano perdidit exercitus ætatem.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Pugnæ facta copia
+ Cum Helſingianos poſtulavimus
+ Ad aulam Odini
+ Naves direximus in eſtium Viſtulæ
+ Mucro potuit tum mordere
+ Omnis erat vulnus unda
+ Terra rubefacta calido
+ Frendebat gladius in loricas
+ Gladius findebat clypeos.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Memini neminem tunc fugiſſe
+ Priuſquam in navibus
+ Heraudus in bello caderet
+ Non findit navibus
+ Alius baro præſtantior
+ Mare ad portum
+ In navibus longis poſt ilium
+ Sic attulit princeps paſſim
+ Alacre in bellum, cor.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Exercitus abjecit clypeos
+ Cum haſta volavit
+ Ardua ad virorum pectora
+ Momordit Scarforum cautes
+ Cladius in pugna
+ Sanguineus erat clypeus
+ Antequam Rafho rex caderet
+ Fluxit ex virorum capitibus
+ Calidas in loricas ſudor.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Habere potuerunt tum, corvi
+ Ante Indirorum inſulas
+ Sufficientem prædam dilaniandam
+ Acquiſivimus feris carnivoris
+ Plenum prandium unico actu
+ Difficile erat unius facere mentionem
+ Oriente ſole
+ Spicula, vidi pungere,
+ Propulerunt arcus ex ſe ferra.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Altum mugierunt enſes
+ Antequam in Laneo campo
+ Eiſlinus rex cecidit
+ Proceſſimus auro, ditati
+ Ad terram proſtratorum dimicandum
+ Gladius ſecuit clypeorum
+ Picturas in galearum conventu,
+ Cervicum muſtum ex vulneribus
+ Diffuſum per cerebrum fiſſum.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Tenuimus clypeos in ſanguine
+ Cum haſtam unximus
+ Ante Boring holmum
+ Telorum nubes diſrumpunt clypeum
+ Extruſit arcus ex ſe metallum,
+ Volnir cecidit in conflictu.
+ Non erat illo rex major
+ Cæſi diſperſi late per littora
+ Feræ amplectebantur eſcam.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Pugna manifeſte creſcebat
+ Antequam Freyr rex caderet
+ In Flandorum terra
+ Cœpit cæruleus ad incidendum
+ Sanguine illitus in auream
+ Loricam in pugna
+ Durus armorum mucro olim
+ Virgo deploravit matutinam lanienam
+ Multa præda dabatur feris.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Centies centenos vidi jacere
+ In navibus
+ Ubi Ænglanes vocatur
+ Navigavimus ad pugnam
+ Per ſex dies antequam exercitus miſſam
+ In exortu ſolis
+ Coactus eſt pro noſtris gladiis
+ Valdiofur in bello occumbere
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Ruit pluvia ſanguinis de gladiis
+ Præceps in Bardafyrde
+ Pallidum corpus pro accipitribus
+ Murmumvit arcus ubi mucro
+ Acriter mordebat loricas
+ In conflictu,
+ Odini pileus gales.
+ Cucurrit arcus ad vulnus
+ Venenate acutus conſperſus ſudore ſanguineo.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Tenuimus magica ſcuta
+ Alte in pugnæ ludo
+ Ante Hiadningum ſinum
+ Videre licuit tum viros
+ Qui gladiis lacerarunt clypeos
+ In gladiatorio murmure
+ Galeæ attritæ virorum
+ Erat ſicut ſplendidam virginem
+ In lecto, juxta ſe collocare.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Dura venit tempeſtas clypeis
+ Cadaver cecidit in terram
+ In Nortumbria
+ Erat circa matutinum tempus
+ Hominibus neceſſum erat fugere
+ Ex prælio ubi acute
+ Caſſidis campos mordebant gladii
+ Erat hoc veluti juvenem viduam
+ In primaria ſede oſculari.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Herthiofe evaſit fortunatus
+ In Auſtralibus Orcadibus ipſe
+ Victoriæ in noſtris hominibus
+ Cogrebatur in armorum nimbo,
+ Rogvaldus occumbere
+ Iſte venit ſummus ſuper accipitres
+ Luctus in gladiorum ludo
+ Strenue jactabat concuſſor
+ Galeæ ſanguinis teli.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Quilibet jacebat tranſverſim ſupra alium
+ Gaudebat pugna lætus
+ Accipiter ob gladiorum ludum
+ Non fecit aquilam aut aprum
+ Qui Irlandiam gubernavit
+ Conventus fiebat ferri et clypei
+ Marſtanus rex jejunis
+ Fiebat in vedræ ſinu
+ Præda data corvis.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Bellatorem multum vidi cadere
+ Mante ante machæram
+ Virum in mucronum diſſidio
+ Filio meo incidit mature
+ Gladius juxta cor
+ Egillus fecit Agnerum ſpoliatum
+ Imperterritum virum vita
+ Sonuit lancea prope Hamdi
+ Griſeam loricam ſplendebant vexilla.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Verborum tenaces vidi diſſecare
+ Haud minutim pro lupis
+ Endili maris enſibus
+ Erat per hebdomadæ ſpatium
+ Quaſi mulieres vinum apportarent
+ Rubefactæ erant naves
+ Valde in ſtrepitu armorum
+ Sciſſa erat lorica
+ In Scioldungorum prælio.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Pulcricomum vidi crepuſcuaſcere
+ Virginis amatorem circa matutinum
+ Et confabulationis amicum viduarum
+ Erat ſicut calidum balneum
+ Vinei vaſis nympha portaret
+ Nos in Ilæ freto
+ Antequam Orn rex caderet
+ Sanguineum clypeum vidi ruptum
+ Hoc invertit virorum vitam.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Egimus gladiorum ad cædem
+ Ludum in Lindis inſula
+ Cum regibus tribus
+ Pauci potuerunt inde lætari
+ Cecidit multus in rictum ferarum
+ Accipiter dilaniavit carnem cum lupo
+ Ut ſatur inde diſcederet
+ Hybernorum ſanguinis in oceanum
+ Copioſe decidit per mactationis tempus.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Alte gladius mordebat clypeos
+ Tune cum aurei colors
+ Haſta fricabat loricas
+ Videre licuit in Onlugs inſula
+ Per ſæcula multum poſt
+ Ibi fuit ad gladiorum ludos
+ Reges proceſſerunt
+ Rubicundum erat circa inſulam,
+ At volans Draco vulnerum.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Quid eſt viro forti morte certius
+ Etſi ipſe in armorum nimbo
+ Adverſus collocatus ſit
+ Sæpe deplorat ætatem
+ Qui nunquam premitur
+ Malum ferunt timidum incitare
+ Aquilam ad gladiorum ludum
+ Meticuloſus venit nuſpiam
+ Cordi ſuo uſui.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Hoc numero æquum
+ Ut procedat
+ In contactu gladiorum
+ Juvenis unus contra alterum
+ Non retrocedat vir a viro
+ Hoc fuit viri fortis nobilitas diti
+ Semper debet amoris
+ Amicus virginum,
+ Audax eſſe in fremitu armorum.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Hoc videtur mihi re vera
+ Quod fata ſequimur
+ Rarus tranſgreditur fata Parcarum
+ Non deſtinavi Ellæ
+ De vitæ exitu meæ
+ Cum ego ſanguinem ſemimortuus tegerem
+ Et naves in aquas protruſi
+ Paſſim impetravimus tum feris
+ Eſcam in Scotiæ ſinubus.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Hoc ridere me facit ſemper
+ Quod Balderi patris ſcamne
+ Parata ſcio in aula
+ Bibemus cereviſiam brevi
+ Ex concavis crateribus craniorum
+ Non gemit vir fortis contra mortem
+ Magnifici in Odini domibus
+ Non venio diſperabundis
+ Verbis ad Odini aulam.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Hic vellent nunc omnes
+ Filii Aſlaugæ gladiis
+ Amarum bellum excitare
+ Si exacte ſcirent
+ Calamitates noſtras
+ Quem non pauci angues
+ Venenati me diſcerpunt
+ Matrem accepi meis
+ Filiis ita ut corda valeant.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Valde inclinatur ad hæreditatem
+ Crudele ſtat nocumentum a vipera
+ Anguis inhabitat aulam cordis
+ Speramus alterius ad Othini
+ Virgam in Ellæ ſanguine
+ Filiis meis liveſcet
+ Sua ira rubeſcet
+ Non acres juvenes
+ Seſſionem tranquillam facient.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Habeo quinquagies
+ Prælia ſub ſignis facta
+ Ex belli invitatione et ſemel
+ Minime putavi hominum
+ Quod me futurus eſſet
+ Juvenis didici mucronem rubefacore
+ Alius rex præſtantior
+ Nos Aſæ invitabunt
+ Non eſt lugenda mors.
+
+ Pugnavimus enſibus
+ Fert animus finire
+ Invitant me Dyſæ
+ Quas ex Othini aula
+ Othinus mihi miſit
+ Lætus cereviſiam cum Aſis
+ In ſumma ſede,
+ Bibam vitæ elapſæ
+ Sunt horæ
+ Ridens moriar.
+ .
+
+
“We have fought with our ſwords. I was young. when, towards the eaſt, in the bay of Oreon, we
+ made torrents of blood flow, to gorge the ravenous beaſt of prey, and the
+ yellow-footed bird. There reſounded the hard
+ ſteel upon the lofty helmets of men. The whole ocean was one wound. The crow waded in the blood
+ of the ſlain. When we
+ had numbered twenty years, we lifted our
+ ſpears on high, and everywhere ſpread our renown. Eight barons we overcame in the eaſt, before
+ the port of Diminum; and
+ plentifully we feaſted the eagle in that
+ ſlaughter. The warm ſtream of wounds ran into the ocean. The army fell before us. When we
+ ſteered our ſhips into the mouth of the
+ Viſtula, we ſent the Helſingians to the hall of Odin. Then did the ſword bite. The
+ waters were all one wound. The earth was dyed
+ red with the warm ſtream. The ſword rung upon the coats of mail, and clove the
+ bucklers in twain. None fled on that day,
+ till among his ſhips Heraudus fell. Than him no braver baron cleaves the ſea with ſhips; a
+ cheerful heart did he ever bring to the combat.
+ Then the hoſt threw away. their ſhields, when
+ the uplifted ſpear flew at the breaſt of heroes. The ſword bit the Scarflan rocks;
+ bloody was the ſhield in battle, until Rafno
+ the king was ſlain. From the heads of warriors the warm ſweat ſtreamed down their
+ armour. The crows around the Indirian iſlands
+ had an ample prey. It were difficult to ſingle out one among ſo many deaths. At the riſing of the
+ ſun I beheld the ſpears piercing the bodies of foes, and the bows throwing forth their
+ ſteel-pointed arrows. Loud roared the ſwords in the plains of Lano.—The virgin long bewailed the
+ ſlaughter of that morning.”—In this ſtrain the poet continues to deſcribe ſeveral other military
+ exploits. The images are not much varied: the noiſe of arms, the ſtreaming of blood, and the
+ feaſting the birds of prey often recurring. He mentions the death of two of his ſons in battle;
+ and the lamentation he deſcribes as made for one of them is very ſingular. A Grecian or a Roman
+ poet would have introduced the virgins or nymphs of the wood bewailing the untimely fall of a
+ young hero. But, ſays our Gothic poet, “When Rogvaldus was ſlain, for him mourned all the hawks
+ of heaven,” as lamenting a benefactor who had ſo liberally ſupplied them with prey; “for boldly,”
+ as he adds, “in the ſtrife of ſwords did the breaker of helmets throw the ſpear of blood.”
+
The poem concludes with ſentiments of the higheſt bravery and contempt of
+ death. “What is more certain to the brave man than death,
+ though amidſt the ſtorm of ſwords he ſtands
+ always ready to oppoſe it? He only regrets this life who hath never known diſtreſs. The timorous
+ man allures the, devouring eagle to the field of battle. The coward, wherever he comes, is
+ uſeleſs to himſelf. This I eſteem honourable, that the youth ſhould advance to the combat fairly
+ matched one againſt another; nor man retreat from man. Long was this the warrior's higheſt glory.
+ He who aſpires to the love of virgins, ought always to be foremoſt in the roar of arms. It
+ appears to me, of truth, that we are led by the Fates. Seldom can any overcome the appointment of
+ deſtiny. Little did I foreſee that Ella
+
This was the name of his enemy who had condemned him to death.
was to have my life
+ in his hands, in that day when fainting I concealed my blood, and puſhed forth my ſhips into the
+ waves; after we had ſpread a repaſt for the beaſts of prey throughout the Scottiſh bays. But this
+ makes me always rejoice, that in the halls of our father Balder [or Odin] I know there are ſeats
+ prepared, where, in a ſhort time, we ſhall be drinking ale out of the hollow ſkulls of our
+ enemies. In the houſe of the mighty Odin, no brave man laments death. I come not
+ with the voice of deſpair to Odin's hall. How
+ eagerly would all the ſons of Aſlauga now ruſh to war, did they know the diſtreſs of their
+ father, whom a multitude of venomous ſerpents tear! I have given to my children a mother who hath
+ filled their hearts with valor. I am faſt approaching to my end. A cruel death awaits me from the
+ viper's bite. A ſnake dwells in the midſt of my heart. I hope that the ſword of ſome of my ſons
+ ſhall yet be ſtained with the blood of Ella. The valiant youths will wax red with anger, and will
+ not ſit in peace. Fifty and one times have I reared the ſtandard in battle. In my youth I learned
+ to dye the ſword in blood: my hope was then that no king among men would be more renowned than
+ me. The goddeſſes of death will now ſoon call me; I muſt not mourn my death. Now I end my ſong.
+ The goddeſſes invite me away; they whom Odin has ſent to me from his hall. I will ſit upon a
+ lofty ſeat, and drink ale joyfully with the goddeſſes of death. The hours of my life are run out.
+ I will ſmile when I die.”
+
This is ſuch poetry as we might expect from a barbarous nation. It breathes
+ a moſt ferocious ſpirit. It is wild, harſh, and irregular; but at the ſame time animated and
+ ſtrong; the ſtyle,
+ in the original, full of inverſions, and, as
+ we learn from ſome of Olauſ's notes, highly metaphorical and figured.
+
But when we open the works of Oſſian, a very different ſcene preſents
+ itſelf. There we find the fire and enthuſiaſm of the moſt early times, combined with an amazing,
+ degree of regularity and art. We find tenderneſs, and even delicacy of ſentiment, greatly
+ predominant over fierceneſs and barbarity. Our hearts are melted with the ſofteſt feelings, and
+ at the ſame time elevated with the higheſt ideas of magnanimity, generoſity, and true heroiſm.
+ When we turn from the poetry of Lodbrog to that of Oſſian, it is like paſſing from a ſavage
+ deſert into a fertile and cultivated country. How is this to be accounted for? or by what means
+ to be reconciled with the remote antiquity attributed to theſe poems? This is a curious point,
+ and requires to be illuſtrated.
+
That the ancient Scots were of Celtic original, is paſt all doubt. Their
+ conformity with the Celtic nations in language, manners, and religion, proves it to a full
+ demonſtration. The Celtæ, a great and mighty people, altogether diſtinct from the Goths and
+ Teutones, once extended their dominion over all the weſt of Europe; but ſeem to have had their
+ moſt full and
+ complete eſtabliſhment in Gaul, Wherever the
+ Celtæ or Gauls are mentioned by ancient writers, we ſeldom fall to hear of their Druids and their
+ Bards; the inſtitution of which two orders was the capital diſtinction of their manners and
+ policy. The druids were their philoſophers and prieſts; the bards their poets and recorders of
+ heroic actions; and, both theſe orders of men ſeem to have ſubſiſted among them, as chief members
+ of the ſtate, from time immemorial
+
Tea Tus TOY TihW[hivu? TE toe Bede: Te K0%} BATH. K) Acidats Bzgdo pee UparnTraet x, romrzi.
+ Strabo, lib. 4.
+
E 1o% Top GuTalGg Kal TeurTH ppehav, z Bagdss cropcteoiv. 876 oO per” deyavun, TzI5 Augzis
+ Cries, 5 fatv Upto y 5z5; z% PAcaoFnueote Diodor. Sicul. I. 5.
. We muſt not therefore imagine the Celtæ to have been
+ altogether a groſs and rude nation. They poſſeſſed from very remote ages a formed ſyſtem of
+ diſcipline and manners, which appears to have had a deep and laſting influence. Ammianus
+ Marcellinus gives them this expreſs teſtimony, that there flouriſhed among them the ſtudy of the
+ moſt laudable arts, introduced by the bards, whoſe office it was to ſing in heroic verſe the
+ gallant actions of illuſtrious men; and by the druids, who lived together in colleges, or
+ ſocieties, after the
+ Pythagorean manner, and, philoſophizing upon
+ the higheſt ſubjects, aſſerted the immortality of the human ſoul.
+
Per haec loca (ſpeaking of Gaul) hominibus paulatim excultis, viguere studia
+ laudabilium doctrinarum ; inchoata per Bardos & Euhages & Druidas. Et Bardi quidem
+ fortia virorum illuſtrium facta heroicis compoſita verſibus, cum dulcibus lyrae modulis
+ cantitarunt. Euhages vero ſcrutantes ſeriem & ſublimia naturae pandere conabantur. Inter hos,
+ Druidae ingeniis celfiores, ut auctoritas Pythagorae decrevit, ſodalitiis adſtricti conſortiis,
+ quaeftionibus altarum occultarumque rerum erecti ſunt ; & deſpectantes humana pronuntiarunt
+ animas immoriales. Amm. Marcellinus. l. 15. cap. 9.
Though Julius Cæſar, in his
+ account of Gaul, does not expreſſly mention the bards, yet it is plain that, under the title of
+ Druids, he comprehends that whole college or order; of which the bards, who, it is probable, were
+ the diſciples of the druids, undoubtedly made a part. It deſerves remark, that, according to his
+ account, the druidical inſtitution firſt took riſe in Britain, and paſſed from thence into Gaul;
+ ſo that they who aſpires to be thorough maſters of that learning, were wont to reſort to Britain.
+ He adds, too, that ſuch as were to be initiated among the druids, were obliged to commit to their
+ memory a great number of verſes, inſomuch that ſome employed twenty years in this courſe of
+ education; and that they did not think it lawful to record thoſe poems in
+ writing, but ſacredly handed them down by
+ tradition from race to race
+
Vid. Caesar de bello Gall. lib. 6.
.
+
So ſtrong was the attachment of the Celtic nations to their poetry and
+ bards, that, amidſt all the changes of their government and manners, even long after the order of
+ the druids was extinct, and the national religion altered, the bards continued to flouriſh; not
+ as a ſet of ſtrolling ſongſters, like the Greek Αοιδοι, or Rhapſodiſts, in Homer's time, but as
+ an order of men highly reſpected in the ſtate, and ſupported by a public eſtabliſhment. We find
+ them, according to the teſtimonies of Strabo and Diodorus, before the age of Auguſtus Cæſar; and
+ we find them remaining under the ſame name, and exerciſing the ſame functions as of old, in
+ Ireland, and in the north of Scotland, almoſt down to our own times. It is well known, that in
+ both theſe countries every Regulus or chief had his own bard, who was conſidered as an
+ officer of rank in his court; and had lands aſſigned him, which deſcended to his family. Of the
+ honour in which the bards were held, many inſtances occur in Oſſian's Poems. On all important
+ occaſions they were the ambaſſadors between contending chiefs; and their perſons were held
+ ſacred. “Cairbar feared to ſtretch his ſword
+ to the bards, though his ſoul was dark. 'Looſe the bards,' ſaid his brother Cathmor, 'they are
+ the ſons of other times. Their voice ſhall be heard in other ages, when the kings of Temora have
+ failed.'”
+
From all this, the Celtic tribes clearly appear to have been addicted in ſo
+ high a degree to poetry, and to have made it ſo much their ſtudy from the earlieſt times, as may
+ remove our wonder at meeting with a vein of higher poetical refinement among them, than was at
+ firſt to have been expected among nations whom we are accuſtomed to call barbarous. Barbarity, I
+ muſt obſerve, is a very equivocal term; it admits of many different forms and degrees; and
+ though, in all of them, it excludes poliſhed manners, it is, however, not inconſiſtent with
+ generous ſentiments and tender affections.
+
Surely among the wild Laplanders, if any where, barbarity is in its moſt perfect ſtate. Yet
+ their love ſongs, which Scheffer has given us in his Lapponia, are a proof that natural
+ tenderneſs of ſentiment may be ſound in a country, into which the leaſt glimmering of ſcience has
+ never penetrated, To moſt Engliſh readers theſe ſongs are well known by the elegant tranſlations
+ of them in the Spectator, No. 366 and 406. I ſhall ſubjoin Scheffer's Latin verſion of one of
+ them, which has the appearance of being ſtrictly literal. Sol, clariſſimum
+ emitte lumen in paludem Orra. Si eniſus in ſumma picearum cacumina ſcirem me viſurum Orra
+ paludem, in ea eniterer, ut viderem inter quos amica, mea efſet flores; omnes ſuſcinderem
+ frutices ibi enatos, omnes ramos præſecarem, hos virentes ramos. Curſum nubium efſem ſecutus, quæ
+ iter ſuum inſtituunt verſus paludem Orra, fi ad te volare poſſem alis, cornicum alis. Sed mihi
+ deſunt alæ, alæ querquedulæ, pedeſque, anſerum pedes plantæve bonæ, quæ deferre me valeant ad te.
+ Satis expectaſti diu ; per tot dies, tot dies tuos optimos, oculis tuis jucundiſimis, corde tuo
+ amiciſimo. Quod ſi longiſſime velles effugere, cito tamen te conſequerer. Quid firmius validiuſve
+ eſſe poteſt quam contorti nervi, catenæve ferræ, quæ duriſſime ligant? Sic amor contorquet caput
+ noſtrum, mutat cogitationes & ſententias. Puerorum voluntas, voluntas venti; juvenum
+ cogitationes, longæ cogitationes. Quos ſi andirem omnes, a via, a via juſta declinarem. Unum eſt
+ confilium quod capiam ; ita ſcio viam rectiorem me reperturum.
+ What degrees of friendſhip, love, and heroiſm
+ may poſſibly be found to prevail in a rude ſtate of ſociety, no one can ſay. Aſtoniſhing
+ inſtances of them we know, from hiſtory, have ſometimes appeared; and a few characters,
+ diſtinguiſhed by thoſe high qualities, might lay a foundation for a ſet of manners being
+ introduced into the ſongs of the bards, more refined, it is probable, and exalted, according to
+ the uſual poetical licenſe, than the real manners of the country.
+
In particular, with reſpect to heroiſm; the great employment of the Celtic bards was to
+ delineate the characters, and ſing the praiſes of heroes. So Lucan;
+
+
+ Vos quoque qui fortes animos, belloque peremptos,
+ Laudibus in longum vates diffunditis ævum
+ Plurima ſecuri fudiſtis carmina bardi.
+
+
Now when we conſider a college or order of men, who, cultivating poetry
+ throughout a long ſeries of ages, had their imaginations continually employed on the ideas of
+ heroiſm; who had all the poems and panegyrics, which were compoſed by their predeceſſors, handed
+ down to them with care; who rivalled and endeavored to outſtrip thoſe who had gone before them,
+ each in the celebration of his particular hero; is it not natural to think, that at length the
+ character of a hero would appear in their ſongs with the higheſt luſtre, and be adorned with
+ qualities truly noble? Some of the qualities indeed which diſtinguiſh a Fingal, moderation,
+ humanity, and clemency, would not probably be the firſt ideas of heroiſm occurring to a barbarous
+ people: but no ſooner had ſuch ideas begun to dawn on the minds of poets, than, as the human mind
+ eaſily opens to the native repreſentations of human perfection, they would be ſeized and
+ embraced; they would enter into their panegyrics; they would afford materials for ſucceeding
+ bards to work upon and
+ improve; they would contribute not a little
+ to exalt the public manners. For ſuch ſongs as theſe, familiar to the Celtic warriors from their
+ childhood, and, throughout their whole life, both in war and in peace, their principal
+ entertainment, muſt have had a very conſiderable influence in propagating among them real
+ manners, nearly approaching to the poetical; and in forming even ſuch a hero as Fingal.
+ Eſpecially when we conſider, that among their limited objects of ambition, among the few
+ advantages which, in a ſavage ſtate, man could obtain over man, the chief was fame, and that
+ immortality which they expected to receive from their virtues and exploits, in ſongs of
+ bards
+
When Edward I. conquered Wales, he put to death all the Welch bards. This cruel policy plainly
+ ſhews, how great an influence he imagined the ſongs of theſe bards to have over the minds of the
+ people; and of what nature he judged that influience to be. The Welch bards were of the ſame
+ Celtic race with the Scottish and Irish.
.
+
Having made theſe remarks on the Celtic poetry and bards in general, I ſhall
+ next conſider the particular advantages which Oſſian poſſeſſed. He appears clearly to have lived
+ in a period which enjoyed all the benefit I juſt now mentioned of traditionary poetry. The
+ exploits of Trathal, Trenmor, and the other anceſtors of Fingal, are ſpoken of as familiarly
+ known.
+ Ancient bards are frequently alluded to. In
+ one remarkable paſſage Oſſian deſcribes himſelf as living in a ſort of claſſical age, enlightened
+ by the memorials of former times, which were conveyed in the ſongs of bards; and points at a
+ period of darkneſs and ignorance which lay beyond the reach of tradition. “His words,” ſays he,
+ “Came only by halves to our ears; they were dark as the tales of other times, before the light of
+ the ſong aroſe.” Oſſian himſelf appears to have been endowed by nature with an exquiſite
+ ſenſibility of heart; prone to that tender melancholy which is ſo often an attendant on great
+ genius: and ſuſceptible equally of ſtrong and of ſoft emotion. He was not only a profeſſed bard,
+ educated with care, as we may eaſily believe, to all the poetical art then known, and connected,
+ as he ſhews us himſelf, in intimate friendſhip with the other contemporary bards, but a warrior
+ alſo; and the ſon of the moſt renowned hero and prince of his age. This formed a conjunction of
+ circumſtances uncommonly favourable towards exalting the imagination of a poet. He relates
+ expeditions in which he had been engaged; he ſings of battles in which he had fought and
+ overcome; he had beheld the moſt illuſtrious ſcenes which that age could exhibit, both of heroiſm
+ in war and magnificence in peace. For however
+ rude the magnificence of thoſe times may ſeem to us, we muſt remember, that all ideas of
+ magnificence are comparative; and that the age of Fingal was an æra of diſtinguiſhed ſplendor in
+ that part of the world. Fingal reigned over a conſiderable territory; he was enriched with the
+ ſpoils of the Roman province; he was ennobled by his victories and great actions; and was in all
+ reſpects a perſonage of much higher dignity than any of the chieftains, or heads of clans, who
+ lived in the ſame country, after a more extenſive monarchy was eſtabliſhed,
+
The manners of Oſſian's age, ſo far as we can gather them from his writings,
+ were abundantly favourable to a poetical genius. The two diſpiriting vices, to which Longinus
+ imputes the decline of poetry, covetouſneſs and effeminacy, were as yet unknown. The cares of men
+ were few. They lived a roving indolent life; hunting and war their principal employments; and
+ their chief amuſements, the muſic of bards, and the feaſt of ſhells.” The great objects purſued
+ by heroic ſpirits, was “to receive their fame;” that is, to become worthy of being celebrated in
+ the ſongs of bards; and “to have their name on the four gray ſtones.” To die unlamented by a
+ bard, was deemed ſo great a miſfortune as
+ even to diſturb their ghoſts in another
+ ſtate. They wander in thick miſts beſide the reedy lake but never ſhall they riſe, without the
+ ſong, to the dwelling of winds.” After death, they expected to follow employments of the ſame
+ nature with thoſe which had amuſed them on earth; to fly with their friends on clouds, to purſue
+ airy deer, and to liſten to their praiſe in the mouths of bards. In ſuch times as theſe, in a
+ country where poetry had been ſo long cultivated, and ſo highly honoured, is it any wonder that,
+ among the race and ſucceſſion of bards, one Homer ſhould ariſe: a man, who, endowed with a
+ natural happy genius, favoured with peculiar advantages of birth and condition, and meeting, in
+ the courſe of his life, with a variety of incidents proper to fire his imagination, and to touch
+ his heart, ſhould attain a degree of eminence in poetry, worthy to draw the admiration of more
+ refined ages?
+
The compoſitions of Oſſian are ſo ſtrongly marked with characters of
+ antiquity, that although there were no external proof to ſupport that antiquity, hardly any
+ reader of judgment and taſte could heſitate in referring them to a very remote æra. There are
+ four great ſtages through which men ſucceſſively paſs in the progreſs of ſociety. The firſt and
+ earlieſt is
+ the life of hunters; paſturage ſucceeds to
+ this, as the ideas of property begin to take root; next agriculture; and, laſtly, commerce.
+ Throughout Oſſian's Poems we plainly find ourſelves in the firſt of theſe periods of ſociety;
+ during which hunting was the chief employment of men, and the principal method of their procuring
+ ſubſiſtence. Paſturage was not indeed wholly unknown; for we hear of dividing the herd in the
+ caſe of a divorce; but the alluſions to herds and to cattle are not many; and of agriculture we
+ find no traces. No cities appear to have been built in the territories of Fingal. No arts are
+ mentioned, except that of navigation and of working in iron
+
Their ſkill in navigation need not at all ſurprize us. Living in the weſtern iſlands, along
+ the coaſt, or in a country which is every where interſected with arms of the ſea, one of the
+ firſt objeCts of their attention, from the earlieſt time, muſt have been how to traverſe the
+ waters. Hence that knowlege of the ſtars, ſo neceſſary for guiding them by night, of which we
+ find ſeveral traces in Oſſian's works ; particularly in the beautiful deſcription of Cathmor's
+ ſhield, in the 7th book of Temora. Among all the northern maritime nations, navigation was very
+ early ſtudied, Piratical incurſions were the chief means they employed for acquiring booty ; and
+ were among the firſt exploits which diſtinguiſhed them in the world. Even the ſavage Americans
+ were at their firſt diſcovery found to poſſeſs the moſt ſurprizing ſkill and dexterity in
+ navigating their immenſe lakes and rivers.
+
The deſcription of Cuthullin's chariot, in the 1ſt book of Fingal, has been objected to by
+ ſome, as repreſenting greater magnificence than is conſiſtent with the ſuppoſed poverty of that
+ age, But this chariot is plainly only a horſe-litter ; and the gems mentioned in the deſcription,
+ are no other than the ſhining ſtones or pebbles, known to be frequently found along the weſtern
+ coaſt of Scotland.
. Every thing preſents to
+ us the moſt ſimple and unimproved manners. At
+ their feaſts, the heroes prepared their own repaſt; they ſat round the light of the burning oak;
+ the wind lifted their locks, and whiſtled through their open halls. Whatever was beyond the
+ neceſſaries of life was known to them only as the ſpoil of the Roman province; “the gold of the
+ ſtranger; the lights of the ſtranger; the ſteeds of the ſtranger; the children of the rein.”
+
This repreſentation of Oſſian's times muſt ſtrike us the more, as genuine
+ and authentick, when it is compared with a poem of later date, which Mr. Macpherſon has preſerved
+ in one of his notes. It is that in which five bards are repreſented as paſſing the evening in the
+ houſe of a chief, and each of them ſeparately giving his deſcription of the night. The night
+ ſcenery is beautiful; and the author has plainly imitated the ſtyle and manner of Oſſian; but he
+ has allowed ſome images to appear which betray a later period of ſociety. For we meet with
+ windows clapping, the herds of goats and cows
+ ſeeking ſhelter, the ſhepherd wandering, corn on the plain, and the wakeful hind rebuilding the
+ ſhocks of corn which had been overturned by the tempeſt. Whereas, in Oſſian's works, from
+ beginning to end, all is conſiſtent; no modern alluſion drops from him; but everywhere the ſame
+ face of rude nature appears; a country wholly uncultivated, thinly inhabited, and recently
+ peopled. The graſs of the rock, the flower of the heath, the thiſtle with its beard, are the
+ chief ornaments of his landſcapes. “The deſert,” ſays Fingal, “is enough for me, with all its
+ woods and deer.”
+
The circle of ideas and tranſactions is no wider than ſuits ſuch an age; nor
+ any greater diverſity introduced into characters, than the events of that period would naturally
+ diſplay. Valor and bodily ſtrength are the admired qualities. Contentions ariſe, as is uſual
+ among ſavage nations, from the ſlighteſt cauſes. To be affronted at a tournament, or to be
+ omitted in the invitation to a feaſt, kindles a war. Women are often carried away by force; and
+ the whole tribe, as in the Homeric times, riſe to avenge the wrong. The heroes ſhow refinement of
+ ſentiment indeed on ſeveral occaſions, but none of manners. They ſpeak of their paſt
+ actions with freedom, boaſt of their
+ exploits, and ſing their own praiſe. In their battles, it is evident, that drums, trumpets, or
+ bagpipes, were not known or uſed. They had no expedient for giving the military alarms but
+ ſtriking a ſhield, or raiſing a loud cry: and hence the loud and terrible voice of Fingal is
+ often mentioned as a neceſſary qualification of a great general; like the βοην αγαθος Μενελαος of Homer. Of military diſcipline or ſkill they appear to have
+ been entirely deſtitute. Their armies ſeem not to have been numerous; their battles were
+ diſorderly; and terminated, for the moſt part, by a perſonal combat, or wreſtling of the two
+ chiefs; after which, “the bard ſung the ſong of peace, and the battle ceaſed along the
+ field.”
+
The manner of compoſition bears all the marks of the greateſt antiquity. No
+ artful tranſitions, nor full and extended connexion of parts; ſuch as we find among the poets of
+ later times, when order and regularity of compoſition were more ſtudied and known: but a ſtyle
+ always rapid and vehement; narration conciſe, even to abruptneſs, and leaving ſeveral
+ circumſtances to be ſupplied by the reader's imagination. The language has all that figurative
+ caſt, which, as I before ſhowed, partly a glowing and
+ undiſciplined imagination partly the
+ ſterility of language and the want of proper terms, have always introduced into the early ſpeech
+ of nations; and in ſeveral reſpects, it carries a remarkable reſemblance to the ſtyle of the Old
+ Teſtament. It deſerves particular notice, as one of the moſt genuine and deciſive characters of
+ antiquity, that very few general terms, or abſtract ideas, are to be met with in the whole
+ collection of Oſſian's works. The ideas of men, at firſt, were all particular. They had not words
+ to expreſs general conceptions. Theſe were the conſequences of more profound reflection, and
+ longer acquaintance with the arts of thought and of ſpeech. Oſſian, accordingly, almoſt never
+ expreſſes himſelf in the abſtract. His ideas extended little further than to the objects he ſaw
+ around him. A public, a community, the univerſe, were conceptions beyond his ſphere. Even a
+ mountain, a ſea, or a lake, which he has occaſion to mention, though only in a ſimile, are for
+ the moſt part particularized; it is the hill of Cromla, the ſtorm of the ſea of Malmor, or the
+ reeds of the lake of Lego. A mode of expreſſion which, while it is characteriſtical of ancient
+ ages, is at the ſame time highly favourable to deſcriptive poetry. For the ſame reaſons,
+ perſonification is a poetical figure not
+ very common with Oſſian. Inanimate objects,
+ ſuch as winds, trees, flowers, he ſometimes perſonifies with great beauty. But the
+ perſonifications which are ſo familiar to later poets, of Fame, Time, Terror, Virtue, and the
+ reſt of that claſs, were unknown to our Celtic bard. Theſe were modes of conception too abſtract
+ for his age.
+
All theſe are marks ſo undoubted, and ſome of them, too ſo nice and
+ delicate, of the moſt early times, as put the high antiquity of theſe poems out of queſtion.
+ Eſpecially when we conſider, that if there had been any impoſture in this caſe, it muſt have been
+ contrived and executed in the Highlands of Scotland, two or three centuries ago; as up to this
+ period, both by manuſcripts, and by the teſtimony of a multitude of living witneſſes, concerning
+ the uncontrovertible tradition of theſe poems, they can clearly be traced. Now, this is a period
+ when that country enjoyed no advantages for a compoſition of this kind, which it may not be
+ ſuppoſed to have enjoyed in as great, if not in a greater degree, a thouſand years before. To
+ ſuppoſe that two or three hundred years ago, when we well know the Highlands to have been in a
+ ſtate of groſs ignorance and barbarity, there ſhould have ariſen in that country a poet, of
+ ſuch exquiſite genius, and of ſuch deep
+ knowledge of mankind, and of hiſtory, as to diveſt himſelf of the ideas and manners of his own
+ age, and to give us a juſt and natural picture of a ſtate of ſociety ancienter by a thouſand
+ years; one who could ſupport this counterfeited antiquity through ſuch a large collection of
+ poems, without the leaſt inconſiſtency; and who, poſſeſſed of all this genius and art, had, at
+ the ſame time, the ſelf-denial of concealing himſelf, and of aſcribing his own works to an
+ antiquated bard, without the impoſture being detected; is a ſuppoſition that tranſcends all
+ bounds of credibility.
+
There are, beſides, two other circumſtances to be attended to, ſtill of
+ greater weight, if poſſible, againſt this hypotheſis. One is, the total abſence of religious
+ ideas from this work; for which the tranſlator has, in his preface, given a very probable
+ account, on the footing of its being the work of Oſſian. The druidical ſuperſtition was, in the
+ days of Oſſian, on the point of its final extinction; and, for particular reaſons, odious to the
+ family of Fingal; whilſt the Chriſtian faith was not yet eſtabliſhed. But had it been the work of
+ one to whom the ideas of Chriſtianity were familiar from his infancy, and who had ſuperadded to
+ them alſo the
+ bigoted ſuperſtition of a dark age and
+ country, it is impoſſible. but in ſome paſſage or other, the traces of them would have appeared.
+ The other circumſtance is, the entire ſilence which reigns with reſpect to all the great clans or
+ families which are now eſtabliſhed in the Highlands. The origin of theſe ſeveral clans is known
+ to be very ancient; and it is well known that there is no paſſion by which a native Highlander is
+ more diſtinguiſhed than by attachment to his clan, and jealouſy for its honour. That a Highland
+ bard, in forging a work relating to the antiquities of his country, ſhould have inſerted no
+ circumſtance which pointed out the riſe of his own clan, which aſcertained its antiquity, or
+ increaſed its glory, is, of all ſuppoſitions that can be formed, the moſt improbable; and the
+ ſilence on this head amounts to a demonſtration that the author lived before any of the preſent
+ great clans were formed or known.
+
Aſſuming it then, as well we may, for certainty, that the poems, now under
+ conſideration, are genuine venerable monuments of a very remote antiquity, I proceed to make ſome
+ remarks upon their general ſpirit and ſtrain. The two great characteriſtics of Oſſian's poetry
+ are, tenderneſs and ſublimity. It breathes nothing of the gay and cheerful kind; an air of
+ ſolemnity
+ and ſeriouſneſs is diffuſed over the whole.
+ Oſſian is, perhaps, the only poet who never relaxes, or lets himſelf down into the light and
+ amuſing ſtrain which I readily admit to be no ſmall diſadvantage to him, with the bulk of
+ readers. He moves perpetually in the high region of the grand and the pathetic. One keynote is
+ ſtruck at the beginning, and ſupported to the end; nor is any ornament introduced, but what is
+ perfectly concordant with the general tone of melody. The events recorded, are all ſerious and
+ grave; the ſcenery throughout, wild and romantic. The extended heath by the ſeaſhore; the
+ mountains ſhaded with miſt; the torrent ruſhing through a ſolitary valley; the ſcattered oaks,
+ and the tombs of warriors overgrown with moſs; all produce a ſolemn attention in the mind, and
+ prepare it for great and extraordinary events. We find not in Oſſian an imagination that ſports
+ itſelf, and dreſſes out gay trifles to pleaſe the fancy. His poetry, more perhaps than that of
+ any other writer, deſerves to be ſtiled, The poetry of the heart. It is a heart
+ penetrated with noble ſentiments and with ſublime and tender paſſions; a heart that glows, and
+ kindles the fancy; a heart that is full, and pours itſelf forth. Oſſian did not write,, like
+ modern poets, to pleaſe readers and critics. He ſung from the
+ love of poetry and ſong. His delight was to
+ think of the heroes among whom he had flouriſhed; to recall the affecting incidents of his life;
+ to dwell upon his paſt wars, and loves, and friendſhips: till, as he expreſſes it himſelf, “there
+ comes a voice to Oſſian, and awakes his ſoul. It is the voice of years that are gone; they roll
+ before me with all their deeds;” and under this true poetic inſpiration, giving vent to his
+ genius, no wonder we ſhould ſo often hear, and acknowledge, in his ſtrains, the powerful and
+ ever-pleaſing voice of nature.
+
+ —Arte, natura potentior omni—
+ Eſt Deus in nobis, agitante caleſcimus illo.
+
It is neceſſary here to obſerve, that the beauties of Oſſian's writings
+ cannot be felt by thoſe who have given them only a ſingle or haſty peruſal. His manner is ſo
+ different from that of the poets to whom we are moſt accuſtomed; his ſtyle is ſo conciſe, and ſo
+ much crowned with imagery; the mind is kept at ſuch a ſtretch in accompanying the author; that an
+ ordinary reader is at firſt apt to be dazzled and fatigued, rather than pleaſed. His poems
+ require to he taken up at intervals, and to be frequently reviewed; and then it is impoſſible but
+ his beauties muſt open to every reader who is capable of
+ ſenſibility. Thoſe who have the higheſt
+ degree of it will reliſh them the moſt.
+
As Homer is, of all the great poets, the one whoſe manner, and whoſe times,
+ come the neareſt to Oſſian's, we are naturally led to run a parallel in ſome inſtances between
+ the Greek and Celtic bard. For though Homer lived more than a thouſand years before Oſſian, it is
+ not from the age of the world, but from the ſtate of ſociety that we are to judge of reſembling
+ times. The Greek has, in ſeveral points, a manifeſt ſuperiority. He introduces a greater variety
+ of incidents; he poſſeſſes a larger compaſs of ideas; has more diverſity in his characters; and a
+ much deeper knowledge of human nature. It was not to be expected, that in any of theſe
+ particulars Oſſian could equal Homer. For Homer lived in a country where ſociety was much farther
+ advanced; he had beheld many more objects; cities built and flouriſhing; laws inſtituted; order,
+ diſcipline, and arts, begun. His field of obſervation was much larger and more ſplendid: his
+ knowledge, of courſe, more extenſive; his mind alſo, it ſhall be granted, more penetrating. But
+ if Oſſian's ideas and objects be leſs diverſified than thoſe of Homer, they are all, however, of
+ the kind fitteſt for poetry: the bravery and generoſity of heroes, the tenderneſs of lovers,
+ the attachment of friends, parents, and
+ children. In a rude age and country, though the events that happen be few, the undiſſipated mind
+ broods over them more; they ſtrike the imagination, and fire the paſſions, in a higher degree;
+ and, of conſequence, become happier materials to a poetical genius, than the ſame events when
+ ſcattered through the wide circle of more varied action and cultivated life.
+
Homer is a more cheerful and ſprightly poet than Oſſian. You diſcern in him
+ all the Greek vivacity; whereas Oſſian uniformly maintains the gravity and ſolemnity of a Celtic
+ hero. This, too, is in a great meaſure to be accounted for from the different ſituations in which
+ they lived—partly perſonal, and partly national. Oſſian had ſurvived all his friends, and was
+ diſpoſed to melancholy by the incidents of his life. But, beſides this, cheerfulneſs is one of
+ the many bleſſings which we owe to formed ſociety. The ſolitary, wild ſtate, is always a ſerious
+ one. Bating the ſudden and violent burſts of mirth, which ſometimes break forth at their dances
+ and feaſts, the ſavage American tribes have been noted by all travellers for their gravity and
+ taciturnity. Somewhat of this taciturnity may be alſo be remarked in Oſſian. On all occaſions he
+ is frugal of his words; and never gives you more of an
+ image, or a deſcription, than is juſt
+ ſufficient to place it before you in one clear point of view. It is a blaze of lightning, which
+ flaſhes and vaniſhes. Homer is more extended in his deſcriptions, and fills them up with a
+ greater variety of circumſtances. Both the poets are dramatic; that is, they introduce their
+ perſonages frequently ſpeaking before us. But Oſſian is conciſe and rapid in his ſpeeches, as he
+ is in every other thing. Homer, with the Greek vivacity, had alſo ſome portion of the Greek
+ loquacity. His ſpeeches, indeed, are highly characteriſtical; and to them we are much indebted
+ for that admirable diſplay he has given of human nature. Yet, if he be tedious any where, it is
+ in theſe: ſome of them are trifling, and ſome of them plainly unſeaſonable. Both poets are
+ eminently ſublime; but a difference may be remarked in the ſpecies of their ſublimity. Homer's
+ ſublimity is accompanied with more impetuoſity and fire; Oſſian's with more of a ſolemn and awful
+ grandeur. Homer hurries you along; Oſſian elevates, and fixes you in aſtoniſhment. Homer is moſt
+ ſublime in actions and battles; Oſſian in deſcription and ſentiment. In the pathetic, Homer, when
+ he chooſes to exert it, has great power; but Oſſian exerts that power much oftener, and has the
+ character of tenderneſs far
+ more deeply imprinted on his works. No poet
+ knew better how to ſeize and melt the heart. With regard to dignity of ſentiment, the
+ pre-eminence muſt clearly he given to Oſſian. This is, indeed, a ſurpriſing circumſtance, that in
+ point of humanity, magnanimity, virtuous feelings of every kind, our rude Celtic bard ſhould be
+ diſtinguiſhed to ſuch a degree, that not only the heroes of Homer, but even thoſe of the polite
+ and refined Virgil, are left far behind by thoſe of Oſſian.
+
After theſe general obſervations on the genius and ſpirit of our author, I
+ now proceed to a nearer view and more accurate examination of his works; and as Fingal is the
+ firſt great poem in this collection, it is proper to begin with it. To refuſe the title of an
+ epic poem to Fingal, becauſe it is not, in every little particular, exactly conformable to the
+ practice of Homer and Virgil, were the mere ſqueamiſhneſs and pedantry of criticiſm. Examined
+ even according to Ariſtotle's rules, it will be found to have all the eſſential requiſites of a
+ true and regular epic; and to have ſeveral of them in ſo high a degree, as at firſt view to raiſe
+ our aſtoniſhment on finding Oſſian's compoſition ſo agreeable to rules of which he was entirely
+ ignorant. But our aſtoniſhment will ceaſe, when we conſider
+ from what ſource Ariſtotle drew thoſe rules.
+ Homer knew no more of the laws of criticiſm than Oſſian. But, guided by nature, he compoſed in
+ verſe a regular ſtory, founded on heroic actions, which all poſterity admired. Ariſtotle, with
+ great ſagacity and penetration, traced the cauſes of this general admiration. He obſerved what it
+ was in Homer's compoſition, and in the conduct of his ſtory, which gave it ſuch power to pleaſe;
+ from. this obſervation he deduced the rules which poets ought to follow, who would write and
+ pleaſe like Homer; and to a compoſition formed according to ſuch rules, he gave the name of an
+ epic poem. Hence his whole ſyſtem aroſe. Ariſtotle ſtudied nature in Homer. Homer and Oſſian both
+ wrote from nature. No wonder that among all the three, there ſhould be ſuch agreement and
+ conformity.
+
The fundamental rules delivered by Ariſtotle concerning an epic poem, are
+ theſe: that the action, which is the groundwork of the poem, ſhould be one, complete, and great;
+ that it ſhould be feigned, not merely hiſtorical; that it ſhould be enlivened with characters and
+ manners, and heightened by the marvellous.
+
But, before entering on any of theſe, it may perhaps be aſked, what is the
+ moral of Fingal? For, according to M. Boſſu, an epic poem is
+ no other than an allegory contrived to
+ illuſtrate ſome, moral truth. The poet, ſays this critic, muſt begin with fixing on ſome maxim or
+ inſtruction, which he intends to inculcate on mankind. He next forms a fable, like one of Æſop's,
+ wholly with a view to the moral; and having thus ſettled and arranged his plan, he then looks
+ into traditionary hiſtory for names and incidents, to give his fable ſome air of probability.
+ Never did a more frigid, pedantic notion enter into the mind of a critic. We may ſafely
+ pronounce, that he who ſhould compoſe an epic poem after this manner, who ſhould firſt lay down a
+ moral and contrive a plan, before he had thought of his perſonages and actors, might deliver,
+ indeed, very ſound inſtruction, but would find very few readers. There cannot be the leaſt doubt
+ that the firſt object which ſtrikes an epic poet, which fires his genius, and gives him any idea
+ of his work, is the action or ſubject he is to celebrate. Hardly is there any tale, any ſubject,
+ a poet can chooſe for ſuch a work, but will afford ſome general moral inſtruction. An epic poem
+ is, by its nature, one of the moſt moral of all poetical compoſitions: but its moral tendency is
+ by no means to be limited to ſome commonplace maxim, which may be gathered from the ſtory. It
+ ariſes from the admiration of heroic actions,
+ which ſuch a compoſition is peculiarly
+ calculated to produce; from the virtuous emotions which the characters and incidents raiſe,
+ whilſt we read it; from the happy impreſſions which all the parts ſeparately, as well as the
+ whole together, leave upon the mind. However, if a general moral be ſtill inſiſted on, Fingal
+ obviouſly furniſhes one, not inferior to that of any other poet, viz: that wiſdom and bravery
+ always triumph over brutal force: or another, nobler ſtill: that the moſt complete victory over
+ an enemy is obtained by that moderation and generoſity which convert him into a friend.
+
The unity of the epic action, which of all Ariſtotle's rules, is the chief
+ and moſt material, is ſo ſtrictly preſerved in Fingal, that it muſt be perceived by every reader.
+ It is a more complete unity than what ariſes from relating the actions of one man, which the
+ Greek critic juſtly cenſures as imperfect: it is the unity of one enterpriſe—the deliverance of
+ Ireland from the invaſion of Swaran; an enterpriſe which has ſurely the full heroic dignity. All
+ the incidents recorded bear a conſtant reference to one end; no double plot is carried on; but
+ the pa unite into a regular whole; and as the action is one and great, ſo it is an entire or
+ complete action. For we find, as the critic, farther
+ requires, a beginning, a middle, and an end;
+ a nodus, or intrigue, in the poem; difficulties occurring through Cuthullin's raſhneſs and bad
+ ſucceſs; thoſe difficulties gradually ſurmounted; and at laſt, the work conducted to that happy
+ concluſion which is held eſſential to epic poetry. Unity is, indeed, obſerved with greater
+ exactneſs in Fingal, than in almoſt any other epic compoſition. For not only is unity of ſubject
+ maintained, but that of time and place alſo. The autumn is clearly pointed out as the ſeaſon of
+ the action; and from beginning to end the ſcene is never ſhifted from the heath of Lena, along
+ the ſeaſhore. The duration of the action in Fingal, is much ſhorter than in the Iliad or Æneid;
+ but ſure there may be ſhorter as well longer heroic poems; and if the authority of Ariſtotle be
+ alſo required for this, he ſays expreſſly, that the epic compoſition is indefinite as to the time
+ of its duration. Accordingly, the action of the Iliad laſts only forty-ſeven days, whilſt that of
+ the Æneid is continued for more than a year.
+
Throughout the whole of Fingal, there reigns that grandeur of ſentiment,
+ ſtyle, and imagery, which ought ever to diſtinguiſh this high ſpecies of poetry. The ſtory is
+ conducted with no ſmall art. The poet goes not back to a
+ tedious recital of the beginning of the war
+ with Swaran; but haſtening to the main action, he falls in exactly, by a moſt happy coincidence
+ of thought, with the rule of Horace:
+ Semper ad eventum feſtinat, et in medias res,
+ Non ſecus ac notas, auditorem rapit—
+ Nec gemino bellum Trojanum orditur ab ovo.
+
He invokes no muſe, for he acknowledged none. but his occaſional addreſſes
+ to Malvina have a finer effect than the invocation of any muſe. He ſets out with no formal
+ propoſition of his ſubject; but the ſubject naturally and eaſily unfolds itſelf; the poem opening
+ in an animated manner, with the ſituation of Cuthullin, and the arrival of a ſcout, who informs
+ him of Swaran's landing. Mention is preſently made of Fingal, and of the expected aſſiſtance from
+ the ſhips of the lonely iſle, in order to give farther light to the ſubject. For the poet often
+ ſhews his addreſs in gradually preparing us for the events he is to introduce; and, in
+ particular, the preparation for the appearance of Fingal, the previous expectations that are
+ raiſed, and the extreme magnificence, fully anſwering theſe expectations, with which the hero is
+ at length preſented to us, are all worked up with ſuch
+ ſkilful conduct as would do honour to any
+ poet of the moſt refined times. Homer's art in magnifying the character of Achilles, has been
+ univerſally admired. Oſſian certainly ſhews no leſs aft in aggrandizing Fingal. Nothing could be
+ more happily imagined for this purpoſe than the whole management of the laſt battle, wherein
+ Gaul, the ſon of Morni, had beſought Fingal to retire, and to leave him and his other chiefs the
+ honour of the day. The generoſity of the king in agreeing to this propoſal; the majeſty with
+ which he retreats to the hill, from whence he was to behold the engagement, attended by his
+ bards, and waving the lightning of his ſword; his perceiving the chiefs overpowered by numbers,
+ but, from unwillingneſs to deprive them of the glory of victory by coming in perſon to their
+ aſſiſtance, firſt ſending Ullin, the bard, to animate their courage, and at laſt, when the danger
+ becomes more preſſing, his riſing in his might, and interpoſing, like a divinity, to decide the
+ doubtful fate of the day; are all circumſtances contrived with ſo much art, as plainly diſcover
+ the Celtic bards to have been not unpractiſed in heroic poetry.
+
The ſtory which is the foundation of the Iliad, is in itſelf as ſimple as
+ that of Fingal. A quarrel
+ ariſes between Achilles and Agamemnon
+ concerning a female ſlave; on which Achilles, apprehending himſelf to be injured, withdraws his
+ aſſiſtance from the reſt of the Greeks. The Greeks fall into great diſtreſs, and beſeech him to
+ be reconciled to them. He refuſes to fight for them in perſon, but ſends his friend Patroclus;
+ and upon his being ſlain, goes forth to revenge his death, and kills Hector. The ſubject of
+ Fingal is this: Swaran comes to invade Ireland; Cuthullin, the guardian of the young king, had
+ applied for his aſſiſtance to Fingal, who reigned in the oppoſite coaſt of Scotland. But before
+ Fingal's arrival, he is hurried by raſh counſel to encounter Swaran. He is defeated; he retreats,
+ and deſponds. Fingal arrives in this conjuncture. The battle is for ſome time dubious; but in the
+ end he conquers Swaran; and the remembrance of Swaran's being the brother of Agandecca, who, had
+ once ſaved his life, makes him diſmiſs him honourably. Homer, it is true, has filled up his ſtory
+ with a much greater variety of particulars than Oſſian; and in this has ſhown a compaſs of
+ invention ſuperior to that of the other poet. But it muſt not be forgotten that though Homer be
+ more circumſtantial, his incidents, however, are leſs diverſified in kind than thoſe of Oſſian.
+ War and
+ bloodſhed reign throughout the Iliad; and,
+ notwithſtanding all the fertility of Homer's invention, there is ſo much uniformity in his
+ ſubjects, that there are few readers, who, before the cloſe, are not tired with perpetual
+ fighting. Whereas in Oſſian, the mind is relieved by a more agreeable diverſity. There is a finer
+ mixture of war and heroiſm, with love and friendſhip—of martial, with tender ſcones, than is to
+ be met with, perhaps, in any other poet. The epiſodes, too, have great propriety—as natural, and
+ proper to that age and country: conſiſting of the ſongs of bards, which are known to have been
+ the great entertainment of the Celtic heroes in war, as well as in peace. Theſe ſongs are not
+ introduced at random; if you except the epiſode of Duchommar and Morna, in the firſt book, which,
+ though beautiful, is more unartful than any of the reſt, they have always ſome particular
+ relation to the actor who is intereſted, or to the events which are going on; and, whilſt they
+ vary the ſcene, they preſerve a ſufficient connection with the main ſubject by the fitneſs and
+ propriety of their introduction.
+
As Fingal's love to Agandecca influences ſome circumſtances of the poem,
+ particularly the honourable diſmiſſion of Swaran at the end; it was neceſſary that we ſhould be
+ let into this
+ part of the hero's ſtory. But as it lay
+ without the compaſs of the preſent action, it could be regularly introduced nowhere except in an
+ epiſode. Accordingly, the poet, with as much propriety as if Ariſtotle himſelf had directed the
+ plan, has contrived an epiſode for this purpoſe in the ſong of Carril, at the beginning of the
+ third book.
+
The concluſion of the poem is ſtrictly according to rule, and is every way
+ noble and pleaſing. Th reconciliation of the contending heroes, the conſolation of Cuthullin, and
+ the general felicity that crowns the action, ſoothe the mind in a very agreeable manner, and form
+ that paſſage from agitation and trouble, to perfect quiet and repoſe, which critics require as
+ the proper termination of the epic work. “Thus they paſſed the night in ſong, and brought back
+ the morning with joy. Fingal aroſe on the heath; and ſhook his glittering ſpear in his hand. He
+ moved firſt towards the plains of Lena; and we followed like a ridge of fire. Spread the ſail,
+ ſaid the king of Morven, and catch the winds that pour from Lena. We roſe on the waves with
+ ſongs; and ruſhed with joy through the foam of the ocean.” So much for the unity and general
+ conduct of the Epic action in Fingal.
+
+
With regard to that property of the ſubject which Ariſtotle requires, that
+ it ſhould be feigned, not hiſtorical, he muſt not be underſtood ſo ſtrictly is if he meant to
+ exclude all ſubjects which have any foundation in truth. For ſuch excluſion would both be
+ unreaſonable in itſelf, and what is more, would be contrary to the practice of Homer, who is
+ known to have founded his Iliad on hiſtorical facts concerning the war of Troy, which was famous
+ throughout all Greece. Ariſtotle means no more than that it is the buſineſs of a poet not to be a
+ more annaliſt of facts, but to embelliſh truth with beautiful, probable, and uſeful fictions; to
+ copy nature as he himſelf explains it, like painters, who preſerve a likeneſs, but exhibit their
+ objects more grand and beautiful than they are in reality. That Oſſian has followed this courſe,
+ and building upon true hiſtory, has ſufficiently adorned it with poetical fiction for
+ aggrandizing his characters and facts, will not, I believe, be queſtioned by moſt readers. At the
+ ſame time, the foundation which thoſe facts and characters had in truth, and the ſhare which the
+ poet had himſelf in the tranſactions which he records, muſt be conſidered as no ſmall advantage
+ to his work. For truth makes an impreſſion on the mind far beyond any fiction; and no man, let
+ his
+ imagination be ever ſo ſtrong, relates any
+ events ſo feelingly as thoſe in which he has been intereſted; paints any ſcene ſo naturally as
+ one which he has ſeen; or draws any characters in ſuch ſtrong colours as thoſe which he has
+ perſonally known. It is conſidered as an advantage of the epic ſubject to be taken from a period
+ ſo diſtant, as, by being involved in the darkneſs of tradition, may give licenſe to fable. Though
+ Oſſian's ſubject may at firſt view appear unfavourable in this reſpect, as being taken from his
+ own times, yet, when we reflect that he lived to an extreme old age; that he relates what had
+ been tranſacted in another country, at the diſtance of many years, and after all that race of men
+ who had been the actors were gone off the ſtage; we ſhall find the objection in a great meaſure
+ obviated. In ſo rude an age, when no written records were known, when tradition was looſe, and
+ accuracy of any kind little attended to, what was great and heroic in one generation, eaſily
+ ripened into the marvellous in the next.
+
The natural repreſentation of human character in an epic poem is highly
+ eſſential to its merit; and, in reſpect of this, there can be no doubt of Homer's excelling all
+ the heroic poets who have ever wrote. But though Oſſian be much inferior to Homer in this
+ article, he will
+ be found to be equal at leaſt, if not
+ ſuperior to Virgil; and has, indeed, given all the diſplay of human nature, which the ſimple
+ occurrences of his times could be expected to furniſh. No dead uniformity of character prevails
+ in Fingal; but, on the contrary, the principal characters are not only clearly diſtinguiſhed, but
+ ſometimes artfully contraſted, ſo as to illuſtrate each other. Oſſian's heroes are like Homer's,
+ all brave; but their bravery, like thoſe of Homer's too, is of different kinds. For inſtance: the
+ prudent, the ſedate, the modeſt and circumſpect Connal, is finely oppoſed to the preſumptuous,
+ raſh, overbearing, but gallant and generous Calmar. Calmar hurries Cuthullin into action by his
+ temerity; and when he ſees the bad effects of his counſels, he will not ſurvive the diſgrace.
+ Connal, like another Ulyſſes, attends Cuthullin to his retreat, counſels and comforts him under
+ his miſfortune. The fierce, the proud, and the high-ſpirited Swaran, is admirably contraſted with
+ the calm, the moderate, and generous Fingal. The character of Oſcar is a favourite one throughout
+ the whole poems. The amiable warmth of the young warrior; his eager impetuoſity in the day of
+ action; his paſſion for fame; his ſubmiſſion to his father; his tenderneſs for Malvina; are the
+ ſtrokes of a maſterly
+ pencil: the ſtrokes are few; but it is the
+ hand of nature, and attracts the heart. Oſſian's own character, the old man, the hero, and the
+ bard, all in one, preſents to us, through the whole work, a moſt reſpectable and venerable
+ figure, which we always contemplate with pleaſure. Cuthullin is a hero of the higheſt claſs:
+ daring, magnanimous, and exquiſitely ſenſible to honour. We become attached to his intereſt, and
+ are deeply touched with his diſtreſs; and after the admiration raiſed for him in the firſt part
+ of the poem, it is a ſtrong proof of Oſſian's maſterly genius, that he durſt adventure to produce
+ to us another hero, compared with whom, even the great Cuthullin ſhould be only an inferior
+ perſonage; and who ſhould riſe as far above him, as Cuthullin riſes above the reſt.
+
Here indeed, in the character and deſcription of Fingal, Oſſian triumphs
+ almoſt unrivalled; for we may boldly defy all antiquity to ſhow us any hero equal to Fingal.
+ Homer's Hector poſſeſſes ſeveral great and amiable qualities; but Hector is a ſecondary perſonage
+ in the Iliad, not the hero of the work. We ſee him only occaſionally; we know much leſs of him
+ than we do of Fingal; who, not only in this, epic poem, but in Temora, and throughout the reſt of
+ Oſſian's works, is preſented in all that variety of
+ lights, which give the full diſplay of a
+ character. And though Hector faithfully diſcharges his duty to his country, his friends, and his
+ family, he is tinctured, however, with a degree of the ſame ſavage ferocity which prevails among
+ all the Homeric heroes: for we find him inſulting over the fallen Patroclus with the moſt cruel
+ taunts, and telling him, when he lies in the agonies of death, that Achilles cannot help him now;
+ and that in a ſhort time his body, ſtripped naked, and deprived of funeral honours, ſhall be
+ devoured by the vultures
+
Iliad xvi. 83c. Il. xvii. 127.
. Whereas, in the character of Fingal, concur almoſt
+ all the qualities that can ennoble human nature; that can either make us admire the hero, or love
+ the man. He is not only unconquerable in war, but he makes his people happy by his wiſdom in the
+ days of peace. He is truly too father of his people. He is known by the epithet or “Fingal of the
+ mildeſt look;” and diſtinguiſhed on every occaſion by humanity and generoſity. He is merciful to
+ his foes
+
When he commands his ſons, after Swaran is taken priſoner, to “purſue the reſt of Lochlin,
+ over the heath of Lena; that no veſſel may hereafter bound on the dark-rolling waves of
+ Iniſtore;” he means not aſſuredly, as ſome have miſrepreſented him, to order a general ſlaughter
+ of the foes, and to prevent their ſaving themſelves by flight ; but, like a wiſe general, he
+ commands his chiefs to render the victory complete, by a total rout of the enemy ; that they
+ might adventure no more for the future, to fit out any fleet againſt him or his
+ allies.
; full of affection to
+ his children; full of concern about his
+ friends; and never mentions Agandecca, his firſt love, without the utmoſt tenderneſs. He is the
+ univerſal Protector of the diſtreſſed; “None ever went ſad from Fingal.”—“O, Oſcar! bend the
+ ſtrong in arms; but ſpare the feeble hand. Be thou a ſtream of mighty tides againſt the foes of
+ thy people; but like the gale that moves the graſs to thoſe who aſk thine aid. So Trenmor lived;
+ ſuch Trathal was; and ſuch has Fingal been. My arm was the ſupport of the injured; the weak
+ reſted behind the lightning of my ſteel.” Theſe were the maxims of true heroiſm, to which he
+ formed his grandſon. His fame is repreſented as everywhere ſpread; the greateſt heroes
+ acknowledge his ſuperiority; his enemies tremble at his name; and the higheſt encomium that can
+ be beſtowed on one whom the poets would moſt exalt, is to ſay, that his ſoul was like the ſoul of
+ Fingal.
+
To do juſtice to the poet's merit, in ſupporting ſuch a character as this, I
+ muſt obſerve, what is not commonly attended to, that there is
+ no part of poetical execution more
+ difficult, than to draw a perfect character in ſuch a manner as to render it diſtinct, and
+ affecting to the mind. Some ſtrokes of human imperfection and frailty, are what uſually give us
+ the moſt clear view, and the moſt ſenſible impreſſion of a character; becauſe they preſent to us
+ a man, ſuch as we have ſeen; they recall known features of human nature. When poets attempt to go
+ beyond this range, and deſcribe a faultleſs hero, they for the moſt part ſet before us a ſort of
+ vague, undiſtinguiſhable character, ſuch as the imagination cannot lay hold of, or realize to
+ itſelf as the object of affection. We know how much Virgil has failed in this particular. His
+ perfect hero, Æneas, is an unanimated, inſipid perſonage, whom we may pretend to admire, but whom
+ no one can heartily love. But what Virgil has failed in, Oſſian, to our aſtoniſhment, has
+ ſucceſſfully executed. His Fingal, though exhibited without any of the common human failings, is,
+ nevertheleſs, a real man; a character which touches and intereſts every reader. To this it has
+ much contributed that the poet has repreſented him as an old man; and by this has gained the
+ advantage of throwing around him a great many circumſtances, peculiar to that age, which paint
+ him to the fancy in a more diſtinct
+ light. He is ſurrounded with his family; he
+ inſtructs his children in the principles of virtue; he is narrative of his paſt exploits he is
+ venerable with the gray locks of age; he is frequently diſpoſed to moralize, like an old man, on
+ human vanity, and the proſpect of death. There is more art, at leaſt more felicity, in this, than
+ may at firſt be imagined. For youth and old are the two ſtates of human life, capable of being
+ placed in the moſt pictureſque lights. Middle age is more general and vague; and has fewer
+ circumſtances peculiar to the idea of it. And when any object is in a ſituation that admits it to
+ be rendered particular, and to be clothed with a variety of circumſtances, it always ſtands out
+ more clear and full of poetical deſcription.
+
Beſides human perſonages, divine or ſupernatural agents are often introduced
+ into epic poetry, forming what is called the machinery of it; which moſt critics hold to be an
+ eſſential part. The marvellous, it muſt he admitted, has always a great charm for the bulk of
+ readers. It gratifies the imagination, and affords room for ſtriking and ſublime deſcription. No
+ wonder, therefore, that all poets ſhould have a ſtrong propenſity towards it. But I muſt obſerve,
+ that nothing is more difficult than to adjuſt properly the marvellous with the probable. If a
+ poet
+ ſacrifice probability, and fill his work
+ with extravagant ſupernatural ſcenes, he ſpreads over it an appearance of romance and childiſh
+ fiction; he tranſports his readers from this world into a fantaſtic viſionary region; and loſes
+ that weight and dignity which ſhould reign in epic poetry. No work from which probability is
+ altogether baniſhed, can make a laſting or deep impreſſion. Human actions and manners are always,
+ the moſt intereſting objects which can be preſented to a human mind. All machinery, therefore, is
+ faulty, which withdraws theſe too much from view, or obſcures them under a cloud of incredible
+ fictions. Beſides being temperately employed, machinery ought always to have ſome foundation in
+ popular belief. A poet is by no means at liberty to invent what ſyſtem of the marvellous he
+ pleaſes; he muſt avail himſelf either of the religious faith, or the ſuperſtitious credulity of
+ the country wherein he lives; ſo as to give an air of probability to events which are moſt
+ contrary to the common courſe of nature.
+
In theſe reſpects, Oſſian appears to me to have been remarkably happy. He
+ has, indeed, followed the ſame courſe with Homer. For it is perfectly abſurd to imagine, as ſome
+ critics have done, that Homer's mythology was invented by
+ him “in conſequence of profound reflection
+ on the benefits it would yield to poetry.” Homer was no ſuch refining genius. He found the
+ traditionary ſtories, on which he built his Iliad, mingled with popular legends concerning the
+ intervention of the gods; and he adopted theſe becauſe they amuſed the fancy. Oſſian, in like
+ manner, found the tales of his country full of ghoſts and ſpirits; it is likely he believed them
+ himſelf; and he introduced them, becauſe they gave his poems that ſolemn and marvellous caſt
+ which ſuited his genius. This was the only machinery he could employ with propriety; becauſe it
+ was the only intervention of ſupernatural beings which agreed with the common belief of the
+ country. It was happy; becauſe it did not interfere in the leaſt with the proper diſplay of human
+ characters and actions; becauſe it had leſs of the incredible than moſt other kinds of poetical
+ machinery; and becauſe it ſerved to diverſify the ſcene, and to heighten the ſubject by an awful
+ grandeur, which is the great deſign of machinery.
+
As Oſſian's mythology is peculiar to himſelf, and makes a conſiderable
+ figure in his other poems, as well as in Fingal, it may be proper to make ſome obſervations on
+ it, independent of its ſubſerviency to epic compoſition. It turns
+ for the moſt part on the appearances of
+ departed ſpirits. Theſe, conſonantly to the notions of every rude age, are repreſented not as
+ purely immaterial, but as thin airy forms, which can be viſible or inviſible at pleaſure; their
+ voice is feeble, their arm is weak; but they are endowed with knowledge more than human. In a
+ ſeparate ſtate, they retain the ſame diſpoſitions which animated them in this life. They ride on
+ the wind; they bend their airy bows; and purſue deer formed of clouds. The ghoſts of departed
+ bards continue to ſing. The ghoſts of departed heroes frequent the fields of their former fame.
+ “They reſt together in their caves, and talk of mortal men. Their ſongs are of other worlds. They
+ come ſometimes to the ear of reſt, and raiſe their feeble voice.” All this preſents to us much
+ the ſame ſet of ideas concerning ſpirits, as we find in the eleventh book of the Odyſſey, where
+ Ulyſſes viſits the regions of the dead; and in the twenty-third book of the Iliad, the ghoſt of
+ Patroclus, after appearing to Achilles, vaniſhes preciſely like one of Oſſian's, emitting a
+ ſhrill, feeble cry, and melting away like ſmoke.
+
But though Homer's and Oſſian's ideas concerning ghoſts were of the ſame
+ nature, we cannot but obſerve, that Oſſian's ghoſts are drawn with much ſtronger and livelier
+ colours
+ than thoſe of Homer. Oſſian deſcribes ghoſts
+ with all the particularity of one who had ſeen and converſed with them, and whoſe imagination was
+ full of the impreſſion they had left upon it. He calls up thoſe awful and tremendous ideas which
+ the
+ —Simulacra modis pallentia miris are fitted to raiſe in the human mind; and
+ which, in Shakſpeare's ſtyle, “harrow up the ſoul.” Crugal's ghoſt, in particular, in the
+ beginning of the ſecond book of Fingal, may vie with any appearance of this kind, deſcribed by
+ any epic or tragic poet whatever. Moſt poets would have contented themſelves, with telling us,
+ that he reſembled, in every particular, the living Crugal; that his form and dreſs were the ſame,
+ only his face more pale and ſad; and that he bore the mark of the wound by which he fell. But
+ Oſſian ſets before our eyes a ſpirit from the inviſible world, diſtinguiſhed by all thoſe
+ features which a ſtrong, aſtoniſhed imagination would give to a ghoſt. “A dark red ſtream of fire
+ comes down from the hill. Crugal ſat upon the beam; he that lately fell by the band of Swaran,
+ ſtriving in the battle of heroes. His face is like the beam of the ſetting moon. His robes are of
+ the clouds of
+ the hill. His eyes are like two decaying
+ flames. Dark is the wound of his breaſt.—The ſtars dim twinkled through his form; and his voice
+ was like the ſound of a diſtant ſtream.” The circumſtance of the ſtars being beheld “dim
+ twinkling through his form,” is wonderfully pictureſque, and convoys the moſt lively impreſſion
+ of his thin and ſhadowy ſubſtance. The attitude in which he is afterward placed, and the ſpeech
+ put into his mouth, are full of that ſolemn and awful ſublimity, which ſuits the ſubject. “Dim,
+ and in tears he ſtood, and he ſtretched his pale hand over the hero. Faintly he raiſed his feeble
+ voice, like the gale of the reedy Lego.—My ghoſt, O Connal! is on my native hills; but my corſe
+ is on the ſands of Ulla. Thou ſhalt never talk with Crugal, or find his lone ſteps in the heath.
+ I am light as the blaſt of Cromla; and I move like the ſhadow of miſt. Connal, ſon of Colgar! I
+ ſee the dark cloud of death; it hovers over the plains of Lena. The ſons of green Erin Shall
+ fall. Remove from the field of ghoſts.—Like the darkened moon, he retired in the midſt of the
+ whiſtling blaſt.”
+
Several other appearances of ſpirits might be pointed out, as among the moſt
+ ſublime paſſages of Oſſian's poetry. The circumſtances of
+ them are conſiderably diverſified, and the
+ ſcenery always ſuited to the occaſion. “Oſcar ſlowly aſcends the hill. The meteors of night ſet
+ on the heath before him. A diſtant torrent faintly roars. Unfrequent blaſts ruſh through aged
+ oaks. The half enlightened moon ſinks dim and red behind her hill. Feeble voices are heard on the
+ heath. Oſcar drew his ſword—.”Nothing can prepare the fancy more happily for the awful ſcene that
+ is to follow. “Trenmor came from his hill at the voice of his mighty ſon. A cloud, like the ſteed
+ of the ſtranger, ſupported his airy limbs. His robe is of the miſt of Lano, that brings death to
+ the people. His ſword is a green meteor, half extinguiſhed. His face is without form, and dark.
+ He ſighed thrice over the hero; and thrice the winds of the night roared around. Many were his
+ words to Oſcar.—He ſlowly vaniſhed, like a miſt that melts on the ſunny hill.” To appearances of
+ this kind, we can find no parallel among the Greek or Roman poets. They bring to mind that noble
+ deſcription in the book of Job: “In thoughts from the viſion of the night, when deep ſleep
+ falleth on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to ſhake. Then a ſpirit
+ paſſed before my face: the hair of my fleſh
+ ſtood up It ſtood ſtill: but I could not diſcern the form thereof. An image was before mine eyes.
+ There was ſilence; and I heard a voice—Shall mortal man be more juſt than God
+
Job iv 13—17
?”
+
As Oſſian's ſupernatural beings are deſcribed with a ſurpriſing force of
+ imagination, ſo they are introduced with propriety. We have only three ghoſts in Fingal: that of
+ Crugal, which comes to warn the hoſt of impending deſtruction, and to adviſe them to ſave
+ themſelves by retreat; that of Evir-allen, the ſpouſe of Oſſian, which calls on him to riſe and
+ reſcue their ſon from danger; and that of Agandecca, which, juſt before the laſt engagement with
+ Swaran, moves Fingal to pity, by mourning for the approaching deſtruction of her kinſman and
+ people. In the other poems, ghoſts ſometimes appear, when invoked, to foretell futurity;
+ frequently, according to the notions of theſe times, they come as forerunners of miſfortune or
+ death, to thoſe whom they viſit; ſometimes they inform their friends at a diſtance of thier own
+ death; and ſometimes they are introduced to heighten the ſcenery on ſome great and ſolemn
+ occaſion.
+ “A hundred oaks burn to the wind; and faint
+ light gleams over the heath. The ghoſts of Ardven paſs through the beam, and ſhow their dim and
+ diſtant forms. Comala is half unſeen on her meteor; and Hidallan is ſullen and dim.”—“The awful
+ faces of other times looked from the clouds of Crona.”—“Fercuth! I ſaw the ghoſt of night. Silent
+ he ſtood on that bank; his robe of miſt flew on the wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man
+ he ſeemed, and full of thought.”
+
The ghoſts of ſtrangers mingle not with thoſe of the natives. “She is ſeen:
+ but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the ſtrangerſ' land; and ſhe is ſtill
+ alone.” When the ghoſt of one whom we had formerly known is introduced, the propriety of the
+ living character is ſtill preſerved. This is remarkable in the appearance of Calmar's ghoſt, in
+ the poem entitled, The death of Cuthullin. He ſeems to forebode Cuthullin's death, and to beckon
+ him to his cave. Cuthullin reproaches him for ſuppoſing that he could be intimidated by ſuch
+ prognoſtics. “Why doſt thou bend thy dark eyes on me, ghoſt of the car-borne Calmar? Wouldſt thou
+ frighten me, O Matha's ſon! from the battles of Cormac? Thy hand was not feeble in war; neither
+ was thy voice for
+ peace. How art thou changed, chief of Lara!
+ if thou now doſt adviſe to fly! Retire thou to thy cave thou art not Calmar's ghoſt; lie
+ delighted in battle and his arm was like the thunder of heaven.” Calmar makes no return to this
+ ſeeming reproach: but “he retired in his blaſt with joy; for he had heard the voice of his
+ praiſe.” This is preciſely the ghoſt of Achilles in Homer; who, notwithſtanding all the
+ diſſatiſfaction he expreſſes with his ſtate in the region of the dead, as ſoon as he had heard
+ his ſon Neoptolemus praiſed for his gallant behavior, ſtrode away with ſilent joy to rejoin the
+ reſt of the ſhades
+
Odyſſ. Lib. II.
.
+
It is a great advantage of Oſſian's mythology, that it is not local and
+ temporary, like that of moſt other ancient poets; which of courſe is apt to ſeem ridiculous,
+ after the ſuperſtitions have paſſed away on which it is founded. Oſſian's mythology is, to ſpeak
+ ſo, the mythology of human nature; for it is founded on what has been the popular belief, in all
+ ages and countries, and under all forms of religion, concerning the appearances of departed
+ ſpirits. Homer's machinery is always lively and amuſing; but far from being always ſupported with
+ proper
+ dignity. The indecent ſquabbles among his
+ gods ſurely do no honour to epic poetry. Whereas Oſſian's machinery has dignity upon all
+ occaſions. It is indeed a dignity of the dark and awful kind; but this is proper; becauſe
+ coincident with the ſtrain and ſpirit of the poetry. A light and gay mythology, like Homer's,
+ would have been perfectly unſuitable to the ſubjects on which Oſſian's genius was employed. But
+ though his machinery be always ſolemn, it is not, however, always dreary or diſmal; it as
+ enlivened, as much as the ſubject would permit, by thoſe pleaſant and beautiful appearances,
+ which he ſometimes introduces, of the ſpirits of the hill. Theſe are gentle ſpirits: deſcending
+ on ſunbeams, fair moving on the plain; their forms white and bright; their voices ſweet; and
+ their viſits to men propitious. The greateſt praiſe that can be given to the beauty of a living
+ woman, is to ſay, “She is fair as the ghoſt of the hill, when it moves in a ſunbeam at noon, over
+ the ſilence of Morven.” “The hunter ſhall hear my voice from his booth. He ſhall fear, but love
+ my voice. For ſweet ſhall my voice be for my friends; for pleaſant were they to me.”
+
Beſides ghoſts, or the ſpirits of departed men, we find in Oſſian ſome
+ inſtances of other
+ kinds of machinery. Spirits of a ſuperior
+ nature to ghoſts are ſometimes alluded to, which have power to embroil the deep; to call forth
+ winds and ſtorms, and pour them on the land of the ſtranger; to overturn foreſts, and to ſend
+ death among the people. We have prodigies too; a ſhower of blood; and when ſome diſaſter is
+ befalling at a diſtance, the ſound of death is heard on the ſtrings of Oſſian's harp: all
+ perfectly conſonant, not only to the peculiar ideas of northern nations, but to the general
+ current of a ſuperſtitious mention in all countries. The deſcription of Fingal's airy hall, in
+ the poem called Errathon, and of the aſcent of Malvina into it, deſerves particular notice, as
+ remarkably noble and magnificent. But, above all, the engagement of Fingal with the ſpirit of
+ Loda, in Carric-thura, cannot be mentioned without admiration. I forbear tranſcribing the
+ paſſage, as it muſt have drawn the attention of every one who has read the works of Oſſian. The
+ undaunted courage of Fingal, oppoſed to all the terrors of the Scandinavian god; the appearance
+ and the ſpeech of that awful ſpirit; the wound which he receives, and the ſhriek which he ſends
+ forth, “as, rolled into himſelf, he roſe upon the wind;” are full of the moſt amazing and
+ terrible majeſty. I know no paſſage more
+ ſublime in the writings of any uninſpired
+ author. The fiction is calculated to aggrandize the hero; which it does to a high degree: nor is
+ it ſo unnatural or wild a fiction as might at firſt be thought. According to the notions of thoſe
+ times, ſupernatural beings were material, and, conſequently, vulnerable. The ſpirit of Loda was
+ not acknowledged as a deity by Fingal; he did not worſhip at the ſtone of his power; he plainly
+ conſidered him as the god of his enemies only; as a local deity, whoſe dominion extended no
+ farther than to the regions where he was worſhipped; who had, therefore, no title to threaten
+ him, and no claim to his ſubmiſſion. We know there are poetical precedents of great authority,
+ for fictions fully as extravagant; and if Homer be forgiven for making Diomed attack and wound in
+ battle the gods whom that chief himſelf worſhipped, Oſſian ſurely is pardonable for making his
+ hero ſuperior to the god of a foreign territory
+
The ſcene of this encounter of Fingal with the ſpirit of Loda is laid in Iniſtore, or the
+ iſlands of Orkney ; and in the deſcription of Fingal's landing there, it is ſaid, ``A rock bends
+ along the coaſt with all its echoing wood. On the top is the circle of Loda, with the moſſy ſtone
+ of power.” In confirmation of Oſſian's topography, it is proper to acquaint the reader that in
+ theſe iſlands, as I have been well informed, there are many pillars, and circles of ſtones, ſtill
+ remaining, known by the name of the ſtones and circles of Loda, or Loden; to which ſome degree of
+ ſuperſtitious regard is annexed to this day. Theſe iſlands, until the year 1468, made a part of
+ the Daniſh dominions. Their ancient language, of which there are yet ſome remains among the
+ natives, is called the Norſe; and is a dialect, not of the Celtic, but of the Scandinavian
+ tongue. The manners and the ſuperſtitions of the inhabitants, are quite diſtinct from thoſe of
+ the Highlands and weſtern iſles of Scotland. Their ancient ſongs too, are of a different ſtrain
+ and character, turning upon magical incantations and evocations from the dead, which were the
+ favourite ſubjects of the old Runic poetry. They have many traditions among them of wars in
+ former times with the inhabitants of the weſtern iſlands.
.
+
+
+
Notwithſtanding the poetical advantages which I have aſcribed to Oſſian's
+ machinery, I acknowledge it would have been much more beautiful and perfect had the author
+ diſcovered ſome knowledge of a Supreme Being. Although his ſilence on this head has been
+ accounted for by the learned and ingenious tranſlator in a very probable, manner, yet ſtill it
+ muſt be held a conſiderable diſadvantage to the poetry. For the moſt auguſt and lofty ideas that
+ can embelliſh poetry are derived from the belief of a divine adminiſtration of the univerſe; and
+ hence the invocation of a Supreme Being, or at leaſt of ſome ſuperior powers, who are conceived
+ as preſiding over human affairs, the ſolemnities of religious worſhip, prayers preferred, and
+ aſſiſtance implored on critical occaſions, appear
+ with great dignity in the works of almoſt
+ all poets, as chief ornaments of their compoſitions. The abſence of all ſuch religious ideas from
+ Oſſian's poetry is a ſenſible blank in it; the more to be regretted, as we can eaſily imagine
+ what an illuſtrious figure they would have made under the management of ſuch a genius as his; and
+ how finely they would have been adapted to many ſituations which occur in his works.
+
After ſo particular an examination of Fingal, it were needleſs to enter into
+ as full a diſcuſſion of the conduct of Temora, the other epic poem. Many of the ſame
+ obſervations, eſpecially with regard to the great characteriſtics of heroic poetry, apply to
+ both. The high merit, however, of Temora, requires that we ſhould not paſs it by without ſome
+ remarks.
+
The ſcene of Temora, as of Fingal, is laid in Ireland; and the action is of
+ a poſterior date. The ſubject is, an expedition of the hero to dethrone and puniſh a bloody
+ uſurper, and to reſtore the poſſeſſion of the kingdom to the poſterity of the lawful prince: an
+ undertaking worthy of the juſtice and heroiſm of the great Fingal. The action is one, and
+ complete. The Poem opens with the deſcent of Fingal on the coaſt, and the conſultation held among
+ the chiefs of the enemy. The murder of the young
+ prince Cormac, which was the cauſe of the
+ war, being antecedent to the epic action, is introduced with great propriety as an epiſode in the
+ firſt book. In the progreſs of the poem, three battles are deſcribed, which riſe in their
+ importance above, one another; the ſucceſs is various, and the iſſue for ſome time doubtful; till
+ at laſt, Fingal, brought into diſtreſs, by the wound of his great general Gaul, and the death of
+ his ſon Fillan, aſſumes the command himſelf; and, having ſlain the Iriſh king in ſingle combat,
+ reſtores the rightful heir to his throne.
+
Temora has perhaps leſs fire than the other epic poem; but in return it has
+ more variety, more tenderneſs, and more magnificence. The reigning idea, ſo often reſented to us,
+ of “Fingal, in the laſt of his fields, is venerable and affecting; nor could any more noble
+ concluſion be thought of, than the aged hero, after ſo many ſucceſſful achievements, taking his
+ leave of battles, and, with all the ſolemnities of thoſe times, reſigning his ſpear to his ſon.
+ The events are leſs crowded in Temora than in Fingal; actions and characters are more
+ particularly diſplayed: we are let into the tranſactions of both hoſts, and informed of the
+ adventures of the night as well as of the day. The ſtill, pathetic, and the romantic ſcenery of
+ ſeveral of the
+ night adventures, ſo remarkably ſuited to
+ Oſſian's genius, occaſion a fine diverſity in the poem; and are happily contraſted with the
+ military operations of the day.
+
In moſt of our author's poems, the horrors of war are ſoftened by intermixed
+ ſcenes of love and friendſhip. In Fingal theſe are introduced as epiſodes: in Temora we have an
+ incident of this nature wrought into the body of the piece, in the adventure of Cathmor and
+ Sulmalla. This forms one of the moſt conſpicuous beauties of that poem. The diſtreſs of Sulmalla,
+ diſguiſed and unknown amongſt ſtrangers, her tender and anxious concern for the ſafety of
+ Cathmor, her dream, and her melting remembrance of the land of her fathers; Cathmor's emotion
+ when he firſt diſcovers her, his ſtruggles to conceal and ſuppreſs his paſſion, leſt it ſhould
+ unman him in the midſt of war, though “his ſoul poured forth in ſecret, when he beheld her
+ fearful eye,” and the laſt interview between them, when, overcome by her tenderneſs, he lets her
+ know he had diſcovered her, and confeſſes his paſſion; are all wrought up with the moſt exquiſite
+ ſenſibility and delicacy.
+
Beſides the characters which appeared in Fingal, ſeveral new ones are here
+ introduced; and though, as they are all the characters of
+ warriors, bravery is the predominant
+ feature, they are nevertheleſs diverſified in a ſenſible and ſtriking manner. Foldath, for
+ inſtance, the general of Cathmor, exhibits the perfect picture of a ſavage chieftain; bold and
+ daring, but preſumptuous, cruel, and overbearing. He is diſtinguiſhed, on his firſt appearance,
+ as the friend of the tyrant Cairbar, “His ſtride is haughty; his red eye rolls in wrath.” In his
+ perſon and whole deportment he is contraſted with the mild and wiſe Hidalla, another leader of
+ the ſame army, on whoſe humanity and gentleneſs he looks with great contempt. He profeſſedly
+ delights in ſtrife and blood. He inſults over the fallen. He is imperious in his counſels, and
+ factious when they are not followed. He is unrelenting in all his ſchemes of revenge, even to the
+ length of denying the funeral ſong to the dead; which, from the injury thereby done to their
+ ghoſts, was in thoſe days conſidered as the greateſt barbarity. Fierce to the laſt, he comforts
+ himſelf in his dying moments with thinking that his ghoſt ſhall often leave its blaſt to rejoice
+ over the graves of thoſe he had ſlain. Yet Oſſian, ever prone to the pathetic, has contrived to
+ throw into his account of the death, even of this man, ſome tender
+ circumſtances, by the moving deſcription of
+ his daughter Dardulena, the laſt of his race.
+
The character of Foldath tends much to exalt that of Cathmor, the chief
+ commander, which is diſtinguiſhed by the moſt humane virtues. He all fraud and cruelty, is famous
+ for his hoſpitality to ſtrangers; open to every generous ſentiment, and to every ſoft and
+ compaſſionate feeling. he is ſo amiable as to divide the reader's attachment between him and the
+ hero of the poem; though our author has artfully managed it ſo as to make Cathmor himſelf
+ indirectly acknowledge Fingal's ſuperiority, and to appear ſomewhat apprehenſive of the event,
+ after the death of Fillan, which he knew would call forth Fingal in all his might. It is very
+ remarkable, that although Oſſian has introduced into his poems three complete heroes, Cuthullin,
+ Cathmor, and Fingal, he has, however, ſenſibly diſtinguiſhed each of their characters; Cuthullin
+ is particularly honourable; Cathmor particularly amiable; Fingal wiſe and great, retaining an
+ aſcendant peculiar to himſelf in whatever light he is viewed.
+
But the favourite figure in Temora, and the one moſt highly finiſhed, is
+ Fillan. His character is of that ſort for which Oſſian ſhews a
+ particular fondneſs; an eager, fervent,
+ young warrior, fired with all the impatient enthuſiaſm for military glory peculiar to that time
+ of life. He had ſketched this in the deſcription of his own ſon Oſcar; but as he has extended it
+ more fully in Fillan, and as the character is ſo conſonant to the epic ſtrain, though, as far as
+ I remember, not placed in ſuch a conſpicuous light by any other epic poet, it may be worth while
+ to attend a little to Oſſian's management of it in this inſtance.
+
Fillan was the youngeſt of all the ſons of Fingal younger, it is plain, than
+ his nephew Oſcar, by whoſe fame and great deeds in war we may naturally ſuppoſe his ambition to
+ have been highly ſtimulated. Withal, as lie is younger, he is deſcribed as more raſh and fiery.
+ His firſt appearance is ſoon after Oſcar's death, when he was employed to watch the motions of
+ the foe by night. In a converſation with his brother Oſſian, on that occaſion, we learn that it
+ was not long ſince he began to lift the ſpear. “Few are the marks of my ſword in battle; but my
+ ſoul is fire.” He is with ſome difficulty reſtrained by Oſſian from going to attack the enemy;
+ and complains to him, that his father had never allowed him any opportunity of ſignalizing his
+ valor. “The king hath not
+ remarked my ſword; I go forth with the
+ crowd; I return without my fame.” Soon after, when Fingal, according to cuſtom, was to appoint
+ one of his chiefs to command the army, and each was ſtanding forth, and putting in his claim to
+ this honour, Fillan is preſented in the following moſt pictureſque and natural attitude: “On his
+ ſpear ſtood the Son of Clatho, in the wandering of his locks. Thrice he raiſed his eyes to
+ Fingal; his voice thrice failed him as he ſpoke. Fillan could not boaſt of battles; at once he
+ ſtrode away. Bent over a diſtant ſtream he ſtood; the tear hung in his eye. He ſtruck, at times,
+ the thiſtle's head with his inverted ſpear.” No leſs natural and beautiful is the deſcription of
+ Fingal's paternal emotion on this occaſion. “Nor is he unſeen of Fingal. Sidelong he beheld his
+ ſon. He beheld him with burſting joy. He hid the big tear with his locks, and turned amidſt his
+ crowded ſoul.” The command, for that day, being given to Gaul, Fillan ruſhes amidſt the thickeſt
+ of the foe, ſaves Gaul's life, who is wounded by a random arrow, and diſtinguiſhes himſelf ſo in
+ battle, that “the days of old return on Fingal's mind, as he beholds the renown of his ſon. As
+ the ſun rejoices from the cloud, over the tree his beams have raiſed,
+ whilſt it ſhakes its lonely head on the
+ heath, ſo joyful is the king over Fillan.” Sedate, however, and wiſe, he mixes the praiſe which
+ he beſtows on him with ſome reprehenſion of his raſhneſs. “My ſon, I ſaw thy deeds, and my ſoul
+ was glad. Thou art brave, ſon of Clatho, but headlong in the ſtrife. So did not Fingal advance,
+ though he never feared a foe. Let thy people be a ridge behind thee; they are thy ſtrength in the
+ field. Then ſhalt thou be long renowned, and behold the tombs of thy fathers.”
+
On the next day, the, greateſt and the laſt of Fillan's life, the charge is
+ committed to him of leading on the hoſt to battle. Fingal's ſpeech to his troops on this occaſion
+ is full of noble ſentiment; and, where he recommends his ſon to their care, extremely touching.
+ “A young beam is before you: few are his ſteps to war. They are few, but he is valiant; defend my
+ dark-haired ſon. Bring him back with joy; hereafter he may ſtand alone. His form is like his
+ fathers; his ſoul is a flame of their fire.” When the battle begins, the poet puts forth his
+ ſtrength to deſcribe the exploits of the young hero; who, at laſt encountering and killing with
+ his own hand Foldath, the oppoſite general, attains the pinnacle of glory. In what
+ follows, when the fate of Fillan is drawn
+ near, Oſſian, if anywhere, excels himſelf. Foldath being ſlain, and a general rout begun, there
+ was no reſource left to the enemy but in the great Cathmore himſelf, who in this extremity
+ deſcends from the hill, where, according to the cuſtom of thoſe princes, he ſurveyed the battle.
+ Obſerve how this critical event is wrought up by the poet. “Wide-ſpreading over echoing Lubar,
+ the flight of Bolga is rolled along. Fillan hung forward on their ſteps, and ſtrewed the heath
+ with dead. Fingal rejoiced over his ſon.—Blue-ſhielded Cathmor roſe.—Son of Alpin, bring the
+ harp! Give Fillan's praiſe to the wind: raiſe high his praiſe in my hall, while yet he ſhines in
+ war. Leave, blue-eyed Clatho! leave thy hall; behold that early beam of thine! The hoſt is
+ withered in its courſe. No farther look—it is dark—light trembling from the harp, ſtrike,
+ virgins! ſtrike the ſound.” The ſudden interruption and ſuſpenſe of the narration on Cathmor's
+ riſing from his hill, the abrupt burſting into the praiſe of Fillan, and the paſſionate
+ apoſtrophe to his mother Clatho, are admirable efforts of poetical art, in order to intereſt us
+ in Fillan's danger; and the whole is heightened by the immediate following ſimile,
+ one of the moſt magnificent and ſublime that
+ is to be met with in any poet, and which, if it had been found in Homer, would have been the
+ frequent ſubject of admiration to critics: “Fillan is like a ſpirit of heaven, that deſcends from
+ the ſkirt of big blaſt. The troubled ocean feels his ſteps as he ſtrides from wave to wave. His
+ path kindles behind him; iſlands ſhake their heads on the heaving ſeas.”
+
But the poet's art is not yet exhauſted. The fall of this noble young,
+ warrior, or, in Oſſian's ſtyle, the extinction of this beam of heaven, could not be rendered too
+ intereſting and affecting. Our attention is naturally drawn towards Fingal. He beholds front his
+ hill the riſing of Cathmor, and the danger of his ſon. But what ſhall he do? “Shall Fingal riſe
+ to his aid, and take the ſword of Luno? What then ſhall become of thy fame, ſon of white-boſomed
+ Clatho? Turn not thine eves from Fingal, daughter of Iniſtore! I ſhall not quench thy early beam.
+ No cloud of mine ſhall riſe, my ſon, upon thy ſoul of fire.” Struggling between concern for the
+ fame, and fear for the ſafety of his ſon, be withdraws from the ſight of the engagement, and
+ deſpatches Oſſian in haſte to the field,
+ with this affectionate and delicate
+ injunction: “Father of Oſcar!” addreſſing him by a title which on this occaſion has the higheſt
+ propriety: “Father of Oſcar! lift the ſpear, defend the young in arms. But conceal thy ſteps from
+ Fillan's eyes. He muſt not know that I doubt his ſteel.” Oſſian arrived too late. But unwilling
+ to deſcribe Fillan vanquiſhed, the poet ſuppreſſes all the circumſtances of the combat with
+ Cathmor; and only ſhews us the dying hero. We ſee him animated to the end with the ſame martial
+ and ardent ſpirit; breathing his laſt in bitter regret for-being ſo early cut off from the field
+ of glory. “Oſſian, lay me in that hollow rock. Raiſe no ſtone above me, leſt one ſhould aſk about
+ my fame. I am fallen in the firſt of my fields; fallen without renown. Let thy voice alone ſend
+ joy to my flying ſoul. Why ſhould the bard know where dwells the early-fallen Fillan?” He who,
+ after tracing the circumſtances of this ſtory, ſhall deny that our bard is poſſeſſed of high
+ ſentiment and high art, muſt be ſtrangely prejudiced indeed. Let him read the ſtory of Pallas in
+ Virgil, which is of a ſimilar kind; and after all the praiſe he may juſtly beſtow on the elegant
+ and finiſhed deſcription of that amiable author, let him ſay which of the two poets unfold moſt
+ of
+ the human ſoul. I waive inſiſting on any
+ more of the particulars in Temora; as my aim is rather to lead the reader into the genius and
+ ſpirit of Oſſian's poetry, than to dwell on all his beauties.
+
The judgment and art diſcovered in conducting works of ſuch length as Fingal
+ and Temora, diſtinguiſh them from the other poems in this collection. The ſmaller pieces,
+ however, contain particular beauties, no leſs eminent. They are hiſtorical poems, generally of
+ the elegiac kind; and plainly diſcover themſelves to be the work of the ſame author. One
+ conſiſtent face of manners is everywhere preſented to us; one ſpirit of poetry reigns; the
+ maſterly hand of Oſſian appears throughout; the ſame rapid and animated ſtyle; the ſame ſtrong
+ colouring of imagination, and the ſame glowing ſenſibility of heart. Beſides the unity which
+ belongs to the compoſitions of one man, there is moreover a certain unity of ſubject, which very
+ happily connects all theſe poems. They form the poetical hiſtory of the age, of Fingal, The ſame
+ race of heroes whom we had met with in the greater poems, Cuthullin, Oſcar, Connar, and Gaul,
+ return again upon the ſtage; and Fingal himſelf is always the principal figure, preſented on
+ every occaſion, with equal
+ magnificence, nay, riſing upon us to the
+ laſt. The circumſtances of Oſſian's old age and blindneſs, his ſurviving all his friends, and his
+ relating their great exploits to Malvina, the ſpouſe or miſtreſs of his beloved ſon Oſcar,
+ furniſh the fineſt poetical ſituations that fancy could deviſe for that tender pathetic which
+ reigns in Oſſian's poetry.
+
On each of theſe poems there might be room for ſeparate obſervations, with
+ regard to he conduct and diſpoſitions of the incidents, as well as to the beauty of the
+ deſcriptions and ſentiments. Carthon is a regular and highly finiſhed piece. The main ſtory is
+ very properly introduced by Cleſſamore's relation of the adventure of his youth; and this
+ introduction is finely heightened by Fingal's ſong of mourning over Moina; in which Oſſian, ever
+ fond of doing honour to his father, has contrived to diſtinguiſh him for being an eminent poet,
+ as well as warrior. Fingal's ſong upon this occaſion, when “his thouſand bards leaned forwards
+ from their ſeats, to hear the voice of the king,” is inferior to no paſſage in the whole book;
+ and with great judgement put in his mouth, as the ſeriouſneſs, no leſs than the ſublimity of the
+ ſtrain, is peculiarly ſuited to the hero's character. In Darthula are
+ aſſembled almoſt all the tender images that
+ can touch the heart of man, friendſhip, love, the affections of parents, ſons, and brothers, the
+ diſtreſs of the aged, and the unavailing bravery of the young. The beautiful addreſs to the moon,
+ with which the poem opens, and the tranſition from thence to the ſubject, moſt happily prepare
+ the mind for that train of affecting events that is to follow. The ſtory is regular, dramatic,
+ intereſting to the laſt. He who can read it without emotion may congratulate himſelf, if he
+ pleaſes, upon being completely armed againſt ſympathetic ſorrow. As Fingal had no occaſion of
+ appearing in the action of this poem, Oſſian makes a very artful tranſition from his narration,
+ to what was paſſing in the halls of Selma. The ſound heard there on the ſtrings of his harp, the
+ concern which Fingal ſhews on bearing it, and the invocation of the ghoſts of their fathers, to
+ receive the heroes falling in a diſtant land, are introduced with great beauty of imagination to
+ increaſe the ſolemnity, and to diverſify the ſcenery of the poem.
+
Carric-thura is full of the moſt ſublime dignity; and has this advantage, of
+ being more cheerful in the ſubject, and more happy in the cataſtrophe, than moſt of the other
+ poems: though tempered at the ſame time with epiſodes
+ in that ſtrain of tender melancholy which
+ ſeems to have been the great delight of Oſſian and the bards of his age. Lathmon is peculiarly
+ diſtinguiſhed by high generoſity of ſentiment. This is carried ſo far, particularly in the
+ refuſal of Gaul, on one ſide, to take the advantage of a ſleeping foe; and of Lathmon, on the
+ other, to overpower by numbers the two young warriors as to recall into one's mind the manners of
+ chivalry; ſome reſemblance to which may perhaps be ſuggeſted by other incidents in this
+ collection of poems. Chivalry, however, took riſe in an age and country too remote from thoſe of
+ Oſſian, to admit the ſuſpicion that the one could have borrowed any thing from the other. So far
+ as chivalry had any real exiſtence, the ſame military enthuſiaſm which gave birth to it in the
+ feudal times, might, in the days of Oſſian, that is, in the infancy of a riſing ſtate, through
+ the operation of the ſame cauſe, very naturally produce effects of the ſame kind on the minds and
+ manners of men. So far as chivalry was an ideal ſyſtem, exiſting only in romance, it will not be
+ thought ſurpriſing, when we reflect on the account before given of the Celtic bards, that this
+ imaginary refinement of heroic manners ſhould be found among them, as much, at leaſt, as among
+ the Trobadores, or ſtrolling
+ Provençal Bards, in the 10th or 11th
+ century; whoſe ſongs, it is ſaid, firſt gave riſe to thoſe romantic ideas of heroiſm, which for
+ ſo long a time enchanted Europe
+
Vid. Huetius de origine fabularum Romanenſium.
. Oſſian's heroes have all the
+ gallantry and generoſity of thoſe fabulous knights, without their extravagance; and his love
+ ſcenes have native tenderneſs, without any mixture of thoſe forced and unnatural conceits which
+ abound in the old romances. The adventures related by our poet which reſemble the moſt thoſe of
+ romance, concern women who follow their lovers to war diſguiſed in the armour of men; and theſe
+ are ſo managed as to produce, in the diſcovery, ſeveral of the moſt intereſting ſituations; one
+ beautiful inſtance of which may be ſeen in Carric-thura, and another in Calthon and Colmal.
+
Oithona preſents a ſituation of a different nature. In the abſence of her
+ lover Gaul, ſhe had been carried off and raviſhed by Dunrommath. Gaul diſcovers the place where
+ ſhe is kept concealed, and comes to revenge her. The meeting of the two lovers, the ſentiments
+ and the behavior of Oithona on that occaſion, are deſcribed with ſuch tender and exquiſite
+ propriety, as does the greateſt honour both to the
+ heart and to the delicacy of our author; and
+ would have been admired in any poet of the moſt refined age. The conduct of Cruma muſt ſtrike
+ every reader as remarkably judicious and beautiful. We are to be prepared for the death of
+ Malvina, which is related in the ſucceeding poem. She is therefore introduced in perſon; “ſhe has
+ heard a voice in her dream; She feels the fluttering of her ſoul:” and in a moſt moving
+ lamentation addreſſed to her beloved Oſcar, ſhe ſings her own death-ſong. Nothing could be
+ calculated with more art to ſooth and comfort her than the ſtory which Oſſian relates. In the
+ young and brave Fovargormo, another Oſcar is introduced: his praiſes are ſung; and the happineſs
+ is ſet before her of thoſe who die in their youth “when their renown is around them; before the
+ feeble behold them in the hall, and ſmile at their trembling hands.”
+
But nowhere does Oſſian's genius appear to greater advantage, than in
+ Berrathon, which is reckoned the concluſion of his ſongs, “The laſt ſound of the voice of
+ Cona.”
The whole train of ideas is admirably ſuited to the ſubject. Every thing is
+ full of that inviſible world, into which the aged bard believes himſelf now ready to enter. The
+ airy ball of Fingal preſents itſelf to his view; “he ſees the cloud that ſhall receive his ghoſt;
+ he beholds the miſt that ſhall form his robe when he appears on his hill;” and all the natural
+ objects around him ſeem to carry the preſages of death. “The thiſtle ſhakes its beard to the
+ wind. The flower hangs its heavy head; it ſeems to any, I am covered with the drops of heaven;
+ the time of my departure is near, and the blaſt that ſhall ſcatter my leaves.” Malvina's death is
+ hinted to him in the moſt delicate manner by the ſon of Alpin. His lamentation over her, her
+ apotheoſis, or aſcent to the habitation of heroes, and the introduction to the ſtory which
+ follows from the mention which Oſſian ſuppoſes the father of Malvina to make of him in the ball
+ of Fingal, are all in the higheſt ſpirit of poetry. “And doſt thou remember Oſſian, O Toſcar, ſon
+ of Conloch? The battles of our youth were many; our ſwords went together to the field.” Nothing
+ could be more proper than to end his ſongs with recording an exploit of the father of that
+ Malvina, of whom his heart was now ſo full; and who, from firſt to laſt, had
+ been ſuch a favourite object throughout all
+ his poems.
+
The ſcene of moſt of Oſſian's poems is laid in Scotland, or in the coaſt of
+ Ireland, oppoſite to the territories of Fingal. When the ſcene is in Ireland, we perceive no
+ change of manners from thoſe of Oſſian's native country. For as Ireland was undoubtedly peopled
+ with Celtic tribes, the language, cuſtoms, and religion of both nations were the ſame. They had
+ been ſeparated from one another by migration, only a few generations, as it ſhould ſeem, before
+ our poet's age; and they ſtill maintained a cloſe and frequent intercourſe. But when the poet
+ relates the expeditions of any of his heroes to the Scandinavian coaſt, or to the iſlands of
+ Orkney, which were then part of the Scandinavian territory, as he does in Carric-thura, Sul-malla
+ of Lumon, and Cathloda, the caſe is quite altered. Thoſe countries were inhabited by nations of
+ the Teutonic deſcent, who, in their manners and religious rites, differed widely from the Celtæ;
+ and it is curious and remarkable, to find this difference clearly pointed out in the poems of
+ Oſſian. His deſcriptions bear the native marks of one who was preſent in the expeditions which he
+ relates, and who deſcribes what he had ſeen with his own eyes. No ſooner are we carried to
+ Lochlin, or
+ the iſlands of Iniſtore, than we perceive we
+ are in a foreign region. New objects begin to appear. We meet everywhere with the ſtones and
+ circles of Loda, that is, Odin, the great Scandinavian deity. We meet with the divinations and
+ enchantments for which it is well known thoſe northern nations were early famous. “There, mixed
+ with the murmur of waters, roſe the voice of aged men, who called the forms of night to aid them
+ in their war;” whilſt the Caledonian chiefs, who aſſiſted them, are deſcribed as ſtanding at a
+ diſtance, heedleſs of their rites. That ferocity of manners which diſtinguiſhed thoſe nations,
+ alſo becomes conſpicuous. In the combats of their chiefs there is a peculiar ſavageneſs; even
+ their women are bloody and fierce. The ſpirit. and the very ideas of Regner Lodbrog, that
+ northern ſcalder, whom I formerly quoted, occur to us again. “The hawks,” Oſſian makes one of the
+ Scandinavian chiefs ſay, “ruſh from all their winds; they are wont to trace my courſe. We
+ rejoiced three days above the dead, and called the hawks of heaven, They came from all their
+ winds, to feaſt on the foes of Annir.”
+
Diſmiſſing now the ſeparate conſideration of any of our author's works, I
+ proceed to make ſome obſervations on his manner of writing,
+ under the general heads of Deſcription,
+ Imagery, and Sentiment.
+
A poet of original genius is always diſtinguiſhed by his talent for
+ deſcription
+
See the rules of poetical deſcription excellently illuſtrated by lord Kaims, in his Elements
+ of Criticiſm, vol. iii. chap. 21. Of narration and deſcription.
A ſecond-rate writer
+ diſcerns nothing new or peculiar in the object he means to deſcribe. His conceptions of it are
+ vague and looſe; his expreſſions feeble; and of courſe the object is preſented to us
+ indiſtinctly, and as through a cloud. But a true poet makes us imagine that we ſee it before our
+ eyes; he catches the diſtinguiſhing features; he gives it the colours of life and reality; he
+ places it in ſuch a light that a painter could copy after him. This happy talent is chiefly owing
+ to a lively imagination, which firſt receives a ſtrong impreſſion of the object; and then, by a
+ proper ſelection of capital pictureſque circumſtances employed in deſcribing it, tranſmits that
+ impreſſion in its full force to the imaginations of others. That Oſſian poſſeſſes this
+ deſcriptive power in a high degree, we have a clear proof, from the effect which his deſcriptions
+ produce upon the imaginations of thoſe who read him with any degree of attention, or taſte. Few
+ poets are more intereſting. We contract an intimate
+ acquaintance with his principal heroes. The
+ characters, the manners, the face of the country, become familiar; we even think we could draw
+ the figure of his ghoſt. In a word, whilſt reading him we are tranſported as into a new region,
+ and dwell among his objects as if they were all real.
+
It were eaſy to point out ſeveral inſtances of exquiſite painting in the
+ works of our author. Such, for inſtance, is the ſcenery with which Temora opens, and the attitude
+ in which Cairbar is there preſented to us; the deſcription of the young prince Cormac, in the
+ ſame book; and the ruins of Balclutha, in Cartho. “I have ſeen the walls of Balclutha, but they
+ were deſolate. The fire had reſounded in the balls: and the voice of the people is heard no more.
+ The ſtream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thiſtle ſhook there
+ its lonely head; the moſs whiſtled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows; the rank
+ graſs of the wall waved round his head. Deſolate is the dwelling of Moina; ſilence is in the
+ houſe of her fathers.” Nothing alſo can be more natural and lively than the manner in which
+ Carthon afterward deſcribes how the conflagration of his city affected him when a child: “Have I
+ not ſeen the
+ fallen Balclutha? And ſhall I feaſt with
+ Comhal's ſon? Comhal! who threw his fire in the midſt of my father's hall! I was young, and knew
+ not the cauſe why the virgins wept. The columns of ſmoke pleaſed mine eye, when they aroſe above
+ my walls: I often looked back with gladneſs, when my friends fled above the hill. But when the
+ years of my youth came on, I beheld the moſs of my fallen walls. My ſigh aroſe with the morning;
+ and my tears deſcended with night. Shall I not fight, I ſaid to my ſoul, againſt the children of
+ my foes? And I will fight, O bard! I feel the ſtrength of my ſoul.” In the ſame poem, the
+ aſſembling of the chiefs round Fingal, who had been warned of ſome impending danger by the
+ appearance of a prodigy, is deſcribed with ſo many pictureſque circumſtances, that one imagines
+ himſelf preſent in the aſſembly. “The king alone beheld the terrible ſight, and he foreſaw the
+ death of his people. He came in ſilence to his hall, and took his father's ſpear: the mail
+ rattled on his breaſt. The heroes roſe around. They looked in ſilence on each other, marking the
+ eyes of Fingal. They ſaw the battle in his face. A thouſand ſhields are placed at once on their
+ arms; and they drew a thouſand ſwords. The hall of Selma
+ brightened around. The clang of arms
+ aſcends. The gray dogs howl in their place. No word is among the mighty chiefs. Each marked the
+ eyes of the king; and half aſſumed his ſpear.”
+
It has been objected to Oſſian, that his deſcriptions of military actions
+ are imperfect, and much leſs diverſified by the circumſtances than thoſe of Homer. This is in
+ ſome meaſure true. The amazing fertility of Homer's invention, is nowhere ſo much diſplayed as in
+ the incidents of his battles, and in the little hiſtory pieces he gives of the perſons ſlain.
+ Nor, indeed, with regard to the talent of deſcription, can too much be ſaid in praiſe of Homer.
+ Every thing is alive in his writings. The colours with which he paints are thoſe of nature. But
+ Oſſian's genius was of a different kind from Homer's. It led him to hurry towards grand objects,
+ rather than to amuſe himſelf with particulars of leſs importance. He could dwell on the death of
+ a favourite hero; but that of a private man ſeldom ſtopped his rapid courſe. Homer's genius was
+ more comprehenſive than Oſſian's. It included a wider circle of objects; and could work up any
+ incident into deſcription. Oſſian's was more limited; but the region within which it
+ chiefly exerted itſelf was the higheſt of
+ all, the region of the pathetic and the ſublime.
+
We muſt not imagine, however, that Oſſian's battles conſiſt only of general
+ indiſtinct deſcription. Such beautiful incidents are ſometimes introduced, and the circumſtances
+ of the perſons ſlain ſo much diverſified, as ſhow that be could have embelliſhed his military
+ ſcenes with an abundant variety of particulars, if his genius had led him to dwell upon them.
+ “One man is ſtretched in the duſt of his native land; he fell, where often he had ſpread the
+ feaſt, and often raiſed the voice of the harp.” The maid of Iniſtore is introduced in a moving
+ apoſtrophe, as weeping for another; and a third, “as rolled in the duſt he lifted his faint eyes
+ to the king,” is remembered and mourned by Fingal as the friend of Agandecca. The blood pouring
+ from the wound of one who was ſlain by night, is heard “hiſſing on the half-extinguiſhed oak,”
+ which had been kindled for giving light. Another climbing up a tree to eſcape from his foe, is
+ pierced by his ſpear from behind; ſhrieking, panting he fell; whilſt moſs and withered branches
+ purſue his fall, and ſtrew the blue arms of Gaul. Never was a finer picture drawn of the ardour
+ of two
+ youthful warriors than the following: “I ſaw
+ Gaul in his armour, and my ſoul was mixed with his; for the fire of the battle was in his eyes,
+ lie looked to the foe with joy. We ſpoke the words of friendſhip in ſecret; and the lightning of
+ our ſwords poured together. We drew them behind the wood, and tried the ſtrength of our arms on
+ the empty air.`
+
Oſſian is always conciſe in his deſcriptions, which adds much to their
+ beauty and force. For it is a great miſtake to imagine, that a crowd of particulars, or a very
+ fall and extended ſtyle, is of advantage to deſcription. On the contrary, ſuch a diffuſe manner
+ for the moſt part weakens it. Any one redundant circumſtance is a nuiſance. It encumbers and
+ loads the fancy, and renders the main image indiſtinct. “Obſtat,” as Quintilian ſays with regard
+ to ſtyle, “quicquid non adjuvat.” To be conciſe in deſcription, is one thing: and to be general,
+ is another. No deſcription that reſts in generals can poſſibly be good; it can convey no lively
+ idea; for it is of particulars only that we have a diſtinct conception. But, at the ſame time, no
+ ſtrong imagination dwells long upon any one particular; or heaps together a maſs of trivial ones.
+ By the happy choice of ſome one, or of a few that are the moſt ſtriking, it preſents
+ the image more complete, ſhews us more at
+ one glance than a feeble imagination is able to do, by turning its object round and round into a
+ variety of lights. Tacitus is of all proſe writers the moſt conciſe. He has even a degree of
+ abruptneſs reſembling our author: yet no writer is more eminent for lively deſcription. When
+ Fingal, after having conquered the haughty Swaran, propoſes to diſmiſs him with honour: “Raiſe
+ to-morrow thy white ſails to the wind, thou brother of Agandecca!” he conveys, by thus addreſſing
+ his enemy, a ſtronger impreſſion of the emotions then paſſing within his mind, than if whole
+ paragraphs had been ſpent in deſcribing the conflict between reſentment againſt Swaran and the
+ tender remembrance of his ancient love. No amplification is needed to give us the moſt full idea
+ of a hardy veteran, after the few following words: “His ſhield is marked with the ſtrokes of
+ battle; his red eye deſpiſes danger.” When Oſcar left alone, was ſurrounded by foes, “he ſtood,”
+ it is ſaid, “growing in his place, like the flood of the narrow vale;” a happy repreſentation of
+ one, who, by daring intrepidity in the midſt of danger, ſeems to increaſe in his appearance, and
+ becomes more formidable every moment, like the ſudden riſing of the torrent hemmed in
+ by the valley. And a whole crowd of ideas,
+ concerning the circumſtances of domeſtic ſorrow, occaſioned by a young warrior's firſt going
+ forth to battle, is poured upon the mind by theſe words: “Calmar leaned on his father's ſpear;
+ that ſpear which he brought from Lara's hall, when the ſoul of his mother was ſad.”
+
The conciſeneſs of Oſſian's deſcriptions is the more proper, on account of
+ his ſubjects. Deſcriptions of gay and ſmiling ſcenes may, without any diſadvantage, be amplified
+ and prolonged. Force is not the predominant quality expected in theſe. The deſcription may be
+ weakened by being diffuſe, yet, notwithſtanding, may be beautiful ſtill; whereas, with reſpect to
+ grand, ſolemn, and pathetic ſubjects, which are Oſſian's chief field, the caſe is very different.
+ In theſe, energy is above all things required. The imagination muſt be ſeized at once, or not at
+ all; and is far more deeply impreſſed by one ſtrong and ardent image, than by the anxious
+ minuteneſs of labored illuſtration.
+
But Oſſian's genius, though chiefly turned towards the ſublime and pathetic,
+ was not confined to it. In ſubjects alſo of grace and delicacy, he diſcovers the hand of a
+ maſter. Take for an example the following elegant deſcription of Agandecca, wherein the
+ tenderneſs of Tibullus
+ ſeems united with the majeſty of Virgil.
+ “The daughter of the ſnow overheard, and left the hall of her ſecret ſigh. She came in all her
+ beauty; like the moon from the cloud of the eaſt. Lovelineſs was around her as light. Her ſteps
+ were like the muſic of ſongs. She ſaw the youth and loved him. He was the ſtolen ſigh of her
+ ſoul. Her blue eyes rolled on him in ſecret; and ſhe bleſt the chief of Morven.” Several other
+ inſtances might be produced of the feelings of love and friendſhip, painted by our author with a
+ moſt natural and happy delicacy.
+
The ſimplicity of Oſſian's manner adds great beauty to his deſcriptions, and
+ indeed to his whole poetry. We meet with no affected ornaments; no forced refinement; no marks
+ either in ſtyle or thought of a ſtudied endeavor to ſhine or ſparkle. Oſſian appears everywhere
+ to be prompted by his feelings; and to ſpeak from the abundance of his heart. I remember no more
+ than one inſtance of what may be called a quaint thought in this whole collection of his works.
+ It is in the firſt book of Fingal, where, from the tombs of two lovers, two lonely yews are
+ mentioned to have ſprung, “whoſe branches wiſhed to meet on high.” This ſympathy of the trees
+ with the lovers, may be reckoned to
+ border on an Italian conceit; and it is
+ ſomewhat curious to find this ſingle inſtance of that ſort of wit in our Celtic poetry.
+
The “joy of grief” is one of Oſſian's remarkable expreſſions, ſeveral times
+ repeated. If any one ſhall think that it needs to be juſtified by a precedent, he may find it
+ twice uſed by Homer: in the Iliad, when Achilles is viſited by the ghoſt of Patroclus; and in the
+ Odyſſey, when Ulyſſes meets his mother in the ſhades. On both theſe occaſions, the heroes, melted
+ with tenderneſs, lament their not having it in their power to throw their arms round the ghoſt,
+ “that we might,” ſay they, “in mutual embrace, enjoy the delight of grief. “
+ Κρυεροιο τοταρπωμεσθα γοαιο.
+
Odyſſ.II.211. Iliad 23. 98.
+
But in truth, the expreſſion ſtands in need of no defence from authority;
+ for it is a natural and juſt expreſſion; and conveys a clear idea of that gratification which a
+ virtuous heart often feels in the indulgence of a tender melancholy. Oſſian makes a very proper
+ diſtinction between this gratification and the deſtructive effect of overpowering grief. “There
+ is a joy in grief when peace dwells in the breaſts of the ſad. But ſorrow waſtes the mournful, O
+ daughter of Toſcar, and their days are few.” To “give the joy of grief,” generally ſignifies to
+ raiſe the ſtrain of ſoft and grave muſic;
+ and finely characterizes the taſte of Oſſian's age and country. In thoſe days, when the ſongs of
+ bards were the great delight of heroes, the tragic muſe was hold in chief honour: gallant actions
+ and virtuous ſufferings, were the choſen theme; preferably to that light and trifling ſtrain, of
+ poetry and muſic, which promotes light and trifling manners, and ſerves to emaſculate the mind.
+ “Strike the harp in my hall,” ſaid the great Fingal, in the midſt of youth and victory; “ſtrike
+ the harp in my hall, and let Fingal hear the ſong. Pleaſant is the joy of grief! It is like the
+ ſhower O of ſpring, when it ſoftens the branch of the oak; and the young leaf lifts its green
+ head. Sing on, O bards! To-morrow we lift the ſail.”
+
Perſonal epithets have been much uſed by all the poets of the moſt ancient
+ ages; and when well choſen, not general and unmeaning, they contribute not a little to render the
+ ſtyle deſcriptive and animated. Beſides epithets founded on bodily diſtinctions, akin to many of
+ Homer's, we find in Oſſian ſeveral which are remarkably beautiful and poetical. Such as Oſcar of
+ the future fights, Fingal of the mildeſt look, Carril of other times, the mildly bluſhing
+ Evir-allin: Bragela, the lonely ſun-beam of Dunſcaich; a Culdee, the ſon of the ſecret cell.
+
+
But of all the ornaments employed in deſcriptive poetry, compariſons or
+ ſimiles are the moſt ſplendid. Theſe chiefly form what is called the imagery of a poem; and as
+ they abound go much in the works of Oſſian, and are commonly among the favourite paſſages of all
+ poets, it may be expected that I ſhould be ſomewhat particular in my remarks upon them.
+
A poetical ſimile always ſuppoſes two objects brought together, between which
+ there is ſome near relation or connection in the fancy. What that relation ought to be, cannot be
+ preciſely defined. For various, almoſt numberleſs, are the analogies formed among objects, by a
+ ſprightly imagination. The relation of actual ſimilitude, or likeneſs of appearance, is far from
+ being the only foundation of poetical compariſon. Sometimes a reſemblance in the effect produced
+ by two objects, is made the connecting principle: ſometimes a reſemblance in one diſtinguiſhing
+ property or circumſtance. Very often two objects are brought together in a ſimile, though they
+ reſemble one another, ſtrictly ſpeaking, in nothing, only becauſe they raiſe in the mind a train
+ of ſimilar, and what may be called concordant, ideas; ſo that the remembrance of the one, when
+ recalled, ſerves to quicken and heighten the impreſſion made by the other. Thus, to give an
+ inſtance from our
+ poet, the pleaſure with which an old man
+ looks back on the exploits of his youth, has certainly no direct reſemblance to the beauty of a
+ fine evening; further than that both agree in producing a certain calm, placid joy. Yet Oſſian
+ has founded upon this, one of the moſt beautiful compariſons that is to be met with in any poet.
+ “Wilt thou not liſten, ſon of the rock, to the ſong of Oſſian? My ſoul is full of other times;
+ the joy of my youth returns. Thus the ſun appears in the weſt, after the ſteps of his brightneſs
+ have moved behind a ſtorm. The green hills lift their dewy heads. The blue ſtreams rejoice in the
+ vale. The aged hero comes forth on his ſtaff; and his gray hair glitters in the beam.” Never was
+ there a finer group of objects. It raiſes a ſtrong conception of the old man's joy and elation of
+ heart, by diſplaying a ſcene which produces in every ſpectator a correſponding train of pleaſing
+ emotions; the declining ſun looking forth in his brightneſs after a ſtorm; the cheerful face of
+ all nature; and the ſtill life finely animated by the circumſtance of the aged hero, with his
+ ſtaff and his gray locks: a circumſtance both extremely pictureſque, in itſelf, and peculiarly
+ ſuited to the main object of the compariſon. Such analogies and aſſociations of ideas as theſe,
+ are highly pleaſing to the fancy. They give
+ opportunity for introducing many a fine
+ poetical picture. They diverſify the ſcene; they aggrandize the ſubject; they keep the
+ imagination awake and ſprightly. For as the judgment is principally exerciſed in diſtinguiſhing
+ objects, and remarking the differences among thoſe which ſeem alike, ſo the higheſt amuſement of
+ the imagination is to trace likeneſſes and agreements among thoſe which ſeem different.
+
The principal rules which reſpect poetical compariſons are, that they be
+ introduced on proper occaſions, when the mind is diſpoſed to reliſh them; and not in the midſt of
+ ſome ſevere and agitating paſſion, which cannot admit this play of fancy; that they be founded on
+ a reſemblance neither. too near and obvious, ſo as to give little amuſement to the imagination in
+ tracing it, nor too faint and remote, ſo as to he apprehended with difficulty; that they ſerve
+ either to illuſtrate the principal object, and to render the conception of it more clear and
+ diſtinct; or, at leaſt, to heighten and embelliſh it, by a ſuitable aſſociation of images
+
See Elements of Criticiſm. ch 19. vol, 3.
.
+
Every country has a ſcenery peculiar to itſelf; and the imagery of a good
+ poet will exhibit it. For as he copies after nature, his alluſions
+ will of courſe be taken from thoſe objects
+ which he ſees around him, and which have often ſtruck his fancy. For this reaſon, In order to
+ judge of the propriety of poetical imagery, we ought to be in ſome meaſure acquainted with the
+ natural hiſtory of the country where the ſcene of the poem is laid. The introduction of foreign
+ images betrays a poet, copying not from nature, but from other writers. Hence ſo many lions, and
+ tigers, and eagles, and ſerpents, which we meet, with in the ſimiles of modern poets; as if theſe
+ animals had acquired ſome right to a place in poetical compariſons for ever, becauſe employed by
+ ancient authors. They employed them with propriety, as objects generally known in their, country,
+ but they are abſurdly uſed for illuſtration by us, who know them only at ſecond hand, or by
+ deſcription. To moſt readers of modern poetry, it were more to the purpoſe to deſcribe lions or
+ tigers by ſimiles taken from men, than to compare men to lions. Oſſian is very correct in this
+ particular. His imagery is, without exception, copied from that face of nature which be ſaw
+ before his eyes; and by conſequence may be expected to be lively. We meet with no Grecian or
+ Italian ſcenery; but with the miſts and clouds, and ſtorms, of a northern mountainous region.
+
+
No poet abounds more in ſimiles than Oſſian. There are in this collection as
+ many, at leaſt, as in the whole Iliad and Odyſſey of Homer. I am indeed inclined to think, that
+ the works of both poets are too much crowded with them. Similes are ſparkling ornaments; and,
+ like all things that ſparkle, are apt to dazzle and tire us by their luſtre. But if Oſſian's
+ ſimiles be too frequent, they have this advantage, of being commonly ſhorter than Homer's; they
+ interrupt his narration leſs; he juſt glances aſide to ſome reſembling, object, and inſtantly
+ returns to his former track. Homer's ſimiles include a wider range of objects; but, in return,
+ Oſſian's, are, without exception, taken from objects of dignity, which cannot be ſaid for all
+ thoſe which Homer employs. The ſun, the moon, and the ſtars, clouds and meteors, lightning and
+ thunder, ſeas and whales, rivers, torrents, winds, ice, rain, ſnow, dews, miſt, fire and ſmoke,
+ trees and foreſts, heath and graſs and flowers, rocks and mountains, muſic and ſongs, light and
+ darkneſs, ſpirits and ghoſts; theſe form the circle within which Oſſian's compariſons generally
+ run. Some, not many, are taken from birds and beaſts: as eagles, ſea-fowl, the horſe, the deer,
+ and the mountain bee; and a very few from ſuch operations of art as were then known.
+ Homer has diverſified his imagery, by many
+ more alluſions to the animal world; to lions, bulls, goats, herds of cattle, ſerpents, inſects;
+ and to various occupations of rural and paſtoral life. Oſſian's defect in this article, is
+ plainly owing to the deſert, uncultivated ſtate of his country, which ſuggeſted to him few images
+ beyond natural inanimate objects, in their rudeſt form. The birds and animals of the country were
+ probably not numerous; and his acquaintance with them was ſlender, as they were little ſubjected
+ to the uſes of man.
+
The great objection made to Oſſian's imagery, is its uniformity, and the too
+ frequent repetition of the ſame compariſon. In a work ſo thick-ſown with ſimiles one could not
+ but expect to find images of the ſame kind ſometimes ſuggeſted to the poet by reſembling objects;
+ eſpecially to a poet like Oſſian, who wrote from the immediate impulſe of poetical enthuſiaſm,
+ and without much preparation of ſtudy or labor. Fertile as Homer's imagination is acknowledged to
+ be, who does not know how often his lions, and bulls, and flocks of ſheep, recur with little or
+ no variation; nay, ſometimes, in the very ſame words? The objection made to Oſſian is, however,
+ founded, in a great meaſure, upon a miſtake. It has been ſuppoſed
+ by inattentive readers, that wherever the
+ moon, the cloud, or the thunder, returns in a ſimile, it is the ſame ſimile, and the ſame moon,
+ or cloud, or thunder, which they had met with a few pages before. Whereas very often the ſimiles
+ are widely different. The object, from whence they are taken, is indeed in ſubſtance the ſame;
+ but the image is new; for the appearance of the object is changed; it is preſented to the fancy
+ in another attitude: and clothed with new circumſtances, to make it ſuit the different
+ illuſtration for which it is employed. In this lies Oſſian's great art; in ſo happily varying the
+ form of the few natural appearances with which he was acquainted, as to make them correſpond to a
+ great many different objects.
+
Let us take for one inſtance the moon, which is very frequently introduced
+ in his compariſons; as in northern climates, where the nights are long, the moon is a greater
+ object of attention than in the climate of Homer; and let us view how much our poet has
+ diverſified its appearance. The ſhield of it warrior is like “the darkened moon when it moves a
+ dun circle through the heavens.” The face of a ghoſt, wan and ale, is like “the beam of the
+ ſetting moon.” And a different appearance of a ghoſt, thin and indiſtinct, is like “the
+ new moon ſeen through the gathered miſt,
+ when the ſky pours down its flaky ſnow, and the world is ſilent and dark;” or, in a different
+ form ſtill, is like “the watery beam of the moon, when it ruſhes from between two clouds, and the
+ midnight ſhower is on the field.” A very oppoſite uſe is made of the moon in the deſcription of
+ Agandecca: “She came in all her beauty, like the moon from the cloud of the eaſt.” Hope ſucceeded
+ by diſappointment, is “joy riſing on her face and ſorrow returning again, like a thin cloud on
+ the moon.” But when Swaran, after his defeat, is cheered by Fingal's generoſity, “his face
+ brightened like the full moon of heaven, when the clouds vaniſh away, and leave her calm and
+ broad in the midſt of the ſky.” Venvela is “bright as the moon when it trembles o'er the weſtern
+ wave;” but the ſoul of the guilty Uthal is “dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it
+ foretells the ſtorm.” And by a very fanciful and uncommon alluſion, it is ſaid of Cormac, who was
+ to die in his early years, “Nor long ſhalt thou lift the ſpear, mildly-ſhining beam of youth!
+ Death ſtands dim behind thee, like the darkened half of the moon behind its growing light.”
+
+
Another inſtance of the ſame nature may be taken from miſt, which, as being
+ a very familiar appearance in the country of Oſſian, he applies to a variety of purpoſes, and
+ purſues through a great many forms. Sometimes, which one would hardly expect, he employs it to
+ heighten the appearance of a beautiful object. The hair of Morna is “like the miſt of Cromla,
+ when it curls on the rock, and ſhines to the beam of the weſt.” “The ſong comes with its muſic to
+ melt and pleaſe the ear. It is like ſoft miſt, that riſing from the lake pours on the ſilent
+ vale. The green flowers are filled with dew. The ſun returns in its ſtrength, and, the miſt is
+ gone
+
There is a remarkable propriety in this compariſon. Tt is intended to explain the effect of
+ ſoft and mournful muſic. Armin appears diſturbed at a performance of this kind. Carmor ſays to
+ him, “Why burſts the ſigh of Armin? Is there a cauſe to mourn? The ſong comes with its muſic to
+ melt and pleaſe the ear. It is like ſoft miſt, &c.” that is, ſuch mournful ſongs have a happy
+ effect to ſoften the heart, and to improve it by tender emotions, as the moiſture of the miſt
+ refreſhes and nouriſhes the flowers ; whilſt the ſadneſs they occaſion is only tranſient, and
+ ſoon diſpelled by the ſucceeding occupations and amuſements of life: “The ſun returns in its
+ ſtrength, and the miſt is gone.”
.” But, for the moſt part, miſt is employed as a
+ ſimilitude of ſome diſagreeable or terrible object. “The ſoul of Nathos was ſad, like the ſun in
+ the
+ day of miſt, when his face is watery and
+ dim.”—“The darkneſs of old age comes like the miſt of the deſert.” The face of a ghoſt is “pale
+ as the miſt of Cromla.”—“The gloom of battle is rolled along as miſt that is poured on the
+ valley, when ſtorms invade the ſilent ſunſhine of heaven.” Fame, ſuddenly departing, is likened
+ to “miſt that flies away before the ruſtling wind of the vale.” A ghoſt, ſlowly vaniſhing, to
+ “miſt that melts by degrees on the ſunny hill.” Cairbar, after his treacherous aſſaſſination of
+ Oſcar, is compared to a peſtilential fog. “I love a foe like Cathmor,” ſays Fingal, “his ſoul is
+ great; his arm is ſtrong; his battles are full of fame. But the little ſoul is like a vapor that
+ hovers round the marſhy lake. It never riſes on the green hill, leſt the winds meet it there. Its
+ dwelling is in the cave; and it ſends forth the dart of death.” This is a ſimile highly finiſhed.
+ But there is another which is ſtill more ſtriking, founded alſo on miſt, in the fourth book of
+ Temora. Two factious chiefs are contending: Cathmor, the king, interpoſes, rebukes, and ſilences
+ them. The poet intends to give us the higheſt idea of Cathmor's ſuperiority; and moſt effectually
+ accompliſhes his intention by the following happy image. “They ſunk
+ from the king on either ſide, like two
+ columns of morning miſt, when the ſun riſes between them on his glittering rocks. Dark is their
+ rolling on either ſide; each towards its reedy pool.” Theſe inſtances may ſufficiently ſhow with
+ what richneſs of imagination Oſſian's compariſons abound, and, at the ſame time, with what
+ propriety of judgment they are employed. If his field was narrow, it muſt be admitted to have
+ been as well cultivated as its extent would allow.
+
As it is uſual to judge of poets from a compariſon of their ſimiles more
+ than of other paſſages, it will, perhaps, be agreeable to the reader, to ſee how Homer and Oſſian
+ have conducted ſome images of the ſame kind. This might be ſhown in many inſtances. For as the
+ great objects of nature are common to the poets of all nations, and make the general ſtorehouſe
+ of all imagery, the groundwork of their compariſons muſt, of courſe, be Frequently the ſame. I
+ ſhall ſelect only a few of the moſt conſiderable from both poets. Mr. Pope's tranſlation of Homer
+ can be of no uſe to us here. The parallel is altogether unfair between proſe and the impoſing
+ harmony of flowing numbers. It is only by viewing Homer in the ſimplicity of a
+ proſe tranſlation, that we can form any
+ compariſon between the two bards.
+
The ſhock of two encountering armies, the noiſe and the tumult of battle,
+ afford one of the moſt grand and awful ſubjects of deſcription; on which all epic poets have
+ exerted their ſtrength. Let us firſt hear Homer. The following deſcription is a favourite one,
+ for we find it twice repeated in the ſame words
+
Iliad, iv. 446. and Iliad, viii. 60.
. “When now the conflicting hoſts joined in the
+ field of battle, then were mutually oppoſed ſhields, and ſwords, and the ſtrength of armed men.
+ The boſſy bucklers were daſhed againſt each other. The univerſal tumult roſe. There were mingled
+ the triumphant ſhouts and the dying groans of the victors and the vanquiſhed. The earth ſtreamed
+ with blood. As when winter torrents, ruſhing from the mountains, pour into a narrow valley their
+ violent waters. They iſſue from a thouſand ſprings, and mix in the hollowed channel. The diſtant
+ ſhepherd hears on the mountain their roar from afar. Such was the terror and the ſhout of the
+ engaging armies.” In another paſſage, the poet, much in the manner of Oſſian, heaps ſimile on
+ ſimile, to expreſs the vaſtneſs of
+ the idea with which his imagination ſeems to
+ labor. “With a mighty ſhout the hoſts engage. Not ſo loud roars the wave of ocean, when driven
+ againſt the ſhore by the whole force of the boiſterous north; not ſo loud in the woods of the
+ mountain, the noiſe of the flame, when riſing in its fury to conſume the foreſt; not ſo loud the
+ wind among the lofty oaks, when the wrath of the worm rages; as was the clamor of the Greeks and
+ Trojans, when, roaring terrible, they ruſhed againſt each other.”
+
Iliad, xiv. 393.
+
To theſe deſcriptions and ſimiles, we may oppoſe the following from Oſſian,
+ and leave the reader to judge between them. He will find images of the ſame kind employed;
+ commonly leſs extended; but thrown forth with a glowing rapidity which characterizes our poet.
+ “As autumn's dark ſtorms pour from two echoing hills, towards each other approached the heroes.
+ As two dark ſtreams from high rocks meet and mix, and roar on the plains; loud, rough, and dark
+ in battle, meet Lochlin and Iniſfail. Chief mixed his ſtrokes with chief, and man with man. Steel
+ clanging, ſounded on ſteel. Helmets are cleft on high; blood
+ burſts and ſmokes around.—As the troubled
+ noiſe of the ocean, when roll the waves on high; as the laſt peal of the thunder of heaven; ſuch
+ is the noiſe of battle.” “As roll a thouſand waves to the rock, ſo Swaran's beſt came on; as
+ meets a rock a thouſand waves, ſo Iniſfail met Swaran. Death raiſes all his voices around, and
+ mixes with the ſound of ſhields.—The field echoes from wing to wing, as a hundred hammers that
+ riſe by turns on the red ſon of the furnace.”—“As a hundred winds on Morven; as the ſtreams of a
+ hundred hills; as clouds fly ſucceſſive over heaven or as the dark ocean aſſaults the ſhore of
+ the deſert ſo roaring, ſo vaſt, ſo terrible, the armies mixed on Lena's echoing heath.” In
+ ſeveral of theſe images there is a remarkable ſimilarity to Homer's: but what follows is ſuperior
+ to any compariſon that Homer uſes on this ſubject. “The groan of the people ſpread over the
+ hills; it was like the thunder of night, when the cloud burſts on Cona, and a thouſand ghoſts
+ ſhriek at once on the hollow wind.” Never was an image of, more awful ſublimity employed to
+ heighten the terror of battle.
+
Both poets compare the appearance of an army approaching, to the gathering
+ of dark
+ clouds. “As when a ſhepherd,” ſays Homer,
+ “beholds from the rock a cloud borne along the ſea by the weſtern wind; black as pitch it appears
+ from afar ſailing over the ocean, and carrying the dreadful ſtorm. He ſhrinks at the ſight, and
+ drives his flock into the cave: ſuch, under the Ajaces, moved on the dark, the thickened phalanx
+ to the war.”
+
Iliad, iv. 275.
—“They came,” ſays Oſſian, “over the deſert like ſtormy clouds,
+ when the winds roll them over the heath; their edges are tinged with lightning; and the echoing
+ groves foreſee the ſtorm.” The edges of the clouds tinged with lightning, is a ſublime idea: but
+ the ſhepherd and his flock render Homer's ſimile more pictureſque. This is frequently the
+ difference between the two poets. Oſſian gives no more than the main image, ſtrong and full:
+ Homer adds circumſtances and appendages, which amuſe the fancy by enlivening the ſcenery.
+
Homer compares the regular appearance of an army, to “clouds that are
+ ſettled on the mountain-top, in the day of calmneſs, when the ſtrength of the north wind
+ ſleeps
+
Iliad, v. 522.
.” Oſſian, with full as much propriety, compares the appearance of a
+ diſordered army, to “the
+ mountain cloud, when the. blaſt hath entered
+ its womb, and ſcatters the curling gloom on every ſide.” Oſſian's clouds aſſume a great many
+ forms, and, as we might expect from his climate, are a fertile ſource of imagery to him. “The
+ warriors followed their chiefs like the gathering of the rainy clouds behind the red meteors of
+ heaven.” An army retreating without coming to action, is likened to “clouds, that having long
+ threatened rain, retire ſlowly behind the hills.” The picture of Oithona, after ſhe had
+ determined to die, is lively and delicate. “Her ſoul was reſolved, and the tear was dried from
+ her wildly-looking eye. A troubled joy roſe on her mind, like the red path of the lightning on a
+ ſtormy cloud.” The image alſo of the gloomy Cairbar, meditating, in ſilence, the aſſaſſination of
+ Oſcar, until the moment came when his deſigns were ripe for execution, is extremely noble and
+ complete in all its parts. “Cairbar heard their words in ſilence, like the cloud of a ſhower; it
+ ſtands dark on Cromla till the lightning burſts its ſide. The valley gleams with red light; the
+ ſpirits of the ſtorm rejoice. So ſtood the ſilent king of Temora; at length his words are
+ heard.”
+
+
Homer's compariſon of Achilles to the Dog-Star, is very ſublime. “Priam
+ beheld him ruſhing along the plain, ſhining in his armour, like the ſtar of autumn bright are its
+ beams, diſtinguiſhed amidſt the multitude of ſtars in the dark hour of night. It riſes in its
+ ſplendor; but its ſplendor is fatal; betokening to miſerable men the deſtroying heat
+
Iliad, xxii.26.
.” The firſt appearance of Fingal is, in like manner, compared by
+ Oſſian to a ſtar or meteor. “Fingal, tall in his ſhip, ſtretched his bright lance before him.
+ Terrible was the gleam of his ſteel; it was like the green meteor of death, ſetting in the heath
+ of Malmor, when the traveller is alone, and the broad moon is darkened in heaven.” The hero's
+ appearance in Homer is more magnificent; in Oſſian, more terrible.
+
A tree cut down, or overthrown by a ſtorm, is a ſimilitude frequent among
+ poets for deſcribing the fall of a warrior in battle. Homer employs it often. But the moſt
+ beautiful, by far, of his compariſons, founded on this object, indeed one of the moſt beautiful
+ in the whole Iliad, is that on the death of Euphorbus. “As the young and verdant olive, which a
+ man hath reared with care in a lonely field, where
+ the ſprings of water bubble around it; it is
+ fair and flouriſhing; it is fanned by the breath of all the winds, and loaded with white
+ bloſſoms; when the ſudden blaſt of a whirlwind deſcending, roots it out from its bed, and
+ ſtretches it on the duſt
+
Iliad, xvii. 53
.” To this, elegant as it is, we may oppoſe the following ſimile of
+ Oſſian's, relating to the death of the three ſons of Uſnoth. “They fell, like three young oaks
+ which ſtood alone on the hill. The traveller ſaw the lovely trees, and wondered how they grew ſo
+ lonely. The blaſt of the deſert came by night, and laid their green heads low. Next day he
+ returned; but they were withered, and the heath was bare.” Malvina's alluſion to the ſame object,
+ in her lamentation over Oſcar, is ſo exquiſitely tender, that I cannot forbear giving it a place
+ alſo. “I was a lovely tree in thy preſence, Oſcar! with all my branches round me. But thy death
+ came, like a blaſt from the deſert, and laid my green head low. The ſpring returned with its
+ ſhowers; but no leaf of mine aroſe.” Several of Oſſian's ſimiles, taken from trees, are
+ remarkably beautiful, and diverſified with well-choſen circumſtances ſuch as that upon the death
+ of Ryno and Orla: They have fallen
+ like the oak of the deſert; when it lies
+ acroſs a ſtream, and withers in the wind of the mountains.” Or that which Oſſian applies to
+ himſelf: “I, like an ancient oak in Morven, moulder alone in my place; the blaſt hath lopped my
+ branches away; and I tremble at the winds of the north.”
+
As Homer exalts his heroes by comparing them to gods, Oſſian makes the ſame
+ uſe of compariſons taken from ſpirits and ghoſts. “Swaran roared in battle, like the ſhrill
+ ſpirit of a ſtorm, that ſits dim on the clouds of Gormal, and enjoys the death of the mariner.”
+ His people gathered round Erragon, “like ſtorms around the ghoſt of night, when he calls them
+ from the top of Morven, and prepares to pour them on the land of the ſtranger.”—“They fell before
+ my ſon like groves in the deſert, when an angry ghoſt ruſhes through night, and takes their green
+ heads in his hand.” In ſuch images, Oſſian appears in his ſtrength; for very ſeldom have
+ ſupernatural beings been painted with ſo much ſublimity, and ſuch force of imagination, as by
+ this poet. Even Homer, great as he is, muſt yield to him in ſimiles formed upon theſe. Take, for
+ inſtance, the following, which is the moſt remarkable of this kind in the Iliad.
+ “Meriones followed Idomeneus to battle, like
+ Mars, the deſtroyer of men, when lie ruſhes to war. Terror, his beloved ſon, ſtrong and fierce,
+ attends him; who fills with diſmay the moſt valiant hero. They come from Thrace armed againſt the
+ Ephyrians and Phlegyans; nor do they regard the prayers of either, but diſpoſe of ſucceſs at
+ their will
+
Iliad, xiii. 298.
.” The idea here is undoubtedly noble, but obſerve what a figure
+ Oſſian ſets before the aſtoniſhed imagination, and with what ſublimely terrible circumſtances he
+ has heightened it. “He ruſhed, in the ſound of his arms, like the dreadful ſpirit of Loda, when
+ he comes in the roar of a thouſand ſtorms, and ſcatters battles from his eyes. He ſits on a cloud
+ over Lochlin's ſeas. His mighty hand is on his ſword. The wind lifts his flaming locks. So
+ terrible was Cuthullin in the day of his fame.”
+
Homer's compariſons relate chiefly to martial ſubjects, to the appearances
+ and motions of armies, the engagement and death of heroes, and the various incidents of war. In
+ Oſſian, we find a greater variety of other ſubjects, illuſtrated by ſimiles, particularly the
+ ſongs of bards, the beauty of women, the different circumſtances of
+ old age, ſorrow, and private diſtreſs; which
+ give occaſion to much beautiful imagery. What, for inſtance, can be more delicate and moving,
+ than the following ſimile of Oithona's, in her lamentation over the diſhonour ſhe had ſuffered
+ “Chief of Strumon.” replied the ſighing maid, why didſt thou come over the dark blue wave to
+ Nuath's mournful daughter? Why did not I paſs away in ſecret, like the flower of the rock, that
+ lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrews its withered leaves on the blaſt?” The muſic of bards, a
+ favourite object with Oſſian, is illuſtrated by a variety of the moſt beautiful appearances that
+ are to be found in nature. It is compared to the calm ſhower of ſpring; to the dews of the
+ morning on the hill of roes; to the face of the blue and ſtill lake. Two ſimiles on this ſubject
+ I ſhall quote, becauſe they would do honour to any of the moſt celebrated claſſics. The one is:
+ “Sit thou on the heath, O bard! and let us hear thy voice; it is pleaſant as the gale of the
+ ſpring that ſighs on the hunter's ear, when he awakens from dreams of joy, and has heard the
+ muſic of the ſpirits of the hill.” The other contains a ſhort but exquiſitely tender image,
+ accompanied with the fineſt poetical painting. “The muſic of Carril was like the memory of joys
+ that are paſt,
+ pleaſant, and mournful to the ſoul. The
+ ghoſts of departed bards heard it from Slimora's ſide. Soft ſounds ſpread along the wood; and the
+ ſilent valleys of night rejoice.” What a figure would ſuch imagery and ſuch ſcenery have made,
+ had they been preſented to us adorned with the ſweetneſs and harmony of the Virgilian
+ numbers!
+
I have choſen all along to compare Oſſian with Homer, rather than Virgil,
+ for an obvious reaſon. There is a much nearer correſpondence between the times and manners of the
+ two former poets. Both wrote in an early period of ſociety; both are originals; both are
+ diſtinguiſhed by ſimplicity, ſublimity, and fire. The correct elegances of Virgil, his artful
+ imitation of Homer, the Roman ſtatelineſs which he everywhere maintains, admit no parallel with
+ the abrupt boldneſs and enthuſiaſtic warmth of the Celtic bard. In one article, indeed, there is
+ a reſemblance. Virgil is more tender than Homer, and thereby agrees more with Oſſian; with this
+ difference, that the feelings of the one are more gentle and poliſhed—thoſe of the other more
+ ſtrong: the tenderneſs of Virgil ſoftenſ—that of Oſſian diſſolves and overcomes the heart.
+
A reſemblance may be ſometimes obſerved between Oſſian's Compariſons and
+ thoſe
+ employed by the ſacred writers. They abound
+ much in this figure, and they uſe it with the utmoſt propriety
+
See Dr Lowth de Sacra Poeſi Hebræorum.
. The imagery of Scripture exhibits a ſoil
+ and climate altogether different from thoſe of Oſſian: a warmer country, a more ſmiling face of
+ nature, the arts of agriculture and of rural life much farther advanced. The wine-preſs and the
+ threſhing-floor are often preſented to us; the cedar and the palm-tree, the fragrance of perfumes
+ the voice of the turtle, and the beds of lilies. The ſimiles are, like Oſſian's, generally ſhort,
+ touching on one point of reſemblance, rather than ſpread out into little epiſodes. In the
+ following example may be perceived what inexpreſſible grandeur poetry receives from the
+ intervention of the Deity. “The nations ſhall ruſh like the ruſhing of many waters; but God ſhall
+ rebuke them, and they ſhall fly far off, and ſhall be chaſed as the chaff of the “mountains
+ before the wind, and like the down of the thiſtle before the whirlwind
+
Iſaiah xvii. 13.
.”
+
Beſides formal compariſons, the poetry of Oſſian is embelliſhed with many
+ beautiful metaphors; ſuch as that remarkably fine one
+ applied to Deugala: “She was covered with
+ the light of beauty; but her heart was the houſe of pride.” This mode of expreſſion, which
+ ſuppreſſes the mark of compariſon, and ſubſtitutes a figured deſcription in room of the object
+ deſcribed, is a great enlivener of ſtyle. It denotes that glow and rapidity of fancy, which,
+ without pauſing to form a regular ſimile, paints the object at one ſtroke. “Thou art to me the
+ beam of the caſt, riſing in a land unknown.”—“In peace, thou art the gale of ſpring; In war, the
+ mountain ſtorm.”—“Pleaſant be thy reſt, O lovely beam! ſoon haſt thou ſet on our hills! The ſteps
+ of thy departure were ſtately, like the moon on the blue trembling wave. But thou haſt left us in
+ darkneſs, firſt of the maids of Lutha!—Soon haſt thou ſet, Malvina! but thou riſeſt, like the
+ beam of the eaſt, among the ſpirits of thy friends, where they ſit in their ſtormy halls, the
+ chambers of the thunder.” This is correct, and finely ſupported. But in the following inſtance,
+ the metaphor, though very beautiful at the beginning, becomes imperfect before it cloſes, by
+ being improperly mixed with the literal ſenſe. “Trathal went forth with the ſtream of his people:
+ but they met a rock; Fingal ſtood unmoved; broken, they rolled back from his
+ ſide. Nor did they roll in ſafety; the Spear
+ of the king purſued their flight.”
+
The hyperbole is a figure which we might expect to find often employed by
+ Oſſian; as the undiſciplined imagination of early ages generally prompts exaggeration, and
+ carries its objects to exceſs; whereas longer experience, and farther progreſs in the arts of
+ life, chaſten men's ideas and expreſſions. Yet Oſſian's hyperboles appear not, to me, either ſo
+ frequent or ſo harſh as might at firſt have been looked for; an advantage owing, no doubt, to the
+ more cultivated ſtate in which, as was before ſhown, poetry ſubſiſted among the ancient Celtæ,
+ than among moſt other barbarous nations. One of the moſt exaggerated deſcriptions in the whole
+ work, is what meets us at the beginning of Fingal, where the ſcout makes his report to Cuthullin
+ of the landing of the foe. But this is ſo far from deſerving cenſure, that it merits praiſe, as
+ being on that occaſion natural and proper. The ſcout arrives, trembling and full of fears; and it
+ is well known that no paſſion diſpoſes men to hyperbolize more than terror. It both annihilates
+ themſelves in their own apprehenſion, and magnifies every object which they view through the
+ medium of a troubled imagination. Hence all thoſe indiſtinct images of formidable
+ greatneſs, the natural marks of a diſturbed
+ and confuſed mind, which occur in Moran's deſcription of Swaran's appearance, and in his relation
+ of the conference which they held together; not unlike the report which the affrighted Jewiſh
+ ſpies made to their leader, of the land of Canaan. “The land through which we have gone to ſearch
+ it, is a land that eateth up the inhabitants thereof; and all the people that we ſaw in it are
+ men of a great ſtature: and there ſaw we giants, the ſons of Anak, which come of the giants; and
+ we were in our own ſight as graſſhoppers, and ſo we were in their ſight
+
Numbers xiii, 32, 33.
.”
+
With regard to perſonifications, I formerly obſerved that Oſſian was
+ ſparing, and I accounted for his being ſo. Allegorical perſonages he has none; and their abſence
+ is not to be regretted. For the intermixture of thoſe ſhadowy beings, which have not the ſupport
+ even of mythological or legendary belief, with human actors, ſeldom produces a good effect. The
+ fiction becomes too viſible and fantaſtic; and overthrows that impreſſion of reality, which the
+ probable recital of human actions is calculated to make upon the mind. In the ſerious and
+ pathetic ſcenes of Oſſian, eſpecially,
+ allegorical characters would have been as much out of place as in tragedy; ſerving only
+ unſeaſonably to uſe the fancy, whilſt they ſtopped the current and weakened the force of
+ paſſion.
+
With apoſtrophes, or addreſſes to perſons abſent or dead, which have been
+ in, all ages the language of paſſion, our poet abounds; and they are among his higheſt beauties.
+ Witneſs the apoſtrophe, in the firſt book of Fingal, to the maid of Iniſtore, whoſe lover had
+ fallen in battle; and that inimitably fine one of Cuthullin to Bragela, at the concluſion of the
+ ſame book. He commands his harp to be ſtruck in her praiſe; and the mention of Bragela's name
+ immediately ſuggeſting to him a crowd of tender ideaſ—“Doſt thou raiſe thy fair face from the
+ rocks,” he exclaims, “to find the ſails of Cuthullin? The ſea is rolling far diſtant, and its
+ white foam ſhall deceive thee for my ſails.” And now his imagination being wrought up to conceive
+ her as, at that moment, really in this ſituation, he becomes afraid of the harm ſhe may receive
+ from the inclemency of the night; and with an enthuſiaſm happy and affecting, though beyond the
+ cautious ſtrain of modern poetry, “Retire,” he proceeds, “retire, for it is night, my love, and
+ the dark
+ winds ſigh in thy hair. Retire to the hall
+ of my feaſts, and think of the times that are paſt: for I will not return until the ſtorm of war
+ has ceaſed. O, Connal! ſpeak of wars and arms, and ſend her from my mind; for lovely with her
+ raven hair is the white-boſomed daughter of Sorglan.” This breathes all the native ſpirit of
+ paſſion and tenderneſs.
+
The addreſſes to the ſun, to the moon, and to the evening ſtar, muſt draw
+ the attention of every reader of taſte, as among the moſt ſplendid ornaments of this collection.
+ The beauties of each are too great and too obvious to need any particular comment. In one paſſage
+ only of the addreſs to the moon, there appears ſome obſcurity. “Whither doſt thou retire from thy
+ courſe when the darkneſs of they countenance grows? Haſt thou thy hall like Oſſian? Dwelleſt thou
+ in the ſhadow of grief? Have thy ſiſters fallen from heaven? Are they who rejoiced with thee, at
+ night, no more? Yes, they have fallen, fair light! and thou doſt often retire to mourn.” We may
+ be at a loſs to comprehend, at firſt view, the ground of thoſe ſpeculations of Oſſian concerning
+ the moon: but when all the circumſtances are attended to, they will appear to flow naturally from
+ the preſent ſituation of his mind.
+ A mind under the domination of any ſtrong
+ paſſion, tinctures with its own diſpoſition every object which it beholds. The old bard, with his
+ heart bleeding for the loſs of all his friends, is meditating on the different phaſes of the
+ moon. Her waning and darkneſs preſent to his melancholy imagination the image of ſorrow; and
+ preſently the idea ariſes, and is indulged, that like himſelf, ſhe retires to mourn over the loſs
+ of other moons, or of ſtars, whom he calls her ſiſters, and fancies to have once rejoiced with
+ her at night, now fallen from heaven. Darkneſs ſuggeſted the idea of mourning, and mourning
+ ſuggeſted nothing ſo naturally to Oſſian as the death of beloved friends. An inſtance preciſely
+ ſimilar, of this influence of paſſion, may be ſeen in a paſſage, which has always been admired,
+ of Shakſpeare's King Lear. The old man, on the point of diſtraction through the inhumanity of his
+ daughters, ſees Edgar appear, diſguiſed as a beggar and a madman.
+
+ Lear.
+ Didſt thou give all to thy daughters?
+ `And art thou come to this?
+ Couldſt thou leave nothing? Didſt thou give them all?
+
+ Kent.
+
He hath no daughters, ſir.
+
+
+ Lear.
+ Death, traitor! nothing could have ſubdued nature
+ To ſuch a lowneſs, but his unkind daughters.
+
+
The apoſtrophe to the winds, in the opening of Dar-thula, is in the higheſt
+ ſpirit of poetry. “But the winds deceive me, O Dar-thula! and deny the woody Etha to thy ſails.
+ Theſe are not the mountains, Nathos, nor is that roar of thy climbing waves. The halls of Cairbar
+ are near, and the towers of the foe lift their heads. Where have ye been, ye ſouthern winds! when
+ the ſons of thy love were deceived? But ye have been ſporting on plains, and purſuing the
+ thiſtle's beard. O that ye had been ruſtling in the ſails of Nathos, till the hills of Etha roſe!
+ till they roſe in the clouds, and ſaw their coming chief.” This paſſage is remarkable for the
+ reſemblance it bears to an expoſtulation with the wood nymphs, on their abſence at a critical
+ time; which, as a favourite poetical idea, Virgil has copied from Theocritus, and Milton has very
+ happily imitated from both.
+
+ Where were ye, nymphs! when the remorſeleſs deep
+ Cloſed o'er the head of your lov'd Lycidas?
+
+ For neither were ye playing on the ſteep
+ Where your old bards, the famous Druids, he!
+ Nor on the ſhaggy top of Mona, high,
+ Nor yet where Deva ſpreads her wizard ſtream
+
Milton's Lycidas. See Theocrit. Idyll. I.
+ πᾷ ποκ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἦσθ᾽, ὅκα Δάφνις ἐτάκετο, πᾷ ποκα, Νύμφαι; &c And Virg.
+ Eclog. 10.
+ Quæ nemora, aut qui vos faltus habuere, puellæ
.
+
Having now treated fully of Oſſian's talents, with reſpect to deſcription
+ and imagery, it only remains to make ſome obſervations on his ſentiments. No ſentiments can be
+ beautiful without being proper; that is, ſuited to the character and ſituation of thoſe who utter
+ them. In this reſpect Oſſian is as correct as moſt writers. His characters, as above deſcribed,
+ are, in general, well ſupported; which could not have been the caſe, had the ſentiments been
+ unnatural or out of place. A variety of perſonages, of different ages, ſexes, and conditions, are
+ introduced into his poems; and they ſpeak and act with a propriety of ſentiment and behavior
+ which it is ſurpriſing to find in ſo rude an age. Let the poem of Dar-thula, throughout, be taken
+ as an example.
+
But it is not enough that ſentiments be natural and proper. In order to
+ acquire any high
+ degree of poetical merit, they muſt alſo be
+ ſublime and pathetic.
+
The ſublime is not confined to ſentiment alone. It belongs to deſcription
+ alſo; and whether in deſcription or in ſentiment, imports ſuch ideas preſented to the mind, as
+ raiſe it to an uncommon degree of elevation, and fill it with admiration and aſtoniſhment. This
+ is the higheſt effect either of eloquence or poetry; and, to produce this effect, requires a
+ genius glowing with the ſtrongeſt and warmeſt conception of ſome object, awful, great, or
+ magnificent. That this character of genius belongs to Oſſian, may, I think, ſufficiently appear
+ from many of the paſſages I have already had occaſion to quote. To produce more inſtances were
+ ſuperfluous. If the engagement of Fingal with the ſpirit of Loda, in Carric-thura; if the
+ encounters of the armies, in Fingal; if the addreſs to the ſun, in Carthon; if the ſimiles
+ founded upon ghoſts and ſpirits of the night, all formerly mentioned, be not admitted as
+ examples, and illuſtrious ones too, of the true poetical ſublime, I confeſs myſelf entirely
+ ignorant of this quality in writing.
+
All the circumſtances, indeed, of Oſſian's compoſition, are favourable to
+ the ſublime,
+ more perhaps than to any other ſpecies of
+ beauty. Accuracy and correct. neſs, artfully connected narration, exact method and proportion. of
+ parts, we may look for in poliſhed times. The gay and the beautiful will appear to more advantage
+ in the midſt of ſmiling ſcenery and pleaſurable themes; but, amidſt the rude ſcenes of nature,
+ amidſt rocks and torrents, and whirlwinds and battles, dwells the ſublime. It is the thunder and
+ the lightning of genius. It is the offſpring of nature, not of art. It is negligent of all the
+ leſſer graces, and perfectly conſiſtent with a certain noble diſorder. It aſſociates naturally
+ with that grave and ſolemn ſpirit which diſtinguiſhes our author. For the ſublime is an awful and
+ ſerious emotion; and is heightened by all the Images of trouble, and terror, and darkneſs.
+
+ Ipſe pater, media nimborum in nocte, coruſcâ
+ Fulmina molitur dextra; quo maxima motu
+ Terra tremit; fugere feræ; et mortalia corda
+ Per gentes, humilis ſtravit pavor; ille, flagranti
+ Aut Atho, aut Rhodopen, aut alta Ceraunia telo
+ Dejicit.—
+
Simplicity and conciſeneſs are never-failing characteriſtics of the ſtyle of
+ a ſublime writer. He reſts on the majeſty of his ſentiments, not
+ on the pomp of his expreſſions. The main
+ ſecret of being ſublime is to ſay great things in few, and in plain words: for every ſuperfluous
+ decoration degrades a ſublime idea. The mind riſes and ſwells, when a lofty deſcription or
+ ſentiment is preſented to it in its native form. But no ſooner does the poet attempt to ſpread
+ out this ſentiment, or deſcription, and to deck it round and round with glittering ornaments,
+ than the mind begins to fall from its high elevation; the tranſport is over; the beautiful may
+ remain, but the ſublime is gone. Hence the conciſe and ſimple ſtyle of Oſſian gives great
+ advantage to his ſublime conceptions, and aſſiſts them in ſeizing the imagination with full
+ power
+
The noted ſaying of Julius Cæſar, to the pilot in a ſtorm; `` Quid times? Cæſarem vehis;” is
+ magnanimous and ſublime. Lucan, not ſatisfied with this ſimple conciſeneſs, reſolved to amplify
+ and improve the thought. Obſerve, how every time he twiſts it round, it departs farther from the
+ ſublime, till, at laſt, it ends in tumid declamation.
+ Sperne minas, inquit, Pelagi, ventoque furenti
+ Trade finum. Italiam, fi coelo auctore, recuſas,
+ Me, pete. Sola tibi cauſa hæc eſt juſta timoris
+ Vetorem non noſſe tuum ; quem numina nunquam
+ Deſtituunt; de quo male tunc fortuna meretur,
+ Cur poſt vota venit; medias perrumpe procellas
+ Tutelâ ſecure meâ, Cœli iſte fretique,
+ Non puppis noſtræ, labor eſt, Hanc Cæſare preſfam
+ A fluctu defendit onus.
+ —— Quid tanti ſtrage paratur,
+ Ignoras ? Quærit pelagi coelique tumultu
+ Quid prafiet fortuna mihi.————
+
.
+
+
+
Sublimity, as belonging to ſentiment, coincides, in a great meaſure, with
+ magnanimity, heroiſm, and generoſity of ſentiment. Whatever diſcovers human nature in its
+ greateſt elevation; whatever beſpeaks a high effort of ſoul, or ſhews a mind ſuperior to
+ pleaſures, to dangers, and to death, forms what may be called the moral of ſentimental ſublime.
+ For this Oſſian is eminently diſtinguiſhed. No poet maintains a higher tone of virtuous and noble
+ ſentiment throughout all his works. Particularly in all the ſentiments of Fingal there is a
+ grandeur and loftineſs, proper to ſwell the mind with the higheſt ideas of human perfection.
+ Wherever he appears, we behold the hero. The objects which he purſues are always truly great: to
+ bend the proud; to protect the injured; to defend his friends; to overcome his enemies by
+ generoſity more than by force. A portion of the ſame ſpirit actuates all the other heroes. Valor
+ reigns; but it is a generous valor, void of cruelty, animated by honour, not by hatred. We behold
+ no debaſing paſſions
+ among Fingal's warriors; no ſpirit of
+ avarice or of inſult; but a perpetual contention for fame; a deſire of being diſtinguiſhed and
+ remembered for gallant actions; a love of juſtice; and a zealous attachment to their friends and
+ their country. Such is the ſtrain of ſentiment in the works of Oſſian.
+
But the ſublimity of moral ſentiments, if they wanted the ſoftening of the
+ tender, would be in hazard of giving a hard and ſtiff air to poetry. It is not enough to admire.
+ Admiration is a cold feeling, in compariſon of that deep intereſt which the heart takes in tender
+ and pathetic ſcenes; where, by a myſterious attachment to the objects of compaſſion, we are
+ pleaſed and delighted, even whilſt we mourn. With ſcenes of this kind Oſſian abounds; and his
+ high merit in theſe is inconteſtible. He may be blamed for drawing tears too often from our eyes;
+ but that he has the power of commanding them, I believe no man, who as the leaſt ſenſibility,
+ will queſtion. The general character of his poetry is the heroic mixed with the elegiac ſtrain;
+ admiration tempered with pity. Ever fond of giving, as he expreſſes it, “the joy of grief,” it is
+ viſible that, on all moving ſubjects, he delights to exert his genius; and, accordingly, never
+ were there finer
+ pathetick ſituations than what his works
+ preſent. His great art in managing them lies in giving vent to the ſimple and natural emotions of
+ the heart. We meet with no exaggerated declamation; no ſubtile refinements on ſorrow; no
+ ſubſtitution of deſcription in place of paſſion. Oſſian felt ſtrongly himſelf; and the heart,
+ when uttering its native language, never fails, by powerful ſympathy, to affect the heart. A
+ great variety of examples might be produced. We need only open the book to find them everywhere.
+ What, for inſtance, can be more moving than the lamentations of Oithona, after her miſfortune?
+ Gaul, the ſon of Morni, her lover, ignorant of what ſhe had ſuffered, comes to her reſcue. Their
+ meeting is tender in the higheſt degree. He propoſes to engage her foe, in ſingle combat, and
+ gives her in charge what ſhe is to do if he himſelf ſhall fall. “And ſhall the daughter of Nuath
+ live?” ſhe replied, with a burſting ſigh. “Shall I live in Tromathon, and the ſon of Morni low?
+ My heart is not of that rock; nor my ſoul careleſs as that ſea, which lifts its blue waves to
+ every wind, and rolls beneath the ſtorm. The blaſt, which ſhall lay thee low, ſhall ſpread the
+ branches of Oithona, on earth. We ſhall wither together, ſon of car-borne Morni! The narrow houſe
+ is pleaſant to me;
+ and the gray ſtone of the dead; for never
+ more will I leave my rocks, ſea-ſurrounded Tromathon!—Chief of Strumon! why comeſt thou over the
+ waves to Nuath's mournful daughter? Why did I not paſs away in ſecret, like the flower of the
+ rocks that lifts its fair head unſeen, and ſtrews its withered leaves on the blaſt? Why didſt
+ thou come, O Gaul I to bear my departing ſigh?—O, had I dwelt at Duvranna, in the bright beam of
+ my fame! Then had my years come on with joy: and the virgins would bleſs my ſteps. But I fall in
+ youth, ſon of Morni! and my father ſhall bluſh in his hall!”
+
Oithona mourns like a woman: in Cuthullin's expreſſions of grief after his
+ defeat, we behold the ſentiments of a hero—generous, but deſponding. The ſituation is remarkably
+ fine. Cuthullin, rouſed from his cave by the noiſe of battle, ſees Fingal victorious in the
+ field. He is deſcribed as kindling at the ſight. “His hand is on the ſword of his fathers; his
+ red-rolling eyes on the foe. He thrice attempted to ruſh to battle; and thrice did Connal ſtop
+ him;” ſuggeſting that Fingal was routing the foe; and that he ought not, by the ſhow of
+ ſuperfluous aid, to deprive the king of any part
+ of the honour of a victory, which was owing
+ to him alone. Cuthullin yields to this generous ſentiment; but we ſee it ſtinging him to the
+ heart with the ſenſe of his own diſgrace. “Then, Carril, go,” replied the chief, “and greet the
+ king of Morven. When Lochlin fails away like a ſtream after rain, and the noiſe of the battle is
+ over, then be thy voice ſweet in his ear, to praiſe the king of ſwords. Give him the ſword of
+ Caithbat; for Cuthullin is worthy no more to lift the arms of his fathers. But, O ye ghoſts of
+ the lonely Cromla! ye ſouls of chiefs that are no more! be ye the companions of Cuthullin, and
+ talk to him in the cave of his ſorrow. For never more ſhall I be renowned among the mighty in the
+ land. I am like a beam that has ſhone: like a miſt that has fled away; when the blaſt of the
+ morning came, and brightened the ſhaggy ſide of the hill. Connal! talk of arms no more: departed
+ is my fame. My ſighs ſhall be on Cromla's wind; till my footſteps ceaſe to be ſeen. And thou,
+ white-boſomed Bragela! mourn over the fall of my fame: for vanquiſhed, I will never return to
+ thee, thou ſunbeam of Dunſcaich!”
+
+ —Æſtuat ingens
+ Uno in corde pudor, luctuſque, et conſcia virtus.
+
+
+
Beſides ſuch extended pathetic ſcenes, Oſſian frequently pierces the heart
+ by a ſingle unexpected ſtroke. When Oſcar fell in battle, “No father mourned his ſon ſlain in
+ youth; no brother, his brother of love; they fell without tears, for the chief of the people was
+ low.” In the admirable interview of Hector with Andromache, in the ſixth Iliad, the circumſtance
+ of the child in his nurſe's arms, has often been remarked as adding much to the tenderneſs of the
+ ſcene. In the following paſſage, relating to the death of Cuthullin, we find a circumſtance that
+ muſt ſtrike the imagination with ſtill greater force. “And is the ſon of Semo fallen?” ſaid
+ Carril, with a ſigh. “Mournful are Tura's walls, and ſorrow dwells at Dunſcaich. Thy ſpouſe is
+ left alone in her youth; the ſon of thy love is alone. He ſhall come to Bragela, and aſk her why
+ ſhe weeps? He ſhall lift his eyes to the wall, and ſee his father's ſword. Whoſe ſword is that?
+ he will ſay; and the ſoul of his mother is ſad.” Soon after Fingal had ſhown all the grief of a
+ father's heart for Ryno, one of his ſons, fallen in battle, he is calling, after his accuſtomed
+ manner, his ſons to the chaſe. “Call,” ſays he, “Fillan and Ryno.—But he is not here.—My ſon
+ reſts on the bed
+ of death.” This unexpected ſtart of anguiſh
+ is worthy of the higheſt tragic poet.
+ If ſhe come in, ſhe'll ſure ſpeak to my wife—
+ My wife!—my wife!—What wife!—I have no wife—
+ Oh, inſupportable! Oh, heavy hour!
+
The contrivance of the incident in both poets is ſimilar: but the
+ circumſtances are varied with judgment. Othello dwells upon the name of wife, when it had fallen
+ from him, with the confuſion and horror of one tortured with guilt. Fingal, with the dignity of a
+ hero, corrects himſelf, and ſuppreſſes his riſing grief.
+
The contraſt which Oſſian frequently makes between his preſent and his
+ former ſtate, diffuſes over his whole poetry a ſolemn pathetic air, which cannot fail to make
+ impreſſion on every heart. The concluſion of the ſongs of Selma is particularly calculated for
+ this purpoſe. Nothing can be more poetical and tender, or can leave upon the mind a ſtronger and
+ more affecting idea of the venerable and aged bard. “Such were the words of the bards in the days
+ of the ſong; when the king heard the muſic of harps, and the tales of other times. The chiefs
+ gathered from all their
+ hills, and heard the lovely ſound. They
+ praiſed the voice of Cona
+
Oſſian himſelf is poetically called the voice of Cona.
; the firſt among a thouſand
+ bards. But age is now on my tongue, and my ſoul has failed. I hear, ſometimes, the ghoſts of
+ bards, and learn their pleaſant ſong. But memory fails on my mind; I hear the call of years. They
+ ſay, as they paſs along, Why does Oſſian ſing? Soon ſhall he lie in the narrow houſe, and no bard
+ ſhall raiſe his fame. Roll on, ye dark-brown years! for ye bring no joy in your courſe. Let the
+ tomb open to Oſſian, for his ſtrength has failed. The ſons of the ſong are gone to reſt. My voice
+ remains, like a blaſt, that roars lonely on the ſea-rur-rounded rock, after the winds are laid.
+ The dark moſs whiſtles there, and the diſtant mariner ſees the waving trees.”
+
Upon the whole, if to feel ſtrongly, and to deſcribe naturally, be the two
+ chief ingredients in poetical genius, Oſſian muſt, after fair examination, be held to poſſeſs
+ that genius in a high degree. The queſtion is not, whether a few improprieties may be pointed out
+ in his works?-whether this or that paſſage might not have been worked up with more art and ſkill,
+ by ſome writer of happier times? A thouſand ſuch
+ cold and frivolous criticiſms are altogether
+ indeciſive as to his genuine merit. But has he the ſpirit, the fire the inſpiration of a poet?
+ Does he utter the voice of nature? Does he elevate by his ſentiments? Does lie intereſt by his
+ deſcription? Does be paint to the heart as well as to the fancy? Does he make his readers glow,
+ and tremble, and weep? Theſe are the great characteriſtics of true poetry. Where theſe are found,
+ he muſt be a minute critic, indeed, who can dwell, upon ſlight defects. A few beauties of this
+ high kind tranſcend whole volumes of faultleſs mediocrity. Uncouth and abrupt Oſſian may
+ ſometimes appear, by reaſon of his conciſeneſs; but he is ſublime, he is pathetic, in an eminent
+ degree. If he has not the extenſive knowledge, the regular dignity of narration, the fulneſs and
+ accuracy of deſcription, which we find in Homer and Virgil, yet in ſtrength of imagination, in
+ grandeur of ſentiment, in native majeſty of paſſion, he is fully their equal. If he flows not
+ always like a clear ſtream, yet he breaks forth often like a torrent of fire. Of art, too, he is
+ far from being deſtitute; and his imagination is remarkable for delicacy as well as ſtrength.
+ Seldom or never is he either trifling or tedious; and if he be thought too melancholy, yet he is
+ always
+ moral. Though his merit were in other
+ reſpects much leſs than it is, this alone ought to entitle him to high regard, that his writings
+ are remarkably favourable to virtue. They awake the tendereſt ſympathies, and inſpire the moſt
+ generous emotions. No reader can riſe from him without being warmed with the ſentiments of
+ humanity, virtue, and honour.
+
Though unacquainted with the original language, there is no one but muſt
+ judge the tranſlation to deſerve the higheſt praiſe, on account of its beauty and elegance. Of
+ its faithfulneſs and accuracy, I have been aſſured by perſons ſkilled in the Gaelic tongue, who
+ from their youth were acquainted with many of theſe poems of Oſſian. To tranſfuſe ſuch ſpirited
+ and fervid ideas from one language into another; to tranſlate literally, and yet with ſuch a glow
+ of poetry; to keep alive ſo much paſſion, and ſupport ſo much dignity throughout; is one of the
+ moſt difficult works of genius, and proves the tranſlator to have been animated with no ſmall
+ portion of Oſſian's ſpirit.
+
The meaſured proſe which he has employed, poſſeſſes conſiderable advantages
+ above any ſort of verſification he could have choſen. While it pleaſes and fills the ear with a
+ variety of harmonious cadences, being, at the ſame time,
+ freer from conſtraint in the choice and
+ arrangement of words, it allows the ſpirit of the original to be exhibited, with more juſtneſs,
+ force, and ſimplicity. Elegant, however, and maſterly, as Mr. Macpherſon's tranſlation is, we
+ muſt never forget, whilſt we read it, that we are putting the merit of the original to a ſevere
+ teſt. For we are examining a poet ſtripped of his native dreſs; diveſted of the harmony of his
+ own numbers. We know how much grace and energy the works of the Greek and Latin poets receive
+ from the charm of verſification in their original languages. If then, deſtitute of this
+ advantage, exhibited in a literal verſion, Oſſian ſtill has power to pleaſe as a poet; and not to
+ pleaſe only, but often to command, to tranſport, to melt the heart; we may very ſafely infer that
+ his productions are the off-ſpring of a true and uncommon genius; and we may proudly aſſign him a
+ place among thoſe whoſe works are to laſt for ages.
+
+ FINIS
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
\ No newline at end of file
diff --git a/NUIG/ossianedition6b.zip b/NUIG/ossianedition6b.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..76b7780
Binary files /dev/null and b/NUIG/ossianedition6b.zip differ
diff --git a/Scripts/ossianUp.sh b/Scripts/ossianUp.sh
index 5d64cfa..79a440b 100644
--- a/Scripts/ossianUp.sh
+++ b/Scripts/ossianUp.sh
@@ -1,7 +1,9 @@
-saxon -xi driver-vol1.tei Scripts/ossianUp.xsl >ossianedition6a.xml
-xsltproc Scripts/NUIG/myDefault.xsl ossianedition6a.xml > ed6.html
+#change next line if local copy is elsewhere
+cd /home/lou/Public/Ossian-1773/NUIG
+saxon -xi driver-vol1.tei ossianUp.xsl >ossianedition6a.xml
+xsltproc NUIG/myDefault.xsl ossianedition6a.xml > ed6.html
cat HTML-prefix.htm ed6.html HTML-suffix.htm > ossianedition6a.html
rm ed6.html
-saxon -xi driver-vol2.tei Scripts/ossianUp.xsl >ossianedition6b.xml
-xsltproc Scripts/NUIG/myDefault.xsl ossianedition6b.xml > ed6.html
+saxon -xi driver-vol2.tei ossianUp.xsl >ossianedition6b.xml
+xsltproc NUIG/myDefault.xsl ossianedition6b.xml > ed6.html
cat HTML-prefix.htm ed6.html HTML-suffix.htm > ossianedition6b.html
+
+ 
Ossian Online, edited by Rebecca Barr and Justin Tonra is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. Facsimile images of print edition of Ossian are courtesy of the National Library of Scotland, and are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 UK: Scotland License.
+ 
+
+I have not tried to fix this because I didn't know what the URL should be, nor indeed whether you have better quality images you'd prefer to use. It also occurs to me now that you might prefer to use the @xml:id value to construct the link, since it is a little bit more transparent (e.g. "P73100003" means "third page of the first volume of the 1773 edition"). I can tweak the `ossianUp.xsl` script to do this if you like.
+
+The only change I made to the "default.xsl" file you sent me was to add declarations for the parameters, as recommended in your email of many months ago.
+
+Over to you!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
diff --git a/Scripts/NUIG/default.xsl b/NUIG/NUIG/default.xsl
similarity index 100%
rename from Scripts/NUIG/default.xsl
rename to NUIG/NUIG/default.xsl
diff --git a/Scripts/NUIG/includes.zip b/NUIG/NUIG/includes.zip
similarity index 100%
rename from Scripts/NUIG/includes.zip
rename to NUIG/NUIG/includes.zip
diff --git a/Scripts/NUIG/includes/bootstrap-component.xsl b/NUIG/NUIG/includes/bootstrap-component.xsl
similarity index 100%
rename from Scripts/NUIG/includes/bootstrap-component.xsl
rename to NUIG/NUIG/includes/bootstrap-component.xsl
diff --git a/Scripts/NUIG/myDefault.xsl b/NUIG/NUIG/myDefault.xsl
similarity index 100%
rename from Scripts/NUIG/myDefault.xsl
rename to NUIG/NUIG/myDefault.xsl
diff --git a/NUIG/driver-vol1.tei b/NUIG/driver-vol1.tei
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..30b2e59
--- /dev/null
+++ b/NUIG/driver-vol1.tei
@@ -0,0 +1,75 @@
+
+
+
