The Poems of Ossian: Volume 2 [Reprint 2022 ed.] 9783112688267

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THE

POEMS OF

T R A N S L A T E D BY

JAMES MACPHERSON, ESQ. A U T H E N T I C A T E D , I L L U S T R A T E D >M> EXPLAINED, BY

HUGH CAMPBELL, ESQ., F.A.S. ED.

VOLUME II.

L E 1 P S I C. PRINTED

FOR fcr. J. GOKSCH E N. 1840.

T h e P o e m s of Ossian.

Vol. I I

lIMâf3HE©I»

P- 155.

T H E

IM) E M S Ol

TRANSLATE!! BY JAMES MACPBERSON, Ksq. AUTHENTICATED, ILLUSTRATED A un EXPLAIN!«», BY H U G H C A M P B E L L , ESQ., F . A . S .

ED.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL.

11.

0 sacor et magmi» labor, umilia fato Bripis, et popitlis donas murialibits a vit m. .... Pharsalianostra Vivet, et a nullo tenebrisi ttamn&bilir *vo ! —

L i: i p s i /.

56

TEMORA,

forms of his fathers. B u t , far before the rest, Duth-caron hewed down the foe. Nor slept the arm of Connal by his father's side. Colculla prevailed on the plain: like scattered mist, fled the people of Cormac. 1 «Then rose the sword of Duth-caron, 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. «1 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 Duth-caron 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 rcccive his fame? He bent the bow against the rocs 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 vapour of reedy Lego.

T r u e — b u t the family of O'Neal can t r a c e t h e i r family r e n o w n father into a n tiquity than a n y family in the B r i t i s h e m p i r e ! A n d f r o m m a n y c o n c u r r e n t proofs it is clear 10 my m i n d , t h a t Colculla, the chief of A t h a , w a s a n c e s t o r of the O'Neills. C. 1 T h e i n h a b i t a n t s of U l l i n o r U l s t e r , w h o w e r e of the race of t h e Caledonians, s e e m , a l o n e , to h a v e been the l i n n f f i e n d s to t h e succession in the family of Conar. T h e Firbolg w e r e o n l y s u b j e c t to t h e m by c o n s t r a i n t , and embraced e v e r y o p p o r t u n i t y to t h r o w ulT their yoke. 3Z —

AN EPIC POEM.

57

At length the steps o f 1 Colgan came, the bard of high Temora. Duth-caron 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; 1 Colgan t h e son of C a t h m u l , w a s the p r i n c i p a l bard of C o r m a c , k i n g of I r e l a n d . The f o l l o w i n g d i a l o g u e , on the l o v e s of Fingal and R o s - c r a n a , m a y be ascribed to h i m : ROS-CRAITA.

B y n i g h t , c a m e a dreain to R o s - c r a n a ! I feel m y beating soul. N o v i s i o n of t h e forms of the dead came t o the blue e y e s of E r i n . B u t , r i s i n g f r o m the w a v e of the n o r t h , I beheld him bright in h i s locks. I beheld t h e s o n of the king. IHy b e a t i n g soul is h i g h . I laid my h e a d down in n i g h t : a g a i n ascended the form. W h y d c l a y e s t t h o u t h y c o m i n g , young rider of s t o r m y waves! H u t , t h e r e , f a r - d i s t a n t , h e c o m e s ; w h e r e s e a s roll their green r i d g e s in m i s t ! Young d w e l l e r of m y s o u l ; w h y d o s t thou delay — FJNGAL.

It w a s the s o f t voice of M o t - l e n a ! the p l e a s a n t breeze of the v a l l e y of r o e s ! But w h y d o s t thou hide t h e e in s h a d e s ? Y o u n g love of h e r o e s , r i s e . A r e not t h y s t e p s c o v e r e d w i t h l i g h t ? I n t h y g r o v e s thou a p p e a r e s t , R o s o r a n a , l i k e the s u n in t h e g a t h e r i n g of clouds. W h y dost thou hide t h e e in s h a d e s ? Y o u n g love of h e r o e s , r i s e . ROS-CRANA.

M y fluttering soul is h i g h ! L e t me t u r n f r o m s t e p s of the k i n g . He h a s h e a r d m y s e c r e t v o i c c , and s h a l l m y blue eyes roll in his p r e s e n c e ? R o e of t h e hill of m o s s , t o w a r d t h y d w e l l i n g I move. Meet m e , y e b r e e z e s of M o r a ! as I move through the v a l l e y of w i n d s . But w h y should he a s c c n d h i s o c e a n ? Son of h e r o e s , m y soul is t h i n e ! My steps shall n o t m o v e to t h e d e s e r t ; t h e l i g h t of R o s - c r a n a is here. FIRGAL.

I t w a s t h e light tread of a g h o s t , the fair dweller of e d d y i n g w i n d s . W h y d e c c i v e s t thou me w i t h t h y v o i c e ? H e r e let me r e s t in s h a d e s . S h o u l d s t t h o u s t r e t c h t h y w h i t e arm from t h y g r o v e , thou s u n - b e a m of C o r m a c of Erin ! jlOft-CJLARA.

He is g o n e ; and m y blue eyes are dim; f a i n t - r o l l i n g , in all m y t e a r s . f u t , t h e r e , I behold h i m , a l o n e ; k i n g of S c l m a , m y soul is thine. Ah m o ! w h a t clanging of a r m o u r ! Colc-uila of A t h a is n e a r ! :

58

TEMORA,

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. To-night 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 t h e y , 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 M o i - l e n a , 1 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. H a l f - f o r m e d , 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 j o y , from the blasted heath. Young Fillan at a distance stood. His helmet glittering on the ground. His dark hair is loose to blast. A beam of light is Clatho's son. He heard words of the king, with joy. He leaned forward on spear. 1 This description of Moi-lena such

s t o n e s are still s t a n d i n g ;

hills

C.

is a s n a t u r a l a s beautiful. and

such

rivers

still

lay the the his

On t h i s licatli

w i n d b e t w e e n their

AN EPIC POEM.

59

«My son,« said car-borne Fingal, «1 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 lirst 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'.

TEMOR A, AN E P I C

POE

BOOK IV.

ARGUMENT TO BOOK IV. THE s e c o n d n i g h t c o n t i n u e s . F i n g a l r e l a t e s , at t h e f e a s t , h i s o w n first expedition into I r e l a n d , and h i s marriage w i t h R o s - c r a n a , t h e d a u g t h t e r of Cormac, k i n g of t h a t island. T h e I r i s h c h i e f s c o n v e n e in the p r e s e n c e of Cathmor. T h e s i t u a t i o n of the k i n g d e s c r i b e d . T h e s t o r y of S u l - m a l l a , t h e daughter of C o n m o r , k i n g of I n i s - h u n a , w h o , in the d i s g u i s e of a y o u n g w a r r i o r , had f o l l o w e d C a t h m o r to the w a r . T h e sullen b e h a v i o u r o f F o l d a t h , who had commanded in t h e battle of the p r e c e d i n g day, r e n e w s the difference b e t w e e n him and M a l t h o s ; b u t C a t h m o r , i n t e r p o s i n g , e n d s it. T h e c h i e f s l e a s t , and hear the song of F o n a r t h e bard. Cathmor r e t u r n s to r e s t , at a distance f r o m the army. T h e ghost of his b r o t h e r C a t r b a r a p p e a r s to him in a d r e a m ; and o b s c u r e l y f o r e t e l s the i s s u e of the w a r . T h e soliloquy of the king. He d i s c o v e r s S u l - m a l l a . M o r n i n g comes. Her soliloquy closes the book.

TEMORA, A N

E P I C

POEM.

BOOK IV. 1

«BENEATH an oak,» said the king, «1 sat on Selmn'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. «1 bade my white sails to rise, before the roar of Cona's wind. Three hundred youths looked, from their 1 T h i s e p i s o d e has an immediate c o n n e c t i o n w i t h the story of Connal and l ) u t h - c a r o n , in t h e latter end of the t h i r d book. F i n g a l , sitting beneath an o a k , near the palace of S e l m a , d i s c o v e r s C o n n a l j u s t landing from I r e l a n d . The d a n g e r w h i c h t h r e a t e n e d Cormac, k i n g of I r e l a n d , induces him to sail i m m e d i a t e l y to that island. T h e story is i n t r o d u c e d , b y the k i n g , a s a p a t t e r n for the f u t u r e b e h a v i o u r of F i l l a n , w h o s e r a s h n e s s in the preceding battle is reprimanded.

64

TEMORA,

waves, on Fingal's bossy shield. High on the mast it h u n g , 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. 1 Nor absent was the star of heaven. It travelled red between the clouds. I pursued the lovely b e a m , on the faint-gleaming deep. With morning, Erin rose in mist. W e came in the bay of Moi-lena, 2 where its blue waters tumbled, in the bosom of echoing woods. Here Cormac, in his secret hall, avoids the strenghth of Colc-ulla. Nor he alone avoids the foe. The blue eye of Ros-crana ist there: Ros-crana, 5 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; b u t grief was in his soul. He saw us few before him, and his sigh arose. «1 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 1 U l - e r i n , the guide to Ireland, a s t a r k n o w n by that name in t h e d a y s o f F i n g a l , and v e r y u s e f u l to those w h o s a i l e d , b y n i g h t , from t h e H e b r i d e s , or Caledonia, to the c o a s t of U l s t e r . 2 T h i s is t h e first t i m e I h a v e noticed the --.litnj of Moi-lenaBut it evidently alludes to t h e shore of Belfast loch, w h o s e w e s t e r n side f o r s e v e r a l miles is bounded by M o i - l e n a . C. 3 B o s - c r a n a , the beam of the rising svn; s h e w a s the m o t h e r of O s s i a n . T h e I r i s h b a r d s relate s t r a n g e fictions c o n c e r n i n g this princess. T h e i r s t o r i e s , h o w e v e r , concerning F i n g a l , if they mean him b y Fion Mac-Comnal, a r e so i n c o n s i s t e n t and n o t o r i o u s l y f a b u l o u s , t h a t t h e y do n o t d e s e r v e to be m e n t i o n e d ; for t h e y e v i d e n t l y bear, along w i t h them, t h e m a r k s of late i n v e n t i o n . M . — And yet the S c o t s a c k n o w l e d g e such a u t h o r i t y s u f f i c i e n t grounds on w h i c h to build the early p a r t of t h e i r h i s t o r y . C.

AN EPIC I'OEM.

Co

Comhal!»

while ycl I rose on the wave to Erin of the streams. The ghost of fathers, they say, 1 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 Sulmalla be lonely in the midst of woe!» I C o n - i n o r , t h e f a t h e r o f S u l - i n a l l a , w a s k i l l e d in t h a t w a r , f r o m w h i c h Cathmor

delivered

Inis-huna.

the opinion of t h e t i m e s , which

could a d m i t of no a l l e v i a t i o n ,

his soul Head-,

Lormar

away.

This

his

son

succeeded Coninor.

it

supernatural

that

kind

t h e g h o s t s of h i s a n c e s t o r s

of

tailed

d e a t h w a s c a l l e d t h e voice

of

the

and is believed b y ihe s u p e r s t i t i o u s vulgar to this day.

There

is

no

people

c r e d i t to a p p a r i t i o n s , friends,

than

in

and

the

the

perhaps,

world, visits

the ancient Scots.

in

dark

and

extensive

and u n f r e q u e n t e d h e a t h s ,

universal

T h i s i s to be a t t r i b u t e d a s m u c h ,

to t h e s i t u a t i o n o f t h e c o u n t r y t h e y p o s s e s s , of c a t t l e ,

w h o give more

o f t h e g h o s t s o f t h e d e c e a s e d to

where,

deserts, often,

tion of m i n d ,

which

A s their business was

they

were

wonder,

that

by they

the dead,

however,

winds

an

in

(his cause

I

noise

of

the

elements

t h o u g h t t h e y h e a r d t h e voice was,

old t r e e , ascribe

w a s a p t to beget t h a t m e l a n c h o l y

or

perhaps, in

the

around, of

it

the dead.

the

gloomdisposidreams

is no m a t t e r of T h i s voice

of

n o m o r e t h a n a s h r i l l e r w h i s t l e of t h e chinks

of a n e i g h b o u r i n g r o c k .

t h o s e m a n y a n d i m p r o b a b l e t a l c s of g h o s t s ,

meet w i t h in the H i g h l a n d s ;

wide

extraordinary

F a l l i n g a s l e e p in t h i s gloomy m o o d , and their

the

feeding

obliged to sleep in

m o s t r e a d i l y r e c e i v e s i m p r e s s i o n s of t h e

and s u p e r n a t u r a l kind. disturbed

them

their least,

so their j o u r n e y s lay o v e r

open air, a m i d s t t h e w h i s t l i n g of w i n d s , a n d roar of w a t e r - f a l l s . T h e l i n e s s of t h e s c e n e s a r o u n d

at

as to that crcdulous disposition

w h i c h distinguishes an unenlightened people.

being

was

w h e n a p e r s o n w a s r e d u c e d to a p i t c h of m i s e r y ,

It is to which

we

f o r , i n o t h e r r e s p e c t s , w c do n o t f i n d t h a t t h e

inhabitants arc more credulous than their

neighbours.

TEMORA, A N EPIC POEM.

HOOK V.

ARGUMENT 1 0 BOOK V. THE p o e t , a f t e r a s h o r t a d d r e s s lo ihe h a r p of C o n a , d e s c r i b e s the a r rangement ol' both a r m i e s on eillier s i d e of t h e r i v e r L u b a r . ^ Fingul gives ihe command to F i l l a n ; but, at t h e same t i m e , o r d e r s Gaul, the son of M o r n i who had been w o u n d e d in the h a n d in t h e p r e c e d i n g b a t t l e , lo a s s i s t him with his counsel. T h e a r m y of t h e F i r - b o l g is commanded by Foldath. T h e general onset is described. T h e great a c t i o n s of Fillan. He kills Rothmaiand Culinin. B u t w h e n F i l l a n c o n q u e r s in one w i n g , F o l d a t h p r e s s e s hard on t h e other. Me w o u n d s D e r m i d , the son of D u t h n o , and p u t s the w h o l e wing; to flight. D e r m i d d e l i b e r a t e s w i t h h i m s e l f , a n d , at l a s t , r e s o l v e s lo put a s t o p to t h e p r o g r e s s of F o l d a t h , by engaging him in s i n g l e combat. W h e n the t w o c h i e f s w e r e a p p r o a c h i n g t o w a r d s one a n o t h e r , F i l l a n came s u d d e n l y to t h e r e l i e f of D e r m i d ; engaged F o l d a t h ; and killed him. T h e b e haviour of M a l t h o s t o w a r d s t h e fallen F o l d a t h . F i l l a n p u t s t h e w h o l e army of the F i r - b o l g to flight. T h e book c l o s e s w i t h an a d d r e s s to C l a t h o , t h e mother of t h a t hero.

* The rctollect the

frequent contests

that

the

Lubar,

on

Lena,

by t h e

ha bar,

river, may be a c c o u n t e d

«-a» o n e o f t h e p r i n c i p a l b a r r i e r s

capital — Tentoia - C o n n o r ,

w h e r e -vas t h e y o u n g

King

for, when

o r m i l post.« o f t h e d e f e n d e r s Cormac

C.

»« of

TEMORA, A N

EPIC

POEM.

BOOK Y .

THOU dweller between Ihc shields, that hang, on high, in Ossian's hall'. Dcscend 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 m u r m u r of Lora's 1 stream has rolled the tale away. I stand in the cloud of years. Few are its openings toward the past; and when the vision c o m e s , it is b u t dim and dark. 1 hear thee, harp of Selma! my soul r e t u r n s , like a breeze, which the sun brings back to the vale, where dwelt the lazy mistl 1 L o r a i s o f t e n m e n t i o n e d , it w a n a s . n a l l a n d r a p i d st.-eam in t h e n e i g h b o u r h o o d of Selma. it a p p e a r s

is

though

w h i c h 1 lie t r a n s l a t o r lias s e e n , t h a t o n e o f

o n t h e n o r t h - w e s t r o a s t w a s c a l l e d L o r a tome centmies

the small r i v e r s M. — There

a

l)un~loi F i n g a l :

100

TEMORA,

«Is thy spirit on the eddying winds, O Filian, young breaker of shields? Joy pursue my hero, through his folded clouds. The forms of thy fathers, O Filian, 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 slept! As lightning 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. 1 But should not 1 H e r e the s e n t e n c e is designedly l e f t u n f i n i s h e d . T h e s e n s e i s , t h a t h e w a s r e s o l v e d , like a d e s t r o y i n g fire, to c o n s u m e C a t h - m o r , w h o liad killed h i s b r o t h e r . I n t h e m i d s t of t h i s r e s o l u t i o n , t h e s i t u a t i o n of Fingal s u g g e s t s itself to h i m , in a v e r y s t r o n g light. H e r e s o l v e s to r e t u r n to a s s i s t t h e k i n g in p r o s e c u t i n g the w a r . B u t t h e n h i s s h a m e f o r n o t d e f e n d i n g h i s b r o t h e r , r e c u r s to him. H e i s d e t e r m i n e d again to go and find out C a t h m o r . W e may c o n s i d e r h i m , a s in t h e a c t of advancing t o w a r d s the e n e i n y , w h e n t h e h o r n of Fingal s o u n d e d on M o r a , and called back h i s people to h i s p r e sence. T h i s soliloquy is n a t u r a l : t h e r e s o l u t i o n s w h i c h so s u d d e n l y f o l l o w one a n o t h e r , a r e e x p r e s s i v e of a mind e x t r e m e l y agitated w i t h s o r r o w and conscious s h a m e ; y e t the b e h a v i o u r of Ossian, in h i s execution of t h e c o m mands of F i n g a l , is so i r r e p r e h e n s i b l e , t h a t it i s not e a s y to d e t e r m i n e w h e r e h e failed in h i s d u t y . T h e t r u t h i s , t h a t w h e n m e n fail in designs w h i c h t h e y a r d e n t l y w i s h t o a c c o m p l i s h , t h e y n a t u r a l l y blame t h e m s e l v e s , as the chief cause of t h e i r d i s a p p o i n t m e n t .

AN EPIC POEM.

101

1 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 e a r , 1 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 the night met in the desert, and spoiled of half his wings!» D i s t a n t , 1 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 my soul; but he concealed his grief. At length I stood beneath an oak. No voice of mine was heard. W h a t 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. 'l 1 „ T h i s s c e n e , " s a y s an i n g e n i o u s w r i t e r , and a good judge, „ i s s o l e m n . T h e poet a l w a y s places h i s ehief c h a r a c t e r a m i d s t objects w h i c h f a v o u r t h e sublime. T h e face of t h e c o u n t r y , t h e n i g h t , the b r o k e n r e m a i n s of a d e f e a t e d a r m y , a n d , above a l l , t h e a t t i t u d e and silence of Fingal h i m s e l f , a r e c i r c u m s t a n c e s calculated to i m p r e s s an a w f u l idea on t h e m i n d . Ossian i s m o s t s u c c e s s f u l in his n i g h t - d e s c r i p t i o n s . D a r k images s u i t e d t h e m e l a n c h o l y t e m p e r of his mind. H i s p o e m s w e r e all composed a f t e r t h e a c t i v e p a r t of h i s l i f e w a s o v e r , w h e n he w a s b l i n d , and had s u r v i v e d all t h e e o i n p a n i o n s of h i s y o u t h : w e t h e r e f o r e find a veil of m e l a n c h o l y t h r o w n e v e r the whole." Blair. 2 I o w e the first p a r a g r a p h of t h e f o l l o w i n g note to t h e s a m e pen.

102

TEMORA.

«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 „The abashed behaviour of the army of Vingal 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. Hif voice was no thunder to their ears: his eye sent forth no death. The first ages of society are not the times of a r bitrary power. A s t h e wants of mankind are f e w , they retain their independence. It is an advanced state of civilization that moulds the mind to lhat submission to government, of which ambitious magistrates take advantage , and raise themselves into absolute p o w e r . " I t is a vulgar error, that the common Highlanders lived, in abject slavery, under their chiefs. Their high ideas o f , and attachment t o , 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: b u t , if individuals w e r e oppressed, they t h r e w t h e m selves into the arms of a neighbouring clan, assumed a new name, and w e r e encouraged and protected. The fear of this desertion, no d o u b t , made the chiefs cautious in their government. A s their consequence, in the eyes of o t h e r s , was in proportion to the number of their people, they took care tt» avoid every thing that tended to diminish it. I t 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 c h i e f , but by what they called Clechda, or the traditional precedents of their ancestors. W h e n differences happened between individuals, some of the oldest men in the tribe were chosen umpires between the p a r t i e s , to decide according to the Clechda. The chief interposed his authority, and, invariably, enforced the decision. In their w a r s , which were f r e q u e n t , on account of fainily-feuds, tIte 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.

AN EPIC POEM.

103

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. 1 am waked on my hills; with mourning I descend to war.» High 1 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 spirits of night, when he clothes, on hills, his wild gestures with mist, and, issuing forth, on the troubled ocean, mounts the car of winds. 1 T h i s rock of C o r m u l is often m e n t i o n e d in the preceding part of the p o e m . I t w a s on it F i n g a l and Ossian stood to v i e w t h e battle. T h e custom of r e t i r i n g f r o m the a r m y , on t h e n i g h t p r i o r to t h e i r engaging in battle, w a s u n i v e r s a l among thevk.ings of the Caledonians. T r e n m o r , the most r e n o w n e d of t h e a n c e s t o r s of F i n g a l , is m e n t i o n e d a s t h e first w h o instituted t h i s custom. S u c c e e d i n g b a r d s a t t r i b u t e d it to a hero of a latter period. I n an old poem , w h i c h begins w i t h Mac-Arcath na ceud frol, this custom of r e tiring f r o m the army b e f o r e an e n g a g e m e n t , is n u m b e r e d among the w i s e i n s t i t u t i o n s of F e r g u s , the son of A r e o r A r c a t h , t h e first king of S c o t s . I s h a l l here t r a n s l a t e t h e p a s s a g e ; in s o m e o t h e r note I may, p r o b a b l y , give all t h a t r e m a i n s of t h e poem. Fergus of the hundred streams, son of Aicath who fought of old: thou didst first retire at night: when the foe rotted before thee in echoing fields. Nor bending in rest is the king: he gathers battles in his soul. Fly, on of the stranger! with morn he shall rush abroad. When, or b y w h o i n , t h i s poem w a s w r i t t e n , i s uncertain. M . — I am o f t e n led t o s u s p e c t t h a t t h e t r a n s l a t o r f r e q u e n t l y c o n f o u n d s and v a r i e s n a m e s . — H e n c e I am of opinion t h a t Cronleaih — Cromla — Crommal and Cormul - a r e t h e jiame hill. C.

104

TEMORA,

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 cavc, 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. 1 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 1 I r e m e m b e r to h a v e m e t w i t h an old p o e m , w h e r e i n a s t o r y of t h i s s o r t is v e r y h a p p i l y i n t r o d u c e d . I n o n e of the i n v a s i o n s of t h e D a n e s , U l l i n c l u n d u , a c o n s i d e r a b l e c h i e f , on t h e w e s t e r n c o a s t of S c o t l a n d , w a s killed in a r e n c o u n t e r w i t h a flying p a r t y of the e n e m y , wM> had l a n d e d , at n o g r e a t d i s t a n c e , f r o m t h e place of h i s r e s i d e n c e . T h e f e w f o l l o w e r s w h o a t t e n d e d him w e r e also slain. T h e y o u n g w i f e of U l l i n - c l u n d u , w h o had n o t h e a r d of h i s f a l l , f e a r i n g t h e w o r s t , on a c c o u n t of h i s long d e l a y , alarmed t h e r e s t of h i s t r i b e , w h o w e n t in s e a r c h of h i m along t h e s h o r e . T h e y did n o t find h i m ; and t h e b e a u t i f u l w i d o w became disconsolate. A t length h e w a s d i s c o v e r e d , by m e a n s of his dog, w h o s a t on a r o c k b e s i d e the b o d y , f o r some days. T h e s t a n z a c o n c e r n i n g t h e d o g , w h o s e name w a s D u - c h o s , o r Blachfoot, is d e s c r i p t i v e . „ D a r k - s i d e d D u c l i o s ! feet of w i n d ! cold is t h y s e a t on r o c k s . H e ( t h e d o g ) s e e s the r o e : h i s ears are h i g h ; and half h e b o u n d s a w a y . H e l o o k s a r o u n d ; but Ullin s l e e p s ; lie d r o o p s again h i s head. T h e w i n d s come p a s t ; dark D u c h o s t h i n k s t h a t U l l i n ' s voice is t h e r e . B u t s t i l l h e b e h o l d s him s i l e n t , laid a m i d s t the w a v i n g h e a t h . D a r k - s i d e d D u c h o s , h i s voice no more shall send t h e e over the h e a t h ! "

AN EPIC POEM.

105

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 1 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 sad ?» 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, 2 king of spears. His rage was a fire that 1 I n o r d e r to i l l u s t r a t e t h i s p a s s a g e , it is p r o p e r to l a y before the r e a d e r t h e s c e n e o r t h e t\vo p r e c e d i n g battles. B e t w e e n t h e hills of Mora and L o r a l a y the plain of M o i - l e n a , t h r o u g h w h i c h ran t h e r i v e r Lubar. The first b a t t l e , w h e r e i n G a u l , t h e s o n of M o r n i , c o m m a n d e d on t h e Caledonian s i d e , w a s f o u g h t on t h e b a n k s of L u b a r . A s t h e r e w a s little advantage o b t a i n e d on e i t h e r side, t h e a r m i e s , a f t e r t h e b a t t l e , r e t a i n e d t h e i r former positions. JW. — T h e hill n o w k n o w n a s L y s l e - h i l l , c o r r e s p o n d s w i t h the position of L o r a . C. I n t h e s e c o n d b a t t l e , w h e r e i n F i l l a n c o m m a n d e d , the I r i s h , a f t e r t h e fall of F o l d a t h , w e r e d r i v e n u p t h e hill of L o r a ; b u t , upon t h e c o m i n g of C a t h m o r t o t h e i r a i d , t h e y regained t h e i r f o r m e r situation, and d r o v e b a c k t h e C a l e d o n i a n s , in t h e i r t u r n : so t h a t Lubar winded again in their host. 3 B o r b a r - d u t h u l , the f a t h e r of C a t h m o r , w a s the b r o t h e r of t h a t C o l c u l l a , w h o is s a i d , in t h e beginning of t h e f o u r t h b o o k , to h a v e r e b e l l e d a g a i n s t Cormac k i n g of Ireland. B o r b a r - d u t h u l s e e m s t o h a v e r e t a i n e d all t h e p r e j u d i c e of b i s family a g a i n s t t h e succession of the p o s t e r i t y of C o n a r ,

106

TEMORA,

always burned; his joy over fallen foes was great. Three days feasted the grey-haired h e r o , 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-duthuPs 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 1 of Erin raise the soul of the king; he that shone when war was dark, and laid the mighty low. Fonar, from that greybrowed 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. Disturb not their rushing ghosts. F a r , 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 echoing hill.» on tlie I r i s h t h r o n e . F r o m t h i s s h o r t episode w e learn s o m e f a c t s w h i c h tend to t h r o w light on t h e h i s t o r y of t h e times. I t a p p e a r s , t h a t , w h e n S w a r a n i n v a d e d I r e l a n d , he w a s o n l y o p p o s e d by t h e C a g l , w h o possessed U l s t e r , and the n o r t h of t h a t island. C a l m a r , t h e son of M a t h a , w h o s e gallant b e h a v i o u r and death are related in t h e t h i r d book of F i n g a l , w a s t h e only chief of t h e r a c e of t h e F i r - b o l g , t h a t joined t h e Ca&l, or I r i s h C a ledonians, during t h e i n v a s i o n of S w a r a n . T h e i n d e c e n t j o y , w h i c h B o r b a r duthul expressed u p o n t h e death of Calmar, is w e l l s u i t e d w i t h t h a t s p i r i t of r e v e n g e , w h i c h s u b s i s t e d , u n i v e r s a l l y , in e v e r y c o u n t r y w h e r e t h e feudal s y s t e m w a s established. It would appear that some person had carried to B o r b a r - d u t h u l t h a t w e a p o n , w i t h w h i c h , it w a s p r e t e n d e d , Calmar had been killed. 1 The voices of Erin,

a poetical expression for the bards of Ireland.

AN EPIC POEM.

107

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 1 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 1 Not only the kings, but every petty chief, had anciently their bard« attending them in the field; and those b a r d s , in proportion to the power of the c h i e f s , 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 a r c h - b a r d , 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, t h e o r d e r , in succeeding times, became very numerous and insolent. It would appear, t h a t , after t h e introduction of Christianity, some served in the double capacity of bards and clergymen. I t was from this circumstance that they had the name of Chlere, which i s , probably, derived from the Latin Clericus. The Chlere, be their name derived from what it will, became, at l a s t , a public nuisance: f o r , taking advantage of their sacred character, they went about, in great bodies, and l i v e d , at discretion, in the houses of their chiefs; till another p a r t y , of the same order, drove thein away by mere dint of satire. Some of the indelicate disputes of these worthy poetical combatants , are handed d o w n , 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 t h e 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 f e r v o u r , which distinguished their predecessors, and makes us the less regret the extincliou of the order.

108

TEMORA.

her tearful eye. «But battle is before thee, son of Borbarduthul.» 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 1 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, 2 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. W h y , 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, 0 sun of Sul-malla's soul!» 1 C l u n - g a l o , t h e w i f e of C o n m o r , k i n g of I n i s - h u n a , and t h e m o t h e r of Sul-malla. S h e is here r e p r e s e n t e d a s m i s s i n g h e r d a u g h t e r , a f t e r she had fled w i t h C a t h m o r . 2 Sul-inalla r e p l i e s to t h e s u p p o s e d q u e s t i o n s of h e r m o t h e r . Towards the middle of t h i s p a r a g r a p h s h e calls C a t h m o r the run of her soul, and continues the m e t a p h o r t h r o u g h o u t . T h i s b o o k e n d s , w e may s u p p o s e , about the middle of the t h i r d n i g h t , f r o m t h e o p e n i n g of t h e poem.

TEMORA, AN

EPIC

POEM.

BOOK VII.

ARGUMENT TO BOOK VU. T i n s b o o k b e g i n s a b o u t t h e m i d d l e of t h e t h i r d n i g h t f r o m t h e o p e n i n g of the poem.

T h e p o e t d e s c r i b e s a k i n d o f m i s t , -which r o s e b y n i g h t f r o m t h e

lake o f L e g o ,

and was the

u s u a l r e s i d e n c e o f t h e s o u l s of t h e d e a d ,

the interval b e t w e e n their decease and the funeral song. *

during

T h e a p p e a r a n c e of

t h e g h o s t of F i l l a n a b o v e t h e c a v e w h e r e h i s b o d y l a y .

H i s v o i c e c o m e s to

Pingal,

shield

on the rock

which was ordinary

an infallible sign

e f f e c t of

a w a k e s Cathmor. peace;

he

o f COrinul.

the sound

The

king

strikes

of his appearing in of t h e s h i e l d .

to

continue

the war.

arms himself.

Sul-inalla,

Their affecting discourse.

resolves

the

of T r e n m o r , The

extra-

starting from

sleep,

She insists with him to sue for He

directs her

to retire

to the

n e i g h b o u r i n g v a l l e y of L o n a , w h i c h w a s t h e r e s i d e n c e of a n o l d D r u i d , u n t i l the

b a t t l e of t h e n e x t d a y

Round of h i s s h i e l d . Cathmor, leader

relates the

Larthon.

s h o u l d be

over.

The shield described.

He awakes

his army

f i r s t s e t t l e m e n t of t h e F i r b o l g in I r e l a n d ,

Morning

comes.

with

the

F o n a r , t h e b a r d , a t t h e d e s i r e of

Sul-inalla

retires

to the

under their

valley

of L o n a .

A Lyric song concludes the book. * H e r e i t is e v i d e n t t h a t M a c p h e r a o n pestilential Scandinavia.

vapours, C.

which

he

before

c o n f o u n d s t h e p u r e air of t h e Ulster vale with described

of

the

Lake

of

Lano

— not

the

Lego — in

TEMORA, AN

EPIC

BOOK

POEM.

VII.

I'HOM the wood-skirted waters of Leno, ascend, at times, grey-bosomed mists; w h e n the gates of the west are closed, on the sun's eagle-eye. W i d e , over Lara's s t r e a m , is p o u r e d the vapour dark and deep: the moon, like a dim shield, is swimming through its folds. W i t h this, clothe the spirits of old, their sudden gestures on the w i n d , w h e n they s t r i d e , from blast to blast, along the dusky night. O f t e n , blended with the gale, to some warrior's grave, 1 they roll the m i s t , a grey dwelling to his ghost, until the songs arise. 1 A s tlie mist, w h i c h rose f r o m the lake of L c n o , ^ occasioned d i s e a s e s and d e a t h , tlie bards feigned t h a t it w a s t h e residence of the gliosis of t h e deceased, d u r i n g t h e i n t e r v a l b e t w e e n t h e i r death, and t h e pronouncing of the f u n e r a l elegy over t h e i r t o m b s ; for it Mas not a l l o w a b l e , w i t h o u t that c e r e m o n y w a s p e r f o r m e d , f o r t h e s p i r i t s of the dead to mix w i t h t h e i r a n c e s t o r s , in their airy halls. I t w a s the b u s i n e s s of the spirit of the n e a r e s t relation t o t h e d e c e a s e d , to t a k e the mist of I . c n o , and pour it over the grave. We • f.eno witi a marihy lahe in Norway.

C

112

TEMORA,

A sound came from the desert; 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 smoke. 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 1 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 find here C o n a r , the son of T r e n m o r , t h e f i r s t k i n g of I r e l a n d , p e r f o r m i n g this office f o r F i l l a n , a s it w a s in the c a u s e of the family of C o n a r , t h a t t h a t hero w a s killed. 1 The „More h a r p ; more arms j than

f o l l o w i n g is t h e s i n g u l a r s e n t i m e n t of a f r i g i d b a r d : p l e a s i n g to me is t h e n i g h t of Cona, d a r k - s t r e a m i n g f r o m Ossian's p l e a s a n t it is to m e , than a w h i t e - b o s o m e d d w e l l e r b e t w e e n m y a f a i r - h a n d e d d a u g h t e r of h e r o e s , in the h o u r of r e s t . "

T h o u g h tradition is not v e r y s a t i s f a c t o r y c o n c e r n i n g t h e h i s t o r y of t h i s p o e t , it h a s t a k e n care to i n f o r m u s , t h a t he w a s very old w h e n h e w r o t e the distich , a c i r c u m s t a n c e w h i c h w e m i g h t h a v e s u p p o s e d , w i t h o u t t h e aid of tradition.

AN EPIC POEM.

113

their gathered forms on the wind. Thrice from the -winding vale arose the voice of deaths. The h a r p s 1 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 desert, 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 1 I t w a s the o p i n i o n of a n c i e n t t i m e s , t h a t , on t h e night preceding t h e d e a t h of a p e r s o n w o r t h y and r e n o w n e d , t h e h a r p s of those b a r d s , w h o w e r e retained b y h i s family, emitted m e l a n c h o l y s o u n d s . T h i s w a s a t t r i b u t e d to the light touch of yhoati; w h o w e r e s u p p o s e d to h a v e a f o r e - k n o w l e d g e of e v e n t s . T h e same opinion prevailed long i n the n o r t h , and the p a r t i c u l a r s o u n d w a s c a l l e d , the warning voice of the dead. The voice of death, ment i o n e d in t h e p r e c e d i n g s e n t e n c e , w a s of a different kind. E a c h p e r s o n w a s s u p p o s e d to h a v e an a t t e n d a n t s p i r i t , w h o assumed h i s form and v o i c e , on the n i g h t p r e c e d i n g h i s d e a t h , and a p p e a r e d , to s o m e , in t h e a t t i t u d e i n w h i c h t h e p e r s o n w a s t o die. The VOICES o r DBATH w e r e t h e f o r e b o d i n g s h r i e k s of t h e s e s p i r i t s . OSSIAN

II.

8

114

TEMORA,

arms, that gleamed to heaven's fire. She saw him dim in his locks, that rose to nightly wind. A w a y , 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 echoes 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 through her floating hair. «Who comes through night to Cathmor, in the season, of his dreams? Bring'st thou aught of w a r ? 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 E r i n ? » «Nor lonely scout am I , nor voice from folded cloud,» she 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 sounds on night.» «Let the warrior roll his sounds,» 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. Y e t delights not my soul, in the signs of death!

AN EPIC POEM.

115

H e , 1 who never yields, comes forth: O send the bard of peace!» Like a dropping rock, in the desert, stood Cathmor in his tears. Her voice came, a breeze, on his soul, and waked the memory of her land; where she dwelt b y her peaceful streams, before he came to the war of Conmor. «Daughter of strangers,» he said—'-the trembling turned away—» long have I marked thee in my steel, young pine of Inis-huna. But my soul, I said, is folded in a storm. Why sould 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 Conmal 2 king of harps. Above him is his echoing 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 b e , Sul-malla, until our battle cease. Until I r e t u r n , in my arms, from the skirts of the evening mist, that rises, on Lona, round the dwelling of my love.» 1 Fingal is said to h a v e n e v e r b e e n o v e r c o m e in battle. F r o m t h i s p r o c e e d e d t h a t t i t l e of h o n o u r w h i c h i s a l w a y s b e s t o w e d on him in tradition, Fi&n gal na buai', FmGAL o r VICTORIES. I n a p o e i n , j u s t n o w in my h a n d s , w h i c h c e l e b r a t e s some of t h e g r e a t a c t i o n s of A r t h u r , the famous B r i t i s h h e r o , t h a t appellation is o f t e n b e s t o w e d on hiin. T h e p o c i n , from t h e p h r a s e o l o g y , a p p e a r s to he a n c i e n t ; and i s , p e r h a p s , though that is n o t m e n t i o n e d , a t r a n s l a t i o n from the W e l c h language. 2 C l a n - m a l , crooked eye-brow. Kroin t h e retired life of this p e r s o n , i t is i n s i n u a t e d , t h a t he w a s of the o r d e r of t h e D r u i d s ; w h i c h s u p p o s i t i o n is not a t all i n v a l i d a t e d by the appellation of king of harps, here bestowed on h i m ; for all agree t h a t t h e bards w e r e of t h e n u m b e r of t h e l l r u i d s originally.

lid

TEMORA,

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 m e , on Lona of 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 shouldest 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. 1 have risen brightened from battle, like a meteor from a stormy cloud. Return n o t , fair beam, from thy vale, when the roar of battle grows. Then might the foe escape, as from my fathers of old. «They told l o S o n - m o r , 1 of Clunar, 2 who was slain by Cormac in fight. Three days darkened Sonmor, 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 1 S o n - m o r , tall handsome man. He w a s the f a t h e r of B o r b a r - d u t h u chief of A t h a , and g r a n d f a t h e r to Cathmor h i m s e l f . 2 C l u a n - e r . man of the field. This chief w a s k i l l e d in battle by C o r m a c M a c - C o n a r , king of I r e l a n d , the f a t h e r of R o s - c r a n a , t h e first w i f e of Fingal. T h e story is alluded to in some a n c i e n t poejns.

AN EPIC POEM.

117

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 UIlin of the groves. Sonmor struck his shield, at times, the leader of the war. «Far behind followed Sul-allin, 1 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 echoing Atha. But when the roar of battle rose; when host was rolled on host; when Son-mor b u r n t , 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.» In 2 his arms strode the chief of Atha, to where his shield hung, high, in night; high on a mossy bough, over I 9 u i l - a l l u i n ; beautiful;

the w i f e of S u n - m o r .

1 T o avoid multiplying n o t e s , 1 s h a l l give here the signification of tlie n a m e s of t h e s t a r s , engraved on the shield. C e a n - m a t h o n , head of the hear C o l - d e r n a , slant and sharp beam. U l - o i c h o , ruler of night. C a t h - l i n , beam of the wave. R e u l - d u r a t h , star of the twilight. B f r t h i n , fire of the hill

118

TEMORA,

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; Can-mathon with beams unshorn; Col-derna rising from a cloud; Uloicho robed in mist; and the soft beam of Cathlin glittering on a rock. Smiling, on its own blue wave, Reldurath halfsinks its western light. The red eye of Berthin looks, through 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 Tonthena, 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. 1 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-th^na, and smiled from her parted cloud. Larthon 2 blessed the wellknown beam, as it faint-gleamed on the deep.

T o n - t h e n a , meteor of the waves. These etymologies, excepting that of ceanmatlion, are pretty exact. Of it I am not so certain; for it is not very probable, that the Fir-bolg had distinguished a constellation, so very early as the days of L a r t h o n , by the name of the bear. 1 To travel in the winds, a poetical expression for sailing. 2 Larthon is compounded of Lear, s e a , and thon, wave. This name was given to the chief of the (irst colony of the Firbolg, who settled in Ireland, on account of his knowledge 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 i t , are ingenious, and proportionable to the magnitude of the persons introduced; but, being unnatural, they are insipid and tedious. Had the bard kept w i t h i n the bounds of probability his genius was far from being contemptible. The exordium of his poem is not

AN EPIC POEM.

119

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 t h e s u n ; when he hears, far-rolling around, the murmur of mossy streams; streams that burst, in the desert, from the rock of roes. «Why,» said F o n a r , «hear we the voice of the king, in the season of his rest? W e r e 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 Moma of the groves? «Not forgot is that cloud in war, bard of other times. High shall his tomb rise, 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. d e s t i t u t e of m e r i t ; b u t it i s t h e o n l y p a r t of it that I t h i n k w o r t h y of b e i n g p r e s e n t e d to t h e r e a d e r . „ W h o first s e n t t h e b l a c k s h i p , t h r o u g h o c e a n , like a whale t h r o u g h t h e b u r s t i n g of f o a m ? L o o k , f r o m t h y d a r k n e s s on C r o n a t h , Ossian of t h e h a r p s of o l d ! S e n d thy l i g h t on t h e b l u e - r o l l i n g w a t e r s , that 1 may b e h o l d t h e king. I see him dark in his o w n s h e l l of oak! sea-tossed L a t h o r n , t h y s o u l i s s t r o n g . I t is careless a s t h e w i n d of t h y s a i l s ; as the w a v e t h a t rolls by t h y side. B u t the s i l e n t g r e e n i s l e is before t h e e , w i t h i t s s o n s , w h o are tall as w o o d y L u m o n ; L u m o n w h i c h s e n d s f r o m its top, a t h o u s a n d s t r e a m s , w h i t e - w a n d e r i n g down i t s s i d e s . " I t m a y , p e r h a p s , be for the credit of this b a r d , to t r a n s l a t e no m o r e of t h i s p o e m , for the contination of h i s description of the I r i s h g i a n t s b e t r a y s h i s w a n t of j u d g m e n t .

120

TEMOR A, 1

«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 Inishuna. 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 lowlylaid; 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 smoke; but dark-skirted night came down. The sons of Bolga feared. The fiery-haired Ton-thena rose. Culbin's bay received the ship, in the bosom of its echoing woods. There issued a steam 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. 1 Lumon

was

a hill,

in

Inis-huna,

T h i s episode h a s an immediate c o n n e c t i o n t h e d e s c r i p t i o n of C a t h m o r ' s shield.

near t h e

residence

of

Sulmalla.

w i t h w h a t is said o r L a r t h o n .

in

121

AN EPIC POEM. 1

«Larthon in the hail of S a m l a , raised the music of the harp. He went forth to the roes of E r i n , to their wonted streams. Nor did he forget green-headed L u m o n ; he often bounded over his seas, to where white-handed Flathal 2 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, t h e 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 t u r n e d ; her blue eyes rolled in tears. But when she came to the rock, 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 rolled along the sky. 1 Samla,

apparitions,

HO called f r o m the vision of I.arthon ,

lomerriing

his posterity. 8

Flathal,

Larthon.

hearvn/y,

ej-i/uisili'fij

beautiful.

She

WHS

the

i fe

of

122

TEMORA.

Ullin, Carril, and Ryno, voiccs of the days'of old! Let me hear you, while yet it is dark, to please and awake my soul. 1 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?

TEMOR A, AN

EPIC

BOOK

POEM.

VIII.

ARGUMENT TO BOOK VIII. TTIE f o u r t h m o r n i n g , f r o m t h e opening of the p o e m , comes on. Fingal, stil c o n t i n u i n g in t h e place, to w h i c h h e had retired on t h e preceding night, is seen at i n t e r v a l s , t h r o u g h t h e m i s t , w h i c h c o v e r e d t h e r o c k of Cormul. T h e d e s c e n t of the k i n g i s described. H e o r d e r s G a u l , D e r m i d , and Carril the h a r d , to go to t h e v a l l e y of C h i n a , and c o n d u c t , from t h e n c e , to t h e Caledonian a r m y , F e r a d - a r t h o : t h e son of C a i b r e , the o n l y p e r s o n remaining of t h e family of C o n a r , t h e first k i n g of I r e l a n d . T h e king t a k e s t h e c o m mand of t h e a r m y , and p r e p a r e s for battle. M a r c h i n g t o w a r d s t h e e n e m y , b e c o m e s t o t h e cave o f L u b a r , w h e r e t h e b o d y o f F i l l a n lay. U p o n seeing h i s dog B r a n , w h o lay at t h e e n t r a n c e of the c a v e , h i s grief r e t u r n s . C a t h m o r a r r a n g e s t h e I r i s h a r m y in o r d e r of battle. T h e a p p e a r a n c e of t h a t hero. T h e general conflict i s d e s c r i b e d . T h e actions of F i n g a l and Cathmor. A s t o r m . T h e total rout of t h e F i r b o l g . T h e t w o k i n g s e n g a g e , in a column of m i s t , on t h e b a n k s o f L u b a r . T h e i r a t t i t u d e and c o n f e r e n c e a f t e r t h e oombat. T h e death of C a t h m o r . F i n g a l r e s i g n s the tpear of Trenmor to Ossian. T h e c e r e m o n i e s o b s e r v e d on t h a t occasion. T h e s p i r i t of Cathmor, in t h e mean t i m e , a p p e a r s t o S u l - m a l l a , in t h e valley of L o n a . H e r s o r r o w . E v e n i n g c o m e s on. A feast is prepared. T h e coming of F e r a d - a r t h o is announced by the song of an h u n d r e d bards T h e p o r m closes w i t h a speech of Fingal.

T E M O R A ,

A N EPIC POEM BOOR VUI. As when the wintry winds have seized the waves o the mountain lake, have seized them, in stormy night, and clothed them over with ice; white, to the hunter's early eye, the billows 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 f r o s t 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 t h e hero seen, greatly dim in all his arms. From thought to thought rolled the w a r , along his mighty soul. Now is the coming forth of the king. First appeared the sword of L u n o , the spear half issuing from a cloud, the shield still dim in mist. But when the stride of t h e king came abroad, with all his grey, dewy locks in the wind; then rose the shouts of his host over every moving

126

TEMORA,

tribe. They gathered, gleaming, round, with all their echoing shields. So rise the green seas round a spirit, that comes down from the squally wind. The traveller heas 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. W e 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 arc 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 chase 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 blueeyed 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 sight, 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

127

AN EPIC POEM.

strong-winged eagles dwell; broad-headed oaks before it, sound in Cluna's wind. Within, in his locks of youth, is Ferad-artho, 1 blue-eyed king, the son of broad-shielded 1 F e r a d - a r t h o w a s t h e s o n of C a i r b a r ¡Ylac-Cormac, k i n g o f I r e l a n d . was the only first

Irish

o n e r e m a i n i n g of t h e race

monarch,

according

to

of C o n a r ,

Ossian.

In

He

t h e son of T r e n i n o r ,

order

to m a k e

this

the

passage

thoroughly understood,

i t m a y n o t b e i m p r o p e r to r e c a p i t u l a t e s o m e p a r t o f

what

preceding notes.

has been

said in

Upon

t h e d e a t h of C o n a r

of T r e n m o r , h i s s o n C o r m a c s u c c e e d e d o n t h e I r i s h t h r o n e . long.

His children

first

wife

were,

of Fingal.

Cairbar, w h o succeeded

Cairbar,

long

before the

the

son

Cormac reigned

luin, and R o s c r a n a ,

the

d e a t h of h i s f a t h e r C o r m a c ,

h a d t a k e n t o w i f e B o s - g a l a , t h e d a u g h t e r o f C o l g a r , one of t h e m o s t

power-

f u l c h i e f s in C o n n a u g h t , a n d h a d , b y h e r , A r t h o , a f t e r w a r d s k i n g of I r e l a n d . Soon

after Artho

arrived at

Cairbar married Beltanno, him a s o n , The

whom he

occasion of

was absent, on

young

beam

artho,

he said,

darkened

son Corinac, expedition During

a fire before

who,

in h i s

of F i n g a l ,

to

reign

r e s i d e n c e of T e m o r a . veyed

Ferad-artho,

Crommal* of t h e

when

in the place his

brother

of Ireland. Cairbar,

his fair-haired

of

Artho-

was

born, was

t o use t h e w o r d s

of a

son.

Cairbar,

and

brought

A false r e p o r t

of Conachar.

thy race.

died,

He

turned

Thou shaft

soon a f t e r ,

to

be

the

Ferad-

d i e d , n o r did

A r t h o w a s s u c c e e d e d , on t h e Irish t h r o n e , by h i s minority,

Ferad-artho,

the short

for

the son of Baltanno

Artho lo4g s u r v i v e him. Borbar-duthul.

w a s killed.

Bos-gala

of U U i n , w h o

i. e. a man

in t h e s o u t h

that he

the subjcct,

his mother

of Conachar

was this: Artho,

on a e x p e d i t i o n ,

of fight,

estate,

called Ferad-artho

the name

b r o u g h t to h i s f a t h e r , poem

man's

the daughter

says

settle

w a s murdered by Cairbar,

tradition,

him

on

the

of y o u n g C o r m a c ,

was

very

throne

young,

of I r e l a n d ,

Ferad-artho

lived

the s o n when

happened.

at t h e

U p o n t h e m u r d e r of t h e k i n g , C o n d a n , t h e b a r d , privately,

to

t h e cave

of Cluna,

of the

behind the

royal con-

mountain

in U l s t e r , w h e r e t h e y both lived concealed, during t h e u s u r p a t i o n

f a m i l y of A t h a .

A

late bard

p o e m j u s t n o w in m y p o s s e s s i o n . between Ferad-artho, t h e v a l l e y of C l u n a .

and the

has delivered

the

whole history,

I t h a s little m e r i t , if w c e x c e p t t h e

messengers

of F i n g a l ,

upon their a r r i v a l ,

in

A f t e r h e a r i n g of t h e g r e a t a c t i o n s of F i n g a l , t h e y o u n g

p r i n c e p r o p o s e s t h e f o l l o w i n g q u e s t i o n s c o n c e r n i n g h i m , to G a u l a n d

* N . B. This

in a scene

Dermid:

s h o u l d b e Cromla—the cave« of C l u n a , is its f a c e , are n o t the offspring

of F a n c y , b u t may still be

visited by the Irish traveller,

at Belfast to conduct him round

who may always p r o c u r e

the csve h i l l to these eaves.

C.

guid**

TEMORA.

128

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 echoing halls of Temora. He comes, at times, abroad, in the skirts of mist, to pierce the bounding roes. W h e n the sun looks on the field, nor by the rock, nor stream, is he! He shuns the race of Bo lira, who dwell in his father's hall. Tell him, that Fingal lifts the spear, and that his foes, perhaps, may fail.» «Lift u p , O Gaul, the shield before him. Stretch, Dermid, Temora's spear. Be thy voice in his ear, 0 Carril, with the deeds of his fathers. Lead him to green Moilena, 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 Lubars 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. „ I s t h e k i n g tall as t h e ruck of my c a v e ? lie a r o u g h - w i n g e d b l a s t ,

on t h e m o u n t a i n ,

the h e a d , and t e a r s it from its h i l l ? he s e n d s h i s

stately steps

along?11

r o c k : nor glitter s t r e a m s w i t h i n like the strength of U l l i n ' s seas.

1» h i s s p e a r a fir of (,'iu r t a ' which takes the

green oak

Glitters Lubar within his stride, when „ N o r is h e t a l l , "

said G a u l ,

„as that

liis s t r i d e s : but his soul is a mighty 11

Is b?

flood,

129

AN EPIC POEM.

«Why bends the bard ofGona,» said Fingal, «over his secret stream? Is this a time for sorrow, father of lowlaid Oscar? Be the warriors 1 remembered in peace, ;when echoing shields arc 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 o f F i n g a l sent Ossian, tall, along the heath. H e 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. 1 M a l v i n a ia s u p p o s e d to s p e a k t h e f o l l o w i n g s o l i l o q u y : „ M a l v i n a is l i k e t h e b o w of t h e s h o w e r , in t h e s e c r e t v a l l e y of s t r e a m s ; it is b r i g h t , b u t t h e d r o p s of h e a v e n

a r e r o l l i n g o n i t s b l e n d e d light.

They

s a y , t h a t I am fair w i t h i n my l o c k s ,

but,

wan-

dering

of

tears.

Darkness

flies

over

b r e e z e , a l o n g t h e g r a s s of L u t h a . moved

between

sound of harps.

the

hills.

on m y

my

soul,

brightness, as the dusky

Pleasant,

beneath

my

the like

troubled fields!

my echoing of

the

vale. morn,

Then

shall my

when

Should the young w a r -

A w a k e the voice

soul come f o r t h ,

clouds are

hand,

Y o u n g v i r g i n s of L u t h a

call b a c k t h e w a n d e r i n g t h o u g h t s of M a l v i n a . gates

white

when I

W h a t t h e n , d a u g h t e r of L u t h a , t r a v e l s o v e r t h y s o u l ,

t h e d r e a r y p a t h of a g h o s t a l o n g t h e n i g h t l y b e a m ?

the

w a v e of t h e

Y e t h a v e n o t t h e r o e s failed m e ,

arose

r i o r f a l l , in t h e r o a r of h i s along

is t h e

rolled

arise,

of t h e h a r p ,

like a light from

around t h e m ,

with

their

b r o k e n sides. 1 ' „Dweller

of m y

thoughts,

by

night,

w h o s e form ascends

in

troubled

f i e l d s , w h y d o s t t h o u s t i r u p m y s o u l , t h o u f a r d i s t a n t son of t h e k i n g ? t h a t t h e s h i p of m y l o v e , i t s d a r k c o u r s e t h r o u g h the r i d g e s of o c e a n ?

Is How

a r t t h o u s o s u d d e n , O s c a r , f r o m t h e h e a t h of s h i e l d s ? " The ¿Malvina, est

rest

of

wherein

this the

poem

consists

distress

of

the

of

a latter

dialogue is

between

carricd

to

pitch.

OssiAjr.

II.

9

Ullin the

and high-

TEMORA,

130

Loud, from moss-covered Mora 1 poured down, at oncc, 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 arc his mighty strides. He often stood, and saw behind, the wide-gleaming rolling,of armour. A rock he seemed, grev 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, 2 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 down, 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 b o u n d e d , 3 on his spear 1 From

(liis description t h e r e s t

epithet , Hioss-covi'rett 2 Caves are no

s c e n e s arc dedueihlc -- and

the

Mora , is a s s t r i c t l y true as it is poetical. C. sciircity in and about t h e source and c o u r s e of

of t h e

tin-

l.ubar. C. 3 Tile Irish compositions c o n c e r n i n g F i n g a l invariably s p e a k of liiin as a giant.

Of these

the language

and

IE ibcriiian poems allusions

to

there are

the

times

now m a n y in my hands. in

which

they

were

From

written,

I

should fix the date of t::eir composition in the fifteenth or s i x t e e n t h c e n t u r i e s . In some pass-i^cs, the poetry

is

fa:- from w a n t i n g m e r i t ,

but t h e fable

is

AN EPIC POEM.

131

1

over Lubar, and struck his echoing 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. 2 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. 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. They 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; a n d , great as he w a s , 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 throwiog a great stone against his head; and it was dangerous to com« 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 s t o n e , 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 w a r , by the total rout the Scandinavians. Puerile, and even despicable, as these fictions a r e , yet Keating and O'Klahcrly have no belter authority than the poems which contain them, for all «hat they write concerning Fion IVIaccomhal, and the pretended militia of Ireland. C. 1 This is yet practicable in some places! over the Lubar on a pole in my presence. C. t Cathinor —or O'Neill, King of Ulster. (•

An Ulster peajont hounded

TEMORA,

132

As meet two troubled seas, with the rolling of all their waves, when they feel the wings of contending winds, in the rock-sided frith of L u m o n ; along the echoing 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 host! 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 highbounding 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. Tlam i n 1 shall weep, in the hall, and strike her heaving breast. 1 T l a - m i n , mildly

soft.

The loves or Clonar and Tlamin were rendered

famous in the north, by a fragment of a lyric poem. I t is a dialogue between Clonar and Tlamin.

S h e begins with a soliloquy which he overhears. TLAMIK.

»Clonar, son of Conglas of I - mor, young liunter o f dun-sided roes ? where art thou laid, ainidst rushes, beneath the passing wing of the breeze? 1 behold t h e e , my l o v e , 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 l i e s : the thoughts o f his dreams fly, darkening, over his face. Thou thinkest of the battles of Ossian, young son of the echoing isle! „Half hid in the grove, I sit down. F l y b a c k , ye mists of the W h y should ye hide her love from the blue eyes o f Tlamin of harps

hill

CLOKAH.

„As think,

the spirit,

seen in a dream, flics off from our opening

W6 behold his bright path between the

daughter of Clungal,

from the sight of Clonar of shields.

gathering of t r e e s ; blue-eyed Tlamin, « r i s e . "

eyes,

we

closing hills j so fled the Arise from

the

AN EPIC POEM.

133

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 Clonar! 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 echoing 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, darklystriding in his might. I struck my echoing shield, and hung forward on the steps of Alnccma: the foe is rolled before m e , like a wreeth of smoke. The sun looked forth from his cloud. The hundred streams of Moi-lena shone. 1 Slow rose the blue columns of mist, against the glittering hill. «Where are the mighty

TI-AMIN.

„1 turn me a w a y from h i s steps. W h y should he known of my l o v e ! M y w h i t e breast is heaving o v e r s i g h s , as foam on the dark c o u r s e or streams. But he passes a w a y , in his arms! Son of Conglas, my soul is

sad.''' CLONAR.

„ I t w a s the shield of F i n g a l ! M y path is towards green Erin.

the voice of kings from Selma Arise,

of harps!

fair light, from thy shades.

to the field of iny s o u l , there is the spreading of hosts.

Come

A r i s e , on Clonar's

troubled soul, young daughter of the blue-shielded Clungal." Clungal w a s the c h i e f of I - m o r , one of the Hebrides. 1 Though a poetical number, if all w e r e reckoned in and about I . e n a , 1 think this amount would not be far from the truth.

C-

m

TEMORA,

kings? 1 Nor bv 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 desert, 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 1 Fingal and Catlnnor. T h e c o n d u c t h e r e is p e r h a p s p r o p e r . T h e n u m e r o u s d e s c r i p t i o n s of single combats h a v e already e x h a u s t e d t h e s u b j e c t . N o t h i n g n e w , nor adequate to our h i g h idea of the k i n g s , can be said. A column of mist is t h r o w n o v e r the w h o l e , and t h e combat is l e f t to t h e imagination of the reader. P o e t s h a v e almost u n i v e r s a l l y failed i n t h e i r d e s c r i p t i o n s of t h i s s o r t . NoI all the s t r e n g t h of Hoiner could s u s t a i n , w i t h dignity , t h e minutia of a single combat. T h e t h r o w i n g of a s p e a r , and t h e b r a y i n g of a s h i e l d , as some of our o w n p o e t s m o s t e l e g a n t l y e x p r e s s it, c o n v e i y no m a g n i f i c e n t , though t h e y are s t r i k i n g ideas. Our i m a g i n a t i o n stretches beyond, a n d , consequently, despises, the description. It were, t h e r e f o r e , w e l l for s o m e p o e t s , i n m y o p i n i o n , ( t h o u g h i t i s , p e r h a p s , s o m e w h a t s i n g u l a r , ) to h a v e , s o m e t i m e s , t h r o w n mist o v e r t h e i r s i n g l e combats. i F i n g a l is v e r y much c e l e b r a t e d , in t r a d i t i o n , for h i s k n o w l e d g e in t h e v i r t u e s of h e r b s . T h e I r i s h p o e m s , c o n c e r n i n g h i m , o f t e n r e p r e s e n t him curing the w o u n d s w h i c h h i s c h i e f s r e c e i v e d in b a t t l e . T h e y fable c o n c c r n i n g h i m , t h a t h e w a s in p o s s e s s i o n of a c u p , c o n t a i n i n g t h e e s s e n c e of h e r b s , w h i c h i n s t a n t a n e o u s l y h e a l e d w o u n d s . T h e k n o w l e d g e of curing

AN EPIC POEM.

133

the wound is mine: 1 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, 1 when they passed to my hall of shells. Joy rose, like a (lame, on m y soul: I blest the cchoing 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. 2 « W h y 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 t h e w o u n d e d , w a s , t i l l of l a t e , u n i v e r s a l among the Highlanders. W e h e a r of no o t h e r d i s o r d e r , w h i c h r e q u i r e d t h e s k i l l of p h y s i c . T h e w h o l e s o m e n e s s of t h e c l i m a t e , and an a c t i v e l i f e , s p e n t in h u n t i n g , excluded diaeases. 1 C a t h m o r r e f l e c t s , w i t h p l e a s u r e , even in h i s l a s t m o m e n t s , on t h e r e l i e f he had afforded t o s t r a n g e r s . T h e v e r y t r e a d of their feet w a s p l e a s a n t in h i s ear. H i s h o s p i t a l i t y w a s n o t p a s s e d unnoticed by the b a r d s ; f o r . w i t h t h e m , it became a p r o v e r b , w h e n t h e y described the h o s p i t a b l e d i s p o s i t i o n of a h e r o , that he was like Cathmor of Atha, the friend of strangers. I t w i l l s e e m s t r a n g e , t h a t , i n all t h e I r i s h poems, there is no m e n t i o n m a d e of C a t h m o r . T h i s m u s t be a t t r i b u t e d to the r e v o l u t i o n s and d o m e s t i c c o n f u s i o n s w h i c h h a p p e n e d in t h a t i s l a n d , and u t t e r l y cut off all t h e r e a l t r a d i t i o n s c o n c e r n i n g so a n c i e n t a p e r i o d . A l l t h a t w e h a v e r e l a t e d of the s t a t e of I r e l a n d before the f i f t h c e n t u r y is of l a t e i n v e n t i o n , and t h e w o r k of i l l - i n f o r m e d s e n a c h i e s and i n j u d i c i o u s bards. 3 H o w b e a u t i f u l l y d e s c r i p t i v e is t h i s p a s s a g e of t h e s i t e of S h a n e s c a s t l e — t h e s e a t of t h e noble family of O'Neill k i n g s of U l s t e r . C.

136

TEMORA.

not F i n g a l , they seem to s a y , rest within his hall? Dost thou always delight i n ' b l o o d ? In the tears of the sad? No: ye dark-rolling y e a r s , Fingal delights not in blood. Tears are wintry streams that waste away my soul. B u t , when 1 lie down to r e s t , then comes the mighty voice of war. It awakes m e , in my hall, and calls fort all my steel. It shall call it forth no m o r e ; Ossian, take thou thy father's spear. Lift i t , in battle, w h e n the proud arise. «My fathers, Ossian, trace my steps; my deeds are pleasant to their eyes. W h e r e v e r 1 come forth to battle, on my field, are their columns of mist. But mine arm rescued the f e e b l e , the haughty found my rage was fire. Never over the fallen did mine eye rejoice. For t h i s , 1 my fathers shall meet m e , at the gates of their airy halls, tall, with robes of light, with midly-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, w h e n he is to lift the spear: then shall he remember thy mighty deeds, though thou art now but a blast.» 1 T h e C e l t i c n a t i o n s had some i d e a o f r e w a r d s , and p e r h a p s o f p u n i s h ments , a f t e r d e a t h . virtue,

Those who behaved,

were received, with j o y ,

dark in soul, the habitation

to u s e

the e x p r e s s i o n

of heroes , to wander

in l i v e ,

with,

w i t h b r a v e r y end

to t h e a i r y h a l l s o f t h e i r f a t h e r s ; but the of t h e p o e t ,

were spurned

on all the winds.

away

A n o t h e r opinion,

from which

p r e v a i l e d in t h o s e t i m e s , tended not a l i t t l e to m a k e i n d i v i d u a l s emulous t o excel one a n o t h e r hall of clouds,

in m a r t i a l a c h i e v e m e n t s .

e v e r y one had a s e a t ,

It w a s

thought,

that,

in the

r a i s e d a b o v e o t h e r s , in p r o p o r t i o n

h e excelled t h e m , in v a l o u r , w h e n he l i v e d .

as

AN EPIC POEM.

137

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 placcd a sword 1 in e a r t h , and one bright boss from his shield. Dark in thought, a while, he bends: his words, at length, came forth «When thou, O stone, shalt moulder down, and loose thee, in the moss of years, then shall the traveller comc, and whistling pass away. Thou know'st 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 t o o t h e r times; for he went forth, in echoing steel, to save the weak in arms.» Brightening in his fame, the king strode to Lubar's sounding oak, where it b e n t , 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 2 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 1 . T h e r e a r e s o m e s t o n e s s t i l l t o b e s e e n i n t h e n o r t h of I r e l a n d , were

erected

ancient

as

chiefs.

memorials There

of

some

are generally

a n n s , a n d a b i t of h a l f - b u r n t w o o d . not m e n t i o n e d in

remarkable found,

transactions

beneath

thein,

which

between some

of

T h e c a u s e of p l a c i n g t h e l a s t t h e r e

is

tradition.

2 T h e e r e c t i n g o f h i s s t a n d a r d o n t h e b a n k of L u b a r , w a s t h e s i g n a l F i n g a l , i n t h e b e g i n n i n g of t h e b o o k , went battle.

to

conduct This

the

piece

Ferad-artho to

standard

here

is

the

called,

which

promised to give to the c h i e f s , army, the

should sun-beam.

a p p e l l a t i o n , I g a v e in m y n o t e s o n t h e p o e m i n t i t l c d

he

himself The

Fingal.

prevail

reason

of

who in this

TEMORA, 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 (heir top look forward the roes. G r e y , ' at his mossy cave, is bent the aged form of Oonmal. 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 car: 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 2 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; 1 T h e s c e n e is c h a n g e d t o t h e valley of L o n a , been

sent.

by

rather druid,

Cathinor - before t h e b a t t l e . a s he .seems here t o be endued

had long d w e l t there

in a oave.

T h i s scene

whither 'Sul-malla

C l o n m a l , an a g e d b a r d , w i t h a prescience

had or

of e v e n t s ,

i s c a l c u l a t e d t o t h r o w a ine-

lanoholy gloom o v e r the m i n d . 2 Catlunor

had p r o m i s e d ,

in the s e v e n t h b o o k , to come to the c a v e of

C l o n m a l , a f t e r the b a t t l e w a s over.

AN EPIC POEM.

139

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 smoke, 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. 1 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. 1 T r a d i t i o n r e l a t e s , t h a t O s s i a n , t h e n e x t d a y a f t e r the decisive b a t t l e b e t w e e n F i n g a l and C a t h i n o r , w e n t t o find out S u l - m a l l a , in the valley of L o n a . H i s a d d r e s s to h e r f o l l o w s : „ A w a k e , t h o u d a u g h t e r of C o n m o r , from t h e f e r n - s k i r t e d c a v e r n of L o n a . A w a k e , t h o u s u n - b e a m in d e s e r t s ) w a r r i o r s one day must fail. T h e y move f o r t h , l i k e t e r r i b l e l i g h t s ; b u t , o f t e n , t h e i r cloud is near. Go to t h e v a l l e y of s t r e a m s , to t h e w a n d e r i n g of h e r d s , on L u m o n ; there d w e l l s , in h i s l a z y m i s t , t h e man of m a n y d a y s . B u t he is u n k n o w n , S u l - i n a l l a , l i k e t h e t h i s t l e of t h e r o c k s of r o e s ; it s h a k e s i t s grey b e a r d , in t h e w i n d , and f a l l s , u n s e e n of o u r e y e s . N o t s u c h a r e the k i n g s of m e n , t h e i r d e p a r t u r e is a meteor of fire, w h i c h p o u r s i t s r e d c o u r s e f r o m the d e s e r t , o v e r t h e bosom of n i g h t . T h e f e r n - s k i r t e d c a v e r n of L o n a is t r u e and poetical. C, „ H e i s mixed w i t h t h e w a r r i o r s of o l d , those sires t h a t h a v e hid t h e i r heads. A t t i m e s s h a l l t h e y come f o r t h in song. Not forgot has the warriotj a i l e d . He h a s not s e e n , S u l - m a l l a , t h e f a l l of a beam of h i s o w n : no f a i r h a i r e d s o n , i n h i s b l o o d , y o u n g t r o u b l e r of t h e field. I am lonely, y o u n g b r a n c h of L u m o n , I m a y h e a r t h e v o i c e of (he f e e b i e , w h e n my s t r e n g t h s h a l l h a v e f a i l e d in y e a r s , f o r young Oscar lias c e a s e d , on his field." — * * S u l - m a l l a r e t u r n e d to her o w n country. S h e makes a c o n s i d e r a b l e figure in a n o t h e r p o e m ; her b e h a v i o u r in t h a t piece a c c o u n t s for t h a i p a r t i a l regard w i t h w h i c h the poet s p e a k s of her t h r o u g h o u t Teinura.

140

TEMORA,

Pleasant, from the way of the desert, 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. 1 «Sons of Morven, spread the feast; send the night away in song. Ye have shone around m e , and the dark storm is past. My people arc the windy rocks, from which 1 B e f o r e I finish m y n o t e s , i t may not be a l t o g e t h e r i m p r o p e r t o obviate an o b j e c t i o n , w h i c h may b e m a d e to t h e c r e d i b i l i t y of the s t o r y of Temora. It inay be a s k e d , w h e t h e r it is p r o b a b l e , t h a t Fingal could p e r f o r m such a c t i o n s a s are a s c r i b e d to him in t h i s b o o k , at an age w h e n his g r a n d s o n . O s c a r , had acquired so m u c h r e p u t a t i o n in a r m s . T o t h i s it m a y b e a n s w e r e d , t h a t F i n g a l w a s b u t v e r y y o u n g ( b o o k 4 t h ) w h e n he took t o w i f e R o s c r a n a , w h o soon a f t e r b e c a m e the m o t h e r of O s s i a n . O s s i a n w a s also e x t r e m e l y y o u n g w h e n h e m a r r i e d E v e r - a t l i n , t h e m o t h e r of Oscar. T r a dition r e l a t e s , t h a t F i n g a l w a s b u t e i g h t e e n y e a r s old at t h e b i r t h of h i s son O s s i a n ; and t h a t O s s i a n w a s much about t h e s a m e age, w h e n O s c a r , h i s s o n , w a s born. O s c a r , p e r h a p s , m i g h t be about t w e n t y , w h e n he w a s killed, in the battle of G a b h r a ( b o o k 1 s t ) ; so t h e age of F i n g a l , w h e n the d e c i s i v e battle w a s f o u g h t b e t w e e n h i m and C a t h m o r , w a s j u s t fifty-six y e a r s . I n t h o s e t i m e s of a c t i v i t y and h e a l t h , t h e n a t u r a l s t r e n g t h and v i g o u r of a man w a s l i t t l e abated at such an age; so t h a t t h e r e is n o t h i n g i m p r o b a b l e in the actions of F i n g a l , a s related in t h i s book. M . — B u t the chronology of t h e Irish bards is w r o n g : a b a t t l e at t h e p a s s of G o u r a , a valley in t h e chain of C r o m l a , should be placed in A. D. 3 8 8 , i n s t e a d of 288. C.

AN E P I C POEM.

141

1 spread my eagle-wings, when I rush forth to renown, and seize it on its field. Ossian, thou hast the spear of F i n g a l : it is not the staff of a boy with which h e strews the thistle r o u n d , young wanderer of the field. N o : it is the lance of the m i g h t y , with which they stretched forth their hands to death. Look to thy fathers, my son; they are awful beams. W i t h morning lead Ferad-artho forth to the echoing halls of 'femora. Remind him of the kings of E r i n ; the stately forms of old. L e t not the fallen be forgot, they were mighty in the field. L e t Carril pour his song, that the kings may rejoice in their mist. To morrow I spread my sails to Sclma's shaded walls; where streamy Dulhula winds through the seats of roes.»

CONLATH AND CÜTHONA A POEM.

ARGUMENT. Cos LATH w a s the y o u n g e s t of M o r n i ' s s o n s , and b r o t h e r to the celebrated Gaul. He w a s in love w i t h C u t h o n a t h e daughter of ftumar, w h e n T o s c a r the son of K i n f e n a , accoinpauied b y F e r c u t h h i s f r i e n d , a r r i v e d , from Ireland, at M o r a , w h e r e Conlath d w e l t . H e w a s h o s p i t a b l y r e c e i v e d , and, according to t h e c u s t o m of t h e t i m e s , f e a s t e d t h r e e d a y s w i t h C o n l a t h . On the f o u r t h he set s a i l , and c o a s t i n g t h e island of waves, one of t h e H e b r i d e s , he s a w C u t h o n a h u n t i n g , fell in love w i t h her and c a r r i e d h e r a w a y , by force, in h i s s h i p . He w a s f o r c e d , by s t r e s s of w e a t h e r , into 1 - t h o n a , a d e s e r t isle. In the mean time C o n l a t h , h e a r i n g of t h e r a p e , sailed a f t e r h i m , and found him on the p o i n t of sailing for t h e coast of Ireland. T h e y f o u g h t ; and they and t h e i r followers fell by mutual w o u n d s . C u t h o n a did not long s u r v i v e : for s h e died of grief t h e t h i r d day a f t e r . F i n g a l , h e a r i n g of t h e i r u n f o r t u n a t e d e a t h , sent S t o r m a l t h e son of M o r a n to bury t h e m , but forgot t o send a bard to sing the f u n e r a l song over t h e i r tombs. T h e g h o s t of Conlath c o m e s , long a f t e r , to Ossian , to i n t r e a t him to ( r a s m i t t o p o s t e r i t y , his and C u t h o n a ' s fame. F o r it w a s t h e opinion of the t i m e s , t h a t the souls of t h e deceased were not h a p p y , t i l l t h e i r elegies were composed by a bard.

CONLATH AND CUTHONA, A

P O E M

DID not Ossian hear a voice? or is it the sound of days that are no m o r e ? Often does the memory of former times come, like the evening s u n , on my soul. The noise of the chase is renewed. In thought I lift the spear. But Ossian did hear a voice! W h o art t h o u , son of night? The children of the feeble arc asleep. The midnight wind is in my hall. Perhaps it is the shield of Fingal that echoes 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 bings 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. 0 Conlath, when the sound of battle arose. G H O S T 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 - t h o n a . 1 1 I - t h o n n , itlond OSSIAI»

II.

of waves,

one of the uninhabited w e s t e r n M

inles

HI;

CONLATH AND CUTHONA,

Our tombs arc not seen in our isle. How long shall our fame be unheard, son of resounding Selma? OSSIAN.

O that mine eves 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 b o w ? 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 darkblue isle. The cave of Thona appears, with its mossy rocks and bending tree. A stream roars at its mouth. Toscar bends over its course. Fercuth is sad by his side. Cuthona 1 sits at a distance and weeps. Does the wind of lhe waves deceive? Or do 1 hear them speak? TOSCAR.

T h e 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.- Silent he stood, on that bank. His robe of mist flew on the wind. I could 1 Cuthona,

the

l)y force. 2 I t w a s long raised by

daughter

of R u i n a r ,

t h o u g h t , in

the ghosts

of the

the

whom Toscar

n o r t h of S c o t l a n d ,

deceased.

This

notion is

had c a r r i e d

»WIT

that storms

were

still entertained

by

t h e v u l g a r ; for t h e v t h i n k t h a t w h i r l w i n d s , and sudden s q u a l l s of w i n d , a r e occasioned by s p i r i t s , w h o t r a n s p o r t t h e m s e l v e s , jilacc to another.

in t h a t m a n n e r , f r o m one

A POEM. behold his tears. thought!

147

An aged man he seemed, and full of

FERCUTH.

It was thy father, 0 Toscar. He foresees some death among his race. Such was his appearance on Cromla, before the great Ma-ronnan 1 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 Selama. 2 Lovely the cry of the hunter on Cromla. But we are in dark I-thona, surrounded by the storm. The billows lift their white heads above the 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. T h e sun will look soon from his cast; in all his pride of light! I lifted up my sails, with joy, before the halls of generous Conlath. My course was by a desert isle: where Cuthona pursued the deer. I saw h e r , like that beam of the sun that issues from the cloud. Her hair was on her heaving breast. She, bendig forward, drew the bow. H e r white 1 M a - r o n n a n w a s t h e b r o t h e r of T o s c a r . 2 S e l a m a t h , beautiful c o a s t of U l s t e r , near

to behold,

the mountain

t h e n a m e of T o s c a r ' s r e s i d e n c e , o n

Cromla.

h i m s e l f a g a i n in f a v o u r of m y d i s c o v e r i e s .

M.—Here C.

Macpherson

the

contradict»

148

CONLATH AND CUTHONA,

arm seemed, behind h e r , like the snow of Cromla. Come to my soul, I said, huntress of the desert isle! But she wastes her time in tears. She thinks of the generous Conlath. Where can I find thy peace, Cuthona, lovely maid. CUTHONA.

1

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. 2 There the towers of my love arise. There Conlath looks over the sea for his only love. The daughters of the chase returned. H e beheld their downcast eyes. «Where is the daughter of R u m a r ? » 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 t h a t ? It carries the ghosts of my fathers. I see the skirts of their robes, like grey and watery mist. W h e n shall I fall, 0 R u m a r ? Sad Cuthona 1 C u - t h o n a , the mournful

sound

of the waves;

a p o e t i c a l n a m e g i v e n lier

on a c c o u n t of h e r m o u r n i n g to t h e sound of t h e w a v e s ; her n a m e in t r a d i t i o n is G o r m - h u i l , the blue-eyed

maid.

t T h i s M o r a cannot be the one n e a r Connor.

C.

A POEM.

149

foresees her death. Will not Conlath behold m e , before I enter the narrow h o u s e ? 1 OSSIAN.

He shall behold thee, 0 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, 0 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 h s shield on the wall, and it was bloody. 2 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 watery cloud, that rises from a lake! The sons of green Selma camc. They found Cuthona cold. They raised a tomb over the heroes. She rests at the side of Conlath! Come not to my dreams, 0 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 1 come among them with joy; and lay my aged limbs in the narrow house! 1 The grave. * I t w a s t h e opinion of t h e t i m e s , h o m e , b e c a m e bloody t h e v e r y e v e r so great a d i s t a n c e .

that t h e arrna l e f t by the

h e r o e s at

i n s t a n t their o w n e r s w e r e k i l l e d ,

t h o u g h at

BERRATHON, A

POEM.

ARGUMENT. FIITCAL in h i s voyage to L o c h l i n , w h i t h e r h e had been invited by S t a r n o , t h e f a t h e r of A g a n d e c c a , touched at B e r r a t h o n , an island of Scandinavia, w h e r e h e w a s k i n d l y e n t e r t a i n e d b y L a r t h m o r , t h e p e t t y k i n g of the place, T h e h o s p i t a l i t y of w h o w a s a vassal of the s u p r e m e k i n g s of L o c h l i n . L a r t h m o r gained him Kingal's f r i e n d s h i p , w h i c h t h a t hero m a n i f e s t e d , a f t e r t h e i m p r i s o n m e n t of L a r t h m o r by h i s o w n s o n , by sending Ossian and T o s c a r , the father of M a l v i n a , so o f t e n m e n t i o n e d , to r e s c u e L a r t h m o r , and to p u n i s h t h e u n n a t u r a l b e h a v i o u r of U t h a l . U t h a l w a s h a n d s o m e , a n d , by t h e l a d i e s , m u c h admired. N i n a t h o i n a , t h e b e a u t i f u l d a u g h t e r of T o r t h o m a , a n e i g h b o u r i n g p r i n c e , fell in love and fled w i t h him. He proved inconstant: for a n n o t h e r l a d y , w h o s e name is n o t m e n t i o n e d , g a i n i n g h i s a f f e c t i o n s , h e confined N i n a - l h o m a to a d e s e r t i s l a n d n e a r the c o a s t of B e r r a t h o n . She w a s r e l i e v e d by O s s i a n , w h o , in c o m p a n y w i t h T o s c a r , landing on B e r r a t h o n , defeated t h e f o r c e s of U t h a l , and killed h i m in a s i n g l e combat. N i n a - t h o m a , w h o s e l o v e n o t all t h e bad b e h a v i o u r of Uthal could erase, h e a r i n g of h i s d e a t h , died of grief. I n t h e m e a n time L a r t h m o r is r e s t o r e d , and O s s i a n and T o s c a r r e t u r n in t r i u m p h to F i n g a l . T h e poem o p e n s w i t h an elegy on the death of M a l v i n a T o s c a r , and closes w i t h p r e s a g e s of O s s i a n ' s d e a t h .

the daughter of

BERRATHON, A

POEM.

BEND thy blue course, O stream! round the narrow plain of L u t h a . 1 Let the green woods hang over it, from their hills: the sun look on it at noon. The thistle is there on its r o c k , and shakes its beard to the wind. The (lower hangs its heavy head, waving, at times, to the gale. «Why dost thou awake m e , 0 gale!» it seems to say, «1 am covered with the drops of heaven! The time of my fading is near, the blast that shall scatter my leaves. To-morrow 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 t h o u , O Malvina; with all thy music come! Lay Ossian in the plain of Lutha: let his (omb rise in the lovely field. t L u t h a . ttoift

stream.

BERRATHON, Malvina! where art thou, with thy songs, with the soft sound of thy steps? S o n 1 of Alpin, art thou near? where is the daughter of Toscar? «1 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 chase 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 through her mist.» Pleasant 2 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 b l u e , trembling wave. But thou hast left us in darkness, first of the maids of Lutha! W e 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 3 of Fingal. There the hero sits in darkness. His airy spear is in his hand. His shield, half-covered 1 H i s father w a s one of F i n g a l ' s p r i n c i p a l b a r d s , a n d h e had a poetical genius. 2 Ossian s p e a k s .

H e calls M a l v i n a a beam of l i g h t ,

and

continues the

metaphor t h r o u g h o u t the p a r a g r a p h . 3 T h e d e s c r i p t i o n of t h i s ideal palace of F i n g a l is agreeable to t h e t i o n s of those t i m e s ,

c o n c e r n i n g t h e s t a t e of t h e d e c e a s e d ,

no-

who were sup-

posed to p u r s u e , a f t e r d e a t h , t h e p l e a s u r e s and e m p l o y m e n t s of t h e i r former life.

The situation

entirely h a p p y ,

of the

is more

Celtic heroes,

agreeable

concerning their departed heroes.

than

in t h e i r s e p a r a t e s t a t e ,

if

not

t h e n o t i o n s of t h e a n c i e n t G r e e k s

155

A POEM.

with clouds, is like the darkened m o o n ; 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 chek. 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 1 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, 0 breeze! sigh on Malvina's tomb. It rises yonder beneath the rock, a the blue stream of Lutha, The maids - arc 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, watery face. His locks of mist fly on wind. He bends forward on his airy spear. It is thy father, Malvina! «Why shinest thou, so soon, on our c l o u d s , » he says, « 0 lovely light of Lutha! But thou wert sad, my daughter. Thy friends had passed away. The sons of little m e n 3 were in the hall. None remained of the heroes, but Ossian king of spears!»

1 Ossian;

w h o had a great f r i e n d s h i p for M a l v i n a ,

h e r love for h i s s o n O s c a r ,

both on a c c o u n t of

and h e r a t t e n t i o n to himself.

2 T h a t is, t h e young v i r g i n s w h o sung the f u n e r a l elegy o v e r h e r t o m b . 3 T r a d i t i o n is e n t i r e l y s i l e n t concerning w h a t passed in t h e mediately a f t e r t h e death of Fingal and all h i s

heroes;

by w h i c h

north it

im-

would

BERRATHON,

156

And dost thou remember Ossian, c a r - b o r n e T o s c a r , 1 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 arc 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. 1 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 seasurrounded B e r r a t h o n 2 , the isle of many storms. There dwelt, with his locks of age, the stately strength of Lathm o r ; Lathmor, 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 o l d , the pride of his son arose; the pride of fair-haired Uthal, the love of a thousand maids. He bound the aged Lathmor, 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 seen t h a t t h e a c t i o n s of t h e i r s u c c e s s o r s w e r e

n o t to be c o m p a r e d to

those

of the r e n o w n e d F i n g a l i a n s . 1 T o s c a r w a s t h e s o n of t h a t Conloch, w h o w a s also f a t h e r t o t h e l a d y , w h o s e u n f o r t u n a t e death is r e l a t e d in t h e l a s t e p i s o d e of the second book of Fingal. f B e r r a t h o n , a promontory

in the midst

of

waves.

A I'OEM.

157

king, when it trembled on the western wave. Snitho came to Selma's hall: Snitho the friend of Lathmor's youth. He told of the king of Berrathon: the wrath of Fingal arose. Thrice he assumed tho spear, resolved to stretch his hand to Uthal. But the memory 1 of his deeds rose before the king. He sent his son and Toscar. 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 coast is slow along the coast of Berrathon. The white waves tumble on the rocks. « W h a t voice is t h a t , » said Toscar, «which comes between the sounds of the waves ? It is soft but mournf u l , like the voice of departed bards. But I behold a m a i d . S h e 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.» W e came to the silent bay, and heard the maid of night. «How long will ye roll around m e , blue-tumbling waters of ocean? My dwelling was not always in caves, nor beneath the whistling tree. The feast was spread in Torthoma's hall. My father delighted in my voice. T h e youths beheld me in the steps of my loveliness. They blessed the dark-haired Nina-thoma. It was then thou I T h e meaning i s , t h a t F i n g a l r e m e m b e r e d h i s o w n great a c t i o n s , and c o n s e q u e n t l y w o u l d not s u l l y them by engaging in a p e t t y w a r a g a i n s t U t h a l , w h o w a s so f a r h i s i n f e r i o r in valour and p o w e r . i N i n a - t h o m a , t h e d a u g h t e r of T o r t h o m a , d e s e r t i s l a n d by h e r l o v e r Uthal.

w h o bad been confined t o a

BERRATHON,

158

didst come, O Uthal! like the sun of heaven! The souls of the virgins are thine, son of generous L a r t h m o r ! 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 Finthormo. 1 The tear started from my eye, when I heard the voice of the maid. 1 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 Berr a t h o n , to the echoing walls of Finthormo.» She came in her b e a u t y ; she came with all her lovely steps. Silent joy brightened in her face; as when the shadows fly from the field of spring; the blucstream is rolling in brightness, and the green bush bends over its course! The morning rose with its beams. W e came to Rothma's bay, A boar rushed from the wood: my spear pierced his side, and he fell. I rejoiced over the blood. 2 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 chase of the boar. Himself comes 1 F i n t h o r m o , the palace of Uthal. a Ccltic o r i g i n a l .

T h e n a m e s i n t h i s e p i s o d e are n o t of

M . — 1 k n o w to the c o n t r a r y .

C.

2 Ossian m i g h t h a v e t h o u g h t t h a t h i s killing a boar on h i s in B e r r a t h o n ,

was

a good oinen

present Highlanders l o o k , of their first a c t i o n ,

after

first

landing

of his f u t u r e s u c c e s s i n that island.

w i t h a d e g r e e of s u p e r s t i t i o n ,

The

u p o n the s u c c e s s

t h e y h a v e engaged in a n y d e s p e r a t e u n d e r t a k i n g

A POEM.

159

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! b u t his soul was dark! Dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it foretels the storms'. W e rose on the healh before the king. He stopt in the midst of his course. His heroes gathered around. A grey-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 carborne 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, choose 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 U that's sword. So shall the fame of Finthormo arise, like the growing tree of the vale!» «Never will it rise, O b a r d , » I said in the pride of my wrath. «He would shrink from the presence of Fingal, whose eyes arc 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 they 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 camc on like a stream. The mingled sound of death arose. Man took man; shield met shield; steel mixed its beams with steel. Darts hiss through the air. Spears ring on mails. Swords on broken bucklers bound. As the noise of an aged grove

160

BERRATHON,

beneath the roaring wind, when a thousand ghosts break the trees by n i g h t , such was the din of arms! But Uthal fell beneath my sword. The sons of Berrathon fled. It was then 1 saw him in his b e a u t y , and the tear hung in my eye! «Thou art f a l l e n 1 , young t r e e , » I said, «with all thy beauty round thee. Thou art fallen on thy plains, and the field is bare. The winds come from the desert! 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 greyhaired bard of Selma. He alone had remained on the coast, with the daughter of Torthoma. «Son of the times of old!» she said, «1 hear the noise of death. Thy friends have met with Uthal, and the chief is low! 0 that 1 had remained on the rock, inclosed with the tumbling waves? Then would my soul be sad; b u t his death would not reach my ear. Art thou fallen on thy h e a t h , 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 1 T o m o u r n o v e r the fall of t h e i r among the C e l t i c

heroes.

enemies,

Tliis is m o r e

s h a m e f u l i n s u l t i n g of the d e a d ,

so common

v i l e l y c o p i e d b y all h i s i m i t a t o r s ,

(the

was

agreeable to in

Homer,

a practice humanity

universal than

the

and a f t e r him, s e r -

h u m a n e Virgil not e x c e p t e d , )

who

h a v e been m o r e s u c c e s s f u l in b o r r o w i n g the i m p e r f e c t i o n s of that great p o e t , than in t h e i r

i m i t a t i o n s of h i s

w r i t e r s of our o w n days. B y r o n ! C.

How

beauties.

JM.—ThiB is applicable to

m a n y basely copy , or a t t e m p t

to

many imitate

A

POEM.

161

on his facc. 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 chase, and turn away their weeping eyes. Your lame will b e 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. R e s t , children of youth, at the noise of the mossy stream!" Two days we remained on the coast. The heroes of Berrathon convened. W e 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. W e 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 t h e r e ? he seems to have been o 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, 0 Uthal! though thy hand was against thy father. O that 1 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 chase of the boar. I might have Ollin II. 11

162

BERRATHON,

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 t h e 1 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 forsakes the woods. But Ossian shall not be long alone. He sees 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 h a r p , 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 h a r p , and raise the song: be near, with all your wings, ye winds. Bear the mournful sound away I Ossian speaks.

163

A POEM.

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 the north opens thy gates, O k i n g ! 1 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 1 are on the winds of the desert. 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 arc 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 desert.» «There is a murmur in the heath! the stormy winds abate! I hear the voice of Fingal. Long has it been absent from mine e a r ! «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 1 T h i s d e s c r i p t i o n of t h e p o w e r of F i n g a l o v e r a n d the image of h i s t a k i n g t h e s u n ,

the w i n d s and

storms,

and hiding h i m in the c l o u d s , d o n o t

c o r r e s p o n d w i t h t h e p r e c e d i n g p a r a g r a p h , w h e r e h e is r e p r e s e n t e d a s a feeble g h o s t , and n o m o r e t h e TERROR OF THE VALIANT; but it a g r e e s w i t h t h e n o tion of the times c o n c e r n i n g the souls of the d e c e a s e d , posed,

had the c o m i m n d of (he w i n d s and s t o r m s ,

i k e affairs of men.

who,

it was

sup-

but took no c o n c e r n

in

Itii

BERRATHON,

dark and silent; our fame is in the four 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 m e n ! The life of Ossian fails. I begin to vanish on Cona. My steps arc 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 s a d , son of Fingal ? Why grows the cloud of thy soul? The chiefs of other times are departed. They have g o n e , 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 vvoodv Morven, they pass away in the rustling blast, and other leaves lift their green heads on high.» Did thy beauty last, O R y n o ? 1 Stood the strength of Car-borne Oscar ? Fingal himself departed. The halls 1 R y n o , the son of F i n g a l , w h o w a s killed in I r e l a n d , in the w a r a g a i n s t S w a r a n , w a s r e m a r k a b l e for the b e a u t y of h i s p e r s o n , h i s s w i f t n e s s , and g r e a t exploits. M i n v a n e , t h e d a u g h t e r of M o r n i , and s i s t e r to Gaul, w a s in l o v e w i t h R y n o . Her lamentation over her lover f o l l o w s : sea

S h e blushing s a d , f r o m M o r v e n ' s r o c k s , b e n d s over the d a r k l y - r o l l i n g S h e s e e s the y o u t h in all t h e i r arms. W h e r e , R y n o , w h e r e art t h o u ?

O u r dark looks told t h a t he w a s l o w ! clouds! T h a t in the g r a s s of M o r v e n ' s hills in w i n d !

T h a t p a l e t h e h e r o flew on h i s feeble v o i c e w a s h e a r d

And is the son of F i n g a l fallen on U l l i n ' s m o s s y the arm t h a t v a n q u i s h e d h i m ! A h m e ! 1 am a l o n e !

plains '

Strong

Alone I shall not b e , ye w i n d s ! t h a t l i f t my d a r k - b r o w n hair. sighs shall not long mix w i t h y o u r stream.; for I m u s t sleep w i t h Ryno

was My

A

of his fathers forgot his steps. thou aged bard! fame

165

POEM.

Shalt thou then remain,

when the mighty have failed?

shall remain,

and grow

like the oak

which lifts its broad head to the storm,

But my

of Morven;

and rejoices in

the course of the w i n d ! 1 1 see

thee

not,

with beauty's

night is round M i n v á n e ' s l o v e . Where strong?

are

Thy

thy

dogs,

sword

steps,

returning

from

and w h e r e thy b o w ?

Thy

heaven's

fire?

like

the chase.

The

Dark silence dwells with Ryno. descending

shield that w a s The

so

bloody

»pear

with

blood.

of Ryno ? I see them mixed in thy

deep

ship;

I

see them stained

N o arms are in thy narrow hall, 0 d a r k l y - d w e l l i n g W h e n w i l l the morning c o m e , arise, the hunters are abroad.

and s a y ,

Ryno!

»Arise,

thou king of

spear*

T h e hinds are near thee, Ryno! 11

A w a y , thou fair-haired m o r n i n g , a w a y ! the slumbering king hears thee not!

The

hinds

bound

over

his

narrow

tomb;

for death

dwells

round

young R y n o . But I w i l l tread s o f t l y , M i n v á n e w i l l lie in silence,

my k i n g !

and steal to the bed of thy

repose.

nor disturb the slumbering Ryno.

The maids shall seek me : but they shall not find me : they shall f o l l o w my departure

with

But

songs.

I

shall

not

hear y o u ;

0 maids!

I

sleep

w i t h fair-haired R y n o . patience

of

a s i n c e r e friend of the p o e t ; a n d , w i t h o u t boasting I may add, expended

1 H a v i n g gone through the poems of Ossian ,

as

much time in attempting to do him justice as any it incumbent upon ine to declare,

with

all

(lie

of his admirers,

I

deem

that had it not been for the authority

of

Buchanan , I should have doubted al! that Macpherson has said about F i n g a l having lived at so remota a period as the 4th or 5th century, and I have placed him in the 6th century when navigation begun neral between the N o r s e , Danes, &c. ested

Buchanan,

and I acknowledge

however, myself

is

and our early islanders.

indisputable evidence

would

to be more

against my

a convert and a friend upon this

ge-

The disinteropinion;

ground ,

and

upon that of the v e r y striking coincidence between the Celtic and Irish t r a ditions respecting the heroes, and occurrences,

o f the time of Ossian.

('

CATHLIN OF CLUTHA, A POEM.

ARGUMENT. An a d d r e s s to iMalvina, the d a u g h t e r of T o s c a r . T h e poet r e l a t e s t h e a r r i v a l of C a t h l i n i n Selma, t o solicit a g a i n s t D u t h - c a r m o r of C l u b a , w h o had killed C a t h m o l , for the s a k e of h i s d a u g h t e r L a n u l . F i n g a l declining t o m a k e a c h o i c e among h i s h e r o e s , w h o w e r e all c l a i m i n g t h e command of the e x p e d i t i o n ; t h e y r e t i r e d each to his hill of ghosts; to be determined by d r e a m s . T h e s p i r i t of T r e n m o r a p p e a r s to Ossian and O s c a r : t h e y s a i l , f r o m t h e b a y of C a r m o n a j a n d , on the f o u r t h d a y , a p p e a r off t h e valley of Ossian R a t h c o l , i n I n i s - h u n a , w h e r e D u t h - c a r m o r had fixed h i s r e s i d e n c e . d i s p a t c h e s a bard to D u t h - c a r m o r t o d e m a n d b a t t l e . N i g h t comes on. The d i s t r e s s of C a t h l i n of C l u t h a . Ossian d e v o l v e s t h e command on Oscar, w h o , a c c o r d i n g t o the c u s t o m of t h e k i n g s of M o r v e n , b e f o r e b a t t l e , r e t i r e d to a n e i g h b o u r i n g h i l l . U p o n t h e coming on of d a y , t h e b a t t l e j o i n s . O s c a r and D u t h - c a r m o r meet. T h e l a t t e r falls. Oscar c a r r i e s t h e m a i l a n d h e l m e t of D u t h - c a r m o r to C a t h l i n , w h o h a d r e t i r e d f r o m the field. Cathlin is d i s c o v e r e d to be t h e d a u g h t e r of C a t h m o l , in d i s g u i s e , w h o had been c a r r i e d o f f , by f o r c e , b y , and had made her e s c a p e f r o m , D u t h - c a r m o r

CATHLIN OF CLUTHA, A POEM. COME 1 , 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 1 The t r a d i t i o n s , w h i c h a c c o m p a n y t h i s p o e m , inform us, that it w e n t , of o l d , under t h e name of Laoi-Oi-lutha, i. e. the hymn of the maid of Lutha. T h e y pretend also to fix t h e time of i t s composition, to the t h i r d year a f t e r t h e death of F i n g a l ; t h a t i s , during the expedition of F e r g u s t h e son of Fingal, to the b a n k s of Uisca-duthon. In support of this opinion, t h e Highland senachies h a v e prefixed to this p o e m , an address of Ossian , to Congal the young son of F e r g u s , w h i c h I have rejected, as having no m a n n e r of connection w i t h t h e r e s t of t h e piece. I t has poetical m e r i t ; and, p r o b a b l y , it w a s t h e opening of one of Ossian's other p o e m s , though the bards injudiciously t r a n s f e r r e d it to t h e piece now before us. „ C o n g a l , son of F e r g u s of D u r a t h , thou light between t h y l o c k s , a s cend to the r o c k of Selma, to t h e oak of the breaker of shields. L o o k ove the bosom of n i g h t , it is streaked with the red paths of t h e d e a d : look on the night of g h o s t s , and k i n d l e , O Congal! t h y soul. Be n o t , like t h e moon on a s t r e a m , lonely in the midst of clouds: d a r k n e s s closes a r o u n d i t ; and the beam d e p a r t s . Depart n o t , son of F e r g u s ! ere thou m a r k e s t t h e field w i t h t h y s w o r d . Ascend to the rock of S e l m a ; to t h e oak of the breaker of s h i e l d s / 1

170

CATHL1N OF CLUTHA.

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 t h e e , from thy darkness, in Selma, thou that watchest, lonely, by night! W h y didst thou withhold 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 1 w e s a w , one day, the bounding ship. On high, hung a broken shield; it I C a r m o n a , bay of the dark n e i g h b o u r h o o d of S e l m a .

brown

hills,

en a r m of t h e

sea,

in

tlie

I n t h i s p a r a g r a p h are m e n t i o n e d t h e signals p r e s e n t e d t o F i n g a l b y t h o s e w h o c a m e to demand h i s aid. T h e s u p p l i a n t s h e l d , in one h a n d , a shield covered w i t h b l o o d , a n d , i n t h e o t h e r , a b r o k e n s p e a r ; t h e first a s y m b o l of t h e d e a t h of t h e i r f r i e n d s t h e l a s t an emblem of t h e i r o w n h e l p l e s s s i t uation. If t h e k i n g chose t o g r a n t s u c c o u r s , w h i c h g e n e r a l l y w a s te case he reached to them the shell of feasts, a s a t o k e n of h i s h o s p i t a l i t y and f r i e n d l y i n t e n t i o n s t o w a r d s him. I t may n o t be d i s a g r e e a b l e t o t h e r e a d e r to lay h e r e b e f o r e him t h e c e fremony of t h e C r a n - t a r a , w h i c h w a s of a similar n a t u r e , a n d , t i l l v e r y l a t e l y , u s e d in the H i g h l a n d s . W h e n t h e n e w s of an enemy came to t h e residence of t h e c h i e f , he i m m e d i a t e l y killed a goat w i t h h i s o w n s w o r d , dipped t h e end of an half b u r n t piece of w o o d in t h e b l o o d , and g a v e it to one of h i s s e r v a n t s , to be carried to the n e x t hamlet. F r o m h a m l e t to h a m let t h i s tessara w a s c a r r i e d w i t h t h e u t m o s t e x p e d i t i o n , a n d , in t h e space of a f e w h o u r s , t h e w h o l e clan w e r e in a r m s , and c o n v e n e d in an a p pointed p l a c e ; t h e name of w h i c h w a s t h e o n l y w o r d t h a t accompanied the d e l i v e r y of t h e Cran-tara. T h i s s y m b o l w a s the m a n i f e s t o of the chief by w h i c h he t h r e a t e n e d fire and s w o r d to t h o s e of h i s clan , t h a t did not i m mediately a p p e a r at h i s standard.

A POEM.

171

was marked with wandering blood. Forward came a youth, in arms, and strctched his pointless spear. L o n g , 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 whitc-bosomed L a n u l 1 , and pierced her father's side. In the rushy desert 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 b e a m , in a land of clouds. T h o u , like the son, art known, king of echoing Selma!» 2 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. W e 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 w i n d !

1 L a n u l , full eyed, a s u r n a m e w h i o h , a c c o r d i n g to t r a d i t i o n , w a s b e s t o w e d on t h e d a u g h t e r of C a t h m o l , on a c c o u n t of h e r b e a u t y ; t h i s t r a d i t i o n , h o w e v e r , may h a v e been f o u n d e d on t h a t p a r t i a l i t y , w h i c h t h e b a r d s h a v e s h e w n to Cathlin of Clutha; f o r , aocording to them, no falsehood could dwell in the soul of the lovely. 9 T h e o c c u r r e n c e s in t h i s poem had t h e i r r i s e during t h e t i m e Ossian lived on t h e b a n k s of the l a k e of Lego, a f t e r h i s m a r r i a g e w i t h E v i r a l l i n t h e m o t h e r of O s c a r ! and in order of time t h i s composition s h o u l d h a v e t a k e u place a f t e r t h e p o e m s Fingal and T c m o r a . C

172

CATHLIN OF CLUTHA,

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 1 of Lego. He had seen his fathers. «As rushes forth the blast, on the bosom of whitening waves; so careless shall my course b e , through ocean, to the dwelling of foes. I have seen the dead, my father! My beating soul is h i g h ! My fame is bright before m e , 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, through ocean, to the woody dwelling of heroes. Let us contend, my s o n , like eagles, from one rock; when they lift their broad wings, against the stream of winds.» W e raised our sails in Carmona. From three ships, they marked my shield on the wave, as I looked on nightly T o n t h e n a , 2 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. 1 Oscar is h e r e called Oscar of Lego, from liis m o t h e r being t h e daughter of B r a n n o , a p o w e r f u l c h i e f , on t h e b a n k s of t h a t lake. I t is remarkable that O s s i a n a d d r e s s e s no poem to M a l v i n a , i n w h i c h h e r l o v e r Oscar w a s n o t one of the p r i n c i p a l actors. H i s a t t e n t i o n to h e r , a f t e r t h e death of h i s s o n , s h e w s t h a t d e l i c a c y of s e n t i m e n t i s n o t c o n f i n e d , a s some fondly imagine , t o our o w n p o l i s h e d t i m e s . 1 T o n - t h e n a , fire of the wave, w a s t h e r e m a r k a b l e s t a r m e n t i o n e d in t h e s e v e n t h book of T e m o r a , w h i c h d i r e c t e d the c o u r s c of L a r t h o n to Ireland. I t seeins to h a v e been w e l l k n o w n to t h o s e w h o sailed on t h a t s e a , w h i c h divides I r e l a n d f r o m S o u t h - B r i t a i n . A s t h e c o u r s e of Ossiun w a s along t h e coast of I n i s - h u n a , h e m e n t i o n s , w i t h p r o p r i e t y , t h a t star w h i c h directed the voyage of the colony f r o m t h a t c o u n t r y to I r e l a n d .

A POEM.

173

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 Rathcol; 1 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 Rathcol, to the seats of roes. We came. I sent the bard, with songs, to call the foe to fight, Duth-carmor heard h i m , with joy. The king's soul was like a beam of fire; a beam of fire, marked with smoke, rushing, varied, through the bosom of night. The deeds of Duth-carmor were dark, though his arm was strong. Night came, with the gathering of clouds. By the beam of the oak we sat down. At a distance stood Calhlin of Clutha. I saw the changeful 2 soul of the stranger. 1 R a t h - c o l , woody field, does n o t a p p e a r to h a v e b e e n the residence of D u t h - c a r m o r : h e s e e m s r a t h e r to h a v e b e e n f o r c e d t h i t h e r by a s t o r m ; at l e a s t I should t h i n k t h a t to be t h e m e a n i n g of the p o e t , from his e x p r e s s i o n , t h a t Ton-thena had hid her head , and t h a t he bound his white-bosomed sails w h i c h is as much a s to s a y , t h a t t h e w e a t h e r w a s s t o r m y , and t h a t D u t h c a r m o r p u t i n t o t h e b a y of R a t h - c o l for s h e l t e r . M. P r o b a b l y t h e mouth of t h e Rann. C. 9 F r o m t h i s c i r c u m s t a n c e , s u c c e e d i n g bards feigned that Catlilin, w h o IN here in t h e d i s g u i s e of a y o u n g w a r r i o r , had fallen in love w i t h D u t h c a r m o r at a f e a s t , to w h i c h h e had been i n v i t e d by her father. H e r l o v e w a s c o n v e r t e d into d e t e s t a t i o n for h i m , a f t e r h e had murdered h e r f a t h e r R u t as those rain-bows of heaven are changeful, say my a u t h o r s , s p e a k i n g of w o m e n , s h e felt t h e r e t u r n of h e r f o r m e r passion upon the a p p r o a c h of l ) u t h - c a r m o r ' s danger. I m y s e l f , w h o t h i n k more favourably of t h e s e x , m u s t a t t r i b u t e t h e agitation of C a t h l i n ' s mind to h e r e x t r e m e s e n s i b i l i t y t o the i n j u r i e s done her by I h i t h - c a r m o r : and t h i s opinion is f a v o u r e d by t h e sequel of the s t o r y .

174

CATHLIN OF CLUTHA,

As shadows fly over the field of grass, so various is Cathlin's check. It was fair, within locks, that rose on Rathcol'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, 1 to-night. Strike the shield, like Morven's kings. With day, thou shalt lead in war. From my rock, I shall see t h e e , 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 f o r t h , 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 Tonthcna 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 redrolling 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, n e a r , their heads. Loud roared his rushing 1 T h i s p a s s a g e alludes to t h e w e l l - k n o w n c u s t o m among t h e a n c i e n t kings of S c o t l a n d , to r e t i r e f r o m t h e i r a r m y on the n i g h t p r e c e d i n g a battle. T h e s t o r y w h i c h O s s i a n i n t r o d u c e s in t h e n e x t p a r a g r a p h , c o n c e r n s t h e fall of the D r u i d s . It is said in m a n y old p o e m s , t h a t t h e D r u i d s , in t h e e x tremity of t h e i r a f f a i r s , had solicited and obtained aid f r o m Scandinavia. Among the auxiliaries t h e r e came m a n y p r e t e n d e d magicians, w h i c h c i r c u m s t a n c e Ossian alludes t o , in h i s d e s c r i p t i o n of t h e son of Loda. M a g i c and incantation could n o t , h o w e v e r , p r e v a i l ; for T r e n m o r , a s s i s t e d by the valou of h i s son T r a t h a l , e n t i r e l y b r o k e t h e p o w e r of the Druids.

A POEM.

175

stream. He often raised his voice to the winds, when meteors marked their nightly wings; when the darkrobed moon was rolled behind her hill. Nor unheard of ghosts was h e ! They came with the sound of eagle wings. They turned battle, in fields, before the kings of men. «But, T r e n m o r , 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! 1 Then rose the strife of kings, about the hill of night; b u t 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 fat h e r , and the foes failed, in echoing Caracha. The years that are past, my son, are marked with mighty deeds.» 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 1 T r e n m o r and T r a t h a l . Ossian i n t r o d u c e d this e p i s o d e , to his son , from a n c i e n t times.

as an e x a m p l e

% T h o s e w h o d e l i v e r d o w n t h i s poem in t r a d i t i o n , lament t h a t a g r e a t p a r t of it lost. I n p a r t i c u l a r t h e y regret the loss of an w h i c h w a s h e r e i n t r o d u c e d , w i t h the sequel of the story of C a r m a l D r u i d s . T h e i r a t t a c h m e n t to it w a s founded on the d e s c r i p t i o n s of e n c h a n t m e n t s w h i c h it contained.

t h e r e is episode, and h i s magical

176

CATHLIN OF CLUTHA,

overcame! Not harmless in battle was he, Malvina hand of harps! Nor, in the field, were the steps of Calhlin. The stranger stood by a secret s t r e a m , 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 t o u c h e d , 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 arc laid in the field of ghosts. Renown returns to Morven, like a rising wind. W h y art thou dark, chief of Clutha? Is there cause for grief?» «Son of Ossian of harps, my soul is darkly sad. 1 behold the arms of Cathmol, which he raised in war. Thake the mail of Cathlin, place it high in Selma's hall: that thou mayest 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! W h y , maid of Toscar of L u t h a , should I tell how Cathlin failed? Her tomb is at rushy Lumon, in a distant land. 1 Near it were the steps of Sul-malla, in the days 1 T h e s c e n e of t h i s poem is on t h e w e s t e r n b a n k of t h e r i v e r Bann. L u m o n , and R a t h - c o i l , a r e both in the c o u n t y of D e r r y , the f o r m e r n e a r l y opposite to Coleraine. T h e latter f a r t h e r w e s t . M a n y t r a d i t i o n s r e s p e c t i n g

177

A POEM.

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! Ossian

and

his

Celtic

Donegall! Collected T h e y r e q u i r e an Irish

heroes

still

remain

in

the counties of D e r r y

t h e y w o u l d m a k e as many volumes as Gibbon's s c h o l a r or a n t i q u a r y .

C.

and

Home!

SUL-MALLA OP LUMON, A POEM.

ARGUMENT. THIS p o e m , w h i c h , p r o p e r l y s p e a k i n g , is a c o n t i n u a t i o n of t h e last, o p e n s w i t h an a d d r e s s to S u l - m a l l a , t h e d a u g h t e r of t h e k i n g of I n i s - h u n a , w h o m Ossian m e t , at t h e c h a s e , a s h e r e t u r n e d f r o m t h e battle of R a t h - c o l . S u l - m a l l a i n v i t e s Ossian and O s c a r t o a f e a s t , at t h e r e s i d e n c e of h e r f a t h e r , w h o w a s t h e n a b s e n t in t h e w a r s . U p o n h e a r i n g t h e i r name and family, s h e relates an e x p e d i t i o n of F i n g a l into I n i s - h u n a . S h e casually mentioning C a t h m o r , chief of A t h a ( w h o t h e n a s s i s t e d h e r f a t h e r against h i s e n e m i e s ) , Ossian i n t r o d u c e s the episode of Culgorm and S u r a n - d r o n l o , t w o S c a n d i n a vian k i n g s , in w h o s e w a r s Ossian h i m s e l f and C a t h m o r w e r e engaged on o p p o s i t e sides. T h e s t o r y is i m p e r f e c t , a p a r t of t h e original being lost. O s s i a n , w a r n e d in a d r e a m , by the g h o s t of T r e n m o r , s e t s sail f r o m I n i s h u n a . M- T h i s poem should h a v e t a k e n p r e c e d e n c e of s o m e of t h e foregoing o n e s ; and I am i n d u c e d to h a z a r d an o p i n i o n t h a t t h e c o n j e c t u r e of t h e t r a n s l a t o r relative to t h e c o u n t r y of I n i s - h u n a i s badly founded. — L u m o n , 1 t h i n k , is nearly o p p o s i t e C o l e r a i n , on t h e D e r r y side of t h e rivei Bann. T h i s is borne out by the sequel. C

SUIi-MALLA OF LUMON, A

POEM.

WHO1 moves so stately, OD Lumon, at the roar of the foamy waters? Her hair falls upon her heaving breast. White is her arm behind, as slow she bends the bow. 1 The expedition of Ossian to Inis-huna happened a short time before Pingal passed over into Ireland, to dethrone Cairbar the son of Borbarduthul. Cathmor, the brother of Cairbar, was aiding Conmor, king of l n i s 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 Te mora. T h e exact correspondence in the manners and customs of I n i s - h u n a , as here described, to those of Caledonia, leaves no room to doubt, that the inhabitants of both were originally the same people. M. Here the translator is at variance with himself. — The C e l t s and Scandinavians were very different in their manners and customs—but those of the I r i s h , at I n i s - h u n a , and the C e l t e , w e r e the same. C. Some may allege, that Ossian might t r a n s f e r , in his poetical descriptions, the manners of his own nation to foreigners. This objection is easily answered. W h y has he not done this with regard to the inhabitants of Scandinavia? W e find the latter v e r y 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

182

SUL-MALLA OF LUMON,

Why dost thou wander in deserts, like a light through 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 Inishuna, 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 echoing 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 through seas; «for of the kings of men are ye, tall riders of the wave.» 1 «Not unknown,» I said, «at his streams is he, the father of our race. Fingal has 1 S u l - i n a l l a h e r e d i s c o v e r s t h e q u a l i t y of Ossian and Oscar from t h e i r s t a t u r e and s t a t e l y gait. A m o n g n a t i o n s , not far a d v a n c e d in c i v i l i z a t i o n , a s u p e r i o r b e a u t y and s t a t e l i n e s s of p e r s o n w e r e i n s e p a r a b l e f r o m n o b i l i t y of blood. I t w a s f r o m t h e s e q u a l i t i e s , that t h o s e of family w e r e k n o w n by s t r a n g e r s , not f r o m t a w d r y t r a p p i n g s of s t a t e i n j u d i c i o u s l y t h r o w n r o u n d them. T h e cause of t h i s d i s t i n g u i s h i n g p r o p e r t y m u s t , in some m e a s u r e , b e a s c r i b e d to t h e i r unmixed blood. T h e y had no i n d u c e m e n t to i n t e r m a r r y w i t h the v u l g a r : and no l o w n o t i o n s of i n t e r e s t made t h e m d e v i a t e irom their c h o i c e , in t h e i r o w n s p h e r e . I n s t a t e s , w h e r e l u x u r y h a s been long e s t a b l i s h e d , b e a u t y of p e r s o n i s , b y no m e a n s , t h e c h a r a c t e r i s t i c of a n t i q u i t y of family. T h i s m u s t be a t t r i b u t e d to those e n e r v a t i n g v i c e s , w h i c h are i n s e parable f r o m l u x u r y and w e a l t h . A great f a m i l y ( t o a l t e r a little t h e w o r d s of the h i s t o r i a n ) , it is t r u e , l i k e a r i v e r , b e c o m e s c o n s i d e r a b l e from the length of i t s c o u r s e , b u t , a s it r o l l s o n , h e r e d i t a r y d i s t e m p e r s , as w e l l a s p r o p e r t y , flow s u c c e s s i v e l y i n t o it. M . T h i s is applicable to some of our great families of the p r e s e n t day. C.

A 1'OEM.

183

been heard of at Cluba bluc-eycd daughter of kings. Nor only, at Cona's stream, is Ossian and Oscar known. Foes trembled at our voice, and shrunk at 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, 1 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 (he echoing vales of his roes. Nor lost to other lands was h e , like a meteor that sinks in a cloud. H e 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.» 2 1 Cluba, Atha, and Culdarna , are all Celtic or Erse names—not tliose of Scandinavia or Lochlin. C*. 2 Too [)a r 11 a I to our own times, we arc ready to mark out remote a n t i quity, as the region of ignorance and barbarism. This, perhaps, is extending our prejudices too far. It has been long remarked, that knowledge, 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 wee look, with attention, into the his'.orv of F i n g a l ; 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 G e r m a n y , and the

SUL-MALLA OF LUMON, ^Darkness dwells in Cluba of harps, the race of kings is distant far; in battle is my father Conmor; and Lormar 1 my brother, king of streams. Nor darkening alone arc they; a beam from other lands, is nigh; the friend of strangers 2 in Atha, the troubler of the field. High from their misty hills, look forth the blue eyes of E r i n ; for he is far away, young dweller of their souls! N o r , 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' different s l a t e s of G r e a t Britain and Ireland , w e r e v e r y n u m e r o u s , and p e r f o r m e d u n d e r such a c h a r a c t e r , and at such t i m e s , a s g a v e him an o p p o r t u n i t y t o m a r k the u n d i s g u i s e d m a n n e r s of m a n k i n d . W a r and an a c t i v e l i f e , a s t h e y call f o r t h , b y t u r n s , all the p o w e r s of the s o u l , p r e s e n t to u s t h e d i f f e r e n t c h a r a c t e r s of men : in t i m e s of peace a n d q u i e t , f o r w a n t of o b j e c t s to e x e r t t h e m , the p o w e r s of the mind lie c o n c e a l e d , i n a g r e a t m e a s u r e , and w e see o n l y artificial p a s s i o n s and m a n n e r s . I t i s f r o m t h i s c o n s i d e r a t i o n , I c o n c l u d e , t h a t A t r a v e l l e r of p e n e t r a t i o n could g a t h e r m o r e g e n u i n e k n o w l e d g e from a t o u r of a n c i e n t G a u l , t h a n f r o m t h e m i n u t e s t o b s e r v a t i o n of all the artificial m a n n e r s , and elegant r e f i n e m e n t s of m o d e r n France. 1 L o r m a r w a s t h e son of C o n m o r , and t h e b r o t h e r of Sul-malla. A f t e r t h e death of C o n m o r , L o r m a r s u c c e e d e d him in t h e t h r o n e . M Conmor and Lormar a l s o b e t r a y t h e i r c o u n t r y and o r i g i n ; and aided a s t h e y w e r e by t h e i r n e i g h b o u r i n g p r i n c e , C a t h m o r of A t h a , b r o t h e r of Cairbar— 0 N e i l l — I can s a f e l y p l a c e t h e kingdom of L u m o n along t h e b a n k s of t h e B a n n , in the county D c r r y . C. 2 C a t h m o r , t h e son of B o r b a r - d u t l i a l . I t w o u l d a p p e a r f r o m the p a r tiality w i t h w h i c h S u l - m a l l a s p e a k s of that h e r o , t h a t a h e had s e e n him, p r e v i o u s to h i s j o i n i n g h e r father*» a r m y ; though t r a d i t i o n p o s i t i v e l y a s s e r t s , that it w a s a f t e r h i s r e t u r n t h a t s h e fell in l o v e w i t h him. 3 I - t h o r n o , s a y s t r a d i t i o n , w a s an island of S c a n d i n a v i a . I n i t , at a h u n t i n g p a r t y , m e t Culgorm and S u r a n - d r o n l o , t h e k i n g s of t w o n e i g h , bouring isles. T h e y differed a b o u t t h e h o n o u r of k i l l i n g a b o a r ; and a w a r w a s kindled b e t w e e n t h e m . F r o m t h i s episode w e may l e a r n , that the

185

A POEM.

isle of many -waves! In strife met two kings in I-thorno, Culgorm and Suran-dronlo: each from his echoing isle, stern hunters of the boar!» «They met a b o a r , at a foamy stream: each pierced him with his spear. They strove for the fame of the d e e d ; and gloomy battle rose. From isle to isle they sent a spear, broken and stained with b l o o d , to call the friends of their fathers in their sounding arms. Cathmor came, from Erin, to Culgorm, red-eyed king: I aided Surandronlo, in his land of boars.» «We rushed on either side of a stream, which roared through a blasted heath. High broken rocks were round, with all their bending trees. Near were two circles of Loda, with the stone of p o w e r ; where spirits descended, by night, in dark-red streams of fire. There, mixed with the m u r m u r of waters, rose the voice of aged men; they called the forms of night, to aid them in the war.» «Heedless 1 I stood, with my people, where fell the foamy stream from rocks. The moon moved red from the mountain. My s o n g , at times, arose. Dark, on the other m a n n e r s of t h e S c a n d i n a v i a n s w e r e much m o r e s a v a g e and cruel, than of B r i t a i n .

It is r e m a r k a b l e ,

not of Galic o r i g i n a l ,

those

t h a t t h e n a m e s , i n t r o d u c e d in this s t o r y ,

w h i c h c i r c u m s t a n c e a o r d s room to s u p p o s e ,

had i t s foundation in t r u e h i s t o r y . M .

You are w r o n g .

are

t h a t it

C

1 F r o m t h e c i r c u m s t a n c e of Ossian n o t being p r e s e n t at the r i t e s , d e s c r i bed in t h e p r e c e d i n g p a r a g r a p h , w e may s u p p o s e t h a t he held t h e m in c o n tempt.

T h i s d i f f e r e n c e of s e n t i m e n t

with regard

to r e l i g i o n ,

is a s o r t of

a r g u m e n t , t h a t t h e Caledonians w e r e n o t originally a colony of S c a n d i n a v i a n s , a s s o m e h a v e imagined.

Concerning

so

remote a period,

m u s t s u p p l y t h e place of a r g u m e n t and p o s i t i v e proofs.

mere c o n j e c t u r e JW.

But circum-

s t a n t i a l e v i d e n c e is a g a i n s t the s c e n e of the poem being in S c n n d i n a v i a ; e p i t h e t s of the land of B o a r s , cable t o a n c i e n t W a l e s . dinavia.

C.

and

Morven,

the circles of L o d a , and I r e l a n d ,

are

the

equally appli-

a s t h e y could be to S c a n -

18G

SUL-MALLA OF LUMOX,

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 steelly mails. His helmet fell to the ground. In brightness shone the foe. His eyes, two pleasant ffames, 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.» «Xot so passed the striving kings. 1 They mixed in echoing fray; like the meeting of ghosts, in the dark wing of winds. Through 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 lock leapt on their shields, and mixed below with blood. «The battle ceased in I-thorno. The strangers met in peacc: Cathmor from Atha of streams, and Ossian, king of harps. W e 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 2 of Suran-dronlo, wild t Culgorm and S u r a n - d r o n l o . titude in death are h i g h l y

The

picturesque,

combat and

manners , w h i c h d i s t i n g u i s h e d the n o r t h e r n

of t h e

expressive

kings

and t h e i r

of t h a t

at-

f e r o c i t y of

nations.

% Tradition h a s h a n d e d doivn t h e name of t h i s p r i n c e s s .

T h e b a r d s call

her H u n o - f o r l o , w h i c h h a s no oilier s o r t of title for being g e n u i n e ,

but i t s

not being of tialic o r i g i n a l ; a d i s t i n c t i o n w h i c h t h e b a r d s had not the art to

187

A POEM.

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 rise, 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! Receivc, 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 preserve, who

when they feigned names for foreigners.

very often endeavoured

to supply

the

T h e highland s e n a c h i e s ,

deficiency they

thought

they

found in the t a l e s of O s s i a n , h a v e g i v e n u s t h e c o n t i n u a t i o n of the »tory of t h e d a u g h t e r of S u r a n - d r o n l o .

The

catastrophe

c i r c u m s t a n c e s of i t so r i d i c u l o u s l y p o m p o u s ,

is so u n n a t u r a l , and t h e

that,

f o r the sake of the i n -

T h e w i l d l y b e a u t i f u l a p p e a r a n c e of R u n o - f o r l o ,

made a deep i m p r e s s i o n

v e n t o r s , I shall conceal t h e m . on a c h i e f ,

some ages a g o ,

s t o r y is r o m a n t i c ,

w h o w a s h i m s e l f no contemptible poet.

but not incredible,

i m a g i n a t i o n of a man of genius.

Our c h i e f s a i l i n g ,

of the islands of O r k n e y , s a w a w o m a n , h e t h o u g h t , a s he e x p r e s s e s it h i m s e l f , gun,

on the dark

heaving

deep.

The

if w c m a k e a l l o w a n c e s for t h e l i v e l y in a s t o r m , along o n e

in a b o a t , n e a r the s h o r e , as beautiful

whom

a» a sudden ray of

T h e v e r s e s of O s s i a n ,

on the a l t i t u d e

the of

R u n o - f o r l o , w h i c h w a s so similar to t h a t of the woman in the boat, w r o u g h t so m u c h on his f a n c y , t h a t he f e l l d e s p e r a t e l y in love. ver,

drove him

residence

in

f r o m the c o a s l , a n d ,

Scotland.

The winds,

howe-

a f t e r a f e w d a y s , he a r r i v e d at h i s

T h e r e h i s p a s s i o n increased to such a d e g r e e ,

that

t w o of h i s f r i e n d s , fearing the c o n s e q u e n c e , sailed to the O r k n e y s , to c a r r y to h i m t h e o b j e c t of h i s desire.

Upon i n q u i r y they soon found the n y m p h ,

and carried h e r to t h e e n a m o u r e d c h i e f ; s t e a d of a ray of the sun, aged,

but m a r k his s u r p r i s e , w h e n ,

he s a w a s k i n n y

a p p e a r i n g before him.

fisherwoman

in-

, more t h a n m i d d l e

Tradition here e n d s the s t o r y ,

easily s u p p o s e d that the p a s s i o n of t h e chief soon subsided.

but it may he

SUL-MALLA OF LUMON,

188

of dark-eyed Suran-dronlo. He lighted me, no harmless beam, to glitter on his streams. Like meteors, 1 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, softly-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, lovely beam! I T h i s beautiful Poem bears out m y conjectures o f the and 1 am e m b o l d e n e d t o d e c l a r e , Inisfail. days

was

The modern so

large

d o w n as the kingdom name of U l s t e r .

C.

geographer

as

it

is

at

of O'Neill,

that is

not to

present; is

scite

of

it i s the county of Derry ,

all

imagine,

the

that

country the

that U l s t e r which

Lumon, in l o n e l y in

those

I have

ancients knew

under

laid the

THE

W A R OF INIS-THON A, A

POEM.

ARGUMENT. R e f l e c t i o n s on the p o e t ' s y o u t h . A n a p o s t r o p h e to Selma: Oscar o b t a i n s leave to go to I n i s - t h o n a , an i s l a n d of S c a n d i n a v i a . The mournful s t o r y of Argon and R u r o , t h e t w o s o n s of the k i n g of I n i s - t h o n a . Oscar r e v e n g e s t h e i r death , and r e t u r n s in t r i u m p h to Selma. A soliloquy by the poet himself

THE

WAR

OF INIS-THONA, A

P O E M .

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! W h e n shall Ossian's youth return? When his ear delight in the sound of arms? W h e n 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 s u n , 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 «round. Fingal sits in the midst. He leans on the shield •of T r e n m o r : 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 chase, and heard the hero's praise. He took the

THE WAR OF 1NIS-THONA,

192

shield of Branno 1 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 lnisthona. Distant is the land of my w a r ! 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 y o u t h , 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 Inis-thona. 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 1 T h i s i s B r a n n o , t h e f a t h e r of E v i r a l l i n , Bnd g r a n d f a t h e r to O s c a r ; was

of I r i s h

extraction,

His great actions are

and l o r d of t h e c o u n t r y

handed d o w n

by tradition,

he

r o u n d t h e l a k e of L e g o and

his

hospitality

has

p a s s e d into a p r o v e r b . M . I s s t r i k e s me t h a t land about Selma for O s s i a n ,

Branno,

on t h e banks

ever

after,

t h e f a t h e r - i n - l a w of O s s i a n , of t h e Legon,

appears to have

g a v e him t h e

when he married

generally

Evirallin—

resided at S e l m a — E v e n

w h e n Fingal w a s in M o r v e n — p a r t i c u l a r l y in t i m e of p e a c e — f o r in the poem Cathlin of C l u t l i a , ,,in

the echoing

page

169,

we

bay of Carmona",—in

the a s s i s t a n c e of OSBian.

C.

find

a m e s s e n g e r a r r i v e from the c h i e f , which

Selma w a s

situate,—-to

crave

A

193

POEM.

p e a c e ! T e l l , O s c a r , to Inis-thona's king, that Fingal rem e m b e r s his youth; when wc strove in the c o m b a t tog e t h e r , in the days of Agandecca.» T h e y lifted up the sounding sail; the wind whistled through the thongs 1 of their masts. Waves lash the oozy r o c k s : 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. T h e grey-haired hero r o s e , w h e n h e saw the sword of Fingal. His eyes w e r e full of tears; he r e m e m b e r e d his battles in youth. T w i c e had they lifted the spear, before the lovely Agandecca: heroes stood far distant, as if two spirits were striving in winds. « B u t n o w , » began the king, «1 am old; the sword lies useless in my hall. T h o u , who art o f Morven's r a c e ! Annir has seen the battle o f spears; b u t now he is pale and w i t h e r e d , like the oak of Lano. I have no son to m e e t thee with j o y , to bring thee to the halls of his fathers. Argon is pale in the t o m b , and R u r o is no more. My daughter is in the hall of strangers: she longs to behold my tomb. Her spouse shakes ten thousand spears; he c o m e s 2 a cloud of death from Lano. C o m e , to share the feast of Annir, son of echoing Morven!» 1 L e a t h e r thongs w e r e u s e d among t h e C e l t i c n a t i o n s , instead o f r o p e s . 2 Cormalo

had

resolved

on

a

war

against

his

father-in-law,

Annir,

k i n g oT I n i s - t h o n a , in order to d e p r i v e him o f h i s k i n g d o m ; the i n j u s t i c e o f his designs Oscar,

was

to t h e

so

much

resented

assistance of Annir.

by

Fingal,

that he s e n t h i s

grandson,

B o t h a r m i e s c a m e soon to a b a t t l e ,

w h i c h the c o n d u c t and valour o f O s c a r obtained a c o m p l e t e v i c t o r y . w a s put to t h e w a r b y the death o f C o r m a l o , by

Oscar's

hand.

Thus

is

the

story

who

fell

in a s i n g l e c o m b a t ,

d e l i v e r e d down b y t r a d i t i o n :

though

the p o e t , to r a i s e the c h a r a c t e r o f his s o n , makes Oscar h i m s e l f p r o p o s e expedition. OSS.A!.

II.

in

A n end

1 3

the

THE WAR OF INIS-THONA,

194

Three days they feasted together; on the fourth, Annir heard the name of Oscar. They rejoiced in the shell. 1 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, 0 my sons, within your narrow house? Or do ye speak in these rustling leaves, when the winds of the desert 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 1 formed of clouds, and bend their airy bow. They still love the sport of their youth; and mount tho wind with joy.» «Cormalo,» replied the king, «is a chief of ten thousand spears. He dwells at the waters of L a n o , 3 which sends forth the vapour of death. He came to Runa's echoing halls, and sought the honour of the spear.' 1 The youth was lovely as the first beam of the sun; few were 1 To rejoice drinking freely.

in

the

shell,

is

a phrase

for feasting sumptuously

and

2 T h e notion of O s s i a n c o n c e r n i n g t h e s t a t e of the d e c e a s e d , w a s t h e same w i t h t h a t of the a n c i e n t G r e e k s and R o m a n s . T h e y imagined t h a t the s o u l s p u r s u e d , in their s e p a r a t e s t a t e , t h e e m p l o y m e n t s and p l e a s u r e s of t h e i r f o r m e r life. 3 L a n o w a s a l a k e of S c a n d i n a v i a , r e m a r k a b l e , in t h e d a y s of O s s i a n , for e m i t t i n g a p e s t i l e n t i a l v a p o u r in a u t u m n . And thou, O valiant Duchomar like the mist of marshy Lano; when it sails over the plains of autumn, and brings death to the host. F i n g a l , B. I. 4 B y the honour of the spear , is meant the t o u r n a m e n t p r a c t i s e d a m o n g tile a n c i e n t n o r t h e r n n a t i o n s .

A I'OEM.

195

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 chase; the tears of their pride descend: they roll their silent eyes on Runa's heroes, who had yielded to a stranger. Three days Ihev 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 desert. 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 h i m : we found them here; we laid them by this mossy stream. This is the haunt of Annir. when the chase of the hinds is past. I bend like the trunk of an aged oak; my tears for ever flow!» « 0 Ronnan!» said the rising Oscar, «Ogar king of spears! call my heroes to my side, the sons of streamy Morvcn. 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 desert like stormy clouds, when the winds roll them along the heath; their edges arc tinged with lightning; the echoing groves foresee the storm! 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

196

THE WAR OF 1NIS-TH0NA,

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 echoing 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 sail 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 sitting 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 h a r p ; when the distand sound comes, in the evening, on the soft-rustling breeze of the vale! O lay m e , 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 j o y ; that the dreams nf my youth may r e t u r n , and the days of the mighty Fingal. Selma! I behold thy towers, thy t r e e s , thy shaded wall! I see the heroes of Morven; 1 hear the song of bards; Oscar lifts the sword of Cormalo; 1 a thousand youths admire its studded thongs. They look with wonder on my son. They admire the strength of his arm. I T h o u g h t h i s p a s s a g e a p p e a r s to place Selma in M o r v e n , y e t rate t h e r e b y t h e I r i s h C h a n n e l , i t o n l y r e q u i r e s u s to remember w a n t s of the race of C o n n o r ' s k i n g s of A n t r i m c o u n t y , r e q u i r e d t h e of a great many of t h e „ s o n s of S t r e a m y M o r v e n " , to s e c u r c the to (he kinsman of a k i n g f r o m t h e n a t i v e I r i s h p r i n c e s . C.

to s e p a t h a t tile presence territory

A POEM.

197

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; 1 remember the friends of my youth. But sleep descends in the sound of the h a r p ; pleasant dreams begin to rise. Ye sons of the chase stand far distant, nor disturb my rest. The bard of other times holds discourse with his fathers, the chiefs of the days of old! Sons of the chase, stand far distant! disturb not the dreams of Ossian!

THE

SONGS OF SELMA.

ARGUMENT. ADDRESS to t h e e v e n i n g s t a r .

A p o s t r o p h e to Fingal and h i s times.

¡Wi-

nona s i n g s b e f o r e t h e k i n g t h e song of ti:e u n f o r t u n a t e C o l m a ; and the bards e x h i b i t o t h e r specimens of t h e i r p o e t i c a l t a l e n t s ; a c c o r d i n g t o an annual custom established by t h e m o n a r c h s of the a n c i e n t Caledonians.

THE

SONGS OF SELMA. STAR of descending-night! fair is thy light in the west! thou Iiftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud: thy steps are stately on thy hill. W h a t 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. W h a t dost thou behold, fair light? But thou dost smile and depart. The waves come with joy around thee: they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewell, 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 watery column of mist; his heroes are around. And see the bards of song, grey-haired Ullin! stately Ryno! Alpin, 1 with the tuneful voice! the soft complaint ofMinona! How are ye changed, 1 Alpin

is f r o m t h e

s a m e root w i t h A l b i o n ,

a n c i e n t name of B r i t a i n ; A l p , high Island,

or country.

or

rather

Albin,

the

T h e p r e s e n t n a m e of

our Island h a s i t s origin in the Celtic t o n g u e ; so t h a t t h o s e w h o d e r i v e d it

202

THE SONGS OF SELMA.

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 1 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 S a l g a r , 2 the dark dwelling of white-bosomed Colma. 3 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 m e , some light, to the place, where my love rests from the chase 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 from any other, betrayed their ignorance of the Ancient language of our country. Brait or Braid, extensive j and in, land. 1 Ossian introduces M i n o n a , not in the ideal scene in his own mind, which he had described; but at the annual feast of Sclrna, where the bards repeated their works before Fingal. 2 Sealg-'er, a hunter. 3 Culmath, a woman with fine hair.

THE SONGS OF SELMA.

203

is the roaring stream! Thou didst promise with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgar gone? W i t h thee 1 would fly, from my father; with thee, from my brother of pride. Our race have long been Iocs; 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 1 must sit alone! W h o lie on the heath beside m e ? Are they my love and my brother? Speak to m e , O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speak lo m e : 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 m e ! 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 m e , 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

204

T H E SONGS OF SELMA.

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. W h e n 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! F o r 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 lire! But they had rested in the narrow house: their voice had ceased in Selma. Ullin had returned, one day, from the chase, 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 r o s e ! RVNO.

The wind and the rain are past: calm is the noon of day. The clouds are divided in heaven. Over the green hills flics the inconstant sun. Red through the stony vale comes down the stream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, 0 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,

THE SONGS OF SELMA.

205

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 M o r a r ; 1 the mourner shall sit on thy tomb. The hills shall know thee no more; thy bow shall lie in thy hall unstrung! Thou wert swift, O Morar! as a roe on the desert; 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 1 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. W h o on his staff is this? who is this, whose head is white with age? whose eyes are red with tears? who 1 Mòr-ér,

great

man.

THE SONGS OF SELMA.

206

quakes at every step? It is thy f a t h e r , 1 O Morar! the father of no son but thee. He heard of thy fame in w a r ; 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. W h e n shall it be morn in the grave, to bid the slumberer awake? Farewell, thou bravest of men! thou conqueror in the field! b u t the field shall see thee no more; nor the dark wood be lightened with the splendour of thy steel. Thou hast left no son. The song shall preserve thy name. Future limes shall hear of thee; they shall hear of the fallen Morar! The grief of all arose, but most the bursting sigh of Armin. 2 He remembers the death of his son, who fell in the days of his youth. Carmor 3 was near the hero, the chief of the echoing Galmal. W h y bursts the sigh of Armin? he said. Is there a cause to m o u r n ? The song comes, with its music, to melt and please the soul. It is like soft mist, t h a t , 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 no son; thou hast lost no daughter of beauty. Colgar the valiant lives; and Annira, fairest maid. The 1 Torman,

the

son

of

Carthul,

lord

of

I-inora,

one

of

the

western

isles. 2 A r m i n , a hern. island,

H e i v a s c h i e f or p e t t y k i n g

s u p p o s e d to be one of the Hebrides.

3 C e p . r - m o r , a lall

iiark-cotnjiti'^ioned

man.

of Gorma.

i. e

tlif

blue

THE SONGS of SELMA.

207

boughs of thy house ascend, 0 Carmor! b u t Armin is the last of his race. Dark is thy bed, O Daura! deep thy sleep in the tomb! W h e n shalt Ihou 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 F u r a ; 1 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 w a r , came, and sought Daura's love. He was not long refused: fair was the hope of their friends! E r a t h , son of Odgal, repined: his brother had been slain by Armar. 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 Armar waits for Daura. I come to carry his love! She went; she called on Armar. Nought answered, but the son 2 of the rock, Armar, my love! my love! why tormentest thou me with fear? h e a r , son of Arnart, hear: it 1 F u a r - a , cold island. i B y the son of the rock t h e p o e t m e a n s t h e echoing back of t h e h u m a n voice f r o m a r o c k . T h e vulgar w e r e of opinion, t h a t this r e p e t i t i o n of s o u n d w a s made by a spirit w i t h i n t h e r o c k ; and tliey, on that a c c o u n t , called it mac talla; the son who dwells in the rock.

208

THE SONGS OF SELMA.

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! Iler voice came over the sea. Arindal my son descended from the hill; rough in the spoils of the chase. 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 1 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, 0 Arindal, my son! for Erath the traitor thou diedst. The oar is slopped at once; he panted on the rock and expired. What is thy grief, 0 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 1 T h e poet h e r e only means that E r a t h w a s bound w i t h leathern

liiungn

209

T H E S O N G S OF S E L M A .

011 h i g h ; I sit by the sounding shore, and look on the fatal rock. O f t e n b y the setting m o o n , I see the ghosts of my children. Half viewless, they walk in m o u r n f u l conference together. W i l l none of y o u speak in p i t y ? T h e y do not regard their father. I am sad, 0 Carmor, nor small is my cause of w o e ! Such were the words of the bards in the days of song; w h e n the king heard the music of harps, the tales of other times! T h e chiefs gathered from all their hills, and heard the lovely sound. T h e y praised the v o i c e 1 of C o n a ! the first among a thousand bards! B u t age is now on my t o n g u e ; , m y soul has failed! I h e a r , at t i m e s , the ghosts of b a r d s , and learn their pleasant song. But memory fails on my mind. I hear the call of years! T h e y s a y , as thev pass along, w h y does Ossian s i n g ? Soon shall he lie in the narrow house, and no bard shall raise his f a m e ! Roll on, y e dark-brown years; ye bring no j o y on your course! Let the tomb open to Ossian, for his strength has failed. T h e sons of song are gone to rest. My voice remains, like a blast, that roars, lonely, on a sea-surrounded r o c k , after the winds are laid. T h e dark moss whistles there; the distant mariner sees the waving trees! 1 Ossian is sometimes

OSSIAN.

II.

poetically

c a l l e d the

voice

of

Cona.

14

A CRITICAL DISSERTATION ON THE

POEMS OP OSSIAN, THE

SON OF FINGÀL. BY H U G H One

of t h e

Ministers

of the

Belles-Lettres,

High in

the

BLAIR, Church,

and

University

D. D. P r o f e s s o r of HIiiMonck of

Edinburgh.

and

A CRITICAL DISSERTATION ON THE

P O E M S OF O S S I A N , THE

SON OF FINGAL. AMONG the m o n u m e n t s remaining of the ancient state of the n a t i o n s , few are m o r e valuable than their poems o r songs. H i s t o r y , w h e n it treats of remote and dark ages, is seldom very instructive. The beginnings of society, in every c o u n t r y , are involved in fabulous confusion; a n d t h o u g h they w e r e n o t , they would furnish few events w o r t h recording. B u t , in every period of society, h u m a n m a n n e r s are a curious spectacle; and the most n a t u r a l pictures of ancient m a n n e r s are exhibited in the ancient poems of nations. T h e s e present to u s , what is m u c h m o r e valuable than t h e history of such transactions as a r u d e age can afford, T h e history of h u m a n imagination and passion. They make us acquainted with the notions and feelings of o u r fellow-creatures in the most artless ages; discovering what objects they a d m i r e d , and what pleasures

2U

A CRITICAL DISSERTATION

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 observes 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 productions of uncultivated ages to b e ; but abounding, at the same time, with that enthusiasm, that vchemence and fire, which are the soul of poetry. For many circumstances of those times which we call barbarous, are favourable to the poetical spirit. T h a t state, in which human nature shoots wild and f r e e , 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 every thing 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

ON THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.

215

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, of 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, aud at the same time, from fervour and enthusiasm, to correctness and precision. Style becomes more chaste, but less animated. The progress of the world in this rcspcct 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

216

A CRITICAL DISSERTATION

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 lone. 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

ON THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.

217

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 characlcristical 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 cast, 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 Galic, which we arc about to consider. Though the Goths, under which name we usually comprehend all the Scandinavian tribes, were a people altogether lierce 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.1 Saxo Grammaticus, a Danish I Olaus Wormius, in the appendix lo 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 ,vere no fewer than 136 different kinds of measure, or verse, used in their

218

A CRITICAL DISSERTATION

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 Vysesi and though

w e are

a c c u s t o m e d to call r h y m e a G o t h i c i n v e n t i o n , he

»ays e x p r e s s l y , t h a t among all t h e s e m e a s u r e s , r h y m e , or c o r r e s p o n d e n c e o f final s y l l a b l e s ,

was never

employed.

the structure of one o f

He analyses

t h e s e k i n d s o f v e r s e , that in w h i c h t h e poein o f L o d b r o g , a f t e r w a r d s quoted, is w r i t t e n ;

which exhibits a very

singular s p e c i e s o f h a r m o n y ,

i f it can be

allowed that name, depending n e i t h e r upon r h y i n e n o r upon m e t r i c a l feet, or quantity o f syllables,

but c h i e f l y upon t h e number o f the s y l l a b l e s ,

disposition o f t h e l e t t e r s . e v e r y line s i x syllables.

and t h e

I n e v e r y s t a n z a w a s an equal number o f l i n e s : in In

each d i s t i c h ,

it w a s

requisite that t h r e e w o r d s

should begin w i t h t h e same l e t t e r ; t w o o f t h e corresponding w o r d s p l a c e d in t h e first line o f the d i s t i c h , t h e t h i r d , in t h e s e c o n d l i n e . also required

two s y l l a b l e s ,

same c o n s o n a n t s , g i v e s us t h e s e

but n e v e r the

or saine v o w e l s .

two L a t i n

As

an

final

ones,

example

lines constructed exactly

I n each l i n e w e r e

formed e i t h e r o f the

of this measure,

Olaus

a c c o r d i n g to t h e above

rules o f R u n i c v e r s e : C h r i s t u s c a p u t nostrum C o r o n e t t e bonis. T h e initial letters o f C h r i s t u s ,

Caput,

sponding l e t t e r s o f t h e distich.

and C o r o n e t ,

m a k e the

three

corre-

I n t h e first line, the first s y l l a b l e s o f ChristuK

and o f n o s t r u m ; in the second l i n e , the on in c o r o n e t and in b o n i s m a k e t h e requisite c o r r e s p o n d e n c e o f s y l l a b l e s . w e r e permitted in t h i s p o e t r y ;

F r e q u e n t i n v e r s i o n s and t r a n s p o s i t i o n s

w h i c h w o u l d naturally follow from

such la-

borious attention to the collocation o f w o r d s . T h e c u r i o u s in t h i s s u b j e c t Linguarum S e p t e n t r i o n a l i u m ;

may c o n s u l t l i k e w i s e

I)r. Hicks's

particularly the 23d c h a p t e r

Thesaurus

o f his Grammatica

A n g l o - S a x o n i c a et M e s o - G o t h i c a ; w h e r e t h e y w i l l find a full a c c o u n t o f t h e structure

o f the A n g l o - S a x o n

T h e y w i l l find also extract, Scalders, may

which

Dr. Hicks

has

given

entitled H e r v a r e r S a g a ,

be found

Dryden.

verse,

which

some s p e c i m e n s both

in the

6th

volume

nearly

resembled

o f G o t h i c and S a x o n

from t h e

containing

an

the

Gothic.

poetry.

An

w o r k o f one o f the D a n i s h evocation

of Miscellany Poems,

from

the

published

by

dead, Mr.

ON THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.

219

into his History. But his versions are plainly so paraphrastical, 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 Rúnica. II 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 Scolder 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 be 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. 1 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.'

i

i Pugnavimus ensibus Haud post longum tctnpus Cuin in Gotlandia a c c e s s i m u s A d serpentiet immensi necem T u n c i n i p e t r a v i m u s Thoram E x hoc v o c a r u n t me virum Quod s e r p e n t e m transfodi Hirsutain braccam ob ¡11am caedcin

220

A CRITICAL DISSERTATION

«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 C u s p i d e ictuin i n t u l i in colubrum F e r r o lucidoruin s t i p e n d i o r u m . II. M u l t u m j u v e n i s f u i quando a c q u U i v i m u s Oli en te in v e r s u s in Oreonico f r e t o V u l n e r u m anines a v i d e f e r e E t flavipedi avi A c c e p i m u s ibidem s o n u e r u n t A d s u b l i m e s galeas D u r a f e r r a magnam escam Omnia e r a t oceanus v u l n u s Yadavit c o r v u s in sanguine c e s o r u m . III. A l t e tulimus t u n c lanccas Quando viginti annos

numeravimus

E t celebrem laudein c o m p a r a v i m u s p a s s i m Vicimus o c t o b a r o n e s In o r i e n t e a n t e T)imini p o r t u m A q u i l e i m p e t r a v i i n u s t u n c sufficientcm H o s p i t i i s u m p t u m in ilia s t r a g e S u d o r decidit in v u l n e r u m Oceano p e r d i d i t e x e r c i t u s etatein. IV. P u g n e facta copia Cum H e l s i n g i a n o s p o s t u l a v i m u s Ad aulam Odini N a v e s d i r e x i m u s in ostium V i s t u l e IVIuero poluit turn m o r d e r e Omnis erat v u l n u s u n d a T e r r a r u b e f a c t a calido F r e n d e b a t gladias in lorica» Gladius fin de bat clypeos.

ON THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.

221

«prey, and the yellow-footed bird. There resounded the «hard steel upon the lofty helmets of men. The whole v. Meinini neminem t u n c f u g i s s e P r i u s q u a m in n a v i b u s H e r a u d u s in bello caderet N o n findit n a v i b u s Alius baro praestantior M a r c ad portuin In n a v i b u s longis post ilium Sic a t t u l i t p r i n c e p s p a s s i m A l a c r e in bellum cor. VI E x e r c i t u s abjecit c l y p e o s Cum h a s t a v o l a v i t A r d u a ad v i r o r u m pec tor a M o m o r d i t S c a r f o r u m caute» G l a d i u s in pugna Sanguineus erai clypeus A n t e q u a m H a f n o rex c a d e r e t F l u x i t ex virorum capitibiiH Calidus in l o r i c a s s u d o r . VII. H a b e r e p o t u e r u n t turn c o r v i A n t e I n d i r o r u m insulas Sufficienteiii prredain dilaniandam AcquisivimuN f e r i s c a r n i v o r i s P l e n u m prandiuin u n i c o actu Difficile erat u n i u s facerc mentionem Oriente sole S p i c u l a vidi p u n g e r e P r o p u l e r u n t arcus e x s e f e r r a . Vili A l t u m miigierunt e n s e s A n t e q u a m in L a n e o campo

222

A CRITICAL DISSERTATION

«ocean was one wound. >The crow waded in the blood of «the slain. When we had numbered twenty years, we E i s l i n u s r e x cecidit P r o c e s s i m u s auro ditati A d terrain p r o s t r a t o r u m dimicaodum G l a d i u s secuit clypeorum P i c t u r a s in galearuin conventi! C e r v i c u i n m u s t u m ex v u l n e r i b u s Diflusum p e r c e r e b r u m fissum. IX. T e n u i m u s c l y p e o s in s a n g u i n e Cum hastain u n x i m u s A n t e Boring holmum T e l o r u m n u b e s d i s r u m p u n t clvpeuin E x t r u s i t a r c u s ex se metallum Volnir cecidit in conflictu Non erat ilio rex major C a s i d i s p e r s i late p e r l i t t o r a F e r « a m p l e c t e b a n t u r escam. X-. Pugna manifeste crescebat Antequain F r e y r r e x c a d e r e t In F l a n d r o r u m terra C c p i t c s r u l e u s ad incidendum S a n g u i n e illitus in auream Lori cam in p u g n a D u r u s a r m o r u m m u c r o olim Virgo d e p l o r a v i t inatutinain lanienain Multa p r s d a dabatur feris. XI. C e n t i e s c e n t e n o s vidi j a c e r e In n a v i b u s Ubi ^ n g l a n e s

vocatur

N a v i g a v i m u s ad pugnam P e r sex dies antequam e x e r c i t u s caderet

ON THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.

223

«lifted our spears on high, and every where spread our «renown. Eight barons we overcame in the east, before T r a n s e g i m u s mucronum inissain I n exorlu solia C o a c t u s e s t p r o n o s t r i s gladiì» V a l d i o f u r in bello occuinbere. XII. R u i t p l u v i a sanguinis de gladii* P r c c e p s in B a r d a f y r d e Pallidum c o r p u s p r o a c c i p i t r i b u s M u r m u r a v i t a r c u s ubi mucro A c r i t e r mordebat loricas I n conflictu Odini p i l e u s galea C u c u r r i t a r c u s ad v u l n u s V e n e n a t e a c u t u s c o n s p e r s u s sudore sanguineo. XIII. T e n u i i n u s magica s c u t a A l t e in p u g n s ludo A n t e Hiadningum sinum Viderc licuit turn viro» Qui gladtis l a c e r a r u u t clypeo» I n gladiatorio m u r m u r e Gale« attrite virorum E r a t s i c u t splendida»! virginciu I n lecto j u x t a s e collocare. XIV Dura v e n i t t e m p e s t a « clypeis C a d a v e r cecidit in terrain In N o r t u i n b r i a E r a t circa m a t u t i n u m tempus Hoininibus n e c e s s u m erat f u g e r e E x p r s l i o ubi a c u t e Cassidis campos mordebant gladii E r a t hoc v e l u t i j u v e n e m viduam I n primaria sede osculari.

224

A CRITICAL DISSERTATION

«the port o f D i m i n u m ; and plentifully we feasted the eagle «in that slaughter. The warm stream of wounds ran into xv. H e r i h i o f e evasit fortun&tus l a Australibus Orcadibus V i c t o r i a in n o s t r i s

Cogebatur in a r m o r u m Rogvaldus

ipse

hominibus nimbo

occumbere

Iste venit summus super

accipitres

L u c t u s in gladioruin ludo Strenue jactabat

concussor

G a l e e s a n g u i n i s teli. XVI Quilibet jacebut traiisversim supra

alium

G a u d e b a t p u g n a lrctus A c c i p i t e r ob g l a d i o r u i n

ludum

Non fecit aquilam aut a p r u m Qui I r l a n d i a u t Conventus

gubernavit

fiebat

f e r r i et

clypei

JVlarstanus r e x j e j u n i » K i e b a t in v e d r e

sinu

P r e d a data corvis. XVII. Bellatorem inulluin vidi Mane ante

cadere

niachsram

Virum in m u c r o n u m Filio meo incidit

dissidio

mature

Gladius juxta cor Egillus fecit A g n e r u m

spoliatutn

l m p e r t e r r i t u m viruin

vita

Sonuit lancea prope

Hamdi

Griseain loricain s p l e n d e b a n t

vexilla.

XVIII. Verborum tenaces vidi Haud minutim pro

dissecare

lupis

ON T H E POEMS OF OSSIAN.

225

«the ocean. The army fell before us. W h e n w e steered «our ships into the mouth of the Vistula, w e sent the Endili maris ensibus Erat per Hebdomads

spatium

Quasi m u l i c r e s v i n u m apportar en t R u b e f a c t « e rant n a v e s V a l d e in s t r e p i t ì i armorum S c i s s a erat l o r i c a In S c i o l d u n g o r u m

prelio. XIX.

Pulchricomum vidi

crepusculascere

V i r g i n i a amatorem c i r c a matutinum E t c o n f a b u l a t i o n i s amicum viduarutn E r a t s i c u t caliduin balneum Vinci vasis nympha portaret N o s in l i s

freto

Antequain Orn rex caderet Sanguineum clypeuin vidi ruptum Hoc i n v e r t i i virorum

vitam.

XX. E g i m u s g l a d i o r u m ad c s d e m L u d u m in L i n d i s i n s u l a C u m r e g i b u s tribus P a u c i p o t u e r u n t inde l e t a r i C e c i d i t m u l t u s in rictuin f e r a r u m A c c i p i t e r d i l a n i a v i t c a r n e m cuin lupo U t s a t u r i n d e di9cederet H y b e r n o r u m s a n g u i s in o c e a n u m C o p i o s e decidit p e r m a c t a t i o n i s tempue. XXI. A l t e g l a d i u s inordebat

Clypeos

T u n c c u m aurei c o l o r i s H a s t a fricabat l o r i c a s V i d e r e l i c u i t in Onlugs i n s u l a P e r s e c u l a inultuin p o s t Ibi f u i t ad g l a d i o r u m l u d o s OSSIAN

LI.

226

A CRITICAL DISSERTATION

«Helsingians to the Hall of Odin. Then did the sword «bite. The waters were all one wound. The earth was Reg e 3 p r o c e s s e r u n t R u b i c u n d u i n e r a t circa insulain A t volans Draco vulnerum. XXII. Quid e s t v i r o f o r t i m o r t e c e r t i u s E t s i i p s e in armoruin nimbo A d v e r s u s collocatus s i t S s p e d e p l o r a t ©tatem Qui n u n q u a m p r e m i t u r Malum ferunt timidum incitare A q u i l a m ad gladiorum luduin Meticulosus venit nuspiam Cordi suo usui. XXIII. Hoc n u m e r o e q u u m u t p r o c e d a t In c o n t a c t u gladiorum J u v e n i s u n u s c o n t r a alterum Non r e t r o c e d a t v i r a v i r o Hoc f u i t viri f o r t i s nobilita» diu Seinper d e b e t a m o r i s a m i c u s virginuin A u d a x esse in f r e m i t u armoruin. XXIV. Hoc v i d e t u r m i h i r e v e r a Quod fata s e q u i m u r R a r u s t r a n s g r e d i t u r fata P a r c a r u m N o n destinavi E l l e Da v i t a exitu mete Cuin ego sanguinem s e m i i n o r t u u s E t n a v e s in a q u a s p r o t r u s i P a s s i m i m p r e t r a v i m u s tum f e r i s E s c a m in Scoti® s i n u b u s . XXV. Hoc r i d e r e me facit s e m p e r Quod Balderi patria s r a m n a

(egerein

ON THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.

227

«dyed red with the warm stream. The sword rung upon «the coats of mail, and clove the bucklers in twain. None P a r a t a scio in aula B i b e m u s c e r e v i s i a m brevi E x c o n c a v i s c r a t c r i b u s cranioruin N o n g e m i t v i r fortis contra mortem M a g n i f i c i in Odini d o m i b u s Non venio desperabundis V e r b i s ad Odini aulam. XXVI. H i e v e l l e n t nunc o m n e s F i l i i Aslaug® gladiia A m a r u i n bellum excitare S i exacte s c i r e n t Calamitate* n o s t r a s Quem non p a u c i a n g u e s Venenati ine d i s c e r p u n t M a t r e m accepi meis F i l i i s ita u t corda v a l e a n t . XXVII. Valdc i n c l i n a t u r ad h s r e d i t a t e m C r u d e l e stat nocumentuin a v i p e r a A n g u i s i n b a b i t a t aulam c o r d i s S p e r a m u s a l t e r i u s ad Othini Virgam in £11» sanguine Filiis meis l i v e s c e t Sua ira r u b e s c e t Non acres juvenes Sessionem tranquillam facient XXVIU. Ilabeo q u i n q u a g i e s F r s l i a s u b s i g n i s facta E x belli i n v i t a t i o n e et s e m e Minime p u t a v i liominum Quod me f u t u r u s e s s e t J u v e n i s didici mucroncm rubefacere

228

A CRITICAL DISSERTATION

«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 breasts of heroes. The sword bit the «Scarfian 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 Roman poet would have introduced the virgins Alius r e x p r x s t a n t i o r NOR Asa; i n v i t a b u n t Non e s t lugenda mors. XXIX. F e r t animus finire I n v i t a n t me Dysa: Quas ex O t h i n i aula O l h i n u s lnihi inisit Lietus cercvisiam ruin Asis In sumina sede bibain Vita; e l a p a s s u n t liorte R i d c n s moriar.

ON T H E POEMS OF OSSIAN.

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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 concludcs with sentiments of the highest bravery and contempt of death. «What is more certain «to the brave man than d e a t h , 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 t r u t h , that we are led by «the Fates. Seldom can any overcome the appointment of «destiny. Little did I foresee that E l l a 1 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 al«ways 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, I T h i s w a s llic name of his enemy w h o had condemned hiin to d e a t h .

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A CRITICAL DISSERTATION

«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 valour. I am fast approaching «to my end. A cruel death awaits mc 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 «1 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 feriocious spirit. It Is wild, harsh, and irregular; but at the same time animated and strong: the style, in the original, full of inversions, a n d , 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 the 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

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the softest feelings, and at the same time elevated with the highest ideas of magnanimity, generosity, a n d true heroism. W h e n w e t u r n from the poetry of L o d b r o g to that of Ossian, it j s like passing from a savage d e s e r t , into a fertile and cultivated country. H o w is this to b e accounted f o r ? Or by what means to b e reconciled with the r e m o t e antiquity attributed to these poems? This is a curious point; and requires to b e illustrated. T h a t t h e 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. T h e Celta;, a great and mighty people, altogether distinct from the Goths and Teutones, once extended their dominion over all the west of Europe; b u t seem to have had their m o s t full and complete establishm e n t in Gaul. W h e r e v e r the Celtaî or Gauls are m e n tioned by ancient writers, we seldom fail to hear of their Druids and their bards ; the institution of which two ord e r s , was the capital distinction of their manners and policy. T h e Druids were their philosophers and priests; t h e Bards, their poets and recorders of heroic actions: and b o t h these orders of m e n seem to have subsisted among t h e m , as chief m e m b e r s of t h e s t a t e , from time i m m e morial. 1 W e must not therefore imagine the Celtae to ' Toi(x (fij/.a i cor TIUTÛUTVIÛV âiarpeçôvTojç EOTÎ. Sâçôot te xat narfiç, y.ai ¿tfividai. Bâçôoi fiiv vjuvtjTai xcti noterai. S t r a b o . lib.

IV.

ElaC Tzao auroîç y.àt Tioii'raï iJtX