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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-thony. Our tombs are not seen in our isle.
How long shall our fame be unheard, son of resounding Selina ?
Ossian. O that mine eyes could behold thee! Thou sittest, dim on thy cloud! Art thou like the mist of Lano ? An half-extinguished me. teor of fire ? Of what are the skirts of thy robe ? Of what is thine airy bow? Heis gone on his blast like the shade of a wandering cloud. Come from thy wall, O harp! Let me hear thy sound. Let the light of memory rise on I-thona! Let me behold again my friends! And Ossian does behold his friends, on the dark blue isle. The cave of Thona appears,
rocks and bend. ing trees. A stream roars at its mouth. Tos. car bends over its course. Fercuth is sad by his side. Cuthona sits at a distance and weeps. Does the wind of the waves deceive me? Or do I hear them speak ?
To car. The night was stormy. From their hills the groaning oaks came down. darkly-tumbled beneath the blast.
The roaring waves climbed against our rocks. The lightning came often and showed the blasted fern. Fer. cuth! I saw the ghost who embroiled the night. Silent he stood, on that bank. His robe of mist flew on the wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man he seemed, and full of thought !
Fercuth. It was thy father, O Toscar. He foresees some death among his race. Such was his appearance on Cromla before the great Ma. ronnan fell. Erin of hills of grass ! how pleasant are thy vales ! Silence is near thy blue streams. The sun is on thy fields. Soft is the sound of the harp in Seláma. Lovely the cry of the hunter on Crornla. But we are in dark
I-thona, surrounded by the storni. The bil. lows lift their white heads above our rocks. We tremble amidst the night.
Toscar. Whither is the soul of battle fled, Fercuth, with locks of age? I have seen thee undaunted in danger : thine eyes burning with joy in the fight. Whither is the soul of battle fled ? Our fathers never feared. Go; view the settling sea : the stormy wind is laid. The billows still tremble on the deep. They seem to fear the blast. Go; view the settling sea. Morning is gray on our rocks. The sun will look soon from his east ; in all his pride of light! I lifted up my sails with joy, before the halls of generous Conlath. My course was by
desert isle : where Cuthona pursued the deer. I saw her, like that beam of the sun that issues from the cloud. Her hair was on her heaving breast. She, bending forward, drew the bow. Her white arm seemed, behind her, like the snow of Cromla. Come to my soul, I said, huntress of the 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. 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
The people call it Mora. There the towers of my love arise. There Conlath looks over the sea for his only love. The daughters of the chase returned. He beheld their down.
• Where is the daughter of Rumar ? But they answered not. My peace dwells on Mora, son of the distant land !
Toscar. Cuthona shall return to her peace : to the towers of generous Conlath. He is the friend of Toscar ! I have feasted in his halls ! Rise ye gentle breezes of Erin. Stretch sails
toward Mora's shores. Cuthona shall rest on
but the days of Toscar inust be sad. i shall sit in my cave in the field of the sun. The blast will rustle in my trees, I shall think it is Cuthona's voice. But she is distant far, in the halls of the mighty Conlath!
Cuthona. Ha! what cloud is that? It carries the ghost of my fathers. I see the skirts of their robes, like gray and watery mist. When shall I fali, O Rumar? Sad Cuthona foresees her death. Will not Conlath behold me, before I enter the narrow house ?
Ossian. He sha!l behold thee, O maid ! He comes along the heaving sea. The death of Toscar is dark on his spear.
A wound is in his side! He is pale at the cave of Thona. He shows 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, G ye bards of future times, remember the fall of Conlath with tears. He fell before his day. Sadness darkened in his hall. His mother looked to his shield on the wall, and it was bloody. 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 nor.e 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 came. They found Cuthona cold. They raised a tomb over the he
She rests at the side of Conlath! Come not to my dreams, O Conlath! Thou hast re. ceived thy fame. Be thy voice far distant from my hall ; that sleep may descend at night. 0 that I could forget my friends ; till my footsteps should cease to be seen ; till I come among them with joy! and lay ny aged limbs in the narrow house!
Fingal, in his voyage to Lochlin, whither he had been in
vited by Starno, the father of Agandecca, touched at Berrathon, an island of Scandinavia, where he was kindly entertained by Larthmor, the petty king of the place, who was a vassal of the supreme kings of Lochlin.' The hospitality of Larthmor gained him Fingal's friendship, which that hero manifested, after the imprisonment of Larthmor by his own son, by sending Ossian and T'oscar, the father of Malvina, so often inentioned, to rescue Larthmor, and to punish the unnatural behaviour of Ulhal. Uthal was handsome, and, by the ladies, much admired. Nina-thoma the beautiful daughter of Torthoma, a neighbouring prince, fell in love and fled with him. He proved inconstant; for another lady, whose name is not mentioned, gaining his
affections, he confin. ed Nina-thoma to a desert island near the coast of Berrathon. She was relieved by Ossian, who, in company with Toscar, landing on Berrathon, defeated the forces of Uthal, and killed him in singal combat. Nina-thoma, whose love not all the bad behaviour of Uthal could erase, hearing of his death, died of grief. In the mean time Larthmor is restored, and Ossian and Toscar return
in triumph to Fingal. The poem opens with an clegy on the death of Malvina,
the daughter of Toscar, and closes with the presages of Ossian's death.
BEND thy blue course, O stream ! round the narrow plain of Lutha. Let the green woods hang over it, from their hills ; the sun look on it
The thistle is there on its rock, and shakes its beard to the wind. The flower hangs its heavy head, waving, at times, to the gale.
Why dost thou awake me, O gale ?' it seems to say: 'I am covered with the drops of heaven. The time of my fading is near, the blast that shall scatter my leaves. To-morrow shall the traveller come; he that saw me in my beauty
His eyes will search the field, but they will not find me.' So shall they search in vain for the voice of Cona, after it has failed in the field. The hunter shall come forth in the morning, and the voice of my harp shall not be heard. "Where is the son of car-borne Fingal ?' The tear will be on his cheek! Then come thou, O Malvina ; with all thy music, come ! Lay Ose sian in the plain of Lutha : let his tomb rise in the lovely field.
Malvina! where art thou, with thy songs, with the soft sound of thy steps ? Son of Alpin, art thou near ? where is the daughter of Toscar? "I passed, O son of Fingal, by Torlutha’s mossy mails. 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 daugh ters 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 the mist.
Pleasant be thy rest, O lovely beam! soon hast thou set on our bills ! The steps of thy departure were stately, like the moon, on the blue-trembling wave. But thou hast left us in darkness, first of the maids of Lutha ! We sit, at the rock, and there is no voice ; no light but the meteor of fire ! Soon hast thou set, O Malvina, daughter of generous Toscar ! But thou risest like the beam of the east, among the spirits of thy friends, where they sit, in their stormy halls, the chambers of the thunder ! A cloud hovers over Cona. Its blue curling sides are high. The winds are beneath it, with their wings. Within it is the dwelling of Fingal. There the hero sits dark
His airy spear is in his hand. His shield, half.covered with clouds, is like the darkened moon; when one half still remains in