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 head 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 showed its streams to the morn. Come from the watching of night, Malvina, lonely beam! 27 THE DEATH OF OSCAR. A POEM. INTRODUCTION. One of the fragments of ancient poetry lately published, gives a different account of the death of Oscar, the son of Ossian. The translator, though he well knew the more probable traditions concerning that hero, was unwilling to reject a poem, which, if not really of Ossian's composition, has much of his manner and concise turn of expression. A more correct copy of that fragment, which has since come into the translator's hands, has enabled him to correct the mistake, into which a similarity of names had led those who handed down the poem by tradition. The heroes of the piece are Oscar the son of Caruth, and Dermid the son of Diaran. Ossian, or perhaps his imitator, opens the poem with a lamentation for Oscar, and afterwards, by an easy transition, relates the story of Oscar the son of Caruth, who seems to have borne the same character, as well as name, with Oscar the son of Ossian. Though the translator thinks he has good reason to reject the fragment as the composition of Ossian, yet as it is, after all, still somewhat doubtful whether it is or not, he has here subjoined it. spring of my grief, O son of Al- WHY openest thou afresh the pin, inquiring how Oscar fell? but memory beams on my heart. ful death of the head of the people! my son, shall I see thee no more! He fell as the moon in a storm; as the sun from the midst of his course, when clouds rise from the waste of the waves, when the blackness of the storm inwraps the rocks of Ardannider. I, like an ancient oak on Morven, I moulder alone in my place. The blast hath lopped my branches away: and I tremble at the wings of the north. Chief of the warriors, Oscar my son! shall I see thee no more! But, son of Alpin, the hero fell not harmless as the grass of the field; the blood of the mighty was on his sword, and he tra velled with death through the ranks of their pride. But Oscar, thou son of Caruth, thou hast fallen low! No enemy fell by thy hand. Thy spear was stained with the blood of thy friend. Dermid and Oscar were one: they reaped the battle together. Their friendship was strong as their steel; and death walked between them to the field. They came on the foe like two rocks falling from the brows of Ardven. Their swords were stained with the blood of the valiant: warriors fainted at their names. Who was equal to Oscar, but Dermid ? and who to Dermid, but Oscar? They killed mighty Dargo in the field; Dargo who never fled in war. His daughter was fair as the morn; mild as the beam L of night. Her eyes like two stars in a shower; her breath the gale of spring: her breasts, as the new-fallen snow floating on the moving heath. The warriors saw her, and loved; their souls were fixed on the maid. Each loved her as his fame; each must possess her or die. But her soul was fixed on Oscar; the son of Caruth was the youth of her love. She forgot the blood of her father; and loved the hand that slew him. Son of Caruth, said Dermid, I love; O Oscar, I love this maid. But her soul cleaveth unto thec, and nothing can heal Dermid. Here, pierce this bosom, Oscar; relieve me, my friend, with thy sword. My sword, son of Diaran, shall never be stained with the blood of Dermid. Who then is worthy to slay me, O Oscar, son of Caruth? Let not my life pass away unknown. Let none but Oscar slay me. Send me with honour to the grave, and let my death be renowned. Dermid, make use of thy sword; son of Diaran, wield thy steel. Would that I fell with thee! that my death came from the hand of Dermid ! They fought by the brook of the mountain, by the streams of Branno. Blood tinged the running water, and curdled round the mossy stones. The stately Dermid fell, he fell, and smiled in death. And fallest thou, son of Diaran, fallest thou by Oscar's hand! Dermid who never yielded in war, thus do I see thee fall! He went and returned to the maid of his love; he returned, but she perceived his grief. Why that gloom, son of Caruth? what shades thy mighty soul? Though once renowned for the bow, O maid, I have lost my fame. Fixed on a tree by the brook of the hill, is the shield of the valiant Gormur, whom I slew in battle. I have wasted the day in vain, nor could my arrow pierce it. Let me try, son of Caruth, the skill of Dargo's daughter. My hands were taught the bow; my father delighted in my skill. He stood behind the shield. Her arrow flew and pierced his breast. She went. Blessed be that hand of snow; and blessed that bow of yew! Who but the daughter of Dargo was worthy to slay the son of Caruth? Lay me in the earth, my fair one; lay me by the side of Dermid. Oscar! the maid replied, I have the soul of the mighty Dargo. Well pleased I can meet death. My sorrow I can end. She pierced her white bosom with the steel. She fell; she trembled ; and died. By the brook of the hill their qual shade covers their tomb. graves are laid! a birch's une Often on their green earthen tombs the branchy sons of the mountain feed, when mid-day is all in flames, and silence over all the hills. THE SONGS OF SELMA. ARGUMENT. Address to the evening star. Apostrophe to Fingal and his times. Minona sings before the king the song of the unfortunate Colma; and the bards exhibit other specimens of their poetical talents; according to an annual custom established by the monarchs of the ancient Caledonians. STAR of descending night! fair is thy light in the west! thou liftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud: thy steps are stately on thy hill. What dost thou behold in the plain; the stormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings; the hum of their course is on the field. What dost thou behold, fair light? But thou dost smile and depart. The waves come with joy around thee: they bathe thy lovely hair. 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, gray-haired Ullin! stately Ryno! Alpin,* with the tuneful voice! the soft complaint of Minona! How are ye changed, my friends, since the days of Selma's feast? when we contended, like gales of spring, as they fly along the hill, and bend by turns the feebly-whistling grass. * Alpin is from the same root with Albion, or rather Albin, the ancient name of Britain; Alp, high island, or country. The present name of our island has its origin in the Celtic tongue; so that those who derived it from any other betrayed their ignorance of the ancient language of our country. Brait or Braid, extensive; and in, land. |