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O moon! from thy clouds ; be thy beam bright on his breast, that Comala may behold him in the light of his armour.
Comala. Stop, ye sons of the grave, till I behold my love! He left me at the chase alone. I knew not that he went to war. He said he would return with the night; the king of Morven is returned !
Why didst thou not tell me that he would fall, O trembling dweller of the rock ?* Thou sawest him in the blood of his youth ; but thou didst not tell Comala.
Melilcoma. What sound is that on Ardven? Who is that bright in the vale ? Who comes like the strength of rivers, when their crowded waters glitter to the moon ?
Comala. Who is it but the foe of Comala, the son of the king of the world ! Ghost of Fingal ! do thou, from thy cloud, direct Comala's bow. Let him fall like the hart of the desert. It is Fingal in the crowd of his ghosts. Why dost thou come, my love, to frighten and please my soul?
Fingal. Raise, ye bards, the song; raise the wars of the streamy Carun! Caracal has Aed from our arms along the field of his pride. He sets far distant like a meteor, that encloses a spirit of night, when the winds drive it over the heath, and the dark woods are gleaming around. I heard a voice, or was it the breeze of my hills ? Is it the huntress of Ardven, the white-handed daughter of Sarno ? Look from thy rocks, my love; let me hear the voice of Comala!
Comala. Take me to the cave of thy rest, O lovely son of death!
Fingal. Come to the cave of my rest. The storm is past, the sun is on our fields. Come to the cave of my rest, huntress of echoing Ardven!
* By the 'dweller of the rock' she means a Druid.
Comala. He is returned with his fame! I feel the right hand of his wars ! But I must rest beside the rock till my soul returns from my fear! O let the harp be near ! raise the song, ye daughters of Morna.
Dersagrena. Comala has slain three deer on Ardven, the fire ascends on the rock; go to the feast of Comala, king of the woody Morven !
Fingal. Raise, ye sons of song, the wars of the streamy Carun; that my white-handed maid may rejoice: while I behold the feast of my love.
Bards. Roll, streamy Carun, roll in joy, the sons of battle are fled! the steed is not seen on our fields; the wings of their pride spread on other lands. The sun will now rise in peace, and the shadows descend in joy. The voice of the chase will be heard ; the shields hang in the hall. Our delight will be in the war of the ocear., our hands shall grow red in the blood of Lochlin. Roll, streamy Carun, roll in joy, the sons of battle fled !
Melilcoma. Descend, ye light mists from high ! Ye moon-beams, lift her soul ! Pale lies the maid at the rock! Comala is no more !
Fingal. Is the daughter of Sarno dead; the white-bosomed maid of my love? Comala, on my heaths, when I sit alone at the streams of my hills.
Hidallan. Ceased the voice of the huntress of Ardven? why did I trouble the soul of the maid ? When shall I see thee, with joy, in the chase of the dark-brown hinds?
Fingal. Youth of the gloomy brow! No more shalt thou feast in my halls! Thou shalt not pursue my chase, my foes shall not fall by thy sword. Lead me to the place of her rest, that I may behold her beauty. Pale she lies as the rock, the cold winds lift her hair. Her
bow string sounds in the blast, her arrow was broken in her fall. Raise the praise of the daughter of Sarno! give her name to the winds of heaven.
Bards. See ! meteors gleam around the maid ! See! moon beams lift her soul! Around her, from their clouds, bend the awful faces of her father ; Sarno of the gloomy brow! the red rolling eyes of Fidallan!
When shall thy white hand arise ? When shall thy voice be heard on our rocks? The maids shall seek thee on the heath, but they shall not find thee. Thou shalt come, at times to their dreams, to settle peace in their soul. Thy voice shall remain in their ears, they shall think with joy on the dreams of their rest. Meteors gleam around the maid, and moon.beams lift her soul!
Fingal returning from an expedition which he had made into the Roman province, resolved to visit Cathula, king of Inistore, and brother to Comala, whose story is related at large in the preceding dramatic poem. Upon his coming, in sight of Carrie-thura, the palace of Ca. thulla, he observed a flame on its top, which, in those days, was a sigval of distress. The wind drove him into a bay, at some distance from Carric-thura, and he was obliged to pass the night on shore. Next day he attacked the army of Frothal, king of Sora, who had besieged Cathulla in his palace of Carrick-thura, and took Froo thal himself prisoner, after he had engaged him in a single comhat. The deliverance of Carric-thura is the subject of the poem; but several other episodes are interwoven with it. It appears, from tradition, that this poem was addressed to a Culdee, or one of the first Christian missionaries, and that the story of the spirit of Loda supposed to be the ancient Odin of Scandinavia, was introduced by Ossian in opposition to the Culdee's doctrine : Be this as it will, it lets us into Ossian's notions of a supe.
rior Being; and shows us that he was not addicted to the superstition which prevailed all the world over, before the introduction of Christianity.
Hast thou left thy blue course in heaven, golden-haired son of the sky! The west opened its gates; the bed of thy repose is there. "The waves come to behold thy beauty. They lift their trembling heads. They see thee lovely in thy sleep; they shrink away with fear. Rest, in thy shadowy cave, O sun ! let thy return bé. in joy.
But let a thousand lights arise to the sound of the harps of Selma: let the beam spread in the hall, the king of shells is returned! The strife of Crona is past, like sounds that are no
Raise the song, O bards ! the king is returned with his faine !
Such were the words of Ullin, when Fingal returned from war ; when he returned in
the fair blushing of youth, with all his heavy locks. His blue arms were on the hero; -like a light cloud on the sun, when he moves in his robes of mist, and shows but half his beams. His heroes followed the king : the feast of shells is spread. Fingal turns to his bards, and bids the song to rise.
Voices of echoing Cona! he said ; O bards of other times! Ye, on whose souls the blue host of our fathers rise ! strike the harp in my hall: and let me hear the song. Pleasant is the joy of grief; it is like the shower of spring, when it softens the branch of the oak, and the young leaf rears its green head. Sing on, O bards ! to-morrow we lift the sail. My blue course is through the ocean, to Carric-thura's
mossy walls of Sarno, where Comala dwelt. There the noble Cathulla spreads the feast of shells. The boars of his woods are many; the sound of the chase shall arise !
Cronnan, son of the song ! said Ullin Minona, graceful at the harp! raise the tale of Shilric, to please the king of Morven. Let Vinvela come in her beauty, like the showery bow, when it shows its lovely head on the lake, and the setting sun is bright. She comes, O Fingal ! her voice is soft, but sad.
Vinvela. My love is a son of the hill. He pursues the flying deer. His gray dogs are panting around him ; his how string sounds in the wind. Dost thou rest by the fount of the rock, or by the noise of the mountain stream ? The rushes are nodding to the wind, the mist flies over the hill. I will approach my love unseen; I will behold him from the rock. Lovely I sawwert returning tall from the Branno ; thou
thee first by the aged oak of chase; the fairest among thy friends.