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toward Mora's shores. Cuthona shall rest on Mora; but the days of Toscar must be sad. shall sit in my cave in the field of the sun. 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 fall, O Rumar? Sad Cuthona foresees her death. Will not Conlath behold me, before I enter the narrow house?

Ossian. He shall behold thee, O maid! He comes along the heaving sea. The death of Toscar is dark on his spear. A wound is in his side! He is pale at the cave of Thona. He 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, 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 nore 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 heroes. She rests at the side of Conlath! Come not to my dreams, O Conlath! Thou hast received thy fame. Be thy voice far distant from my hall; that sleep may descend at night. O that I could forget my friends; till my footsteps should cease to be seen; till I come among

them with joy! and lay niy 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 filed 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.

at noon.

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

shall come.

His eyes will search the field, but they will not find me.' So shall they search in vain for the voice of Cona, after it has failed in the field. The hunter shall come forth in the morning, and the voice of my harp shall not be heard. "Where is the son of car-borne Fingal ?' The tear will be on his cheek! Then come thou, O Malvina ; with all thy music, come ! Lay 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


the wave, and the other looks sickly on the field!


His friends sit around the king, on mist! They hear the songs of Ullin; he strikes the half-viewless harp. He raises the feeble voice. The lesser heroes, with a thousand meteors, light the airy hall. Malvina rises in the midst: a blush is on her cheek. She beholds the unknown faces of her fathers. She turns aside her humid eyes. 'Art thou come so soon,' said Fingal, daughter of generous Toscar! Sadness dwells in the halls of Lutha. My aged son is sad! I hear the breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy locks. It comes to the hall, but thou art not there. Its voice is mournful among the arms of thy fathers! Go, with thy rustling wing, O breeze! sigh on Malvina' tomb. It rises yonder beneath the rock, at the blue stream of Lutha. The maids* are departed to their place. Thou alone, O breeze, mournest there!'

But who comes from the dusky west, supported on a cloud? A smile is on his gray, 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 clouds,' he says, 'O lovely light of Lutha? But thou wert sad, my daughter. Thy friends had passed away. The sons of little men were in the hall. None remained of the heroes, but Ossian king of spears!'

And dost thou remember Ossian, car-borne Toscar, 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

That is, the young virgins who sung the funeral elegy over her tomb.

• Their steps are in the paths of the flying!' Draw near, son of Alpin, to the song of the aged. The deeds of other times are in my soul. My memory beams on the days that are past : on the days of mighty Toscar, when our path was in the deep. Draw near, son of Alpin, to the last sound of the voice of Cona !

The king of Morven commanded. I raised my sails to the wind. Toscar chief of Lutha stood at my side; I rose on the dark blue wave. Our course was to sea-surrounded Berrathon, the isle of many storms. There dwelt, with his locks of age, the stately strength of Larthmor. Larthmor, who spread the feast of shells to Fingal, when he went to Starno's halls, in the days of Agandecca. But when the chief was old, the pride of his son arose; the pride of fair-haired Uthal, the love of a thousand maids. He bound the aged Larthmor, and dwelt in his sounding halls!

Long pined the king in his cave, beside his rolling sea. Day did not come to his dwelling; nor the burning oak by night. But the wind of ocean was there, and the parting beam of the moon. The red star looked on the king, when it trembled on the western wave.

Snitho came to Selma's hall; Snitho the friend of Larth. mor's youth. He told of the king of Berrathon : the wrath of Fingal arose. Thrice he assumed the spear, resolved to stretch his hand to Uthal. But the memory of his deeds rose before the king. He sent his son and Toscar. Our joy was great on the rolling sea. We often halfunsheathed 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

The red stars lift their heads on high. Our course is slow along the coast of Berrathuli.


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