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the ship of my love! when they rise round some ghost, and spread their grey skirts on the wind. Why dost thou delay thy coming, son of the generous Semo? Four times has autumn returned with its winds, and raised the seas of Togorma,* since thou hast been in the roar of battles, and Bragéla distant far! Hills of the isle of mist! when will ye answer to his hounds? But ye are dark in your clouds. Sad Bragéla calls in vain! Night comes rolling down. The face of ocean fails. The heath-cock's head is beneath his wing. The hind sleeps, with the hart of the desert. They shall rise with morning's light, and feed by the mossy stream. But my tears return with the sun. My sighs come on with the night. When wilt thou come in thine arms, O chief of Erin's wars ?”

Pleasant is thy voice in Ossian’s ear, daughter of car-borne Sorglan! But retire to the hall of shells ? to the beam of the burning oak. Attend to the murmur of the sea : it rolls at Dunscai's walls : let sleep descend on thy blue eyes. Let the hero arise in thy dreams!

Cuthullin sits at Lego's lake, at the dark rolling of waters. Night is around the hero. His thousands spread on the heath. A hundred oaks burn, in the

* Togorma, i. e. the island of blue waves, one of the Hebrides, was subject to Connal, the son of Caithbat, Cuthullin's friend. He is sometimes called the son of Colgar, froin one of that name who was the founder of the family. Connal, a few days before the news of Torlath's revolt came to Temora, had sailed to Togorma, his native isle; where he was detained by contrary winds during the war in which Cuthullin was killed.

the ship of my love! when they rise round some ghost, and spread their grey skirts on the wind. Why dost thou delay thy coming, son of the generous Semo? Four times has autumn returned with its winds, and raised the scas of Togorma,* since thou hast been in the roar of battles, and Bragéla distant far! Hills of the isle of mist! when will ye answer to his hounds? But ye are dark in your clouds. Sad Bragéla calls in vain! Night comes rolling down. The face of ocean fails. The heath-cock's head is beneath his wing. The hind sleeps, with the hart of the desert. They shall rise with morning's light, and feed by the mossy stream. But my tears return with the sun. My Fighs come on with the night. When wilt thou come 2 thine arms, O chief of Erin's wars?"

Pleasant is thy voice in Ossian's ear, daughter of er-borne Sorglan! But retire to the hall of shells ?

the beam of the burning oak. Attend to the murir of the sea : it rolls at Dunscai's walls : let sleep

end on thy blue eyes. Let the hero arise in thy mis! uthullin sits at Lego's lake, at the dark rolling of 3. Night is around the hero. His thousands I on the heath. A hundred oaks burn, in the

midst. The feast of shells is smoaking wide. Carril strikes the harp, beneath a tree. His grey locks glitter in the beam. The rustling blast of night is near, and lifts his aged hair. His song is of the blue Togorma, and of its chief, Cuthullin's friend ! “ Why art thou absent, Connal, in the day of the gloomy storm ? The chiefs of the south have convened, against the car-borne Cormac. The winds detain thy sails. Thy blue waters roll around thee. But Cormac is not alone. The son of Semo fights his wars ! Semo's son his battles fights! the terror of the stranger! He that is like the vapour of death, slowly borne by sultry winds. The sun reddens in its presence: The people fall around.”

Such was the song of Carril, when a son of the foe appeared. He threw down his pointless spear He spoke the words of Torlath! Torlath, chief of heroes, from Lego's sable surge! He that led his thousands to battle, against car-borne Cormac. · Cormac who was distant far, in Temora's * echoing halls : he learned to bend the bow of his fathers; and to lift the spear. Nor long didst thou lift the spear, mildlyshining beam of youth! death stands dim behind thee, like the darkened half of the moon, behind its growing light! Cuthullin rose before the bard,t that

gorma, i.e. the island of blue waves, one of the He. was subject to Connal, the son of Caithbat, Cuthullin's

He is sometimes called the son of Colgar, froin one of ne who was the founder of the family. Connal, a few ire the news of Torlath's revolt came to Temora, had Togorma, his native isle; where he was detained by rinds during the war in which Cuthullin was killed.

* The royal palace of the Irish kings ; Teamhrath, according to some of the bards.

of The bards were the heralds of ancient times; and their persons were sacred on account of their office. In later times they abused that privilege; and as their persons were inviolable, they satirised and lampooned so freely those who were not liked by their patrons, that they became a public nuisance. Screened under the character of heralds, they grossly abused the enemy when he would not accept the terms they offered.

came from generous Torlath. He offered him the shell of joy. He honoured the son of songs. “Sweet voice of Lego !” he said, “ what are the words of Torlath? Comes he to our feast or battle, the carborne son of Cantéla ?"*

“ He comes to thy battle,” replied the bard, “ to the sounding strife of spears. When morning is grey on Lego, Torlath will fight on the plain. Wilt thou meet him, in thine arms, king of the isle of mist?

Terrible is the spear of Torlath! it is a meteor of night. He lifts it, and the people fall ! death sits in the lightning of his sword !” “ Do I fear,” replied Cuthullin, “ the spear of car-borne Torlath ? He is brave as a thousand heroes : but my soul delights in war ! The sword rests not by the side of Cuthullin, bard of the times of old! Morning shall meet me on the plain, and gleam on the blue arms of Semo's son. But sit thou, on the heath, O bard! and let us hear thy voice. Partake of the joyful shell; and hear the songs of Temora !”

- This is no time,” replied the bard, “ to hear the song of joy : when the mighty are to meet in battle, like the strength of the waves of Lego. Why art thou so dark, Slimora !t with all thy silent woods?

* Cean-teola', head of a family. of Slia’mor, great hill.

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came from generous Torlath. He offered him the shell of joy. He honoured the son of songs. “Sweet voice of Lego!" he said, "what are the words of Torlath? Comes he to our feast or battle, the car. borne son of Cantéla ?"*

“ He comes to thy battle,” replied the bard, “ to the sounding strife of spears. When morning is grey on Lego, Torlath will fight on the plain. Wilt thou meet him, in thine arms, king of the isle of mist? Terrible is the spear of Torlath! it is a meteor of right. He lifts it, and the people fall ! death sits in dhe lightning of his sword !” “Do I fear," replied uthullin, “ the spear of car-borne Torlath? He is Lave as a thousand heroes : but my soul delights in ar! The sword rests not by the side of Cuthullin, rd of the times of old! Morning shall meet me on · plain, and gleam on the blue arms of Semo's son. t sit thou, on the heath, O bard ! and let us hear voice. Partake of the joyful shell; and hear the is of Temora !"

This is no time," replied the bard, to hear ing of joy: when the mighty are to meet in , like the strength of the waves of Lego. Why u so dark, Slimora !t with all thy silent woods?

No star trembles on thy top. No moon-beam on thy side. But the meteors of death are there: the grey watry forms of ghosts. Why art thou dark, Slimora! with thy silent woods ?" He retired, in the sound of his song. Carril joined his voice. The music was like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to the soul. The ghosts of departed bards heard on Slimora's side. Soft sounds spread along the wood. The silent valleys of night rejoice. So, when he sits in the silence of the day, in the valley of his breeze, the humming of the mountain bee comes to Ossian's ear : the gale drowns it in its course; but the pleasant sound returns again! Slant looks the sun on the field ! gradual grows the shade of the hill !

“ Raise,” said Cuthullin, to his hundred bards, “ the song of the noble Fingal : that song which he hears at night, when the dreams of his rest descend : when the bards strike the distant harp, and the faint light gleams on Selma's walls. Or let the grief of Lara rise: the sighs of the mother of Calmar, * when he was sought, in vain, on his hills ; when she beheld his bow in the hall. Carril, place the shield of Caithbat on that branch. Let the spear of Cuthullin

rised and lampooned so freely those who were not liked patrons, that they became a public nuisance. Screened

character of heralds, they grossly abused the enemy would not accept the terms they offered. --tcola', head of a family. nor, great hill.

* Calmar, the son of Matha. His death is related at large in the third book of Fingal. He was the only son of Matha; and the family was extinct in him. The seat of the family was on the banks of the river Lara, in the neighbourhood of Lego, and probably near the place where Cuthullin lay'; which circumstance suggested to him, the lamentation of Alclétha over her son.

be near ; that the sound of my battle may rise, with the grey beam of the eașt.” The hero leaned on his father's shield : the song of Lara rose ! The hundred bards were distant far: Carril alone is near the chief. The words of the song were his : the sound of his harp was mournful.

“ Alcletha * with the aged locks! mother of carborne Calmar ! why dost thou look towards the desert, to behold the return of thy son? These are not his heroes, dark on the heath: nor is that the voice of Calmar. It is but the distant grove, Alcletha ! but the roar of the mountain wind !” “ Whof bounds over Lara's stream, sister of the noble Calmar? Does not Alcletha behold his spear? But her eyes are dim! Is it not the son of Matha, daughter of my love ?"

It is but an aged oak, Alcletha !” replied the lovely weeping Alona f. “ It is but an oak, Alcletha, bent over Lara's stream. But who comes along the plain? sorrow is in his speed. He lifts high the spear of Calmar. Alcletha, it is covered with blood !" “ But it is covered with the blood of foes,ll sister of car-borne Calmar! His spear never returned unstained with blood : nor his bow from the strife of the mighty. The battle is consumed in his presence : he

* Ald-cla'tha, decaying beauty : probably a poetical name given the mother of Calmar, by the bard himself.

+ Alcletha speaks. Calmar had promised to return, by a certain day, and his mother and his sister Alona are represented as looking, with imparience, towards that quarter where they expected Calmar should make his first appearance.

Aluine, exquisitely bi autiful. ll Alcletha speaks.

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