eagle of heaven be torn, from the stream of his roaring wind, when he sees the dun prey, before him, the young sons of the bounding roe, than thou, O Cathmor, be turned from the strife of renown. Soon may I see thee, warrior, from the skirts of the evening mist, when it is rolled around me, on Lona of the streams. While yet thou art distant far, strike, Cathmor, strike the shield, that joy may return to my darkened soul, as I lean on the mossy rock. But if thou shouldst fall, I am in the land of strangers; O send thy voice, from thy cloud, to the maid of Inis-huna!" "Young branch of green-headed Lumon, why dost thou shake in the storm? Often has Cathmor returned, from darkly-rolling wars. The darts of death are but hail to me; they have often rattled along my shield. I have risen brightened from battle, like a meteor from a stormy cloud. Return not, fair beam, from thy vale, when the roar of battle grows. Then might the foe escape, as from my fathers of old. They told to Son-mor,* of Clunar, who was slain by Cormac in fight. Three days darkened Sonmor, over his brother's fall. His spouse beheld the * Són-mor, tall handsome man. He was the father of Borbar-duthul, chief of Atha, and grandfather to Cathmor himself. + Cluan-er, man of the field. This chief was killed in battle by Cormac Mac-Conar, king of Ireland, the father of Ros-crána, the first wife of Fingal. The story is alluded to in some ancient poems. silent king, and foresaw his steps to war. "Far behind followed Sul-allin,* over the streamy hills. She was a light on the mountain, when they crossed the vale below. Her steps were stately on the vale, when they rose on the mossy hill. She feared to approach the king, who left her in echoing Atha. But when the roar of battle rose; when host was rolled on host; when Son-mor burnt, like the fire of heaven in clouds, with her spreading hair came Sul-allin; for she trembled for her king. He stopt the rushing strife to save the love of heroes. The foe fled by night; Clunar slept without his blood; the blood which ought to be poured upon the warrior's tomb. "Nor rose the silent and dark. rage of Son-mor, but his days were Sul-allin wandered, by her grey streams, with her tearful eyes. Often did she look, on the hero, when he was folded in his thoughts. But she shrunk from his eyes, and turned her lone steps away. Battles rose, like a tempest, and drove * Suil-alluin, beautiful; the wife of Són mor. 1 the mist from his soul. He beheld, with joy, her, steps in the hall, and the white rising of her hands on the harp." *In his arms strode the chief of Atha, to where his shield hung, high, in night: bough, over Lubar's streamy roar. high on a mossy. Seven bosses rose on the shield; the seven voices of the king, which his warriors received, from the wind, and marked over all their tribes. On each boss is placed a star of night; Can-mathon with beams unshorn; Col-derna rising from a cloud: Uloicho robed in mist; and the soft beam of Cathlin glittering on a rock. Smiling, on its own blue wave, Reldurath half-sinks its western light. The red eye of Berthin looks, thro' a grove, on the hunter, as he returns, by night, with the spoils of the bounding roe. Wide, in the midst, arose the cloudless beams of Ton-théna, that star which looked, by night, on the course of the sea-tossed Larthon: Larthon, the first of Bolga's race, who travelled on the winds.+ White-bosomed spread the To avoid multiplying notes, I shall give here the signification of the names of the stars, engraved on the shield. Ceanmathon, head of the bear. Col-derna, slant and sharp beam. Ul-oicho, ruler of night. Cathlin, beam of the wave. Reuldurath, star of the twilight. Berthin, fire of the hill. Tonthéna, meteor of the waves. These etymologies, excepting that of Ceanmathon, are pretty exact. Of it I am not so certain; for it is not very probable, that the Firbolg had distinguished a constellation, so very early as the days of Larthon, by the name of the bear. + To travel on the winds, a poetical expression for sailing. sails of the king, towards streamy Inis-fail; dun night was rolled before him, with its skirts of mist. Unconstant blew the winds, and rolled him from wave to wave. Then rose the fiery-haired Ton-théna, and smiled from her parted cloud. Larthon* blessed the well-known beam, as it faint-gleamed on the deep. Beneath the spear of Cathmor, rose that voice which awakes the bards. They came, dark-winding, from every side; each with the sound of his harp. Before them rejoiced the king, as the traveller, in the day of the sun; when he hears, far-rolling around, the murmur of mossy streams; streams that burst, in the desert, from the rock of roes. Larthon is compounded of Lear, sea, and thon, wave. This name was given to the chief of the first colony of the Firbolg, who settled in Ireland, on account of his knowledge in navigation. A part of an old poem is still extant, concerning this hero. It abounds with those romantic fables of giants and magicians, which distinguished the compositions of the less ancient bards. The descriptions, contained in it, are ingenious, and proportionable to the magnitude of the persons introduced; but, being unnatural, they are insipid and tedious. Had the bard kept within the bounds of probability, his genius was far from being contemptible. The exordium of his poem is not destitute of merit; but it is the only part of it, that I think worthy of being presented to the reader. "Who first sent the black ship, thro' ocean, like a whale thro' the bursting of foam? Look, from thy darkness, on Cronath, Ossian of the harps of old! Send thy light on the bluerolling waters, that I may behold the king. I see him dark in his own shell of oak! sea-tossed Larthon, thy soul is strong. It is careless as the wind of thy sails; as the wave that rolls by thy side. But the silent green isle is before thee, with its sons, who are tall as woody Lumon; Lumon which sends from its top, a thousand streams, white-wandering down its sides." It may, perhaps, be for the credit of this bard, to translate no more of this poem, for the continuation of his description of the Irish giants betrays his want of judgment. Why," said Fonar, "hear we the voice of the king, in the season of his rest? Were the dim forms of thy fathers bending in thy dreams? Perhaps they stand on that cloud, and wait for Fonar's song; often they come to the fields where their sons are to lift the spear. Or shall our voice arise for him who lifts the spear no more; he that consumed the field, from Moma of the groves? "Not forgot is that cloud in war, bard of other times. High shall his tomb rise, on Moi-lena, the dwelling of renown. But, now, roll back my soul to the times of my fathers: to the years when first they rose, on Inis-huna's waves. Nor alone pleasant to Cathmor is the remembrance of wood-covered Lumon. Lumon of the streams, the dwelling of whitebosomed maids. "Lumon* of the streams, thou risest on Fonar's soul! Thy sun is on thy side, on the rocks of thy bending trees. The dun roe is seen from thy furze ; the deer lifts his branchy head; for he sees, at times, the hound, on the half-covered heath. Slow, on the vale, are the steps of maids; the white-armed daugh ters of the bow they lift their blue eyes to the hill, from amidst their wandering locks. Not there is the stride of Larthon, chief of Inis-huna. He mounts the wave on his own dark oak, in Cluba's ridgy bay, That oak which he cut from Lumon, to bound along : * Lumon was a hill, in Inis-huna, near the residence of Sul-malla. This episode has an immediate connection with what is said of Larthon, in the description of Cathmor's shield. |