A blast sustained his dark-skirted cloud; which he seized in the bosom of night, as he rose, with his fame, towards his airy hall. Half-mixed with the noise of the stream, he poured his feeble words. "Joy meet the soul of Cathmor. His voice was heard on Moi-lena. The bard gave his song to Cairbar. He travels on the wind. My form is in my father's hall, like the gliding of a terrible light, which darts across the desert in a stormy night". No bard shall be wanting at thy tomb, when thou art lowly laid. The sons of towards the end. In all these poems, the visits of ghosts to their living friends are short, and their language obscure, both which circumstances tend to throw a solemn gloom on these supernatural scenes. Towards the latter end of the speech of the ghost of Cairbar, he foretels the death of Cathmor, by enumerating those signals, which, according to the opinion of the times, preceded the death of a person renowned. It was thought that the ghosts of deceased bards sung, for three nights preceding the death (near the place where his tomb was to be raised) round an unsubstantial figure, which represented the body of the person who was to die. MACPHERSON. 12 Like the gliding of a terrible light, which darts across the desert in a stormy night.] "Which winds through the desert," in the first editions. From MILTON, Par. Lost, iv. 555. Thither came Uriel, gliding through the even On a sun-beam, swift as a shooting star In autumn thwarts the night. song love the valiant. Cathmor, thy name is a pleasant gale. The mournful sounds arise! On Lubar's field there is a voice! Louder still, ye shadowy ghosts '3! The dead were full of fame! Shrilly swells the feeble sound. The rougher blast alone is heard! Ah, soon is Cathmor low!" Rolled into himself he flew, wide on the bosom of winds. The old oak felt his departure, and shook its whistling head. Cathmor starts from rest '4. He takes his deathful spear. He lifts 13 Louder still, ye shadowy ghosts.] DRYDEN's St Cecilia. A louder yet, and yet a louder strain————— These are Grecian ghosts that in battle were slain, Inglorious on the plain. E converso, "The dead were full of fame." And this unintel- 14 Cathmor starts from rest.] POPE's Iliad, xxiii. 119. He lifts his eyes around." DRYDEN'S St Cecilia. his eyes around. He sees but dark-skirted night. "It's was the voice of the king," he said. "But now his form is gone. Unmarked is your path in the air, ye children of the night". Often, like a reflected beam, are ye seen in the desert wild but ye retire in your blasts, before our steps approach. Go then, ye feeble race! Knowledge with you there is none"! Your joys 15 The soliloquy of Cathmor suits the magnanimity of his character. Though staggered at first with the prediction of Cairbar's ghost, he soon comforts himself with the agreeable prospect of his future renown; and, like Achilles, prefers a short and glorious life, to an obscure length of years in retirement and ease. MACPHERSON. Not only the situation, but the speech of Cathmor, when awakened by the departure of Cairbar's ghost, is the same with that of Achilles on the disappearance of the ghost of Patroclus; and the preceding note removes all doubt of the intended imitation. 16 But now his form is gone. Unmarked is your path in the air, ye children of the night.] POPE's Iliad, xxiii. 124. The form subsists without the body's aid, Alas! how different! yet how like the same! 17 Go then, ye feeble race! Knowledge with you there is none.] Iliad, xxiii. 103. See Fingal, ii. 10, are weak, and like the dreams of our rest, or the light-winged thought, that flies across the soul'. Shall Cathmor soon be low? Darkly laid in his narrow house? Where no morning comes, with her half-opened eyes 19? Away, thou shade! to fight is mine! All further thought away *°! I rush forth, on eagle's wings, to seize my beam of fame. In the lonely vale 20 of streams, abides the narrow soul. Years roll Ω πόποι, ἤ ῥά τις ἐστί καὶ εἶν ἀΐδαο δόμοισι Ψυχὴ καὶ εἴδωλον, ἀτὰς ΦΡΕΝΕΣ ΟΥΚ ΕΝΙ πάμπαν "In the halls of relentless death, some spirit, some image remains, but all knowledge departs from the dead." MACPHERSON'S Homer, ii. 361. 18 Like the dreams of our rest, or the light-winged thought that flies across the soul.] En. vi. 702. Par levibus ventis, volucrique simillima somno. Like winds or empty dreams that fly the day. DRYDEN. 19 Where no morning comes with her half-opened eyes.] Supra, 5. Neither let it see the eyelids of the morning. Job, iii. 9. His eyes are like the eyelids of the morning. Id. xli. 18. 20 Away, thou shade! to fight is mine! All farther thought away.] MASON's Elfrida; Away, ye goblins all, Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt Away, ye elves, away, Shrink at ambrosial morning's living ray. on, seasons return, but he is still unknown ". In a blast comes cloudy death, and lays his grey head low. His ghost is folded in the vapour of the fenny field. Its course is never on hills, nor mossy vales of wind. So shall not Cathmor depart. No boy in the field was he, who only marks the bed of roes **, upon the echoing hills. My issuing forth was with kings. My joy in dreadful plains: where broken hosts are rolled away, like seas before the wind.” 22 So spoke the king of Alnecma, brightening in his rising soul. Valour, like a pleasant flame, is gleaming within his breast 3. Stately is his 11 Years roll on, seasons return, but he is still unknown.] Par. Lost, iii. 40. Then with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn. 22 No boy in the field was he, who only marks the bed of roes.] Supra, ii. 16. From THOMSON's Spring. Not so the boy: He, wondering, views the bright inchantment bend To catch the falling glory. The first imitation is often better disguised than the second, in which the peculiar phraseology betrays the original. 23 Valour, like a pleasant flame, is gleaming within his breast.] From two detached lines in DRYDEN's Virgil, Æn. ii. 801. |