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of Conmor Sul-malla heard the dreadsul shield, and rose, amid the night. Her steps are towards the king of Atha. “Can danger shake his daring soul?” In doubt, she stands with bending eyes. Heaven bul us with all its stars. Again the shield resounds! . She rushed. She stopt Her voice half rose. It failed. She saw him, amidst his arms, that gleamed to heaven's fire. She saw him dim in his locks, that rose to nightly wind. Away, for fear, she turned her steps. “Why should the king of Erin awake o Thou art not a dream to his rest, daughter of Inis-huna.” More dreadful rings the shield. Sul-malla starts. Her helmet falls. Loud echoes Lubar's rock, as over it rolls the steel. Bursting from the dreams of night, Cathmor half rose beneath his tree. He saw the form of the maid above him, on the rock. A red star, with twinkling beams, looked through her floating hair. “Who comes through night to Cathmor in the season of his dreams ? Bring'st thou aught of war? Who art thou, son of night? Stand'st thou before me, a form of the times of old a voice from the fold of a cloud, to warn me of the danger of Erin " “Nor lonely scout am I, nor voice from folded cloud,” she said, “but I warn thee of the danger of Erin. Dost thou hear that sound ! It is not the feeble, king of Atha, that rolls his signs on night.” “Let the warrior roll his signs,” he replied, “...o Cathmor they are the sounds of harps. My joy is great, voice of night, and burns over all my thoughts, This is the music of kings, on lonely hills, by night; when they light their daring souls, the sons of mighty deeds! The feeble dwell alone, in the valley of the breeze; where mists list their morning skirts, from the blue-winding streams.” “Not feeble king of men, were they, the fathers of my race. They dwelt in the folds of battle, in their distant lands. Yet delights not my soul in the signs of death! He, who never yields, comes forth: O send the hard of peace " Like a dropping rock in the desert, stood Cathmor in his tears. Her voice came, a breeze on his soul, and waked the memory of her land; where she dwelt by her peaceful streams, before he came to the war of Comor. “Daughter of strangers,” he said, (she trembling turned away,) “long have I marked thee in thy steel, young pine of Inis-huna. But my soul, I said, is folded in a storm. Why should that beam arise, till my steps return in peace Have I been pale in thy presence, as thou bid'st me to fear the king 2 The time of danger, O maid, is the season of my soul; for then it swells a mighty stream, and rolls me on the foe. “Beneath the moss-covered rock of Lona, near his own loud stream; gray in his locks of age, dwells Clonmal king of harps. Above him is his ceiloing tree, and the dun bounding of roes. The noise of our strife reaches his car, as he bends in the thoughts of years. There let thy rest be, Sul-malla, until our battle cease. Until 1 return, in my arms, from the skirts of the cvening mist, that rises on Lona, round the dwelling of my love.” A light sell on the soul of the maid: it rose kindled before the king. She turned her face to Cathmor, from amidst her waving locks. “Sooner shall the 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 sigm the strise of renown. Soon may I see thee, war. rter, from the skirts of the evening mist, when it is roiled 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 midst of Inis-hunal” “Young branch of green-headed Lumon, why lost. throu 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 Son-mor, over his brother's fall. His spouse beheld the silent king and foresaw his steps in war. She prepared the bow, in secret, to attend her blue-shielded hero. To her dwelt darkness at Atha, when he was not there. From their hundred streams, by night, poured down the sons of Alnecma. They had heard the shield of the king, and their rage arose. In clanging arms, they moved along towards Ullin of the groves. Son-mor struck his shield, at times the leader of the 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 slep; without his blood; the blood which ought to te poured upon the warrior's tomb. “Nor rose the rage of Son-mor, but his days were

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silent and dark. Sul-allin wandered by her gray
stream. with her tearful eyes. Often did she look Gr
the hero, when he was folded in his thoughts. But she
shrunk from his eyes, and turned her lone steps away,
|Barles rose, like a tempest, and drove 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
sitield hung, high, in night: high on a mossy bough
ove. Lubar's streamy roar. Seven bosses rose on the
shield; the seven voices of the king, which his warriors
received, from the wind, and marked over all the tribes.

On each boss is placed a star of night: Canmathon with beams unshorn; Col-derna rising from a cloud; U-leicho robed in mist; and the soft beam of Cathlin littering on a rock. Smiling, on its own blue wave, f. half sinks its western light. The red eye of Berthin looks, through a grove, on the hunter, as he returns, by night, with the spoils of the bounding roe. Wide, in the midst, rose 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 sails of the king, towards streamy Inis-sail; dun night was rolled before him, with its skirts of mist. Uuconstant 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 him rejoiced the king, as the traveller, in the day of the sun; when he hears, far rolling around, the murmuf of mossy streams: streams that burst in the desert, from the rock of roes.

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466 the PoeMS OF OSSIAN.

“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. O, sh 'll 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. IIigh 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 Inishuna's waves. Nor alone pleasant to Cathmor is the remembrance of wood-covered Lumon. Lumon of the *:reams, the dwelling of white-bosomed 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 lists its 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 daughters 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 inishuna. He mounts the wave on his own dark oak, in Cluba’s ridgy bay. That oak which he cut from Lumon, to bound along the sea. The maids turn their eyes away, lest the king should be lowly laid; for never had they secn a ship, dark rider of the wave' “Now he dares to call the winds, and to mix with the mist of ocean. Blue Inis-fail rose, in smoke; but dark-skirted night came down. The sons of Bolga feared. The fiery-haired Tom-théna rose. Culbin's boy received the ship, in the bosom of its echoing woods. There issued a stream from Duthuma's horrid

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* A hill, in Inus-huna, near the residence of Sul malla.

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