84 ther, who was supposed to have been cast away. When Carthon was three years old, Comhal, the father of Fingal, in one of his expeditions against the Britons, took and burnt Balclutha. Reuthamir was killed in the attack; and Carthon was carried safe away by his nurse, who fled farther into the country of the Britons. Carthon, coming to man's estate, was resolved to revenge the fall of Balclutha on Comhal's posterity. He set sail from the Clyde, and, falling on the coast of Morven, defeated two of Fingal's heroes, who came to oppose his progress. He was, at last, unwittingly killed by his father Clessammor, in a single combat. This story is the foundation of the present poem, which opens on the night preceding the death of Carthon; so that what passed before is introduced by way of episode. The poem is addressed to Malvina, the daughter of Toscar. CARTHON: A POEM. A TALE of the times of old! The deeds of days of other years! The murmur of thy streams, O Lora! brings back the memory of the past. The sound of thy woods, Garmallar, is lovely in mine ear. Dost thou not behold, Malvina, a rock with its head of heath? Three aged pines bend from its face; green is the narrow plain at its feet; there the flower of the mountain grows, and shakes its white head in the breeze. The thistle is there alone, shedding its aged beard. Two stones, half sunk in the ground, shew their heads of moss. The deer of the mountain avoids the place, for he beholds a dim ghost standing there*. The *It was the opinion of the times, that deer saw the ghosts of the dead. To this day, when beasts suddenly start, without any apparent cause, the vulgar think that they see the spirits of the deceased. mighty lie, O Malvina! in the narrow plain of the rock. A tale of the times of old! the deeds of days of other years! Who comes from the land of strangers, with his thousands around him? the sun-beam pours its bright stream before him; his hair meets the wind of his hills. His face is settled from war. He is calm as the evening beam, that looks, from the cloud of the west, on Cona's silent vale. Who is it but Comhal's son*, the king of mighty deeds! He beholds his hills with joy, he bids a thousand voices rise. "Ye have fled over your fields, ye sons of the distant land! The king of the world sits in his hall, and hears of his people's flight. He lifts his red eye of pride; he takes his father's sword. Ye have fled over your fields, sons of the distant land!" Such were the words of the bards, when they came to Selma's halls. A thousand lights † from the stranger's land rose, in the midst of the peo * Fingal returns here, from an expedition against the Romans, which was celebrated by Ossian, in a poem called The Strife of Crona. + Probably wax-lights; which are often mentioned as carried, among other booty, from the Roman province. ple. The feast is spread around; the night passed away in joy. Where is the noble Clessammor ‡, said the fair-haired Fingal? Where is the brother of Morna, in the hour of my joy? Sullen and dark he passes his days in the vale of echoing Lora: but, behold, he comes from the hill, like a steed in his strength, who finds his companions in the breeze; and tosses his bright mane in the wind. Blest be the soul of Clessammor; why so long from Selma? Returns the chief, said Clessammor, in the midst of his fame? Such was the renown of Comhal in the battles of his youth. Often did we pass over Carun to the land of the strangers: our swords returned, not unstained with blood: nor did the kings of the world rejoice. Why do I remember the times of our war? My hair is mixed with grey. My hand forgets to bend the bow I lift a lighter spear. O that my joy would return, as when I first beheld the maid; the white-bosomed daughter of strangers, Moina, with the dark blue eyes! Clessamb mor, mighty deeds. * Moina, soft in temper and person. We find the British names in this poem derived from the Gaelic, which Tell, said the mighty Fingal, the tale of thy youthful days. Sorrow, like a cloud on the sun, shades the soul of Clessammor. Mournful are thy thoughts, alone, on the banks of the roaring Lora. Let us hear the sorrow of thy youth, and the darkness of thy days! "It was in the days of peace," replied the great Clessammor, "I came, in my bounding ship, to Balclutha's + walls of towers. The winds had roared behind my sails, and Clutha's streams received my dark-bosomed ship. Three days I remained in Reuthamir's halls, and saw his daughter, that beam of light. The joy of the shell went round, and the aged hero gave the fair. Her breasts were like foam on the wave, and her eyes like stars of light: her hair was dark as the raven's wing her soul was generous and mild. My love for Moina was great: my heart poured forth in joy. "The son of a stranger came; a chief who loved the white-bosomed Moina. His words is a proof that the ancient language of the whole island was one and the same. † Balclutha, i. e. the town of Clyde, probably the Alcluth of Bede. Clutha, or Cluath, the Gaelic name of the river |