the chafe together? Purfued we not the dark-brown hinds? Colmar was not forgot till he fell till death had blafted his youth. I lie pale beneath the rock of Lona. O let Calthon rife! the morning comes with its beams; Dunthalmo will dishonour the fallen.' He paffed away in his blaft. The rifing Calthon saw the fteps of his departure. He rushed in the found of his fteel. Unhappy Colmal rofe. She followed her hero through night, and dragged her spear behind. But when Calthon came to Lona's rock, he found his fallen brother. The of his bofom rofe; he rushed among the foe. The groans of death afcend. They close around the chief. He is bound in the midft, and brought to gloomy Dunthalmo. The fhout of joy arose; and the hills of night replied. rage I ftarted at the found: and took my father's fpear. Diaran rose at my fide; and the youthful firength of Dargo. We miffed the chief of Clutha, and our fouls were fad. I dreaded the departure of my fame. The pride of my valour rofe! "Sons of Morven!" I said, "it is not thus our fathers fought. They rested not on the field of ftrangers, when the foe was not fallen before them. Their ftrength was like the eagles of heaven; their renown is in the fong. But our people fall by degrees. Our fame L 3 fame begins to depart. What shall the king of Morven fay, if Offian conquers not at Teutha? Rife in your fteel, ye warriors! follow the found of Offian's courfe. He will not return, but renowned, to the echoing walls of Selma." Morning rofe on the blue waters of Teutha. Colmal ftood before me in tears. She told of the chief of Clutha: thrice the fpear fell from her hand. My wrath turned against the stranger; for my foul trembled for Calthon. "Son of the feeble hand!" I faid, "do Teutha's warriors fight with tears? The battle is not won with grief; nor dwells the figh in the foul of war. Go to the deer of Carmun, to the lowing herds of Teutha. But leave thefe arms, thou fon of fear! A warrior may lift them in fight.” I tore the mail from her shoulders. Her fnowy breaft appeared. She bent her blushing face to the ground. I looked in filence to the chiefs. The fpear fell from my hand; the figh of my bofom rofe! But when I heard the name of the maid, my crowding tears rushed down. I bleffed the lovely beam of youth, and bade the battle move! Why, fon of the rock, fhould Offian tell how Teutha's warriors died? They are now forgot in their land; their tombs are not found on the heath. Years came on with their ftorms. The green mounds are mouldered away. Scarce is the grave of Dunthalmo seen, or the place where he fell by the spear of Offian. Some grey warrior, half blind with age, fitting by night at the flaming oak of the hall, tells now my deeds to his fons, and the fall of the dark Dunthal mo. The faces of youth bend fidelong towards his voice. Surprize and joy burn in their eyes! I found Calthon bound to an oak; my fword cut the thongs from his hands. I gave him the white-bofomed Colmal. They dwelt in the halls of Teutha. |