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These wintry storms and deluges of rain,
Have long effac'd, and levell'd with the plain.
When such the permanence of deeds so late,
How short of human vanity the date!
Scarce a few stones o'er-grown with moss appear,.
Where dark Dunthalmo fell beneath my spear.
There, blind and grey, the aged sits at night,
Recounting o'er the flaming oak the fight.
The foe dispers'd or dead, we Calthon found
MAL-ORCHOL, on account of some family feuds, refusing to give his daughter in marriage to Ton-thormod, the tatter, in revenge, lays waste his lands. Fingal sends Ossian to the assistance of Mal-orchol. Ossian, the day after his arrival, takes his adversary prisoner in battle. On this, Mal-orchal offers him his daughter; but she discovering a prior attachment to Ton-thormod, he generously surrenders her to that Chief, and brings about a reconciliation between him and the father.
The poem begins with an address to Malvina.
A S over Larmon's lofty hills of grass,
In spring, bright gleams of genial sunshine pass;
Successive thus, inspiring warlike lays,
Beam on my soul the tales of other days.
When other bards, forgetful of the strain,
With harps unstrung, the heady goblet drain;
While, stretch'd supine, they sleep at ease prolong,
Oft comes a voice that bids me raise the song.
It is the sacred voice of ages gone,
Recalling Chiefs who mighty deeds have done.
By their heroic actions set on fire,
I start from rest, and strike my sounding lyre:
I strjke—nor are its notes a troubled stream,
They calm the soul, like fair Malvina's theme,
When her white hand awakes the quiv'ring string,
And Lutha's rugged rocks responsive ring.