"The plaintive tone of Ossian's harp I hear;" So shall he mournful say, and drop a tear.
But from a world of misery releas'd,
When these, now sightless eyes are clos'd in rest;
Then come Malvina, with thy music come!
And raise on Lutha's banks my lonely tomb;
That in the neighb'rhood of those verdant plains
Thy steps frequent, may lie my cold remains.
Inform me, son of Alpin, has not fame
Convey'd some tidings of the gentle dame?
Her soft approach, her soul-enchanting song,
Hath from our mountains now been absent long!
Unhappy bard! worn down with age and care, To hear afflicting news thy mind prepare. Know, passing lately by Tor-lutha's wall, No curling smoke ascended from the hall: Nor heard I voice of man, nor noise of hound; The trees were still, and silence reign'd around: With cheeks, no longer flush'd with beauties glow, All pale appear'd the sisters of the bow; And when for fair Malvina I inquir'd, They at her name, in silent grief retir'd:
Their eyes, like stars dim shining thro' a show'r, Were bath'd in tears-to speak they had not pow'r.
Then is for ever set that beam divine?
Too soon in Lutha hast thou ceast to shine!
As sinks the moon behind a cloud, and leaves
Involv'd in sudden gloom the trembling waves;
Such darkness follows thy departed light,
Of which depriv'd, to me tis double night!
Here lonely midst these rocks, forlorn and blind,
In future must I sit, without the kind,
The converse sweet, that soften'd all my ills,
For ever now departed from our hills!
Yet why lament the loss, since heav'n-way borne,
She rises brighter than the ruddy morn,
Amidst her kindred in the starry sky,
And there enjoys beatitude on high?
O'er Cona, far above the winged storm, Clouds heap'd on clouds an airy palace form; A globe immense, self-pois'd it floats on high, Another world between the earth and sky: There, as below, superior in the hall,
Sits leaning on his spear the great Fingal ;
There his broad shield, dim gleaming to the sight,
Looks like the pallid moon's departing light,
When half her orb in ocean dipt remains,
And other half beams sickly on the plains.
On mists around repose his warlike train,
Attentive to the sound of Ullin's strain;
Whose shadowy fingers press the scarce-seen strings,
While with a sweet, though feeble voice he sings.
The lesser chiefs officious round resort,
And with a thousand meteors light the court.
The lucid dome, Malvina slow ascends;
A lovely form she stands before her friends,
But new amidst th' assembly of the skies,
Turns bashful from their gaze her humid eyes.
At her approach, Fingal the fair accosts;
Comes Toscar's daughter to the realm of ghosts?
In Lutha sadness reigns, now thou art gone,
And sorrow dwells around my aged son!
Be cautious winds, when cleaving swift thro' air,
You next to Morven's heath-clad hills repair;
Molest not Lutha's solitary halls,
Upon the arms that hang around the walls
Breathe gently as you pass! for she, whose hair
You wont to lift, resides no longer there.
By yonder rock, where Lutha's waters flow,
A rigid corpse she silent slumbers now!
There whispering gales your balmy pinions spread,
There fragrance breathe around her mossy bed,
And when her maids, their dirge perform'd, go home,
Supply their place, and sigh upon her tomb.
But from the dusky west, with misty hair,
Who comes supported on an airy spear?
A smile is on his gray and wat'ry face;
Malvina! 'tis thy sire, his form embrace.
"Com'st thou," he cries,
bright object of my love, "So soon to shine upon our clouds above?
"But solitary left, and worn with care,
Thy wish was long to join thy friends in air,
"And quit a race of feeble men, that claim
"No kindred to their great forefather's fame :
"Of those brave chiefs, renown'd in former years,
"None now remain but Ossian, king of spears."
Then has not yet great Conloch's son forgot, Our early friendship, and the battles fought In foreign parts; when conqu'ring side by side, Our youthful valour first the combat tried. As from two falling rocks, the foe withdrew Where'er we charg'd, exclaiming as they flew; "This way yon chiefs resistless sweep the plain; "Destruction marks their course with heaps of slain!"
Haste son of Alpin, haste! convey my lyre;
The deeds of former times my soul inspire,
When eager of renown, I past the seas
With gallant Toscar, in my youthful days;
And while I sing, be near to con the lay;
It is the last that Ossian shall essay.
My canvass spreading, ('twas the king's command)
Before a prosperous gale I quitted land,
And bounded swift along the foaming tide,
With Toscar, lord of Lutha, by my side.
For distant Berrathon we bore away,
A land surrounded by the boist❜rous sea;
Where late the hospitable Larthmore reign'd,
Who at his board my father entertain'd;
Then when to Scandinavia's frozen clime,
He cross'd the sea in Agandecca's time.
But age no sooner trembled on the hand
Of the old man, than eager to command,
His son arose; a youth endow'd with grace
And outward form to please the female race.
He seiz'd the throne, and of a barb'rous mind,
His aged father in a grot confin'd;
A dreary vault! that never saw the beam
Of morning sun, or oak by night to flame:
The mouth expos'd to Ocean's tempests lay,
No light admitting, save the moon's pale ray,
And one red star, that look'd into the cave,
When first emerging from the western wave.
Here, pent in durance, he for life had lain,
If gray-hair'd Snitho had not pass'd the main ;
And told Fingal, imploring his relief,
The royal captive's misery and grief.
The monarch heard, and snatch'd his spear in
Resolv'd t'avenge the insult done to age;
Till recollecting that a war so mean,
Would but the lustre of his actions stain;
He
gave
in charge to Toscar and his son,
The reinstating Larthmor on the throne.
We put to sea, ambitious of th' employ
And often half unsheath'd our swords for joy.
For, ne'er before, entrusted with command,
Were we commission'd to a foreign land.
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