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She followed her hero through night, and dragged her spear behind. But when Calihon came to Lona's rock, he found his fallen brother. The rage of his bosom rose; he rushed among the foe. The groans of death ascend. They close around the chief. He is bou.d in the midst, and brought to gloomy Dupthalmo. The sho it of joy arose; and the hills of night replied. I started at the sound; and took my father's
spear. Diaran rose at my side ; and the youthful strength of Dargo. We missed the chief of Clutha, and our souls were sad. I dreaded the departure of my fame. The pride of
valor rose. “Sons of Morven,” I said, “it is not thus our fathers fought. They rested not on the field of strangers, when the foe was not fallen before them. Their strength was like the eagles of heaven; their renown is in the song. But our people fall by degrees. Our fame begins to depart. What shall the king of Morven say, if Össian conquers not at Teutha ? Rise in your steel, ye warriors, follow the sound of Ossian's course. He will not return, but renowned, to the echoing walls of Selma.”
Morning rose on the blue waters of Teutha. Colmal stood before me in tears. She told of the chief of Clutha : thrice the spear fell from her hand. My wrath turned against the stranger; for my soul trembled for Calthon. “Son of the feeble hand!” I said, “ do Teutha's warriors fight with tears? The battle is not Won with grief; nor dwells the sigh in the soul of war. Go to the deer of Carmun, to the lowing herds of Teutha. But leave these arms, thou son of fear! A warrior may lift them in fight.
I tore the mail from her shoulders. Her snowy breast appeared. She bent her blushing face to the ground. I looked in silence to the chiefs. The spear fell from my hand; the sigh of my bosom rose ! 'But when I heard the name of the maid, my crowding tears
rushed down. I blessed the lovely beam of youth, and bade the battle move!
Why, son of the rock, should Ossian tell how Teutha's warriors died? They are no:v forgot in their land; their tombs are not found on the heath. Years came on with their storms. The green mounds are moul. dered away. Scarce is the grave of Dunthalmo seen, or the place where he fell by the spear of Ossian. Some gray warrior, half blind with age, sitting by night at the flaming oak of the hall, tells now my deeds to his sons, and the fall of the dark Dunthalmo. The faces of youth bend sidelong towards his voice. Surprise and joy burn in their eyes! I found Calthon bound to an oak; my sword cut the thongs from his lianas. I gave him the white-bosomed Colmal. They awelt in the halls of Teutha.
THE WAR OF CAROS.
Caros is prol ably the noted usurper Carausius, by birth a Menapian,
who assumed ihe purple in the year 281; and, seizing on Britain, deteated the emperor Maximinian Herculius in several naval en gagements, which gives propriety to his being called in this poem
the king of ships.” He repaired Agricola's wall, in order to obstruct the incursions of the Caledonians, and when he was employed in that work, it appears he was attacked by a party under the command of Oscar the son of Ossian. This battle is the foundation of the present poem, which is addressed to Malvina, the daughter of Toscar. Bring, daughter of Toscar, bring the harp! the light of the song rises in Ossian's soul! It is like the field, when darkness covers the hills around, and the shadow grows slowly on the plain of the sun. I behold my son, O Malvina! near the mossy rock of Crona. But it is the mist of the desert, tinged with the beam of the west ! Lovely is the mist that assumes the form of Oscar! turn from it, ye winds, when ye roar on the side of Ardven!
Who comes towards my son, with the murmur of a song ? His staff is in his hand, his gray hair loose on the wind. Surly joy lightens his face.
He often looks back to Caros. It is Ryno of songs, he that went to view the foe. “What does Caros, king of ships ?” said the son of the now mournful Ossian: “ spreads he the wings* of his pride, bard of the times of old ?”— “Ile spreads them, Oscar," replied the bard,“ but it is behind his gathered heap.t He looks over his stones
The Roman eagle | Agricola's wall, which Carausius repaired.
with fear. He beholds thee terrible, as the ghost of night, that rolls the waves to his ships !"
“Go, thou first of my bards !" says Oscar, “take the spear of Fingal. Fix a fame on its point. Shake it to the winds of heaven. Bid him in songs, to advance, and leave the rolling of his wave. Tell to Caros that I long for battle; that my bow is weary of the chase of Cona. Tell him the mighty are not here; and that my arm is young.”
He went with the murmur of songs. Oscar reared his voice on high. It reached his heroes on Ardven, like the noise of a cave, when the sea of Togorma rolls before it, and its trees meet the roaring winds. They gather round my son like the streams of the hill; when, after rain, they roll in the pride of their course. Ryno came to the mighty Caros. He struck his flaning spear. Come to the battle of Oscar. O thou that sit. test on the rolling waves! Fingal is distant far; he hears the songs of bards in Morven: the wind of his hall is in his hair. His terrible spear is at his side; his shield that is like the darkened moon! Come to the battle of Oscar; the hero is alone.
He came not over the streamy Carun. The bard returned with his song. Gray night grows dim on Crona. The feast of shells is spread. A hundred oaks burn to the wind; faint light gleams over the heath. The ghosts of Ardven pass through the beam, and show their dim and distant forms. Comala* is half unseen on her meteor ; Hidallan is sullen and dim, like the darkened moon behind the mist. of night.
“Wny art thou sad?” said Ryno; for he alone be, held the chief. Why art thou sad, Hidallan! hast thou not received thy fame? The songs of Ossian have
This is the scene of Comala's death, which is the subject of the dramatic poem.
been heard ; thy ghost has brightened in wind, when thou didst bend from thy cloud to hear the song of Morven's bard!”—“And do thine eyes,” said Oscar, “behold the chief, like the dim meteor of night? Say, Ryno, say, how fell Hidallan, the renowned in the days of my fathers! His name remains on the rocks of Cona. I have often seen the streams of his hills !"
Fingal, replied the bard, drove Hidallan from his wars. The king's soul was sad for Comala, and his eyes could not behold the chief. Lonely, sad, along the heath he slowly moved, with silent steps. His arms hung disordered on his side. His hair flies loose from his brow. The tear is in his downcast eyes; a sigh half silent in his breast! Three days he strayed unseen, alone, before he came to Lamor's halls: the mossy halls of his fathers, at the stream of Balva. There Lamor sat alone beneath a tree; for he had sent his people with Hidallan to war. The stream ran at his feet; his gray head rested on his staff. Sightless are his aged eyes. He hums the song of other times. The noise of Hidallan's feet came to his ear: he knew the tread of his son.
“Is the son of Lamor returned; or is it the sound of his ghost ? Hast thou fallen on the banks of Carun, son of the aged Lamor? Or, if I hear the sound of Hidallan's feet, where are the mighty in the war? where are my people, Hidallan! that were wont to return with their echoing shields? Have they fallen on the banks of Carun ?"
“No," replied the sighing youth, “the people of Lamor live. They are renowned in war, my father! but Hidallan is renowned no more. I must sit alone on the banks of Balva, when the roar of the battle grows."
“ But thy fathers never sat alone,” replied the rising pride of Lámor. “They never sat alone on the banks