fame in the song of bards. The youth will say in secret, O let me die as Cuthullin died! Renown "And is the son of Semo fallen?" said Carril, with a sigh. "Mournful are Tura's walls. Sorrow dwells at Dunscäi. Thy spouse is left alone in her youth. The son of thy love is alone! He shall come to Bragéla, and ask her why she weeps? * He shall lift his eyes to the wall, and see his father's sword. "Whose sword is that?" he will say. The soul of his mother is sad. Who is that, like the hart of the desert, in the murmur of his course? His eyes look wildly round in search of his friend. Connal, son of Colgar, where hast thou been, when the mighty fell? Did the seas of Cogorma roll around thee? Was the wind of the south in thy sails? The mighty have fallen in battle, and thou wast not there. Let none tell it in Selma, nor in Morven's woody land. Fingal will be sad, and the sons of the desert mourn!" By the dark rolling waves of Lego they raised the Conloch, who was afterwards very famous for his great exploits in Ireland. He was so remarkable for his dexterity in handling the javelin, that when a good marksman is described, it has passed into a proverb, in the north of Scotland, He is unerring as the arm of Conloch. hero's tomb. Luäth,* at a distance lies. The song of bards rose over the dead. Blest be thy soul, son of Semo! Thou wert mighty in battle. Thy strength was like the strength of a stream: thy speed like the eagle's wing. Thy path in battle was terrible: the steps of death were behind thy sword. Blest be thy soul, son of Semo, car-borne chief of Dunscäi! Thou hast not fallen neither was thy blood The arrow came, like by the sword of the mighty, on the spear of the brave. the sting of death in a blast: nor did the feeble hand, which drew the bow, perceive it. Peace to thy soul, in thy cave, chief of the isle of mist." "The mighty are dispersed at Temora : there is none in Cormac's hall. The king mourns in his youth. He does not behold thy return. The sound of thy shield is ceased: his foes are gathering round. Soft be thy rest in thy cave, chief of Erin's wars! Bragéla will not hope for thy return, or see thy sails in ocean's foam. Her steps are not on the shore : nor her ear open to the voice of thy rowers. She * It was of old the custom to bury the favourite dog near the master. This was not peculiar to the ancient Scots, for we find it practised by many other nations in their ages of heroism.— There is a stone shewn still at Dunscäi in the isle of Sky, to which Cuthullin commonly bound his dog Luath. The stone goes by his name to this day. + This is the song of the bards over Cuthullin's tomb. Every stanza closes with some remarkable title of the hero, which was always the custom in funeral elegies. sits in the hall of shells. She sees the arms of him that is no more. Thine eyes are full of tears, daughter of car-borne Sorglan! Blest be thy soul in death, O chief of shady Tura !" THE BATTLE OF LORA: A POEM. ARGUMENT. FINGAL, on his return from Ireland, after he had expelled Swaran from that kingdom, made a feast to all his heroes ; he forgot to invite Ma-ronnan and Aldo, two chiefs, who had not been along with him in his expedition. They resented his neglect, and went over to Erragon, king of Sora, a country of Scandinavia, the declared enemy of Fingal. The valour of Aldo soon gained him a great reputation in Sora: and Lorma, the beautiful wife of Erragon, fell in love with him. He found means to escape with her, and to come to Fingal, who resided then in Selma, on the western coast. Erragon invaded Scotland, and was slain in battle by Gaul, the son of Morni, after he had rejected terms of peace offered him by Fingal. In this war Aldo fell, in a single combat, by the hands of his rival Erragon, and the unfortunate Lorma afterwards died of grief. SON of the distant land, who dwellest in the secret cell! do I hear the sound of thy grove? or, is it thy voice of songs? The torrent was loud in my ear; but I heard a tuneful voice. Dost thou praise the chiefs of thy land: or the spirits * of the wind? But, lonely dweller of rocks! look thou on that heathy * Alluding to the religious hymns of the Culdees. plain. Thou seest green tombs, with their rank, whistling grass with their stones of mossy heads. Thou seest them, son of the rock, but Ossian's eyes have failed. A mountain-stream comes roaring down, and sends its waters round a green hili. Four mossy stones, in the midst of withered grass, rear their heads on the top. Two trees, which the storms have bent, spread their whistling branches around. This is thy dwelling, Erragon*; this thy narrow house: the sound of thy shells have been long forgot in Sora. Thy shield is become dark in thy hall. Erragon, king of ships! chief of distant Sora! how hast thou fallen on our mountains? How is the mighty low? Son of the secret cell! dost thou delight in songs? Hear the battle of Lora. The sound of its steel is long since past. So thunder on the darkened hill roars, and is no more. The sun returns with his silent beams. The glittering rocks, and green heads of the mountains smile. The bay of Cona received our ships + from Erin's rolling waves. Our white sheets hung loose to the masts. The boisterous winds roared behind the groves of Morven. The horn of the king is sounded; the deer start from their rocks. Our arrows flew in the woods. The feast of the hill is spread. Our joy * Erragon, or Ferg thonn, signifies the rage of the waves; probably a poetical name given him by Ossian himself; for he goes by the name of Annir in tradition. This was at Fingal's return from his war against Swaran. |