J. F. Campbell Collection > Temora, an ancient epic poem, in eight books

An epic poem. 17
The valiant muft fall one day, and be no more known on his hills.
— Where are our fathers, O warriors ! the chiefs of the times of
old ? Thev have fet like ftars that have flione, v/e only hear the
found of their praile But they were renowned in their day, the
terror of other times. Thus fhall we pafs, O warriors, in the day
of our fall. Then let us be renowned when we may; and leave
our fame behind us, like the lad beams of the fun, when he hides
his red head in the weft.
Ullin, my aged bard! take the fhip of the king. Carry Ofcar
to Selma of harps. Let the daughters of Morven weep. We fliall
fight in Erin for the race of fallen Cormac. The days of my years
begin to fail : I feel the weaknefs of my arm. My fiithers bend
from their clouds, to receive their grey-bair'd fon. But, befofe I
go hence, one beam of fame fhall rife : fo fliall my days end, as
my years begun, in fame : my life fliiill be one ftream of light to
bards of other times.
Ullin rais'd his white fails: the wind of the fouth came forth.
He bounded on the waves towards Selma. — * I remained in my
grief, but my words were not heard. The feaft is fpread on
Moi-lena : an hundred heroes reared the tomb of Cairbar : but no
fong is raifed over the chief; for his foul had been dark and bloody.
The bards remembered the fall of Cormac ! what could they fiy in
Cairbar's praife ?
The night came rolling down. The light of an hundred oaks
arofe". Fingal fat beneath a tree. Old Althan -f ftood in the midft.
He
* The poet fpeaks in bis own perfon. chief bard of Arth king of Ireland. Afcer
t Alihaii, the fon of Conachar, was the the death of Arth, Althan attended his fon
D Cor-