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

42 T E M O R A:
are in the paths of the fad. It Is Cp.rril of other times. He comes
from Tura's filent cave. I behold it dark in the rock, thro' the
ih'm folds of mift. There, perhaps, Cuchullin fits, on the blafl:
which bends its trees. Pleafant is the fong of the morning from
tlie bard of Erin !
The waves crowd away for fear: they hear the found of thy
coming forth, O fun ! ^^Terrible is thy beauty, fon of heaven,
when death is folded in thy locks j when thou roUeft thy vapors
before thee, over the blafted hoil. But pleafant is thy beam to
the hunter, fitting by the rock in a florm, when thou lookefl
from thy parted cloud, and brighteneft his dewy locks ; he looks
down on the ftreamy vale, and beholds the defcent of roes. — • —
How long flialt thou rife on war, and roll, a bloody fhield, thro'
heaven ? I fee the deaths of heroes dark-wandering over thy
face J — — Why wander the words of Carril ! does the fun of
heaven mourn ! he is unftaincd in his courfe, ever rejoicing in
his fire. Roll on, thou carelefs lights thou too, perhaps,
muft fall. Thy dun robe * may feize thee, ftruggling, in thy
fky.
Pleasant is the voice of the fong, O Carril, to Oflian's
foul ! It is like the fhower of the morning, when it comes
through the ruftling vale, on which the fun looks thro' mift,
juft rifing from his rocks. But this is no time, O bard, to
fit down, at the flrife of fong. Fingal is in arms on the vale.
the original is rather a mcafured fort of fpealcers This book takes up only the
profe, than any regular verfificatioii ; but fpace of a few hours.
it has all that variety of cadences, which * By the Jun robe of ilie fun, is proba-
fuit the (lifFercnt ideas, and paflions of the bly meant an ccjipfe.
' 9 Thou