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

104 T E M O R A:
Such fame belonged not to Offian ; yet was the king ftill a fun to
me. He looked on my fteps, with joy : fhadows never rofe on his
face. — Afcend, O Fillan, to Mora : his feaft is fpread in the folds
of mift.
OssiAN, sive me that broken flileld : thcfe feathers that are
rolled in the wind. Place them near to Fillan, that lefe of his
fame may fall. Offian, I begin to fail. — Lay me in that hollow
rock. Raife no ftone above : left one fhould afk about my
fame. I am fallen in the firft of my fields ; fallen without renown.
Let thy voice alone fend joy to my flying foul. Why fliould the
bard know where dwells the early-fallen Fillan * ?
Is
* In this, as well as the former publica-
tion, I have only admitted into the text
compleat poems, or independent epifodes :
the fragments which remain of the compo-
fitions of Offian, I have chofen to throw,
occafionally, into the notes- I fhall here
give a tranflation of a part of a poem con-
cerning the death of Fillan. It is a dia-
logue between Clatho the mother, and Bos-
mina the fifter, of that hero.
Clatho.
" Daughter of Fingal, arife : thou light
between thy locks. Lift thy fair head from
reft, foft-gliding fun-beam of Selma ! I
beheld thy arms, on thy breaft, white-tof-
fed amidft thy wandering locks : when the
ruftling breeze of the morning came from
the defart of ftreams. Haft thou feen thy
fathers, Bos-mina, defcending in thy
dreams f Arife, daughter of Clatho ;
dwells there aught of grief in thy foul ?
Bos-mina.
A thin form pafled before me, fading as
it flew : like the darkening wave of a
breeze, along a field of grafs. Defcend,
from thy wall, O harp, and call back the
foul of Bos-mina, it has rolled away, like
a ftream. I hear thy pleafant found. — I
hear thee, O harp, and my voice (hall
rife.
How often fliall ye rufli to war, ye
dwellers of my foul? Your paths are dif-
tant, kings of men, in Erin of blue
ftreams. Lift thy wing, thou fouthern
breeze, from Clone's darkening heath :
fpread the fails of Fingal towards the bays
of his land.
But who is that, in his ftrcngth, dark-
ening in the prefence of war ? His arm
ftretches to the foe, like the beam of the
lickly fun j when his fide is crufted w'th
darknefsi and he rolls his difmal courfc
thro'