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

C A T H . L O D A :
O E M.
DUAN THIRD.
J" Hence Is the ftream of years ? Whither do they roll along ?
Where have they hid, in mift, their many-coloured fides ?
I look into the times of old, but they feem dim to Oflian's eyes,
like refleded moon-beams, on a diftant lake. Here rife the red
beams of war ! — There, filent, dwells a feeble race ! They mark
no years with their deeds, as flow they pafs along. — Dweller be-
tween the fhields ; thou that awakefl: the failing foul, defcend from
thy wall, harp of Cona, with thy voices three ! Come with that
which kindles the part : rear the forms of old, on their own dark-
brown years !
* Uthorno, hill of ftorms, I behold my race on thy fide.
Fingal is bending, in night, over Duth-maruno's tomb. Near
him
* The barJs, who were always rezdy to poelr.s of Oltian, have inferted a great ma-
fupp'y what they thought deficient in the iiy incidents betv.'een the focond and third
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