Ossian Collection > Temora, an ancient epic poem, in eight books

146 T E M O R A:
Maronnan fell, by Fingal, laid large acrofs a ftream. The
waters gathered by his fide, and leapt grey over his bofiy fliield.— •
Clonar is pierced by Cathmor : nor yet lay the chief on earth. An
cak feized his. hair in his fall. His helmet rolled on the ground.
By its thong, hung his broad fliield ; over it wandered his ftream-
ng blood. Tla-min * fluall weep, in the hall, and flrike her heav-
ing bread:.
Nor did Oflian forget the fpear, in the wing of his war. He
ftrewed the field with dead. — Young Hidalla came. Soft voice of
• Tla-min, rnildly-foft. The loves of
Clonar and TIamin were rendered famous
in the north, by a fragment of a Lyric po-
em, flill preferved, which is afcribed to
Ollian. Be it the compofition of whom it
vill, its poetical merit may, perhaps, ex-
cufe me, for inferting it here. It is a dia-
logue between Clonar and Tla min. She
begins with a foliloquy, which he over-
hears.
" Clonar, fon of Conglas of Imor,
young hunter of dun-fided roes ! where art
thou laid, amidft rufhes, beneath the pafT-
ing wing of the breeze ? — I behold thee,
my love, in the plain of thy own dark
flreams I The clung thorn is rolled by the
wind, and ruftle; along his fliield. Bright
in his locks he lies : the thoughts of his
dreams fly, darkening, over his face. Thou
thinkeft of the battles of Offian, young
fon of the ecchoing ifle !
" Half-hid, in the grove, I fit down.
Fly back, ye mills of the hill. Why
fiiould ye hide her love from the blue eyes
«f Tla-min of harps ?
Clonar.
" As the fpirit, (ttn in a dream, flies ofF
from our opening eyes, we think, we be-
hold his bright path between the ciofing
hills ; {o fled the daughter of Clun-gal,
from the fight of Clonar of fliields. Arife,
from the gathering of trees ; blue-eyed
TIamin arifc.
Tlamin.
" I turn me away from his fieps. Why
(hould he know of my love ! My white
breaft is heaving over fighs, as foam on the
dark courfe of ftreams. — But be paffes a-
way, in his arms ! — Son of Conglas, my
fuul is fad.
Clonar.
" It was the fliield of Firgal ! the voice
of kings from Selma of harps ! — My path
is towards green Erin. Arife, fair light,
from thy fhades. Come to the field of my
foul, there is the fpreading of hofts. Arife,
on Clonar's troubled foul, young daughter
of blue-fliielded Clungal."
Clungal was the chief of I-mor, one of
the Hebrides.
ftreamy