Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

A P O E M. 91
warrior defcended, on thy woody ifle, Thou
wert no cloud before him. Thy feaft was
fpread with fongs. For this my iword fhall
rife ; and thy foes perhaps may fail. Our
friends are not forgot in their danger, though
diftant is our land.
" Defcendant of the daring Trenmor, thy
words are like the voice of Cruth-loda, when
he fpeaks from his parting cloud, ftrong dwel-
ler of the fky ! Many have rejoiced at my
feaft ; but they all have forgot Mal-orchol.
I have looked towards all the winds ; but no
white fails were feen. But fteel * refounds in
my hall ; and not the joyful fhells. Come to
my dwelling, race of heroes ! dark-fkirted
night is near. Hear the voice of fongs, from
the maid of Fuarfed wild."
* There is a fevere fatire couched in this expreflion,
againft the guefls of Mal-orchol. Had his feaft been
{till fpread, had joy continued in his hall, his former pa-
rafites would not have failed to refort to him. But as
the time of feftivity was pail, their attendance alfo ceafed.
The fentiments of a certain old bard are agreeable to this
obfervation. He, poetically, compares a great man to a
fire kindled in a defert place. " Thofe that pay court to
him, fays he, are rolling large around him, like the fmoke
about the lire. This fmoke gives the fire a great appear-
ance at a diftance, but it is but an empty vapour itfelf,
and varying its form at every breeze. When the trunk,
which fed the fire, is con fumed, the fmoke departs on all
the winds. So the flatterers forfake their chief, when his
power declines." I have chofen to give a paraphrafe,
rather than a tranflation, of this paflage, as the original is
verbofe and frothy, notwithflanding the fentimental me-
rit of the author. He was one of the lefs ancient bards,
and their compofitions are not nervous enough to bear a
literal tranflation.
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