Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

CAETHONN. 59
Thy spirit is under deep gloom ;
Deeply dark are thy thoughts, great hero,
All lonely at Lora of sounds. 85
Let me hear of thy great young grief,
And the cloud that darkens thy age."
" Days of peace that have been were they,"
Said Cleasamor of arms, the chief.
" I struck for Bail'clutha's high towers 00
And curved Malls, in a dark-brown craft ;
The wind sent in night my white sails,
To a haven on Cluaidh's peaceful stream.
Three days rose the feast and cheer
In Rurmar's hall of festive bowls ; 05
With bright bosom, in joy was seen
Goodly Maona of towers and chiefs.
Amid joy the shell was sent round ;
Noble Rurmar presented the maid,
Whose breast was like the foam of waves ; 100
A star of light to guests her eye ;
As black as the raven her locks ;
More charming than her locks, her mind.
I loved greatly the maid of chiefs,
Chaste Maona on the hill of meads. 105
" The stranger's son of shields was seen,
A youth who walked the way to Maona ;
His words were heard in the chiefs hall ;
He half unsheathed his heavy knife.
' Where is mighty Cumhal of arms, 110
Who journeys in glens without plains ?
Are Cumhal and his heroes here,
And thou blatant, forward, and vain ] '