Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

A POEM. 135
Selama is no more. Cairbar comes, with his thoiifands,
towards Selama's walls. Colla will meet his pride, and
revenge his fon. But where fliall I find thy fafety, Dar-
thula with the dark-brown hair I thou art lovely as the
fun-beam of heaven, and thy friends are low I " And is
the fon of battle fallen ?" 1 faid with a burfling figh.
" Ceafed the generous foul of Truthil to lighten through
the field ? My fafety, Colla, is in that bow; i have learned
to pierce the deer. Is not Cairbar like the hart of the de-
fart, father of fallen Truthil ?"
The face of age brightened with joy : and the crowd-
ed tears of his eyes poured down. The lips of Colla tremb-
led. His gray beard whiflled in the blaft. " Thou art
the filter of Truthil," he faid ; " thou burneft in the fire
of his foul. Take Dar-thula, take that fpear, that brazen
fliield, that burnillied helmet : they are the fpoils of a
warrior : a fon* of early youth. When the light rifes on
Selama, we go to meet the car-borne Cairbar. But keep
thou near the arm of Colla ; beneath the Ihadow of my
fliield. Tliy father, Dar-thula, could once defend thee,
but age is trembling on his hand. The ftrength of hi?
arm has failed, and his foul is darkened with grief."
" We pafTed the night in forrow. The light of morn-
ing rofe. I fhone in the arms of battle. The gray-hair-
ed hero moved before. The fons of Selama convened a-
round the founding lliield of Colla. But few were they
in the plain, and their locks were gray. The youths had
fallen with Truthil, in the battle of ear-borne Cormac.
" Companions of my youth 1" faid Colla, " it was not
thus you have feen me in arms. It was not thus I ilrode
to battle, when the great Confadan fell. But ye are la-
den with grief. The darknefs of age comes like the mid
of the defart. My fliield is worn with years ; my fword
is fixed f in its place. I faid to my foul, thy evening fliall
be calm, and thy departure like a fading light. But the
ftorm has returned; 1 bend like an aged oak. My boughs
are
* The poet, to make the ftory of Dar-thula's arming herfelf for battle, more
probable, makes her armour to be that of a very young raan, otherwife it would
Ihock all belief, that (lie, who was very young, fhould be able to carry it.
t It was the cuftom of thole times, that every warrior at a certain ag?, or
when he became unfit for the field, fixed his arms, in the great hall, where the.
tribe fealled, upon joyful occafions. He was afterwards never to appear in b^t»
tie ; aud this itage of life was called the time affixing of the arms.