Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

Book fll. AN EPIC POEM. 277
Beneath the fpear of Cathmor, awaked that voice
which awakes the bards. They came, dark-winding,
from every fide ; each, with the found of his harp. Be-
fore them rejoiced the king, as the traveller, in the day
of the fun; when he hears, far- rolling around, the mur-
mur of moffy ftreams ; ftreams that burft, in the defert,
from the rock of roes.
" Why," faid Fonar, " hear we the voice of the king,
in the feafon of his reft ? Were the dim forms of thy fa-
thers bending in thy dreams ? Perhaps they ftand on that
cloud, and wait for Fonar's fong; often they come to the
fields where their fons are to lift the fpear. Or Ihall our
voice arife for him who lifts the fpear no more ; he that
confumed the field, from Moma of the groves?"
" Not forgot is that cloud in war, bard of other times.
High fiiali his tomb rife, on Moi-lena, the dwelling of re-
nown. But, now, roll back my foul to the times of my
fathers: to the years when firft they rofe, on Inis-huna's
waves. Nor alone pleafant to Cathmor is the remem,
brance of wood-covered Lumon. Lumon the land '
ftreams, the dwelling of white-bofomed maids."
" Lumon * of foamy ftreams, thou rifeft on Fo; A. :
foull Thy fun is on thy fide, on the rocks of thy 1
ing trees. The dun roe is feen from thy furze ; the
lifts his branchy head ; for he fees, at times, the hoi.
•on the half-covered heath. Slow, on the vale, are ti.
fteps of maids ; the white-armed daughters of the bow :
they lift their blue eyes to the hill, from amidft their
wandering
the lefs ancient bards. The defcriptions, contained in it, are in2;enioiis and pro-
portionable to the magnitude of the perfons introduced ; but, being unnatural,
t'ney are infipid and tedious. Had the bard kept withia the bounds of probability,
his genius was far from being contemptible. The exordium of his poem is not
deflitute cf merit ; but it is the onlj part of it, that I think worthy of being pre-
fented to the reader.
" Who firll lent the black fliip, through ocean, like a whale through the burft-
ing of foam ? Look, from thy darknefs, on Cronath, OHian of the harps of eld'.
Send thy light on the blue-rolling waters, that I may behold the king. I fee hint
dark in his own flicU of oak I fea-'.ofied Larthon, thy foul is fire. It ia carelefs
as the wind of thy fails ; as the wave that rolls by thy fide. But the filent greeu
ille is before thee, nith its fons, who are tall as woody Lumon ; Lumon which
fends, from Its top, a thoufand ftreams, white-wandering down its fides "
It may, perhaps, be for the credit of this bard, to tranllate no more of this
poem, for tlie continuation of his defcription of the L'ifh giants betrays his want
of judgment-
* Lumon, as I have remarked in a preceding note, was a hill, in Inis-huna,
near the relidence of Sul-malla. This epifode lias an immediate comiedioii with
what is faid of Larthon, in the defcription of Cathmor's fliield.