Ossian Collection > Galic antiquities

A P O E M. 20!
long, bends his liftening ear. — ' It is Dermid !' he fays ; and ha-
ftens to overtake the fong. — A beam of light, clear but* terrible,
comes acrofs his foul. He makes two unequal ftrides ; gc. the
midfl of the third he flops. ' Dermid is no more !' — He wipes with
the fkirt of his robe his eye; and, fighing, flowly- walks along. —
It is the voice of the bards thou doft hear, O ftranger ; they are
pouring the fame of Dermid on future times ; clothing his name
with the nightly fong. The chief himfelf, in Selma thou (halt find
no more. He fleeps with Graina in the cold and narrow houfe.
On Golbun's heath thou wilt find it, at the fide of the ftream of
roes. — A rock, dark-bending with its ivy mantle above, fhelters
from ftorms the place. A mountain- ftream leaps over it, white,
and murmuring travels on. A yew fp reads its dark-green branches
nigh : the deer refts undifturbed at noon beneath its fhade. The
mariner leaning to his maft, as he paries on the darkly-rolling
wave, points out the place, and tells his mates the woful tale. The
tear bedims their eye. They cannot mark the fpot : they heave the
deep note of grief, and fail to the land of ftrangers. There, they
tell the tale to liftening crowds around the flame of night. The
virgins weep, and the children of youth are mournful. All day
they remember Dermid and Graina ; and in the dreams of their
reft they are not forgotten."
And often you defcend to die dreams of Offian too, children of
beauty. Often you poffefs his thoughts, when he fits, alone, at
your tomb ; and liftens if he may hear the fong of ghofts. At
times, I hear your faint voice in the figh of the breeze, when I reft
beneath your green tree, and hang my harp on its low-bending
G c branch,.