Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

CARTHON. 59
unstained with blood : nor did the kings of the world
rejoice. Why do I remember the times of our war ? My
hair is mixed with grey. My hand forgets to bend the
bow : I lift a lighter spear. O that my joy would return,
as when I first beheld the maid ; the white-bosomed
daughter of strangers, Moina, with the dark blue-eyes !
Tell, said the mighty Fingal, the tale of thy youthful
days. Sorrow, like a cloud on the sun, shades the soul
of Clessammor. Mournful are thy thoughts, alone, on
the banks of the roaring Lora. Let us hear the sorrow
of thy youth, and the darkness of thy days !
"It was in the days of peace," replied the great
Clessammor, " I came in my bounding ship, to Bal-
clutha's walls of towers. The winds had roared behind
my sails, and Clutha's* streams received my dark-bosomed
ship.. Three days I remained in Reuthamir's halls, and
saw his daughter, that beam of light. The joy of the
shell went round, and the aged hero gave the fair. Her
breasts were like foam on the wave, and her eyes like
stars of light : her hair was dark as the raven's wing :
her soul was generous and mild. My love for Moina was
great : my heart poured forth in joy.
" The son of a stranger came ; a chief who loved the
white-bosomed Moina. His words were mighty in the
hall ; he often half-unsheathed his sword. Where, said
he, is the mighty Comhal, the restless wanderer of the
heath? Comes he, with his host, to Balclutha, since
* Clutha, or Cluath, the Galic name of the river Clyde ; the
signification of the word is bending.