Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

DAR-THULA. 273
light of the morning. Thy hair like the raven's wing.
Thy soul was generous and mild, like the hour of the
setting sun. Thy words were the gale of the reeds ; the
gliding stream of Lora ! But when the rage of battle
rose, thou wast a sea in a storm, The clang of thy arms
was terrible ; the host vanished at the sound of thy
course. It was then Dar-thula beheld thee, from the top
of her mossy tower : from the tower of Selama, where
her fathers dwelt.
" Lovely art thou, O stranger ! " she said, for her
trembling soul arose. "Fair art thou in thy battles,
friend of the fallen Cormac ! Why dost thou rush on in
thy valour, youth of the ruddy look ? Few are thy hands
in fight, against the dark-browed Cairbar ! O that I
might be freed from his love !* that I might rejoice in the
presence of Nathos ! Blest are the rocks of Etha ! they
will behold his steps at the chase ! they will see his white
bosom, when the winds lift his flowing hair ! " Such
were thy words, Dar-thula, in Selama' s mossy towers.
But, now, the night is around thee. The winds have
deceived thy sails. The winds have deceived thy sails,
Dar-thula ! Their blustering sound is high. Cease a
little while, O north wind ! Let me hear the voice of
the lovely. Thy voice is lovely, Dar-thula, between the
rustling blasts !
"Are these the rocks of Nathos ?" she said. "This
the roar of his mountain-streams? Comes that beam of
light from Usnoth's nightly hall ? The mist spreads
* That is, of the love of Cairbar.
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