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A POEM. 97
i'he tear Started from my eye •when I h.eard the
Voice of the maid. I stood before her in my armsf and
spoke the viords of peace. " Lovely dweller of the
cave, what sigh is in that breast ? Shall Ossian lift his
sword in thy presence, the destruction of thy foes ?
Daughter of Torthoma, rise, I have heard the words
of thy grief. The race of Morven are around diee,
who never injured the weak. Come to our dark-bo-
somed ship, thou brighter than that setting mocn. Our
course is to the rocky Berrathon, to the echoing walls
of Finthormo." She came in her beauty, she came
widi all her lovely steps. Silent joy briglitened in her
face, as when the shadows liy from the field of spring ;
the blue stream is rolling in brightness, and the greea
bush beads over its course.
The morning rose with its beams. We came to
Hothma'o bay. A boar rushed from the v^'ood ; my
spear pierced his side. I rejoiced over the blood",,
and foresaw my growing fame. But now the sound c£
Uthal's train caiue from the liigh Finthormo ; they
spread over the heath to the cliase of the boar. iiuTi-
self comes slowly on, in the pride of his strength. He
lifts two pointed spears. On his side is the bero'^
sword. Three youths carry hj^ polished bows : the
bounding of tiv^dogs is btfoic him. His warriors move
on at a distance,>.dnni ing tire steps of the king. State-
ly was the son of J,arthmor ! but his soul was dark.
Dark as the troubled face of the moon when it fore-
tels the storms.
We rose on the heath b^fiire the king ; he stopt in
the midst of his course* His warrioii gathered around,
and a grey-haired bard advanced. " Whence are the
sons of the strangers ?" begun the bard. " The chil-
dren of the unhappy came to BeiTuthon ; to the sword
o Ossian thought that his killinp the bo.ir, on his first landing itx
Eerrathon, was a good omen cf his fuf;i.re succws in that island.
The present- Highlanders look, with a degree of superstition, upon
the success of their first action, after th^y liave engaged 1a xay u«5-
j>erateuntlertakitj£.
voiij. s

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