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158 temora: Book IV
blast comes cloudy death, and lays his grey head low
His ghost is rolled on the vapour of the fenny field
Its course is never on hills, or rrrossy vales of wind. Sc
shall not Cathmor depart. No boy in the field was he,,
who only marks the bed of roes upon the echoing hills.
My issuing forth was with kings, and my joy in dread-
ful plains : where broken hosts are rolled av/ay, like
seas before the wind."
So spoke the king of Alnecma, brightening In his
rising soul : valour, like a pleasant flame, is gleaming
within his breast. Stately is his stride on the heath
the bejum of the east is poured around. He saw his grey
host on the field, wide-spreading th^ir ridges in light.
He rejoiced like a spirit of heaven, whose steps come
forth on his seas, when he beholds them peaceful round,
and all the winds are laid. But soon he awakes the
waves, and rolls them large to some echoing coast.
On the rushy bank of a stream, slept the daughter oi
Inis-huna. The helmet had fallen from her head. Her
dreams were in the land of her fathers. There morn-
ing was on the field : grey streams leapt down from
llie rocks ; the breezes, in shadowy waves, fly over the
rushy fields. There is the sound that prepares for the
chase ; and the moving of warriors from the hall. But
tail above the rest is the hero of streamy Atha : he bends
his eye of love on Sul-malla, From his stately steps, she
turns, with pride, A^er liice away, and careless bends
the bow.
Such v/erc tlie dreams of tlie maid when Atha's wav-
rior came. He sav/ her fair face before him, in the r/i:d,+
of her Vv^andering locks. He knew the maid of I.u r> ,- . .
What should Cathmor do? His sigh arose: his t : i ;
came down. But straight he turned away. *' This is
n« time, king of Atha, to wake thy secret soul. The
battle is rolled before thee, like a troubled stream."
He struck that warning boss w, wherein dwelt the
w In order to urderatand tin? passage, it is necessary to look to
the c'escjiprior. of Cat! mox's 1 ie'id vshicli thf pout fus g'.veR us u

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