Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

T E M O R A.
to descend. Temora's woods shook with tlie tlast of the incon-
stant wind. A cloud, at length, gathered in the west, and a red
star looked from behind its edge. I stood in the wood alone, and
saw a ghost on the darkening air. His stride extended from hill
to hill : his shield was dim on his side. It was the son of Semo :
I knew the warrior's face. But he passed away in his blast ; and
all was dark around. My soul was sad. I went to the hall of
shells. A thousand lights arose : the hundred bards had strung
the harp. Cormac stood in the midst, like the morning star, when
it rejoices on the eastern hill, and its young beams are bathed in
showers. The sword of Artho * was in the hand of the king ;
and he looked with joy on its polished studs : thrice he strove to
draw it, and thrice he failed j his yellow locks are spi-ead on his
shoulders : his cheeks of youth are red. I mourned over the beam
of youth, for he was soon to set."
" Althan !" he said with a smile, " hast thou beheld iny father ?
Heavy is the sword of the king, surely his arm was strong. O that
I were like him in battle, when the rage of his wrath arose ! then
would I have met, like CuchuUin, the car-borne son of Cantela !
But years may come on, O Althan ! and my arm be strong. Hast
thou heard of Semo's son, the chief of high Temora ? He might
have returned with his fame ; for he promised to return to-night.
My bards wait him with songs ; my feast is spread in Temora."
I heard the king in silence. My tears began to flow. I hid
them witli my aged locks; but he perceived my grief. " Son of
Conachar !" he said, " is the king of Turaf lew ? Why bursts
thy sigh in secret ? And why descends the tear ? Comes the car-
borne Torlath ? Or tlie sound of the red-haired Cairbar ? They
come ! for I behold thy grief. Mossy Tura's king is low ! Shall
I not rush to battle ? But I cannot lift the spear ! O had mine
arm the strength of Cuchullin, soon would Cairbar fly; the fame
of my fathers would be renewed ; and the deeds of other times !"
He took his bow. The tears flow down, from both his
D d ij sparkling
* Arth or Artho, the father of Cormac king of Ireland.
t Cuchullin is called the king of I'ura, front a castle of that name on the coast-
of Ulster, where he dwelt, before he undertook the management of the affairi vi
Ireland, in the minority of Cormac.