Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

BOOK vij. T E M O R A. 283
Son* of Alpin, strike the string. Is thert; aught of joy in the
harp ? Pour it then, on the soul of Ossiau : it is folded in rriist.
I hear thee, O bard, in my night. But cease the lightly-tremb-
ling sound. The joy ox grief belongs to Ossian, amidst his dark-
brown years.
Green thorn of the hil! of ghosts, that shakest thy head to nightlyi
winds ! I hear no sound in thee j is there no spirit's wmdy skirt
now rustling in thy leaves ? Often are the steps of the dead, in
the dark-eddying blasts j when the moon, a dun shield, from the
east, is rolled along the sky.
Ullin, Carril, and Ryno, voices of the days of old ! Let me
hear you, in the darkness of Selma, snd awake the soul of aongs-
I hear you not, ye children of music, in what hall of the clouds
is your rest .'* Do you touch the shadowy harp, robed with morn-
ing mist, where the sun cornes sounding fortli from his green-
headed waves I
TEMORA:
* The original of this lyric ode is one of tfce most beautiful passages of the poem.
The harmony and variety of its versification prove, that the knowledge of music
was considerably advanced in the days of .Ossian. S(g the specimen of the original.