Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

TEMORA.
npHOtJ dweller between the shields, that hang, on
-^ high, in Ossian's hall ! Descend from thj' place,
O harp, and let me hear thy voice ! Son of Alpin,
strike the string. Thou must awake the soul of the
bard. The murmur of Lora's stream has rolled the
tale away. I stand in the cloud of years. Few are
its openings toward the past ; and when the vision
comes, it is but dim and dark. I hear thee, harp of
Selma! my soul returns, like a breeze, which the
sun brings back to the vale, where dwelt the lazy
mist!
Lubar is bright before me in the windings of its
vale. On either side, on their hills, rise the tall
forms of the kings. Their people are poured around
them, bending forward to their words : as if their
fathers spoke, descending from the winds. But
they themselves are like two rocks in the midst;
each with its dark head of pines, when they are seen
in the desert, above low-sailing mist. High on
their face are streams, which spread their foam on
blasts of wind !
Beneath the voice ofCathmor pours Erin, like the
sound of flame. Wide they come down to Lubar.
Before them is the stride of Foldath. But Cathmor
retires to his hill, beneath his bending oak. The
tumbling of a stream is near the king. He lifts, at
times, his gleaming spear. It is a flame to his peo-
ple, in the midst of war. Near him stands the
daughter of Conmor, leaning on a rock. She did not
rejoice atthestrife. Hersoul delightednotin blood.
A valley spreads green behind the hill, with its