Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

TEMORA. 459
of Bolga feared. The fiery-haired Ton-th^na rose.
Culbin's bay received the ship, in the bosom of its
echoing woods. There issued a stream from Duthu-
ma's horrid cave; where spirits gleamed, at times,
with their half-finished forms.
" Dreams descended on Larthon : he saw seven
spirits of his fathers. He heard their half-formed
■words, and dimly beheld the times to come. He
beheld the kings of Atha, the sons of future days.
They led their hosts along the field, like ridges of
mist, which winds pour in autumn, over Atha of
the groves.
" Larthon raised the hall of Samla, to the music
of the harp. He went forth to the roes of Erin, to
their wonted streams. ISor did he forget green-
headed Lumon ; he often bounded over his seas, to
where white-handed Flathal looked from the hill
of roes. Lumon of the foamy streams, thou risest
on Fonar's soul!"
Morning pours from the east. The misty heads
of the mountains rise. Valleys shew, on every
side, the grey winding of their streams. His host
heard the shield of Cathmor: at once they rose
around; like a crowded sea, when first it feels the
wings of the wind. The waves know not whither
to roll ; they lift their troubled heads.
Sad and slow retired Sulmalla to Lona of the
streams. She went, and often turned ; her blue eyes
rolled in tears. But when she came to the rock,
that darkly-covered Lona's vale, she looked, from
her bursting soul, on the king; and sunk, at once,
behind.
Son of Alpin, strike the string. Is there aught of
joy in the harp ? Pour it then on the soul of Os-
siao : it is folded in mist. I hear thee, O bard ! in
my night. But cease the lightly trembling sound.
The joy of grief belongs to Ossian, amidsthis dark-
brown years.
Green thorn of the hill of ghosts, that shakest thy
head to nightly winds ! I hear no sound in thee ; is
there no spirit's windy skirt now rustling in thy
leaves? Often are the steps of the dead, in the dark-