Ossian Collection > Temora, an ancient epic poem, in eight books

Kjo T E M O R A:
Beneath the foear of Cathmor, rofo that voice which awakcg
the bards. Tb.ey came, dark-winding, from every fide j each,
with the found of his harp. Before them rejoiced the king, as
%e traveller, in the day of the fun ; when he hears, far-rolling
ardutidj-the- murmwr of iTK>fly ftreams j ftreams that burfl:, in the
Jef-iit,' froni the rock of roes.
Why, faid Fonar, hear we the voice of the king, in the fea-
fon of his reft ? Were the dim forms of thy fathers bending in
t%-, ,45patn9 / Perhaps they ftand on that cloud, and wait for Fo-
nar's fong ; often they come to the fields where their fons are to
lift the fpear. — Or fhall our voice arife for him who lifts the fpear
no more ; he that confumed tl:e field, from Moma of the groves ?
Not forgot is that cloud in war, bard of other times. High
fliall his tomb rife, on Moi-lena, the dwelling of renown. But,
now, roll back my foul to the times of my fathers : to the years
when firft they rofe, on Inis-huna's waves. Nor alone pleafant to
Cathmor is the remembrance of wood-covered Lumon. — Lumon
of the flreams, the dwelling of white-bofomed maids.
* Lumon of the llreams, thou rifeft on Fonar's foul! Thy fun
is on thy fide, on the rocks of thy bending trees. The dun roe is
feen
foam: — Look, from thy darknefs, on Cio- as woody Lumon; Lumon which fends,
i«th, Oilian of the harps of old ! — Send from its top, a thoufand ftreams, white-
ihy light on the blue rolling waters, that wandering down its fides. — "
I may behold the king. 1 fee him dark It may, perhaps, be for the credit of this
in h(s own fliell of oak! fea-toiTed Lar- bard, to tranflate no more of this poem,
tHon, thy foul is flrong. — It is carelefs as for the continuation of his defcription of
xhe wind of thy fails; as the wave that the Irifli giants betrays his want of judg-
rof!i bjr Ihy fide. But the filent green ifle mcnt.
is before thee, With its fons, wh-j are tall * Lumon, as I have remarked in a pre-
ceding
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