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

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OIN A-M O RUL
OEM.
AS flies the unconftant fun, over Larmon's grafly hill ; fo pafs
the tales of old, along my foul, by night. When bards are
removed to their place ; when harps are hung in Selma's hall ; then
comes a voice to Oflian, and awakes his foul. It is the voice of
years that are gone : they roll before me, with all their deeds. I
feize the tales, as they pafs, and pour them forth in fong. Nor a
troubled ftream is the fong of the king, it is like the rifing of mu-
fic from Lutha of the firings. — Lutha of many firings, not filent
are thy flreamy rocks, when the white hands of Malvina move
upon the harp. — Light of the fliadowy thoughts, that fly acrofs my
foul, daughter of Tofcar of helmets, wilt thou not hear the fong !
We call back, maid of Lutha, the years that have rolled away.
It was in the days of the king, v/hile yet my locks were young,
that I marked Con-cathlin *, on high, from ocean's nightly wave.
My
* Con-cath!in, mUd beam of the -wave, afcertained. Some now diftitiguifli the
What ftar was fo called of old is not eafily pole-ftar by that name. A fong, which is
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