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

X22 T E M O R A:
night. — Her fteps are towards the king of Atha. — Can danger rtiake
his daring foul ! — In doubt, fhe {lands, with bending eyes. Heaven
burns with all its ftars.
Again
land, againft the Pifis. As the poem is
long, I flull only give here the ftory of
it, with a tranflation cf that paragraph,
which bears the neareft refemblance to the
psffage of Temcra juft now before me.
"When Keneth was making preparations
for that war, which terminated in the fub-
verfion of the ?\Sii(h kingdom, Flathal,
his filler, had demanded permiflion from
him, of attending him in the expedition ;
in order to have a {hare in revenging the
death of her father Alpin, who had been
barbaroufly murdered by the Pi<3s. The
king, the' he, perhaps, approved of the
gallant difpofition of his fifter, refufed, on
account of her fex, to grant her requeft.
The heroine, however, dreffed herfelf in
the habit of a young warrior ; and, in that
difguife, attended the army, and perform-
ed many gallant exploits. On the night
preceding the final overthrow of the Pi£ts,
Keneth, as was the cuftom among the
kings of Scots, retired to a hill, without
the veroe of the camp, to meditate on the
difpofitions he was to make in the ap-
proaching battle. Flathal, who v. as anxi-
ous about the fafety of her brother, went,
piivately, to the top of an adjoining rock,
and kept watch there to prevent his being
fAirprized by the enemy. Keneth fell
afleep, in his arms ; and Flsthal obferved
a boJy of the Pifls furrounding the hill,
whereon the king lay.- — The fequel of the
flory may be gathered from the words of
the bajd.
" Her eyes, like flars, roll over the
plain. She trembled for Alpin's race. She
faw the gleaming foe. Her fteps arofe :
file ftopt — •' Why (hould he know of Fla-
thal ? he the king men ! — But hark ! the
found is high. — It is but the wind of night,
lone-whiftling in my locks. — I hear the
echoing fliields .'"—Her fpear fell from her
hand. The lofty rock refounds.— He rofe,
a gathered cloud.
" Who wakes Conad of Albion, ia
the midft of his fecret hill ? I heard the
foft voice of Flathal. Why, maid, doft
thou (bine in war ? The daughters roll
their blue eyes, by the ftreams. No field
of blood is theirs.
" Alpin of Albion was mine, the father
of Flathal of harps. He is low, mighty
Conad, and my foul is fire. Could Flathal,
by the fecret flream, behold the blood of
her foes ? I am a young eagle, on Dura,
king of Drum-albin of winds." —
In the fequel of the piece, the bard does
not imitate Offian, and his poem is fo
much the worfe for it.— Keneth, with his
fifter's affiftance, forced his way thro* the
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