 | The Highlanders, and other poems |  |
261
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GAELIC.
263
TO ROBERT ARBUTHNOT, ESQ.
THE AFFECTIONATE FRIEND,—CANDID CRITIC,—AND
BENEVOLENT PATRON OF THE AUTHOR.
265
MORDUTH.
A FRAGMENT.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GAELIC.
ARGUMENT.
Morduth, we are told, is the name of the aged hero, who, speaking in the first person, narrates part of the transactions of his early life, relative to the wars then carried on between the Scotch and the Norwegians. He begins in a manner suited to pre-dispose the mind to regard him with mingled admiration and compassion. In an apostrophe to the wind, whose violence disturbed his meditations, he recurs to the days of his youth, when he ardently pursued the enemies of his country; and in foretelling the approaching weakness of the wind, when time should destroy its power, introduces an affecting allusion to his own feeble and forlorn state.
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BOOK I.
Com'st thou with swift wing in thy strength, O Wind!
Wilt thou not to my helpless age be kind?
And lightly o'er my rocky shelter wave,
While here I sit all mournful by the grave,
Where busy memory feeds on endless woe,
While youth's dear lost companions sleep below.
And while they still my sorrowing thoughts engage,
I sink beneath th' enfeebling hand of age:
Alone I tremble till the storm be past,—
Then strive not with my weakness, Northern Blast!
Once was my step as light as thine, O Wind!
With fearless valour, matchless strength combin'd;
My foes from many a battle, pierc'd with wounds,
With feeble step retir'd to distant bounds:—
But Sorrow yet shall stop thy airy flight,
O Wind! nor shalt thou climb yon mountain's height,
Nor o'er the dark wood bear th' impending cloud—
That wood which once beneath thy prowess bow'd:
The grass shall scorn to yield beneath thy pow'r,
But every twig and every laughing flow'r
Erect its head,—then to my age be kind,
Since thou thyself to age must yield, O Wind!
Wilt thou not to my helpless age be kind?
And lightly o'er my rocky shelter wave,
While here I sit all mournful by the grave,
Where busy memory feeds on endless woe,
While youth's dear lost companions sleep below.
And while they still my sorrowing thoughts engage,
I sink beneath th' enfeebling hand of age:
Alone I tremble till the storm be past,—
Then strive not with my weakness, Northern Blast!
Once was my step as light as thine, O Wind!
With fearless valour, matchless strength combin'd;
My foes from many a battle, pierc'd with wounds,
With feeble step retir'd to distant bounds:—
But Sorrow yet shall stop thy airy flight,
O Wind! nor shalt thou climb yon mountain's height,
Nor o'er the dark wood bear th' impending cloud—
That wood which once beneath thy prowess bow'd:
The grass shall scorn to yield beneath thy pow'r,
But every twig and every laughing flow'r
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Since thou thyself to age must yield, O Wind!
Come,
lovely hunter of excelling grace,
Awake a flame to warm and cheer the place;
Heap branches dry to kindle up in light,
For slowly from the east approaches night:
The Sun now hovers trembling in the west,
Already thrice the happy isles of rest
Have op'd their veil of clouds, and bade him lave
His glowing visage in the western wave :
They cry, “O haste! thy daily task is done,
“Come with thy bright looks streaming round, O Sun!
“Behind the surge, dark wandering clouds of night
“Come frequent on, to shade thy lustre bright:
“Fair visage! that first smiles to joy the east,
“Come, sink among the heavenly isles to rest.”
Dark frowning clouds on sable wings arise,
See shadowy forms invite him from the skies;
Departed heroes, hark! the Sun invite
To pass with them, in isles of bliss, the night.
Awake a flame to warm and cheer the place;
Heap branches dry to kindle up in light,
For slowly from the east approaches night:
The Sun now hovers trembling in the west,
Already thrice the happy isles of rest
Have op'd their veil of clouds, and bade him lave
His glowing visage in the western wave :
They cry, “O haste! thy daily task is done,
“Come with thy bright looks streaming round, O Sun!
“Behind the surge, dark wandering clouds of night
“Come frequent on, to shade thy lustre bright:
“Fair visage! that first smiles to joy the east,
“Come, sink among the heavenly isles to rest.”
Dark frowning clouds on sable wings arise,
See shadowy forms invite him from the skies;
Departed heroes, hark! the Sun invite
To pass with them, in isles of bliss, the night.
Blest be the meek-ey'd virgin of thy love;
Unerring be thy shaft in every grove!
Hunter! who kindly lend'st me frequent aid,
While weak with age I wander through the shade,
Sit thou attentive on yon moss grown grave,
While through the hollow rock the loud winds rave:
While fraught with meaning I the tale relate
Of heroes brave, and their eventful fate:
Now stretch'd beneath the monumental stone,
The gallant chiefs who first in battle shone!
Unerring be thy shaft in every grove!
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While weak with age I wander through the shade,
Sit thou attentive on yon moss grown grave,
While through the hollow rock the loud winds rave:
While fraught with meaning I the tale relate
Of heroes brave, and their eventful fate:
Now stretch'd beneath the monumental stone,
The gallant chiefs who first in battle shone!
How
bright the hue of years that ne'er return,
I feel my soul with wonted ardour burn!
Return, my youth, with all thy acts of might,
Rise, memory, on my soul in beams of light!
Show me the battles where I rul'd the storm,
And bright in armour show each hero's form.
O you that pour'd the tempest on your foes,
Look smiling from the clouds of your repose;
And while your children hear your proud renown,
See tears of transport silently steal down:—
My soul grows bright while former years arise,
With all their deeds of fame to glad my eyes:
In long succession see the scenes unfold,—
Hunter, attend! a tale of times of old!
I feel my soul with wonted ardour burn!
Return, my youth, with all thy acts of might,
Rise, memory, on my soul in beams of light!
Show me the battles where I rul'd the storm,
And bright in armour show each hero's form.
O you that pour'd the tempest on your foes,
Look smiling from the clouds of your repose;
And while your children hear your proud renown,
See tears of transport silently steal down:—
My soul grows bright while former years arise,
With all their deeds of fame to glad my eyes:
In long succession see the scenes unfold,—
Hunter, attend! a tale of times of old!
The stars slept viewless on their cloudy bed,
The moon in formless darkness hid her head,
Erewhile tumultuous winds through ocean rav'd,
Now tost in air, the clouds the billows brav'd—
When, awful riding on the midnight storm,
From ocean's bed rose Shalmor's shadowy form:
Dim o'er the ridgy surge he seems to go,
Dark in the whelming cloud of drifting snow;
Then high upon the blast's tempestuous breath,
Rose to the lofty rock the son of death!
Chill vapours hung around his pointless spear,
While from his cold, dark bed, the chief drew near;
Emphatic truths his awful words convey,
And thus in hollow sounds he seem'd to say:
“Rise, sons of Albion, from unsafe repose,
“Fierce from the north approach your ancient foes:
“Cold Lochlin's smooth ships through the stormy surge,
“With mighty pow'rs the bold invasion urge:
“Children of Albion, long renown'd, come forth
“To meet your bold invaders from the north!”
The moon in formless darkness hid her head,
Erewhile tumultuous winds through ocean rav'd,
Now tost in air, the clouds the billows brav'd—
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From ocean's bed rose Shalmor's shadowy form:
Dim o'er the ridgy surge he seems to go,
Dark in the whelming cloud of drifting snow;
Then high upon the blast's tempestuous breath,
Rose to the lofty rock the son of death!
Chill vapours hung around his pointless spear,
While from his cold, dark bed, the chief drew near;
Emphatic truths his awful words convey,
And thus in hollow sounds he seem'd to say:
“Rise, sons of Albion, from unsafe repose,
“Fierce from the north approach your ancient foes:
“Cold Lochlin's smooth ships through the stormy surge,
“With mighty pow'rs the bold invasion urge:
“Children of Albion, long renown'd, come forth
“To meet your bold invaders from the north!”
Swift on the cold blast fled the son of night,
The strong oak bow'd beneath th' impetuous flight;
The shatter'd forest shook before his wrath,
While to his wat'ry tomb retir'd the son of death.
The gentle Chief of Albion's generous race
Awak'd,—and, “Call my warriors from the chace,”
He cry'd, “and high on Feanna's ridgy brow
“Let warning flames alarm the vales below!”
From every mountain's side the Chiefs descend,
And bright in arms their gallant King attend:—
Morduth, the ruler of the strath around,
With warlike shouts, made trembling rocks resound:
The sons of battle heard the sound a-far,
And gleaming swords impatient threat the war.
Now morn dim dawning in the east appears,
And bids the sons of tempest seize their spears:
Mild in his beauteous radiance smil'd the sun,
While from blue Ocean's breast his course begun;
His beams resplendent glitter'd on the arms
Of Chiefs renown'd in battle's fierce alarms:
Up valiant Chiaglas rose, devoid of fear,
And thick behind the Chief rose many a spear;
Tommora gathers all his people round,
Nor in the rear was ardent Mordal found.
Chiaglas, who bow'd beneath the weight of years,
Cries, “Where are northern Sunar's thronging spears?
“Even I in former days have gather'd fame
“From Sunar, when to Albion's coasts he came:
“Though feeble age now foils me in the fight,
“Great was my strength, and great my deeds of might!”
‘If strength or hardihood can ought avail,’
Macorduibh cries, with fear and envy pale,
‘Now is the time,—for Sunar of the North,
‘In all the gallant pomp of war comes forth;
‘Redoubled sun-beams dance on polish'd arms,
‘And ardent warriors, smit with glory's charms,
‘Fierce in their strength move threatening at his side;
‘The woods before them bow their lofty pride.
‘See while they mount on Thirmor's rocky side,
‘His head diminish'd sinks before their stride;
‘In stormy wrath approaches Lochlin's might,
‘In vain the sons of Albion urge the fight,
‘To tempt their fate and turn in shameful flight.’
The strong oak bow'd beneath th' impetuous flight;
The shatter'd forest shook before his wrath,
While to his wat'ry tomb retir'd the son of death.
The gentle Chief of Albion's generous race
Awak'd,—and, “Call my warriors from the chace,”
He cry'd, “and high on Feanna's ridgy brow
“Let warning flames alarm the vales below!”
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And bright in arms their gallant King attend:—
Morduth, the ruler of the strath around,
With warlike shouts, made trembling rocks resound:
The sons of battle heard the sound a-far,
And gleaming swords impatient threat the war.
Now morn dim dawning in the east appears,
And bids the sons of tempest seize their spears:
Mild in his beauteous radiance smil'd the sun,
While from blue Ocean's breast his course begun;
His beams resplendent glitter'd on the arms
Of Chiefs renown'd in battle's fierce alarms:
Up valiant Chiaglas rose, devoid of fear,
And thick behind the Chief rose many a spear;
Tommora gathers all his people round,
Nor in the rear was ardent Mordal found.
Chiaglas, who bow'd beneath the weight of years,
Cries, “Where are northern Sunar's thronging spears?
“Even I in former days have gather'd fame
“From Sunar, when to Albion's coasts he came:
“Though feeble age now foils me in the fight,
“Great was my strength, and great my deeds of might!”
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Macorduibh cries, with fear and envy pale,
‘Now is the time,—for Sunar of the North,
‘In all the gallant pomp of war comes forth;
‘Redoubled sun-beams dance on polish'd arms,
‘And ardent warriors, smit with glory's charms,
‘Fierce in their strength move threatening at his side;
‘The woods before them bow their lofty pride.
‘See while they mount on Thirmor's rocky side,
‘His head diminish'd sinks before their stride;
‘In stormy wrath approaches Lochlin's might,
‘In vain the sons of Albion urge the fight,
‘To tempt their fate and turn in shameful flight.’
“Fly, dastard, to the quiet abodes a-far,
“Where timorous females shun the din of war;
“Thy soul shakes like the green leaf in the air,
“When Autumn's chill blast makes the forest bare;
“As flies the leaf before the wint'ry gale,
“Fly thou, when foes our valiant host assail;
“But many a stately tree this mountain owns,
“That stands erect when winter fiercest frowns;
“And oft our northern foes in fury came,
“But when retir'd with conquest or with fame?
“Depart unheard of, son of small renown!
“To where degenerate cowards dwell unknown!
“Had we no greater foes than thee to dread,
“How soon to certain conquest we might speed:
“We'd draw our weapons on this northern race,
“Assur'd, as when the tim'rous deer we chace:
“Bloody and bold are those thy taunts that hear,
“On every side then shun destruction near.”
‘Still in our ears thy base reproaches ring,—
‘Thou son of pride, withdraw thy venom'd sting!’
Two spears with hostile terror threat on high,
And half-drawn swords and clashing shields draw nigh:
With civil rage now wakens Albion might,
To pour on kindred foes the sudden fight.
But the strong shield that guards th' impetuous throng,
The lovely King of Albions, came along,
With mighty anger frowning in his wrath,
He came like the impending cloud of death:
From Chief to Chief dark roll'd his ardent eyes,
And as he came, with fierce impatience cries,
“Ye children of the waves, restrain your might,
“Nor vainly say you conquer'd us in fight:
“Oft rose our fathers' spears in battle's roar,
“And oft your tombs upon the sea-beat shore.
“But well may joy arise in Sunar's hall,
“When by each other Albion's warriors fall!”
Asham'd, dismay'd, before their monarch's ire,
The Chiefs who wak'd the deadly strife retire.
“Where timorous females shun the din of war;
“Thy soul shakes like the green leaf in the air,
“When Autumn's chill blast makes the forest bare;
“As flies the leaf before the wint'ry gale,
“Fly thou, when foes our valiant host assail;
“But many a stately tree this mountain owns,
“That stands erect when winter fiercest frowns;
“And oft our northern foes in fury came,
“But when retir'd with conquest or with fame?
“Depart unheard of, son of small renown!
“To where degenerate cowards dwell unknown!
“Had we no greater foes than thee to dread,
“How soon to certain conquest we might speed:
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“Assur'd, as when the tim'rous deer we chace:
“Bloody and bold are those thy taunts that hear,
“On every side then shun destruction near.”
‘Still in our ears thy base reproaches ring,—
‘Thou son of pride, withdraw thy venom'd sting!’
Two spears with hostile terror threat on high,
And half-drawn swords and clashing shields draw nigh:
With civil rage now wakens Albion might,
To pour on kindred foes the sudden fight.
But the strong shield that guards th' impetuous throng,
The lovely King of Albions, came along,
With mighty anger frowning in his wrath,
He came like the impending cloud of death:
From Chief to Chief dark roll'd his ardent eyes,
And as he came, with fierce impatience cries,
“Ye children of the waves, restrain your might,
“Nor vainly say you conquer'd us in fight:
“Oft rose our fathers' spears in battle's roar,
“And oft your tombs upon the sea-beat shore.
“But well may joy arise in Sunar's hall,
“When by each other Albion's warriors fall!”
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The Chiefs who wak'd the deadly strife retire.
As two dark clouds that travel o'er the hills,
When from the sky the misty show'r distils,
With low'ring horror fill the darken'd vale,
While on in gloomy majesty they sail:
Thus dark in frowning might our heroes came,
And thus fierce Lochlin's host of mighty name.
When from the sky the misty show'r distils,
With low'ring horror fill the darken'd vale,
While on in gloomy majesty they sail:
Thus dark in frowning might our heroes came,
And thus fierce Lochlin's host of mighty name.
Onward the king of Albion bent his course,
Then as a rock resists the billow's force,
Whose foaming rage assails the base in vain,
Then sinks with baffled fury back again—
So fierce, so clam'rous, rush'd the tide of foes,
So firm, so fearless, did the Chief oppose:
As come the loud winds through the gloom of night,
Came Lochlin's deadly spears to urge the fight:
Nor comes the fatal blast of night alone,
As fast the clouds that bid the tempest frown.
Thus high resistless Albion rose in arms,
Like bursting thunder came the loud alarms:
As rocky fragments from the mountain's brow,
By thunder torn, encounter fierce below,—
With furious shock the onset first began,
And many a foe lay gasping on the plain:
The Chieftains spears with rushing blood were dy'd,
And broken arms lay scatter'd far and wide;
Bold hardy warriors urg'd the conflict sore,
And many a wound ran purple on Dalmore.
But vainly force unequal we oppose,
What single arm can meet a hundred foes?
Our dauntless King our yielding steps beheld,
By Lochlin like a rushing tide impell'd,
The hero's soul with rage impetuous blaz'd,
While high in air his bloody spear he rais'd;
The foe's fierce conflict round the King appear'd,
While distant far his banner yielding steer'd.
At length he came, as ocean's wearied wave,
Where restless surges round Iona rave,
In vain assaults the rock's unyielding pride,
Then falls repell'd indignant from its side:
“Why art thou darken'd ere the day's decline,
“Fair Sun, that wont with fav'ring beams to shine ?
“Think not the warriors fought with feeble hands,
“Though far out-number'd by the adverse bands:
“Oft has an envious cloud obscur'd thy light,
“When sable tempests wing'd th' impetuous flight;
“But when the winds are hush'd, and through the sky
“The driving rack is seen across to fly;
“When clouds retiring hear thy strong command,
“And the rude blast thou graspest in thy hand;
“When kindly thou look'st forth with beauty crown'd,
“And all thy bright locks glitter wide around;
“When thy fair visage brightens with a smile,
“And pleasure gleams on every rock the while,
“Rejoic'd we see thy beaming glory rise,
“Rejoic'd we bless thy progress through the skies.
“Oh thou! who dwell'st among the starry train,
“Move on with music to the western main !
“Although this night oppress'd, with wounds we pine,
“Our course to-morrow shall be bright as thine!”
Then as a rock resists the billow's force,
Whose foaming rage assails the base in vain,
Then sinks with baffled fury back again—
So fierce, so clam'rous, rush'd the tide of foes,
So firm, so fearless, did the Chief oppose:
As come the loud winds through the gloom of night,
Came Lochlin's deadly spears to urge the fight:
Nor comes the fatal blast of night alone,
As fast the clouds that bid the tempest frown.
Thus high resistless Albion rose in arms,
Like bursting thunder came the loud alarms:
As rocky fragments from the mountain's brow,
By thunder torn, encounter fierce below,—
With furious shock the onset first began,
And many a foe lay gasping on the plain:
The Chieftains spears with rushing blood were dy'd,
And broken arms lay scatter'd far and wide;
Bold hardy warriors urg'd the conflict sore,
And many a wound ran purple on Dalmore.
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What single arm can meet a hundred foes?
Our dauntless King our yielding steps beheld,
By Lochlin like a rushing tide impell'd,
The hero's soul with rage impetuous blaz'd,
While high in air his bloody spear he rais'd;
The foe's fierce conflict round the King appear'd,
While distant far his banner yielding steer'd.
At length he came, as ocean's wearied wave,
Where restless surges round Iona rave,
In vain assaults the rock's unyielding pride,
Then falls repell'd indignant from its side:
“Why art thou darken'd ere the day's decline,
“Fair Sun, that wont with fav'ring beams to shine ?
“Think not the warriors fought with feeble hands,
“Though far out-number'd by the adverse bands:
“Oft has an envious cloud obscur'd thy light,
“When sable tempests wing'd th' impetuous flight;
“But when the winds are hush'd, and through the sky
“The driving rack is seen across to fly;
“When clouds retiring hear thy strong command,
“And the rude blast thou graspest in thy hand;
“When kindly thou look'st forth with beauty crown'd,
“And all thy bright locks glitter wide around;
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“And pleasure gleams on every rock the while,
“Rejoic'd we see thy beaming glory rise,
“Rejoic'd we bless thy progress through the skies.
“Oh thou! who dwell'st among the starry train,
“Move on with music to the western main !
“Although this night oppress'd, with wounds we pine,
“Our course to-morrow shall be bright as thine!”
The aged hero here addresses a young hunter, who appears to have treated him with compassionate veneration.
The ancient Britons believed heaven to be situated in beautiful islands in the western ocean, where the sun went to repose in the evening, among the shades of departed heroes.
There is an ardour of enthusiasm, and a force of expression in the original of this exordium, to which no translation can do justice.
Raising two spears was the signal for assault. On this occasion it appears to be the result of a quarrel between the Chiefs, whose discord is afterwards severely reproved by the King.
“This apostrophe meant for the King, is in a figurative or allegorical manner addressed to the sun.”
“Thusa ha measg na Reultan mor,
“Heiric dha dho leaba le ceol.”
“Thou who art amidst the constellations,
“Move to thy bed with music .”
“Heiric dha dho leaba le ceol.”
“Thou who art amidst the constellations,
“Move to thy bed with music .”
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BOOK II.
Three times dark hovering in the east the night
Chas'd with black misty wings the lingering light;
And thrice the stars with feebly glimmering ray
Shot through the struggling clouds that barr'd their way;
Low sullen winds that o'er the hillocks rise,
Seem laden with afflicted heroes sighs;
The shades of ancient Chiefs, renown'd for might,
In wrath were moving o'er the mountain's height:
Deep moans of new-made ghosts came on the breeze,
And weak their voices whisper'd through the trees;
Still in our ears their dying sorrows rung,
And anguish every manly bosom wrung.
Chas'd with black misty wings the lingering light;
And thrice the stars with feebly glimmering ray
Shot through the struggling clouds that barr'd their way;
Low sullen winds that o'er the hillocks rise,
Seem laden with afflicted heroes sighs;
The shades of ancient Chiefs, renown'd for might,
In wrath were moving o'er the mountain's height:
Deep moans of new-made ghosts came on the breeze,
And weak their voices whisper'd through the trees;
Still in our ears their dying sorrows rung,
And anguish every manly bosom wrung.
High on a lofty rock the king appear'd,
Th' indignant glance desponding warriors fear'd;
His mighty purpose lab'ring in his breast,
The monarch thus his high disdain express'd:
“When'er the dark occasion seems to frown,
“With trembling fear the little heart sinks down;
“And quick the feeble to the covert flies,—
“The brave on danger looks with fearless eyes,
“Sees him approach in his most hideous form,
“And lifts his head undaunted in the storm:
“Though through the wood the howling tempest raves,
“The stedfast oak the blast unshaken braves.
“Say, then, ye Chiefs, who warlike honours claim,
“If from the sons of little men we came?
“The spears we lift to quell invading foes,
“Not from weak twigs of bending osier rose:
“From the firm oak our well-try'd weapons came,
“Of Albion's growth, renown'd for deeds of fame!”
Th' indignant glance desponding warriors fear'd;
His mighty purpose lab'ring in his breast,
The monarch thus his high disdain express'd:
“When'er the dark occasion seems to frown,
“With trembling fear the little heart sinks down;
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“The brave on danger looks with fearless eyes,
“Sees him approach in his most hideous form,
“And lifts his head undaunted in the storm:
“Though through the wood the howling tempest raves,
“The stedfast oak the blast unshaken braves.
“Say, then, ye Chiefs, who warlike honours claim,
“If from the sons of little men we came?
“The spears we lift to quell invading foes,
“Not from weak twigs of bending osier rose:
“From the firm oak our well-try'd weapons came,
“Of Albion's growth, renown'd for deeds of fame!”
“How oft have foes come blustering from the north,
“How oft our valiant ancestors gone forth,
“And drove them vanquish'd from the bloody field—
“And will you to the sons of ocean yield?
“Where moans of wounded foes from blast to blast,
“And dying groans in sad succession pass'd:
“The flat grey stones, the monuments of death,
“That frequent rise on yonder dusky heath;
“Preserve the memory of our gallant sires—
“Hark! from their tombs a warning voice inspires,
“And says, ‘Ye sons of sires that never fled,
‘Your fathers' steps with dauntless ardour tread!’”
“How oft our valiant ancestors gone forth,
“And drove them vanquish'd from the bloody field—
“And will you to the sons of ocean yield?
“Where moans of wounded foes from blast to blast,
“And dying groans in sad succession pass'd:
“The flat grey stones, the monuments of death,
“That frequent rise on yonder dusky heath;
“Preserve the memory of our gallant sires—
“Hark! from their tombs a warning voice inspires,
“And says, ‘Ye sons of sires that never fled,
‘Your fathers' steps with dauntless ardour tread!’”
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Listening to hear the King disclose his wrath,
The heroes stood dejected, still as death:
Then rais'd aloft the buckler, sword, and spear,
While hollow sounds still murmur'd in their ear:
Morchean, the third that rul'd the sable rock,
Thrice shook his locks, thrice struck in wrath the oak:
“Though now my strength bows with the weight of years,
“No coward vein my cheek indignant bears;
“Seldom I struck an unavailing stroke,
“And oft my sword through hostile ranks has broke:
“I thought, and joy'd to think my gallant son
“Would build my tomb when life's short day was done;
“I hop'd when joy and grief alike were fled,
“Low in the narrow house he'd lay my head.
“Alas! nor stone nor shield his hand shall raise,
“But long in deathless songs shall live his praise!
“His step was in the battle foremost found,
“Till every friend or fell or fled around:
“But matchless odds can mortal might oppose?—
“The hero fell before a thousand foes!”
‘Blest be the hero's soul,’ the king return'd,
‘Alone he shall not lie, so justly mourn'd,
‘This night shall Albion's Chief his footsteps trace,
‘And dark our foes shall find the fatal place!’
The heroes stood dejected, still as death:
Then rais'd aloft the buckler, sword, and spear,
While hollow sounds still murmur'd in their ear:
Morchean, the third that rul'd the sable rock,
Thrice shook his locks, thrice struck in wrath the oak:
“Though now my strength bows with the weight of years,
“No coward vein my cheek indignant bears;
“Seldom I struck an unavailing stroke,
“And oft my sword through hostile ranks has broke:
“I thought, and joy'd to think my gallant son
“Would build my tomb when life's short day was done;
“I hop'd when joy and grief alike were fled,
“Low in the narrow house he'd lay my head.
“Alas! nor stone nor shield his hand shall raise,
“But long in deathless songs shall live his praise!
“His step was in the battle foremost found,
“Till every friend or fell or fled around:
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“The hero fell before a thousand foes!”
‘Blest be the hero's soul,’ the king return'd,
‘Alone he shall not lie, so justly mourn'd,
‘This night shall Albion's Chief his footsteps trace,
‘And dark our foes shall find the fatal place!’
Macorduibh's blooming spouse now grasp'd the shield:
“Shall men till sun-rise linger in the field?
“Will ye not hunt the foe like tim'rous deer,
“While doubt and darkness aggravate their fear?”
“Shall men till sun-rise linger in the field?
“Will ye not hunt the foe like tim'rous deer,
“While doubt and darkness aggravate their fear?”
A mighty Chief, for strength and courage fam'd,
With milder words her rash impatience blam'd:
“The sons of Albion oft, when wars were o'er,
“And strangers chanc'd to tread her woody shore,
“With kindly welcome gave the joyful shell;
“But never yet did ancient story tell,
“Where death in treacherous ambush lay in wait,
“When strangers pass the hospitable gate:
“Manly and generous Lochlin's sons appear,
“When the blest days of peace reverse the spear !”
With milder words her rash impatience blam'd:
“The sons of Albion oft, when wars were o'er,
“And strangers chanc'd to tread her woody shore,
“With kindly welcome gave the joyful shell;
“But never yet did ancient story tell,
“Where death in treacherous ambush lay in wait,
“When strangers pass the hospitable gate:
“Manly and generous Lochlin's sons appear,
“When the blest days of peace reverse the spear !”
The moon in gloomy silence hid her head,
The stars lay slumbering in their cloudy bed,
The whirling tempest waken'd loud alarms,
And rattling hail rebounded from our arms:
But dusky twilight bade its fury cease,
And every hostile blast was hush'd to peace.
Now morn's fair visage in the east arose,
The sun awak'd, more beauteous from repose,
Shook his bright locks resplendent o'er the field,
Till gladsome beams reflect from every shield.
Rejoicing in the rays of new-born light,
Each Chieftain seiz'd his arms, and wish'd the fight.
Said Morfolt ; ‘Let no warrior further come,
‘Who trusts that beauty's tears shall deck his tomb,
‘For whom a soft white hand shall trembling raise
‘The stone that gives his fame to future days.
‘For me,—this night, stretch'd on yon dusky heath,
‘I'll sleep within the cold embrace of death—
‘No stone of fame shall o'er my grave appear,
‘For me no check be moisten'd with a tear;
‘No hoary sire in me lament a son,
‘No son bewail a father's life is done;
‘Nor gentle maiden cry, alas! my love!
‘Still must my heart my erring hand reprove,
‘Still cruel memory view the fatal dart
‘That pierc'd the snowy breast, the faithful heart
‘Of her whose beauty, with excelling grace,
‘Outshone a thousand fair of Albion's race:
‘My alien sword, that draws the purple flood
‘From Lochlin's sons, smokes with my kindred's blood!
‘My ancestors of old were Albion's foes,
‘And high in fame round Lochlin's king they rose:
‘'Twas my bold youth's delight my course to urge,
‘With daring prow across the foaming surge:
‘Six gallant heroes rais'd my white sail high,
‘The northern blast in fury swept the sky,
‘The swelling billows rais'd their heads in wrath,
‘Or whirl'd us in the dreadful pools of death,
‘While blinding drift incessant drove around,
‘And angry skies with double darkness frown'd:
‘Fair Albion with the dawning light appear'd,
‘And o'er the ridgy waves its white cliffs rear'd;
‘Each oak its green locks shook with welcome kind,
‘And early music floated on the wind;
‘High banks, with melody on every spray,
‘Seem'd nodding o'er our bark to bid us stay:
‘A courteous Chieftain stretch'd his ready hand,
‘And “Welcome, Lochlin's sons,” he cries, “to land:
“Now hush'd in soft repose are war's alarms,
“And peaceful rust has settled on our arms;—
“Here many are our deer, and full our shells,
“High deeds of fame our ancient story tells;
“Honour and valour in our tales appear,—
“Who ever saw a guest a stranger here?”
‘With ready haste they spread the joyous feast,
‘Weary and faint we shar'd the glad repast:
‘On every hand the song of bards arose,
‘Well pleas'd we blest our country's ancient foes:—
‘Sweet as the sun just breaking forth to view,
‘That glittering cheers the foliage bent with dew,
‘Bosmina mov'd amidst the courteous throng,
‘Soft as the whisper'd melody of song,
‘And as with timid step she glided by,
‘Her path was trac'd by many a hero's eye !
‘In vain, sweet maid, their looks were cast on thee,
‘Whose soft regards alone distinguish'd me.
‘For me no hills arose with forests crown'd,
‘No warriors to my standard crowded round,
‘In early youth my ready weapon rose
‘And slaughter dealt amongst my country's foes;
‘Yet all the deeds my single arm could claim,
‘Nor fill'd the song of bards, nor rais'd my fame.
“Go,” cried the maid, “and seek some distant land
“Where mighty monarchs adverse hosts command,
“There let the ardent soul of valour flame,
“And deeds of proud renown adorn thy name;
“Then when thy fame returns on ev'ry wind,
“To glad the mourner whom thou leav'st behind,
“Come bright in arms and hear Bosmina own
“Her love the meed of Morfolt's worth alone.”
‘To Erin's king my subject arms I bore,
‘And many a foe sunk breathless on the shore,
‘And many a bard around the nightly flame
‘The notes of triumph mingled with my name.
‘My fatal fame now swelling on the breeze,
‘Reach'd every shore, and wafted o'er the seas,
‘To fair Bosmina's happy home convey'd
‘The name so favour'd by the matchless maid:
‘Daughters of Erin, vain were all your charms,
‘Your softly rolling eyes, and snowy arms;
‘For me ye sigh'd, on me ye smil'd in vain,
‘When peace brought safety to your plains again:
‘On wings of speed I hasted to depart,
‘And sought the secret treasure of my heart.
The stars lay slumbering in their cloudy bed,
The whirling tempest waken'd loud alarms,
And rattling hail rebounded from our arms:
280
And every hostile blast was hush'd to peace.
Now morn's fair visage in the east arose,
The sun awak'd, more beauteous from repose,
Shook his bright locks resplendent o'er the field,
Till gladsome beams reflect from every shield.
Rejoicing in the rays of new-born light,
Each Chieftain seiz'd his arms, and wish'd the fight.
Said Morfolt ; ‘Let no warrior further come,
‘Who trusts that beauty's tears shall deck his tomb,
‘For whom a soft white hand shall trembling raise
‘The stone that gives his fame to future days.
‘For me,—this night, stretch'd on yon dusky heath,
‘I'll sleep within the cold embrace of death—
‘No stone of fame shall o'er my grave appear,
‘For me no check be moisten'd with a tear;
‘No hoary sire in me lament a son,
‘No son bewail a father's life is done;
‘Nor gentle maiden cry, alas! my love!
‘Still must my heart my erring hand reprove,
‘Still cruel memory view the fatal dart
‘That pierc'd the snowy breast, the faithful heart
‘Of her whose beauty, with excelling grace,
‘Outshone a thousand fair of Albion's race:
281
‘From Lochlin's sons, smokes with my kindred's blood!
‘My ancestors of old were Albion's foes,
‘And high in fame round Lochlin's king they rose:
‘'Twas my bold youth's delight my course to urge,
‘With daring prow across the foaming surge:
‘Six gallant heroes rais'd my white sail high,
‘The northern blast in fury swept the sky,
‘The swelling billows rais'd their heads in wrath,
‘Or whirl'd us in the dreadful pools of death,
‘While blinding drift incessant drove around,
‘And angry skies with double darkness frown'd:
‘Fair Albion with the dawning light appear'd,
‘And o'er the ridgy waves its white cliffs rear'd;
‘Each oak its green locks shook with welcome kind,
‘And early music floated on the wind;
‘High banks, with melody on every spray,
‘Seem'd nodding o'er our bark to bid us stay:
‘A courteous Chieftain stretch'd his ready hand,
‘And “Welcome, Lochlin's sons,” he cries, “to land:
“Now hush'd in soft repose are war's alarms,
“And peaceful rust has settled on our arms;—
“Here many are our deer, and full our shells,
“High deeds of fame our ancient story tells;
“Honour and valour in our tales appear,—
“Who ever saw a guest a stranger here?”
282
‘Weary and faint we shar'd the glad repast:
‘On every hand the song of bards arose,
‘Well pleas'd we blest our country's ancient foes:—
‘Sweet as the sun just breaking forth to view,
‘That glittering cheers the foliage bent with dew,
‘Bosmina mov'd amidst the courteous throng,
‘Soft as the whisper'd melody of song,
‘And as with timid step she glided by,
‘Her path was trac'd by many a hero's eye !
‘In vain, sweet maid, their looks were cast on thee,
‘Whose soft regards alone distinguish'd me.
‘For me no hills arose with forests crown'd,
‘No warriors to my standard crowded round,
‘In early youth my ready weapon rose
‘And slaughter dealt amongst my country's foes;
‘Yet all the deeds my single arm could claim,
‘Nor fill'd the song of bards, nor rais'd my fame.
“Go,” cried the maid, “and seek some distant land
“Where mighty monarchs adverse hosts command,
283
“And deeds of proud renown adorn thy name;
“Then when thy fame returns on ev'ry wind,
“To glad the mourner whom thou leav'st behind,
“Come bright in arms and hear Bosmina own
“Her love the meed of Morfolt's worth alone.”
‘To Erin's king my subject arms I bore,
‘And many a foe sunk breathless on the shore,
‘And many a bard around the nightly flame
‘The notes of triumph mingled with my name.
‘My fatal fame now swelling on the breeze,
‘Reach'd every shore, and wafted o'er the seas,
‘To fair Bosmina's happy home convey'd
‘The name so favour'd by the matchless maid:
‘Daughters of Erin, vain were all your charms,
‘Your softly rolling eyes, and snowy arms;
‘For me ye sigh'd, on me ye smil'd in vain,
‘When peace brought safety to your plains again:
‘On wings of speed I hasted to depart,
‘And sought the secret treasure of my heart.
‘The sun lay slumb'ring in his wavy bed,
‘The moon through clouds a dubious lustre shed;
‘I saw her father's mossy tow'rs appear,
‘The birchen grove with streaming branches near
‘Wav'd its light foliage to the whisp'ring wind—
‘Dark horror rose in my presaging mind;
‘I stopt, and heard a well known voice repeat,
‘Like summer's balmy breath in accents sweet:
“Go, and should fate decree my hero's fall,
“Oft shall my soul this parting hour recal,
“And through the course of sad surviving years
“Thy mem'ry shall be hallow'd by my tears.”
‘My soul, that never knew to fear before,
‘With doubt and terror now was clouded o'er:
‘Within the dusky shelter of the wood
‘A stately warrior by Bosmina stood,—
‘I bent my bow, and bid my arrow go
‘And seek the false heart thro' the breast of snow—
‘Let never other warrior wander wide
‘Through fields of fame to win that heart of pride
‘Deep in her bosom sunk the shaft of death,
‘Wide spread her floating vesture on the heath;
‘The sanguine stream distains her tresses bright,
‘Her low groans mingle with the sighs of night.’
“Whence came the dart of death?” the warrior cried.
‘From no weak arm,’ my boastful wrath replied.
“Insidious foe,” th' astonish'd youth returns,
“Though fall'n beneath thy arm the helpless mourns,
“No mighty arms that valour gives to shine
“Are ever rais'd before a heart like thine;
“Amidst the airy forms of ages past
“Thy surly ghost shall mingle with the blast;
“To hollow winds the fatal deed deplore,
“Nor lift thy steel against the lovely more.”
‘Long on the heath alternate blows we deal,
‘She groan'd unheard amidst the clash of steel.
‘His broken spear no more repels the blow;
‘Prone at my feet I saw my gallant foe;
‘The moon burst forth—my dying Friend I view'd,—
‘Bosmina's brother! welt'ring in his blood!
“And art thou fall'n, our aged father's pride?”
‘Th' expiring maid with falt'ring accents cried:
“Where art thou, Morfolt,—on what distant shore
“Do mighty foes thy deadly force deplore?
“Who now shall hail thee with a brother's name,
“And call thee homeward from the fields of fame?
“Yet shall my hero come, and raise my tomb
“Amidst yon peaceful grove, whose hallow'd gloom
“Once heard our faithful vows!”—The steel I drew,
‘And when the sanguine torrent burst anew
‘My mingling tears her bleeding breast bedew'd;
‘Once more her closing eyes her lover view'd,
‘And saw his guilty hands in blood imbrued!
‘In the weak shriek the gen'rous soul was lost,
‘From my sad grasp escap'd th' abhorrent ghost,
‘Shunn'd the fierce terrors of my jealous love,
‘And on a moon-beam sought her friends above.
‘Four stones now mark the dwelling of the brave,
‘There, too, the lovely finds a peaceful grave:
‘The virgins oft with solemn brow draw near,
‘And deck the sacred spot with beauty's tear;
‘The shrubs wave mournful as the breezes blow,
‘Their tuneful inmates pour the notes of woe;
‘All night I listen to the howling blast,
‘Or gaze on clouds with double gloom o'ercast:
‘On me they darkly frown while gliding by,
‘And airy forms from me with horror fly.
‘Dunairm's sad chief in lonely silence mourns,
‘In vain he weeps,—the past no more returns;
‘At times his hands explore his children's tomb,
‘His voice of woe breaks through the midnight gloom,
‘No more he lifts the spear;—but I again
‘Shall bid his weapons thunder o'er the plain;
‘Against my father's house his arms I wield,
‘His gleaming steel shall pierce my kindred's shield;
‘My fatal weapon slew his valiant son,
‘Ere well his race of glory had begun;
‘Now round his early tomb, his country's foes
‘Shall fall, the victims of my guilty woes.
‘The moon's faint beams beheld the frantic deed,
‘By her pale light my kindred host shall bleed.
‘Once more I feel my wonted ardour burn,—
‘Once more I go, but never to return!’
‘The moon through clouds a dubious lustre shed;
‘I saw her father's mossy tow'rs appear,
‘The birchen grove with streaming branches near
‘Wav'd its light foliage to the whisp'ring wind—
‘Dark horror rose in my presaging mind;
‘I stopt, and heard a well known voice repeat,
‘Like summer's balmy breath in accents sweet:
284
“Oft shall my soul this parting hour recal,
“And through the course of sad surviving years
“Thy mem'ry shall be hallow'd by my tears.”
‘My soul, that never knew to fear before,
‘With doubt and terror now was clouded o'er:
‘Within the dusky shelter of the wood
‘A stately warrior by Bosmina stood,—
‘I bent my bow, and bid my arrow go
‘And seek the false heart thro' the breast of snow—
‘Let never other warrior wander wide
‘Through fields of fame to win that heart of pride
‘Deep in her bosom sunk the shaft of death,
‘Wide spread her floating vesture on the heath;
‘The sanguine stream distains her tresses bright,
‘Her low groans mingle with the sighs of night.’
“Whence came the dart of death?” the warrior cried.
‘From no weak arm,’ my boastful wrath replied.
“Insidious foe,” th' astonish'd youth returns,
“Though fall'n beneath thy arm the helpless mourns,
“No mighty arms that valour gives to shine
“Are ever rais'd before a heart like thine;
“Amidst the airy forms of ages past
“Thy surly ghost shall mingle with the blast;
“To hollow winds the fatal deed deplore,
“Nor lift thy steel against the lovely more.”
‘Long on the heath alternate blows we deal,
‘She groan'd unheard amidst the clash of steel.
285
‘Prone at my feet I saw my gallant foe;
‘The moon burst forth—my dying Friend I view'd,—
‘Bosmina's brother! welt'ring in his blood!
“And art thou fall'n, our aged father's pride?”
‘Th' expiring maid with falt'ring accents cried:
“Where art thou, Morfolt,—on what distant shore
“Do mighty foes thy deadly force deplore?
“Who now shall hail thee with a brother's name,
“And call thee homeward from the fields of fame?
“Yet shall my hero come, and raise my tomb
“Amidst yon peaceful grove, whose hallow'd gloom
“Once heard our faithful vows!”—The steel I drew,
‘And when the sanguine torrent burst anew
‘My mingling tears her bleeding breast bedew'd;
‘Once more her closing eyes her lover view'd,
‘And saw his guilty hands in blood imbrued!
‘In the weak shriek the gen'rous soul was lost,
‘From my sad grasp escap'd th' abhorrent ghost,
‘Shunn'd the fierce terrors of my jealous love,
‘And on a moon-beam sought her friends above.
‘Four stones now mark the dwelling of the brave,
‘There, too, the lovely finds a peaceful grave:
‘The virgins oft with solemn brow draw near,
‘And deck the sacred spot with beauty's tear;
‘The shrubs wave mournful as the breezes blow,
‘Their tuneful inmates pour the notes of woe;
286
‘Or gaze on clouds with double gloom o'ercast:
‘On me they darkly frown while gliding by,
‘And airy forms from me with horror fly.
‘Dunairm's sad chief in lonely silence mourns,
‘In vain he weeps,—the past no more returns;
‘At times his hands explore his children's tomb,
‘His voice of woe breaks through the midnight gloom,
‘No more he lifts the spear;—but I again
‘Shall bid his weapons thunder o'er the plain;
‘Against my father's house his arms I wield,
‘His gleaming steel shall pierce my kindred's shield;
‘My fatal weapon slew his valiant son,
‘Ere well his race of glory had begun;
‘Now round his early tomb, his country's foes
‘Shall fall, the victims of my guilty woes.
‘The moon's faint beams beheld the frantic deed,
‘By her pale light my kindred host shall bleed.
‘Once more I feel my wonted ardour burn,—
‘Once more I go, but never to return!’
While their confusion and horror at the imputation of cowardice made them still imagine the words sounded in their ears.
The nearest relation first put his hand to lift the corpse of the departed, and the nearest relation at home first lifted the stone of fame.
Morfolt, a name given to a person having an unusual quantity of hair, as one would say, heavy locks.
Thus far the Gaelic manuscript in the hands of the Translator. The subsequent part is versified from a prose translation by Mr. Clarke, which there is every reason to rely upon as authentic; his father and grandfather having been remarkable for their poetical taste and tenacious memory, and considered by their contemporaries as living depositaries of Gaelic traditions and poems.
289
THE AGED BARD'S WISH,
TRANSLATION OF A GAELIC POEM COMPOSED IN THE ISLE OF SKY.
As when a minstrel, taught by Heav'n to sing,
Awakes high raptures to the vocal string.
POPE'S ODYSSEY.
Awakes high raptures to the vocal string.
POPE'S ODYSSEY.
Oh! lay me by yon peaceful stream
That glides away so softly slow,
Where boughs exclude the noon-day beam,
And early violets round me blow.
That glides away so softly slow,
Where boughs exclude the noon-day beam,
And early violets round me blow.
And thou, O sun! with friendly eye
Regard my languid limbs of age;
While on the new spring grass they lie,
Their warmth restore, their pains assuage.
Regard my languid limbs of age;
While on the new spring grass they lie,
Their warmth restore, their pains assuage.
290
Then on the pure stream's sloping side,
Wave soft thy wings thou western gale,
Clear stream, how gently dost thou glide,
To wake the flow'rets of the vale.
Wave soft thy wings thou western gale,
Clear stream, how gently dost thou glide,
To wake the flow'rets of the vale.
The primrose pale, of lovely dye,
Around my dewy bank be spread;
The daisy ope its modest eye,
And golden blooms bedeck my bed.
Around my dewy bank be spread;
The daisy ope its modest eye,
And golden blooms bedeck my bed.
From lofty banks that bound my glen,
Let blossom'd branches softly bend,
While sweetly from each rocky den
The little birds their love-notes blend.
Let blossom'd branches softly bend,
While sweetly from each rocky den
The little birds their love-notes blend.
Where from yon crag, with age so grey,
The fresh stream bursts with rushing sound,
And echo bears the din away,
While ocean's distant waves resound.
The fresh stream bursts with rushing sound,
And echo bears the din away,
While ocean's distant waves resound.
Each rock and hill returns the strain
Of nature's joy that wakes around,
While sportive kids in frolic vein,
And roes in sprightly gambol bound.
Of nature's joy that wakes around,
While sportive kids in frolic vein,
And roes in sprightly gambol bound.
The low of herds on yonder gale
Comes pleasing to my aged ear,
And sweetly rural from the dale
The bleating of their young I hear.
Comes pleasing to my aged ear,
And sweetly rural from the dale
The bleating of their young I hear.
291
And near me let the hinds repose,
And dappled fawns when tir'd of play,
Beside my brook's green margin close,
Or where the dashing fountains play.
And dappled fawns when tir'd of play,
Beside my brook's green margin close,
Or where the dashing fountains play.
Oh! wake the chase, where I may hear
The hunter rouse th' impatient hounds;
Their voice is music to my ear,
My cheek glows youthful at the sound.
The hunter rouse th' impatient hounds;
Their voice is music to my ear,
My cheek glows youthful at the sound.
I feel youth's cheerful spirit rise,
To hear the bugle sound so shrill,
While triumph bursts in joyful cries,
Where sinks the dun deer on the hill.
To hear the bugle sound so shrill,
While triumph bursts in joyful cries,
Where sinks the dun deer on the hill.
Then quick I see the goats rebound,
That morn and eve my steps pursue;
Yon mountain tops their cries resound,
Which I at hopeless distance view .
That morn and eve my steps pursue;
Yon mountain tops their cries resound,
Which I at hopeless distance view .
I see Benard of lofty brow,
Amidst his green locks dream the roes,
A thousand hills appear below,
And on his head the clouds repose.
Amidst his green locks dream the roes,
A thousand hills appear below,
And on his head the clouds repose.
292
Above my glen I see the grove
Where first is heard the cuckoo's song;
Where deer in peaceful freedom rove,
And pines protect the harmless throng.
Where first is heard the cuckoo's song;
Where deer in peaceful freedom rove,
And pines protect the harmless throng.
I see the lake where wild ducks play,
And lead about their tender young,
With water-lilies border'd gay,
Its banks with evergreens o'erhung.
And lead about their tender young,
With water-lilies border'd gay,
Its banks with evergreens o'erhung.
The water-nymph, with bosom white,
Swims graceful on the swelling wave;
Her infant train, with new delight,
Their downy breasts incessant lave:
Swims graceful on the swelling wave;
Her infant train, with new delight,
Their downy breasts incessant lave:
And when she wings her lofty flight,
Afar amidst the clouds to rise,
And when she quits my aching sight,
Commixing with the northern skies;
Afar amidst the clouds to rise,
And when she quits my aching sight,
Commixing with the northern skies;
She goes upon the southern gale,
Where vent'rous prow ne'er cut the waves,
Where never rose the flutt'ring sail,
But ocean solitary raves.
Where vent'rous prow ne'er cut the waves,
Where never rose the flutt'ring sail,
But ocean solitary raves.
293
Be thou, with snowy plumage soft,
O swan! not far from my repose;
Even when I see thee soar aloft,
Thy parting strain will soothe my woes.
O swan! not far from my repose;
Even when I see thee soar aloft,
Thy parting strain will soothe my woes.
Tell from what distant land the wind
Bears on its wings the sound of woe—
Sure 'tis his voice, who left behind
His Love, to trace the realm of snow.
Bears on its wings the sound of woe—
Sure 'tis his voice, who left behind
His Love, to trace the realm of snow.
Stream thy bright eyes, O virgin mild!
For him on Lochlin's stormy coast
Who perish'd midst the tempest wild,—
To thee—to me—for ever lost!
For him on Lochlin's stormy coast
Who perish'd midst the tempest wild,—
To thee—to me—for ever lost!
The graceful youth, in manly bloom,
Who left my grey locks thus forlorn,
Far off to seek an early tomb,
Dost thou with social sorrow mourn?
Who left my grey locks thus forlorn,
Far off to seek an early tomb,
Dost thou with social sorrow mourn?
Thy beauteous cheek, grown pale with grief,
Still leans upon thy hand of snow,
Still heaves thy bosom for the chief
Long in the narrow bed laid low.
Still leans upon thy hand of snow,
Still heaves thy bosom for the chief
Long in the narrow bed laid low.
294
O! be his mem'ry ever bless'd,
Bright be the clouds of his repose;
Soon shall we share the hero's rest,
Soon life, and love, and sorrow close.
Bright be the clouds of his repose;
Soon shall we share the hero's rest,
Soon life, and love, and sorrow close.
Rise thou, whose soft melodious song
Pours on my heart the balm of ease;
Ye plaintive echoes come along,
And waft the notes, thou sighing breeze!
Pours on my heart the balm of ease;
Ye plaintive echoes come along,
And waft the notes, thou sighing breeze!
From ocean's breast, O gale, arise!
Bear on thy wings the dulcet strain,—
Bear it where high on clouds he lies,
Tell him he hears the fair complain.
Bear on thy wings the dulcet strain,—
Bear it where high on clouds he lies,
Tell him he hears the fair complain.
Tell, ere thy strength be past, O wind!
Where weak in helpless age I lie,
Low on my rusty shield reclin'd,
And view his fair flow'r with'ring nigh.
Where weak in helpless age I lie,
Low on my rusty shield reclin'd,
And view his fair flow'r with'ring nigh.
Lift me, O you, whose arms are young!
Lay me beneath yon broad oak's shade;
For now the noon-day sun grows strong,
Let not his rays my eyes invade.
Lay me beneath yon broad oak's shade;
For now the noon-day sun grows strong,
Let not his rays my eyes invade.
Then wilt thou come, thou vision fair,
Oft mingled with the stars of night;
Scenes of my youth shall rise in air,
And times of manhood's active might.
Oft mingled with the stars of night;
Scenes of my youth shall rise in air,
And times of manhood's active might.
295
Shew to my soul the lovely maid,
Beneath the oak, the forest's pride;
Her cheek let golden tresses shade,
Her lover, smiling, grace her side.
Beneath the oak, the forest's pride;
Her cheek let golden tresses shade,
Her lover, smiling, grace her side.
May endless joy their spirits wait,
And meteors waft th' enamour'd pair!
Bless'd be your souls, and bless'd thy fate,
Maid with the graceful locks so fair!
And meteors waft th' enamour'd pair!
Bless'd be your souls, and bless'd thy fate,
Maid with the graceful locks so fair!
Leave not my soul, O dream of joy!
O turn again, once more return!
They hear me not—My darling boy!
For thee, for her, not long I mourn!
O turn again, once more return!
They hear me not—My darling boy!
For thee, for her, not long I mourn!
Now lay me close by yonder fall
That leaps in thunder o'er the rock;
My lyre and shell attend my call,
The spear my sires in battle shook.
That leaps in thunder o'er the rock;
My lyre and shell attend my call,
The spear my sires in battle shook.
And come whence ocean's waters roll,
Ye breezes mild that softly blow,
And bear away my parting soul
Where sinks the sun at evening low.
Ye breezes mild that softly blow,
And bear away my parting soul
Where sinks the sun at evening low.
O bear me to the happy isles
Where shades of mighty heroes rest,
Who, sunk in sleep, forget their toils,
Or wake the music of the bless'd.
Where shades of mighty heroes rest,
Who, sunk in sleep, forget their toils,
Or wake the music of the bless'd.
296
Blind Ossian's misty halls unfold:
Your eyes no more the bard shall view:
Let me my harp and shell behold,—
And now, dear harp and shell, adieu!
Your eyes no more the bard shall view:
Let me my harp and shell behold,—
And now, dear harp and shell, adieu!
| The Highlanders, and other poems | |