The poems of Ossian &c. containing the Poetical Works of James Macpherson, Esq. in prose and rhyme: with notes and illustrations by Malcolm Laing. In two volumes |
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 | The poems of Ossian |  |
512
CANTO IX.
O, more than mortal! then I raptured cry,
Explain these wonders that attract the eye!
Youth, feeble youth, with ignorance combined,
Weaken the soul, and vail the wondering mind:
I said,—the blooming vision quick replies,
This field's the world, there honour's columns rise;
There stray, inconstant, all thy feeble kind;
Their roads as various as the shifting wind.
Towards that blooming form they turn their eyes,
And honour, honour, is the good they prize.
They rave, they burn, they died for honour's charms!
Through toil, through death, they seek her lovely arms:
But scarce their ardent thirst they can assuage,
Till slander hiss them off the envied stage;
Till infamy shall blast the ill got fame,
And dark oblivion tumble round their name.
Explain these wonders that attract the eye!
Youth, feeble youth, with ignorance combined,
Weaken the soul, and vail the wondering mind:
I said,—the blooming vision quick replies,
This field's the world, there honour's columns rise;
There stray, inconstant, all thy feeble kind;
Their roads as various as the shifting wind.
Towards that blooming form they turn their eyes,
And honour, honour, is the good they prize.
They rave, they burn, they died for honour's charms!
Through toil, through death, they seek her lovely arms:
But scarce their ardent thirst they can assuage,
Till slander hiss them off the envied stage;
Till infamy shall blast the ill got fame,
And dark oblivion tumble round their name.
The phantom spoke, the wonderous scene decayed:
A new creation graced the forming maid;
A rural scene! there heavy ears inclined,
Shine o'er the field, and vibrate in the wind.
The loaden tree with ripened fruitage glows;
And through the grove the balmy zephyr blows.
With gathered squadrons, cays, a sable train,
Swim in the sky, or cheque the yellow plain.
To different toils apply the rustic throng;
Here lazy oxen drag the plough along:
The lusty sheaves the binding reapers swell,
And the slow carman hurls the screaming wheel.
Now, ripe for birth, the full grown autumn smiled,
And more than nature laughs along the field.
A new creation graced the forming maid;
513
Shine o'er the field, and vibrate in the wind.
The loaden tree with ripened fruitage glows;
And through the grove the balmy zephyr blows.
With gathered squadrons, cays, a sable train,
Swim in the sky, or cheque the yellow plain.
To different toils apply the rustic throng;
Here lazy oxen drag the plough along:
The lusty sheaves the binding reapers swell,
And the slow carman hurls the screaming wheel.
Now, ripe for birth, the full grown autumn smiled,
And more than nature laughs along the field.
Sated with joys complete, I turn the eye
To shaggy mountains, and inclement sky;
My fellows of the chace, I trembling view,
In quest of me, a lamentable crew:
The sable rocks they ceaseless rend with cries,
And sorrow trickled from their longing eyes.
Here, here I am, I often, often cried;
The heedless crew passed on, nor aught replied.
While on the plain I view my parent—sage,
Tottering beneath a load of grief and age;
With drooping head, which years had cap'd with snow,
Laid on a staff, and move unwilling slow,
The senior quaked on age-suspended limbs,
And sad around, his fading eye-ball swims:—
My son, my son! O, darling of my age!
What headlong torrent, with impetuous rage,
Roars round thy lifeless limbs; and, drowned, bears
The light, the comfort of my aged years.
O life fallacious! how thy hopes decay,
You grant a bliss, then snatch the prize away!
Ah me! for this did I my age employ,
For death untimely save the rising boy!
What ardent joys did then my soul confess,
While Donald vanquished in the rapid race;
What ardent joys dilate my ardent mind,
While you transfixed the hart, or bounding hind;
Oft have I seen, but ah! shall see no more,
Here, here, where hapless I your loss deplore,
Unerring wing the feathered arrow's flight,
Or wield the gauntlet, or discharge the quoit.
Come, Death, inwrap me, sable, silent shade;
And, mourning grave! receive this hoary head.
He stopt, he sighed, and tore the silver hair,
And gnashed beneath thy grievous weight, Despair!
I feel his grief, the tears begin to flow,
And all my soul is touched with mighty woe.
I start, I stretch my limbs, his soul to ease,
While on the eye the transient scene decays:
Faded the view, extinct diurnal light,
And howled without the cloud-enveloped night.
To shaggy mountains, and inclement sky;
My fellows of the chace, I trembling view,
In quest of me, a lamentable crew:
The sable rocks they ceaseless rend with cries,
And sorrow trickled from their longing eyes.
Here, here I am, I often, often cried;
The heedless crew passed on, nor aught replied.
While on the plain I view my parent—sage,
Tottering beneath a load of grief and age;
With drooping head, which years had cap'd with snow,
Laid on a staff, and move unwilling slow,
The senior quaked on age-suspended limbs,
And sad around, his fading eye-ball swims:—
My son, my son! O, darling of my age!
What headlong torrent, with impetuous rage,
Roars round thy lifeless limbs; and, drowned, bears
The light, the comfort of my aged years.
O life fallacious! how thy hopes decay,
You grant a bliss, then snatch the prize away!
Ah me! for this did I my age employ,
For death untimely save the rising boy!
514
While Donald vanquished in the rapid race;
What ardent joys dilate my ardent mind,
While you transfixed the hart, or bounding hind;
Oft have I seen, but ah! shall see no more,
Here, here, where hapless I your loss deplore,
Unerring wing the feathered arrow's flight,
Or wield the gauntlet, or discharge the quoit.
Come, Death, inwrap me, sable, silent shade;
And, mourning grave! receive this hoary head.
He stopt, he sighed, and tore the silver hair,
And gnashed beneath thy grievous weight, Despair!
I feel his grief, the tears begin to flow,
And all my soul is touched with mighty woe.
I start, I stretch my limbs, his soul to ease,
While on the eye the transient scene decays:
Faded the view, extinct diurnal light,
And howled without the cloud-enveloped night.
Thus in the horizon of the silent night,
The setting moon darts parallel its light,
Silvers the flood, and paints the landscape gay,
And deals around the bright nocturnal day:
But, sunk beneath, the pleasing prospects fail,
And every object wears a melancholy veil.
Sunk in a flood of heart-corroding woes,
O'erwhelmed I stood; another scene arose:—
The setting moon darts parallel its light,
Silvers the flood, and paints the landscape gay,
And deals around the bright nocturnal day:
But, sunk beneath, the pleasing prospects fail,
And every object wears a melancholy veil.
Sunk in a flood of heart-corroding woes,
O'erwhelmed I stood; another scene arose:—
Mingled with heroes in the iron field,
A second self, astonished, I beheld;
My shape, my size, my features, all the same,
As oft looked trembling from undimpled stream;
Athwart the side the well-known scabbard flies,
The well-known plaid hangs plaited down the thighs;
O'er half my leg the spangled buskin glows,
And orient hair from th' azure bonnet flows:
Upon this breast the plaid half hid beneath,
The polished pistol, minister of death!
Beneath my lifted arm the enemies groan,
And I exult in bravery not my own;
And victory, terrific, in her car,
Hurls on the deluge of the noisy war;
Graspt honour in thy arms, and high renowned
My godlike heroes their preserver owned.
Shouts, acclamations, rend the fluid air,
While slow approached a soft majestic fair;
Her blooming charms my reeling soul surprize,
I senseless stood, and fixed on her my eyes:
My soul is melted with the soft desire,
The virgin smiled, and seemed to feel my fire.
At once concedes her more than mortal charms,
I spread my hands to clasp her in my arms;
When all at once the blooming scene disjoin'd,
And Donald hugged a blast of empty wind.
A second self, astonished, I beheld;
My shape, my size, my features, all the same,
As oft looked trembling from undimpled stream;
Athwart the side the well-known scabbard flies,
The well-known plaid hangs plaited down the thighs;
O'er half my leg the spangled buskin glows,
And orient hair from th' azure bonnet flows:
Upon this breast the plaid half hid beneath,
The polished pistol, minister of death!
Beneath my lifted arm the enemies groan,
And I exult in bravery not my own;
515
Hurls on the deluge of the noisy war;
Graspt honour in thy arms, and high renowned
My godlike heroes their preserver owned.
Shouts, acclamations, rend the fluid air,
While slow approached a soft majestic fair;
Her blooming charms my reeling soul surprize,
I senseless stood, and fixed on her my eyes:
My soul is melted with the soft desire,
The virgin smiled, and seemed to feel my fire.
At once concedes her more than mortal charms,
I spread my hands to clasp her in my arms;
When all at once the blooming scene disjoin'd,
And Donald hugged a blast of empty wind.
Oh! cruel, cruel! I desponding said,
While sunk the taper and the phantom maid;
Rough-rumbling thunders through the sable groan,
And blustering winds proclaim the vision gone.
I start, unsheathed my sword, uprightly stood
My hair, surprise ran shivering through my blood.
A sprite in every fiery meteor past,
A sprite seemed howling in each whistling blast;
Until my soul, by resolution swayed,
Despised each fear, and thought upon the maid.
The maid, the maid, all, all my soul possessed,
The maid sat empress in my rolling breast.
Then, then her phantom all my bosom warms,
What must I feel who saw her real charms;
Her thought-created graces I admire,
My reason slept, and fancy fed the fire.
While sunk the taper and the phantom maid;
Rough-rumbling thunders through the sable groan,
And blustering winds proclaim the vision gone.
I start, unsheathed my sword, uprightly stood
My hair, surprise ran shivering through my blood.
A sprite in every fiery meteor past,
A sprite seemed howling in each whistling blast;
Until my soul, by resolution swayed,
Despised each fear, and thought upon the maid.
The maid, the maid, all, all my soul possessed,
The maid sat empress in my rolling breast.
Then, then her phantom all my bosom warms,
What must I feel who saw her real charms;
Her thought-created graces I admire,
My reason slept, and fancy fed the fire.
The wished for morn its early blushes spread,
Reared o'er the eastern hill her rosy head;
Sunk are the winds, the clouds together fly,
And glows serene the azure-arched sky.
Cheered with the blest return of sacred light,
Eased of the gloomy terrors of the night,
I glad ascend, and homeward bend my way;
The hut appears with the meridian day.
What scene appears of heart-corroding woe,
The melancholy crowd, solemnly slow,
Support my dead preserver to the grave;
Death sped the blow, which aged sorrow gave.
For me, for me, the senior drew his breath!
For me, for me, the aged sunk in death!
To find me in the grave; I sobbing paid
My tearful tribute to the reverend shade:
At once, love, gratitude, and duty mourn,
My sire, my counsel, in the silent urn.
Reared o'er the eastern hill her rosy head;
Sunk are the winds, the clouds together fly,
And glows serene the azure-arched sky.
Cheered with the blest return of sacred light,
Eased of the gloomy terrors of the night,
516
The hut appears with the meridian day.
What scene appears of heart-corroding woe,
The melancholy crowd, solemnly slow,
Support my dead preserver to the grave;
Death sped the blow, which aged sorrow gave.
For me, for me, the senior drew his breath!
For me, for me, the aged sunk in death!
To find me in the grave; I sobbing paid
My tearful tribute to the reverend shade:
At once, love, gratitude, and duty mourn,
My sire, my counsel, in the silent urn.
Now on the eye decay the blissful scenes,
The rough-browed rocks, and all the sloping plains
Delight no more; no chace, no winged fowl,
No goat, no cattle, cheer the mournful soul.
The senior gone, the rural sports decayed,
And love attracts the traveller to the maid.
The rough-browed rocks, and all the sloping plains
Delight no more; no chace, no winged fowl,
No goat, no cattle, cheer the mournful soul.
The senior gone, the rural sports decayed,
And love attracts the traveller to the maid.
As when the playful youth delighted views
A thousand flowers, of thousand various hues,
Glow on the murmuring rivulet's farther side;
He dips his foot, and, trembling, backward flies,
Returns again, and lops the blooming toys:
Thus undetermined long I dubious stood,
Then headlong plunged in fortune's sable flood;
Swift bounding forward, I devour the way,
The oaten field and low-roofed hut decay;
The hills step backward, as I onward stride
Along the sharp-spiked rocks and mountains side.
Tay, on thy banks, a courteous host! received,
And balmy rest the nerve of toil relieved.
A thousand flowers, of thousand various hues,
Glow on the murmuring rivulet's farther side;
He dips his foot, and, trembling, backward flies,
Returns again, and lops the blooming toys:
Thus undetermined long I dubious stood,
Then headlong plunged in fortune's sable flood;
Swift bounding forward, I devour the way,
The oaten field and low-roofed hut decay;
The hills step backward, as I onward stride
Along the sharp-spiked rocks and mountains side.
Tay, on thy banks, a courteous host! received,
And balmy rest the nerve of toil relieved.
Soon as the sky with, Sol! thy chariot glows,
Made strong for toil, the wandering traveller goes;
Ceaseless I mete the road, till setting day
Darts parallel to earth a golden ray.
A place there is, where the cerulean main
Glides up 'twixt rocks, and forms an azure plain;
There, there I stood, astonished to survey
The roaring billows on the watery way;
How liquid mountains dash against the shore,
The rough rocks rumble, hoarse the billows roar:
I stretch'd my limbs along the murmuring deep,
And the hoarse billows lull my soul asleep.
Made strong for toil, the wandering traveller goes;
Ceaseless I mete the road, till setting day
Darts parallel to earth a golden ray.
517
Glides up 'twixt rocks, and forms an azure plain;
There, there I stood, astonished to survey
The roaring billows on the watery way;
How liquid mountains dash against the shore,
The rough rocks rumble, hoarse the billows roar:
I stretch'd my limbs along the murmuring deep,
And the hoarse billows lull my soul asleep.
| The poems of Ossian | |