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OITHONA.
A POEM OF OSSIAN VERSIFIED.
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ARGUMENT.
Gaul, the son of Morni, attended Lathmon into his own country, where he was kindly entertained by Nuath, the father of Lathmon, and fell in love with his daughter Oithona. The lady was no less enamoured of Gaul, and a day was fixed for their marriage. In the mean time, Fingal, preparing for an expedition, sent for Gaul. He obeyed and went; but promised Oithona to return if he survived the war, by a certain day. Lathmon too was obliged to attend his father Nuath in his wars; and Oithona was left alone at Dunlathmon, the seat of the family. Dunromath, Lord of Cuthal, taking advantage of the absence of her friends, came, and carried off by force, Oithona, who had formerly rejected his love, into Tromathon, where he concealed her in a cave. —Gaul returned on the day appointed; heard of the rape, and sailed to Tromathon, to revenge himself on Dunromath. When he landed, he found Oithona disconsolate, and resolved not to survive the loss of her honour. She told him the story of her misfortunes, and she had scarce ended, when Dunromath with his followers
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“Around Dunlathmon pensive glooms arise,
The moon shews half her face upon the hill:
Night's gloomy daughter turns her rolling eyes,
She sees with sorrow the approaching ill—
The noble son of Morni's on the field:
Ceas'd is the sound within the spacious room,
Long streaming beams no more their gladness yield,
Trembling they come not; through the awful gloom,
Oithona's gentle voice is heard no more,
Where fair Duvrannas, streams, in murmurs roar.
The moon shews half her face upon the hill:
Night's gloomy daughter turns her rolling eyes,
She sees with sorrow the approaching ill—
The noble son of Morni's on the field:
Ceas'd is the sound within the spacious room,
Long streaming beams no more their gladness yield,
Trembling they come not; through the awful gloom,
Oithona's gentle voice is heard no more,
Where fair Duvrannas, streams, in murmurs roar.
Ah! whither in thy beauty hast thou stray'd,
Where wanders Nuath's daughter, dark-hair'd maid?
Lathmon is absent on the warlike plain,
But in the hall thou promis'd to remain
'Till Morni's son had sheath'd his shining blade,
And sought you in Duvrannas cooling shade,
'Till he from Sturmon came to seek thy charms,
And tell his passion in thy snowy arms!
The tear at his departure sought thine eye,
Secret thy bosom heav'd the pensive sigh;
But thou com'st not with music and with songs,
Nor the harps cheerful, lightly-trembling sound,
Hush'd is the echoes of the tuneful throngs;
Sorrow has thrown her gloomy garb around.”
Where wanders Nuath's daughter, dark-hair'd maid?
Lathmon is absent on the warlike plain,
But in the hall thou promis'd to remain
'Till Morni's son had sheath'd his shining blade,
And sought you in Duvrannas cooling shade,
'Till he from Sturmon came to seek thy charms,
And tell his passion in thy snowy arms!
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Secret thy bosom heav'd the pensive sigh;
But thou com'st not with music and with songs,
Nor the harps cheerful, lightly-trembling sound,
Hush'd is the echoes of the tuneful throngs;
Sorrow has thrown her gloomy garb around.”
Such were the words of Gaul, when he came nigh,
Where strong Dunlathmon's tow'rs majestic beam on high—
The gates were open, darkness wrapt the wall;
The winds were blust'ring through the vacant hall;
The trees had strow'd the threshold with their leaves,
Night's mournful murmur rode upon the breeze.
Where strong Dunlathmon's tow'rs majestic beam on high—
The gates were open, darkness wrapt the wall;
The winds were blust'ring through the vacant hall;
The trees had strow'd the threshold with their leaves,
Night's mournful murmur rode upon the breeze.
Upon a rock great Morni's son reclin'd,
A tender sorrow sooth'd his warlike mind:
Trembling, his soul thought on the lovely maid,
He told her beauties to the whispering shade;
He knew not where his searching steps to turn,
Or whither the fair maid had gone to learn!
The son of Leth beheld his silent care
And heard the winds play in his bushy hair,
But he his voice and needless words withheld,
For he Gaul's sorrow and his grief beheld!
A tender sorrow sooth'd his warlike mind:
Trembling, his soul thought on the lovely maid,
He told her beauties to the whispering shade;
He knew not where his searching steps to turn,
Or whither the fair maid had gone to learn!
The son of Leth beheld his silent care
And heard the winds play in his bushy hair,
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For he Gaul's sorrow and his grief beheld!
Now both these chiefs sunk in soft sleeps repose,
The glim'ring visions of dark night arose—
Before the eyes of Morni's son appear'd,
Oithona's beauteous form by love endear'd,
Loose and disorder'd, wav'd her shining hair,
Her Lovely eye roll'd deep in tears, from care,
With crimson blood, her snowy arm was dy'd,
The robe half hid the wound which pierc'd her side;
O'er the brave chief she stood in mournful mien,
Her words were feebly heard, in voice serene.
The glim'ring visions of dark night arose—
Before the eyes of Morni's son appear'd,
Oithona's beauteous form by love endear'd,
Loose and disorder'd, wav'd her shining hair,
Her Lovely eye roll'd deep in tears, from care,
With crimson blood, her snowy arm was dy'd,
The robe half hid the wound which pierc'd her side;
O'er the brave chief she stood in mournful mien,
Her words were feebly heard, in voice serene.
“Sleeps Gaul, once lovely in Oithona's eyes?
Sleeps Morni's son and Nuath's daughter's low?
Around dark Tromathon the waves arise,
Within the tearful cave I sit in woe—
Oithona, not alone, O Gaul remains,
There also stays dread Cuthal's bloody chief;
He in the rage of love, your bride retains—
What can Oithona do, where seek relief?”
Sleeps Morni's son and Nuath's daughter's low?
Around dark Tromathon the waves arise,
Within the tearful cave I sit in woe—
Oithona, not alone, O Gaul remains,
There also stays dread Cuthal's bloody chief;
He in the rage of love, your bride retains—
What can Oithona do, where seek relief?”
A rougher blast, rush'd thro' the spreading oak,
Night's gloomy visions fled; the dream was broke.
The hero rose and snatch'd his aspen spear,
His soul was rage, his beaming eye struck fear;
Often towards the east he turn'd his sight,
Impatient he accus'd the lagging light:
At length bright Sol's enliv'ning rays prevail,
The hero lifted up the spreading sail—
The winds came rust'ling from the lofty steep,
He bounded on the billows of the deep.
On the third day Tromathon's walls arose
Like a blue shield reflective streams disclose,
Against its rocks the white wave roaring flows.
Night's gloomy visions fled; the dream was broke.
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His soul was rage, his beaming eye struck fear;
Often towards the east he turn'd his sight,
Impatient he accus'd the lagging light:
At length bright Sol's enliv'ning rays prevail,
The hero lifted up the spreading sail—
The winds came rust'ling from the lofty steep,
He bounded on the billows of the deep.
On the third day Tromathon's walls arose
Like a blue shield reflective streams disclose,
Against its rocks the white wave roaring flows.
Oithona on the coast, sat by her cave,
She fix'd her eyes upon the rolling wave;
Trembling, the tears o'er her fair cheek ran down,
And flutter'd to the wind her snowy gown.
But when she saw Gaul in his arms arise,
Starting she turn'd away her sorrowing eyes.
Her lovely cheek is bent, in crimson dy'd,
Her white arm trembles by her heaving side;
Thrice from his presence she attempts to fly,
Thrice her steps fail'd her while the chief drew nigh.
She fix'd her eyes upon the rolling wave;
Trembling, the tears o'er her fair cheek ran down,
And flutter'd to the wind her snowy gown.
But when she saw Gaul in his arms arise,
Starting she turn'd away her sorrowing eyes.
Her lovely cheek is bent, in crimson dy'd,
Her white arm trembles by her heaving side;
Thrice from his presence she attempts to fly,
Thrice her steps fail'd her while the chief drew nigh.
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“Daughter of Nuath,” said the noble chief,
“Why dost thou fly from Gaul in sullen grief?
Send forth mine eyes, Death's terrifying flame!
Does hatred darken in my soul; or blame?
Thou art to me the east's gold-gilding ray,
Which lights the stranger's solitary way:
But thou with sadness, hide thy glowing face,
And shun thy hero's and thy Gaul's embrace?
Is the dread foe, of fair Oithona, near?
My soul burns in me for to dart the spear,
The sword of Gaul, now trembles by his thigh,
And longs to glitter in his hand on high.
Daughter of Nuath speak; dost thou not see,
My love, my sorrow, and my tears for thee?”
“Why dost thou fly from Gaul in sullen grief?
Send forth mine eyes, Death's terrifying flame!
Does hatred darken in my soul; or blame?
Thou art to me the east's gold-gilding ray,
Which lights the stranger's solitary way:
But thou with sadness, hide thy glowing face,
And shun thy hero's and thy Gaul's embrace?
Is the dread foe, of fair Oithona, near?
My soul burns in me for to dart the spear,
The sword of Gaul, now trembles by his thigh,
And longs to glitter in his hand on high.
Daughter of Nuath speak; dost thou not see,
My love, my sorrow, and my tears for thee?”
“Strumon's young chief,” replied the gentle maid,
“Why have you come to this sad cruel shade?
Why com'st thou o'er the waters dark-blue wave?
To seek Oithona, in her gloomy cave?
Why did I not in secret pass away,
Like the fair flow'r which lifts its head unseen?
Before the blasts its withered leaves decay,
They strew its once gay foliage o'er the green.
Why didst thou come to hear my parting sigh?
I vanish in my youth; my name shall die;
The mournful tale my father soon will hear,
And sink in anguish o'er his daughter's bier.”
“Why have you come to this sad cruel shade?
Why com'st thou o'er the waters dark-blue wave?
To seek Oithona, in her gloomy cave?
Why did I not in secret pass away,
Like the fair flow'r which lifts its head unseen?
Before the blasts its withered leaves decay,
They strew its once gay foliage o'er the green.
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I vanish in my youth; my name shall die;
The mournful tale my father soon will hear,
And sink in anguish o'er his daughter's bier.”
Sad thou wilt mourn for thy Oithona's fame;
But she shall sleep within the narrow tomb,
Deaf to the mourner's voice who sighs her name,
And slumbers o'er her turf in silent gloom.
Why, graceful chief of Strumon, did'st thou come?
Where rise the sea—beat rocks of Tromathon.
But she shall sleep within the narrow tomb,
Deaf to the mourner's voice who sighs her name,
And slumbers o'er her turf in silent gloom.
Why, graceful chief of Strumon, did'st thou come?
Where rise the sea—beat rocks of Tromathon.
“I come fair maid, to seek, thy hated foes,
To soothe thy bosom and relieve thy woes!
Before mine eyes the chief of Cuthal's slain,
Or Morni's son shall fall upon the plain!
When Gaul is low, Oithona, raise my grave,
Upon that oozy rock; where rolls the wave,
When the dark-bounding ship shall pass below,
To the sea's sons this well try'd sword bestow,
That they may bear it hence to Morni's hall,
And hang it glittering from the polish'd wall—
No more the grey-hair'd chief his eyes will turn
Towards the desart for his sons return.
To soothe thy bosom and relieve thy woes!
Before mine eyes the chief of Cuthal's slain,
Or Morni's son shall fall upon the plain!
When Gaul is low, Oithona, raise my grave,
Upon that oozy rock; where rolls the wave,
When the dark-bounding ship shall pass below,
To the sea's sons this well try'd sword bestow,
That they may bear it hence to Morni's hall,
And hang it glittering from the polish'd wall—
No more the grey-hair'd chief his eyes will turn
Towards the desart for his sons return.
“Shall Nuath's daughter live,” the maid addrest,
While a deep sigh stole from her gentle breast?
“Shall Nuath's daughter live, when Gaul lies low,
Feel no keen anguish and no tender woe?
My heart is not that rock; my soul the careless seas,
Which lift their dark-blue waves to every breeze,
And roll beneath the storm; which sweeps along,
And raises the tempestuous, billowy song.
The blasts which lay the son of Morni dead,
Oithona's branches on the earth shall spread,
Together we shall wither, noble chief;
The narrow house, the grey-stone bring relief.
Thy lofty rocks, thy sea surrounded shore,
O Tromathon, Oithona leaves no more.
While a deep sigh stole from her gentle breast?
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Feel no keen anguish and no tender woe?
My heart is not that rock; my soul the careless seas,
Which lift their dark-blue waves to every breeze,
And roll beneath the storm; which sweeps along,
And raises the tempestuous, billowy song.
The blasts which lay the son of Morni dead,
Oithona's branches on the earth shall spread,
Together we shall wither, noble chief;
The narrow house, the grey-stone bring relief.
Thy lofty rocks, thy sea surrounded shore,
O Tromathon, Oithona leaves no more.
Night
came with her dark clouds and gloomy train,
When Lathmon sought the warlike on the plain;
When to Dunthormoth's mossy rock he went
To his brave father's wars; and rais'd the tent;
Dark night came on, I in the hall remain'd,
At the oak's beam, which its wide form sustain'd.
The wind abroad howl'd through the rust'ling trees,
A solemn sadness, hung upon the breeze,
I heard the sound of arms; joy ting'd my face,
I thought of thy return, and fond embrace—
It was the red-hair'd strength of Cuthal's chief,
The grim Dunromath; joyful in my grief,
His eyes roll'd fire, in awful fierceness lowr'd,
My people's blood had dy'd his tort'ring sword:
Their bleeding bodies spread the flowing ground,
And horror quiver'd on each gaping wound.
Weak was my feeble arm; what could I do?
I could not lift the spear, or shoot the bow.
He rais'd the sail amidst my grief and tears,
And pleas'd for Tromathon's high rocks he steers—
Lathmon's return, the cruel coward dreads,
Wide to the wind the canvass sail he spreads.
But lo! with troops, the gloomy warrior comes,
Before his gliding ship, the dark wave foams:
Whither, O Gaul, for safety wilt thou go?
Many's the warriors of thy hated foe.
When Lathmon sought the warlike on the plain;
When to Dunthormoth's mossy rock he went
To his brave father's wars; and rais'd the tent;
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At the oak's beam, which its wide form sustain'd.
The wind abroad howl'd through the rust'ling trees,
A solemn sadness, hung upon the breeze,
I heard the sound of arms; joy ting'd my face,
I thought of thy return, and fond embrace—
It was the red-hair'd strength of Cuthal's chief,
The grim Dunromath; joyful in my grief,
His eyes roll'd fire, in awful fierceness lowr'd,
My people's blood had dy'd his tort'ring sword:
Their bleeding bodies spread the flowing ground,
And horror quiver'd on each gaping wound.
Weak was my feeble arm; what could I do?
I could not lift the spear, or shoot the bow.
He rais'd the sail amidst my grief and tears,
And pleas'd for Tromathon's high rocks he steers—
Lathmon's return, the cruel coward dreads,
Wide to the wind the canvass sail he spreads.
But lo! with troops, the gloomy warrior comes,
Before his gliding ship, the dark wave foams:
Whither, O Gaul, for safety wilt thou go?
Many's the warriors of thy hated foe.
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“My steps ne'er turn'd from war,” the hero said,
And quick unsheath'd the light'ning of his blade.
“Shall I, Oithona, then begin to fear,
When thy dread foes in shining arms appear?
Go to the cave my love and there remain
Until the battle cease upon the plain.
Thou son of Leth quick bring our father's bows,
Great Morni's quiver dreadful to his foes!
To bend the bow be our three warriors care,
Ourselves will lift the beaming spear—
They are a host upon the rocks afar!
Our souls are strong and invincible in war!”
And quick unsheath'd the light'ning of his blade.
“Shall I, Oithona, then begin to fear,
When thy dread foes in shining arms appear?
Go to the cave my love and there remain
Until the battle cease upon the plain.
Thou son of Leth quick bring our father's bows,
Great Morni's quiver dreadful to his foes!
To bend the bow be our three warriors care,
Ourselves will lift the beaming spear—
They are a host upon the rocks afar!
Our souls are strong and invincible in war!”
Oithona sought her solitary cave,
And silent listen'd to the passing wave;
A troubled joy within her bosom flows
Like lightning's path, which stormy clouds disclose;
Her soul's resolv'd the chrystal tear is dry,
That trembled in her wild and fearful eye.
And silent listen'd to the passing wave;
A troubled joy within her bosom flows
Like lightning's path, which stormy clouds disclose;
Her soul's resolv'd the chrystal tear is dry,
That trembled in her wild and fearful eye.
Dunromath, slowly with his chiefs drew near,
He saw the son of Morni with his spear;
Contempt, upon his face, contracted, glows,
A smile upon his dark-brown cheek arose;
Near half conceal'd by the wide spreading rows
His red eye roll'd beneath his shaggy brows—
He saw the son of Morni with his spear;
Contempt, upon his face, contracted, glows,
A smile upon his dark-brown cheek arose;
Near half conceal'd by the wide spreading rows
His red eye roll'd beneath his shaggy brows—
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“Whence the sea's sons?” The gloomy chief begun,
“Have the winds driven you on dread Tromathon?
Or come you here to Cuthal's cooling shade,
To search Oithona the white handed maid?
Th' unhappy's sons, ye poor and feeble band,
Come to Dunromath's unrelenting hand!
His eye spares not the weak and timid foe,
He sees with joy a stranger's blood and woe.
Oithona is a beam of glad'ning light,
Which Cuthal's chief beholds with fond delight;
Would'st thou come on its beauty like a cloud,
Son of the feeble hand in weakness proud!
Thou may'st come, but thy old father's hall
No more thoul't see, but by my vengeance fall.”
“Have the winds driven you on dread Tromathon?
Or come you here to Cuthal's cooling shade,
To search Oithona the white handed maid?
Th' unhappy's sons, ye poor and feeble band,
Come to Dunromath's unrelenting hand!
His eye spares not the weak and timid foe,
He sees with joy a stranger's blood and woe.
Oithona is a beam of glad'ning light,
Which Cuthal's chief beholds with fond delight;
Would'st thou come on its beauty like a cloud,
Son of the feeble hand in weakness proud!
Thou may'st come, but thy old father's hall
No more thoul't see, but by my vengeance fall.”
“Dost thou not know me?” Gaul, the hero said,
“Thou red-hair'd chief of Cuthal's cruel shade?
Thy feet in car-borne Lathmon's war were swift,
Upon the heath and o'er the rocky clift;
When the stain'd sword within my thund'ring hand,
Pursued the host in Morven's woody land?
Dunromath, mighty is thy tongue's fierce sound,
While now thy warriors pour in crouds around.
But do I fear them haughty son of pride?
Though not in numbers I in strength confide.”
“Thou red-hair'd chief of Cuthal's cruel shade?
Thy feet in car-borne Lathmon's war were swift,
Upon the heath and o'er the rocky clift;
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Pursued the host in Morven's woody land?
Dunromath, mighty is thy tongue's fierce sound,
While now thy warriors pour in crouds around.
But do I fear them haughty son of pride?
Though not in numbers I in strength confide.”
Thus Gaul indignant on Dunromath glanc'd,
And dreadful in his shining arms advanc'd—
Dunromath shrunk behind his troops with fear,
But Gaul pursuing pierc'd him with his spear;
His sword lop'd off his grim and shaggy head,
While death approaching, its dread horror spread.
Thrice by the lock the ghastly head he shook;
Dunromath's people to swift flight betook.
Dread Morven's arrows quick pursu'd the foe,
Ten were the warriors that the shafts laid low;
The rest lift up the wide and spreading sail,
And bound upon the deep before the gale.
Towards the cave Gaul sought the lovely maid,
And in its scabbard sheath'd his deadly blade.
And dreadful in his shining arms advanc'd—
Dunromath shrunk behind his troops with fear,
But Gaul pursuing pierc'd him with his spear;
His sword lop'd off his grim and shaggy head,
While death approaching, its dread horror spread.
Thrice by the lock the ghastly head he shook;
Dunromath's people to swift flight betook.
Dread Morven's arrows quick pursu'd the foe,
Ten were the warriors that the shafts laid low;
The rest lift up the wide and spreading sail,
And bound upon the deep before the gale.
Towards the cave Gaul sought the lovely maid,
And in its scabbard sheath'd his deadly blade.
He saw a youth reclining on the rocks,
His form was graceful, loosely wav'd his locks.
A fatal shaft had pierc'd his side and thigh;
Beneath his helmet faintly roll'd his eye—
The former joys of Gaul's brave bosom cease,
He came and spake the soothing words of peace.
His form was graceful, loosely wav'd his locks.
A fatal shaft had pierc'd his side and thigh;
Beneath his helmet faintly roll'd his eye—
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He came and spake the soothing words of peace.
“Can Gaul's hand heal thee, of the mournful brow?
The mountains I have search'd where herbage grow:
Them I have gathered on the secret green,
Where glides the deep unruffled and serene—
My hand has clos'd the hero's bleeding wound,
Their eyes have bless'd me, and my kindness crown'd.
The mountains I have search'd where herbage grow:
Them I have gathered on the secret green,
Where glides the deep unruffled and serene—
My hand has clos'd the hero's bleeding wound,
Their eyes have bless'd me, and my kindness crown'd.
Where, youthful warrior, do thy fathers dwell?
Were they the mighty sons, who glorious fell?
Sadness like night, thy native streams shall seek;
Thou'rt fallen in thy youth, and blooming cheek.”
Were they the mighty sons, who glorious fell?
Sadness like night, thy native streams shall seek;
Thou'rt fallen in thy youth, and blooming cheek.”
The graceful stranger in soft voice replied,
“Great were my fathers race, in warlike pride,
But they shall not be sad; or sorrow shed,
In fond remembrance o'er my slumb'ring head;
For like the morning mist my fame has fled.
High walls upon the banks of Duvran beam,
And see their mossy towers in the stream.—
Behind a rock with pines ascends on high,
And distant far, majestic strikes the eye,
There my brave brother and his warriors dwell,
Give him this helm, and give my last farewell.”
“Great were my fathers race, in warlike pride,
But they shall not be sad; or sorrow shed,
In fond remembrance o'er my slumb'ring head;
For like the morning mist my fame has fled.
High walls upon the banks of Duvran beam,
And see their mossy towers in the stream.—
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And distant far, majestic strikes the eye,
There my brave brother and his warriors dwell,
Give him this helm, and give my last farewell.”
The helmet fell from Gaul's uplifted hands,
Oithona wounded, 'fore the warrior stands!
Within the cave herself in arms she'd drest,
And came to die upon her hero's breast.
Half clos'd are now, her heavy azure eyes;
Her snowy bosom throb'd repeated sighs:
Copious the blood, pours from her heaving side,
And ting'd the verdure with its crimson tide.
Oithona wounded, 'fore the warrior stands!
Within the cave herself in arms she'd drest,
And came to die upon her hero's breast.
Half clos'd are now, her heavy azure eyes;
Her snowy bosom throb'd repeated sighs:
Copious the blood, pours from her heaving side,
And ting'd the verdure with its crimson tide.
“O Morni's noble son!” She whispering said,
“Prepare for me the narrow mould'ring tomb;
Sleep grows upon my soul like darkness's shade,
My closing eyes are bent in awful gloom!
O had I, at Duvranna, dwelt in fame!
Then had my years come on in smiling joy;
The virgins then would bless my steps and name;
And fair Oithona every tongue employ.
But, son of Morni! in my youth I fall!
My father blushes in his mournful hall.”
“Prepare for me the narrow mould'ring tomb;
Sleep grows upon my soul like darkness's shade,
My closing eyes are bent in awful gloom!
O had I, at Duvranna, dwelt in fame!
Then had my years come on in smiling joy;
The virgins then would bless my steps and name;
And fair Oithona every tongue employ.
But, son of Morni! in my youth I fall!
My father blushes in his mournful hall.”
She fell—pale on the rock of Tromathon
The mournful warrior rais'd her silent tomb.
The mournful warrior rais'd her silent tomb.
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