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 EARL MARISCHAL'S WELCOME TO HIS NATIVE COUNTRY. |
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 | The poems of Ossian |  |
595
THE EARL MARISCHAL'S WELCOME TO HIS NATIVE COUNTRY.
'Twas when the full-eared harvest bow'd
Beneath the merry reaper's hand;
When here the plenteous sheafs were strew'd,
And there the corns nod o'er the land;
When on each side the loaden'd ground,
Breathing her ripen'd scents, the jovial season crown'd;
The villagers, all on the green,
The arrival of their lord attend:
The blythsome shepherds haste to join,
And whistling from the hills descend;
Nor orphan nor lone widow mourns;
Even hopeless lovers lose their pains;
To-day their banish'd lord returns,
Once more to bless his native plains.
Each hoary sire, with gladden'd face,
Repeats some ancient tale,
How he with Tyrcis, at the chace,
Hied o'er the hill and dale:
Their hoary heads with rapture glow,
While each to each repeats,
How well he knew where to bestow,
Was to oppression still a foe;
Still mixing with their praise his youthful feats.
Beneath the merry reaper's hand;
When here the plenteous sheafs were strew'd,
And there the corns nod o'er the land;
When on each side the loaden'd ground,
Breathing her ripen'd scents, the jovial season crown'd;
The villagers, all on the green,
The arrival of their lord attend:
The blythsome shepherds haste to join,
And whistling from the hills descend;
Nor orphan nor lone widow mourns;
Even hopeless lovers lose their pains;
596
Once more to bless his native plains.
Each hoary sire, with gladden'd face,
Repeats some ancient tale,
How he with Tyrcis, at the chace,
Hied o'er the hill and dale:
Their hoary heads with rapture glow,
While each to each repeats,
How well he knew where to bestow,
Was to oppression still a foe;
Still mixing with their praise his youthful feats.
Then from the grass Melanthus rose,
The arbitrator of the plains,
And silent all stood fixed to hear
The Tityrus of Mernia's swains;
For with the Muse's fire his bosom glow'd,
And easy from his lips the numbers flow'd.
The arbitrator of the plains,
And silent all stood fixed to hear
The Tityrus of Mernia's swains;
For with the Muse's fire his bosom glow'd,
And easy from his lips the numbers flow'd.
“Now the wished-for day is come,
Our lord reviews his native home;
Now clear and strong ideas rise,
And wrap my soul in extasies:
Methinks I see that ruddy morn,
When, waken'd by the hunter's horn,
I rose, and, by yon mountain's side,
Saw Tyrcis and Achates ride;
While, floating by yon craggy brow,
The slowly-scattering mist withdrew;
I saw the roe-buck cross yon plain,
Yon heathy steep I saw him gain;
The hunters still fly o'er the ground,
Their shouts the distant hills resound;
Dunnotyr's towers resound the peal
That echoes o'er the hill and dale.
At length, what time the ploughman leads
Home from the field his weary steeds,
At yon old tree the roe-buck fell:
The huntsmen's jocund mingled shouts his downfall tell.
Our lord reviews his native home;
Now clear and strong ideas rise,
And wrap my soul in extasies:
Methinks I see that ruddy morn,
When, waken'd by the hunter's horn,
I rose, and, by yon mountain's side,
Saw Tyrcis and Achates ride;
While, floating by yon craggy brow,
The slowly-scattering mist withdrew;
I saw the roe-buck cross yon plain,
Yon heathy steep I saw him gain;
The hunters still fly o'er the ground,
Their shouts the distant hills resound;
Dunnotyr's towers resound the peal
That echoes o'er the hill and dale.
At length, what time the ploughman leads
Home from the field his weary steeds,
597
The huntsmen's jocund mingled shouts his downfall tell.
“The mem'ry of these happy days
Still in my breast must transport raise;
Those happy days, when oft were seen
The brothers marching o'er the green,
With dog and gun, while yet the night
Was blended with the dawning light,
When first the sheep begin to bleat,
And the early kine rise from their dewy seat.”
Still in my breast must transport raise;
Those happy days, when oft were seen
The brothers marching o'er the green,
With dog and gun, while yet the night
Was blended with the dawning light,
When first the sheep begin to bleat,
And the early kine rise from their dewy seat.”
Thus as he spoke, each youthful breast
Glows with wild extasies;
In each eye rapture stands confest,
Each thinks he flies along the mead,
And manages the fiery steed,
And hears the beagles' cries.
The sage Melanthus now again
Stretch'd forth his hand, and thus resum'd the strain:
Glows with wild extasies;
In each eye rapture stands confest,
Each thinks he flies along the mead,
And manages the fiery steed,
And hears the beagles' cries.
The sage Melanthus now again
Stretch'd forth his hand, and thus resum'd the strain:
“Now my youthful heat returns,
My breast with youthful vigour burns:
Methinks I see that glorious day,
When, to hunt the fallow-deer,
Three thousand march'd in grand array:
Three thousand march'd with bow and spear,—
All in the light and healthy dress
Our brave forefathers wore,
In Kenneth's wars, and Bruce's days,
And when the Romans fled their dreadful wrath of yore.
My breast with youthful vigour burns:
Methinks I see that glorious day,
When, to hunt the fallow-deer,
Three thousand march'd in grand array:
Three thousand march'd with bow and spear,—
All in the light and healthy dress
Our brave forefathers wore,
In Kenneth's wars, and Bruce's days,
And when the Romans fled their dreadful wrath of yore.
O'er every hill, o'er every dale,
All by the winding banks of Tay,
Resounds the hunter's chearful peal,
Their armour glittering to the day.”
Big with his joys of youth the old man stood;
Dunnotyr's ruin'd towers then caught his eye;
He stopp'd, and hung his head in pensive mood,
And from his bosom burst the unbidden sigh.
Then turning, with a warrior look,
Shaking his hoary curls, the old man spoke:
All by the winding banks of Tay,
Resounds the hunter's chearful peal,
Their armour glittering to the day.”
598
Dunnotyr's ruin'd towers then caught his eye;
He stopp'd, and hung his head in pensive mood,
And from his bosom burst the unbidden sigh.
Then turning, with a warrior look,
Shaking his hoary curls, the old man spoke:
“Virtue, O Fortune! scorns thy power,
Thou can'st not bind her for an hour;
Virtue shall ever shine;
And endless praise, her glorious dower,
Shall bless her sons divine.
The kings of th' earth, with open arms,
The illustrious exiles hail:
See warlike Cyrus, great and wise,
Demand, and follow their advice,
And all his breast unveil.
Thou can'st not bind her for an hour;
Virtue shall ever shine;
And endless praise, her glorious dower,
Shall bless her sons divine.
The kings of th' earth, with open arms,
The illustrious exiles hail:
See warlike Cyrus, great and wise,
Demand, and follow their advice,
And all his breast unveil.
“See, pouring from their hills of snow,
Nations of savages in arms!
A desert lies where'er they go,
Before them march pale Terror and Alarms.
The Princes of the South prepare
Their thousand thousands for the war;
Against thee, Cyrus, they combine;
The North and South their forces join,
To crush thee in the dust:
But thou art safe; Achates draws
His sword with thine, and backs thy cause;
Yes, thou art doubly safe, thy cause is just.
Nations of savages in arms!
A desert lies where'er they go,
Before them march pale Terror and Alarms.
The Princes of the South prepare
Their thousand thousands for the war;
Against thee, Cyrus, they combine;
The North and South their forces join,
To crush thee in the dust:
But thou art safe; Achates draws
His sword with thine, and backs thy cause;
Yes, thou art doubly safe, thy cause is just.
“With dread the Turks have oft beheld
His sword wide waving o'er the field;
As oft these sons of carnage fled
O'er mountains of their kindred dead.
His sword wide waving o'er the field;
As oft these sons of carnage fled
O'er mountains of their kindred dead.
599
“When all the fury of the fight
With wrath redoubled rag'd;
When man to man, with giant-might,
For all that's dear engag'd;
When all was thunder, smoke, and fire;
When from their native rocks the frighted springs retire;
'Twas then, through streams of smoke and blood,
Achates mounts the city-wall:
Though wounded, like a god he stood,
And at his feet the foes submissive fall.
With wrath redoubled rag'd;
When man to man, with giant-might,
For all that's dear engag'd;
When all was thunder, smoke, and fire;
When from their native rocks the frighted springs retire;
'Twas then, through streams of smoke and blood,
Achates mounts the city-wall:
Though wounded, like a god he stood,
And at his feet the foes submissive fall.
“Brave are the Goths, and fierce in fight,
Yet these he gave to rout and flight;
Proud when they were of victory,
He rushed on like a storm; dispersed and weak they fly.
Thus, from the Grampians old,
A torrent, deep and strong,
Down rushes on the fold,
And sweeps the shepherd and the flock along.
Yet these he gave to rout and flight;
Proud when they were of victory,
He rushed on like a storm; dispersed and weak they fly.
Thus, from the Grampians old,
A torrent, deep and strong,
Down rushes on the fold,
And sweeps the shepherd and the flock along.
“When, through an aged wood,
The thunder roars amain,
His paths with oaks are strewed,
And ruin marks the plain:
So many a German field can tell,
How in his path the mighty heroes fell.
The thunder roars amain,
His paths with oaks are strewed,
And ruin marks the plain:
So many a German field can tell,
How in his path the mighty heroes fell.
“When, with their numerous dogs, the swains
Surprise the aged lion's den,
The old warrior rushes to the charge,
And scorns the rage of dogs and men;
His whelps he guards on every side;
Safe they retreat. What though a mortal dart
Stands trembling in his breast, his dauntless heart
Glows with a victor's pride.
Surprise the aged lion's den,
The old warrior rushes to the charge,
And scorns the rage of dogs and men;
His whelps he guards on every side;
Safe they retreat. What though a mortal dart
Stands trembling in his breast, his dauntless heart
Glows with a victor's pride.
600
“So the old lion, brave Achates, fought,
And miracles of prowess wrought;
With a few piquets bore the force
Of eighty thousand, stopped their course,
Till off his friends had marched, and all was well.
Even he himself could ne'er do more,
Fate had no greater deed in store—
When all his host was safe, the godlike hero fell.”
And miracles of prowess wrought;
With a few piquets bore the force
Of eighty thousand, stopped their course,
Till off his friends had marched, and all was well.
Even he himself could ne'er do more,
Fate had no greater deed in store—
When all his host was safe, the godlike hero fell.”
Thus as he spoke, each hoary sire
Fights o'er again his ancient wars;
Each youth burns with a hero's fire,
And triumphs in his future scars;
O'er bloody fields each thinks he rides,
The thunder of the battle guides
(Beneath his lifted arm, struck pale,
The foes for mercy cry);
And hears applauding legions hail
Him with the shouts of victory.
Fights o'er again his ancient wars;
Each youth burns with a hero's fire,
And triumphs in his future scars;
O'er bloody fields each thinks he rides,
The thunder of the battle guides
(Beneath his lifted arm, struck pale,
The foes for mercy cry);
And hears applauding legions hail
Him with the shouts of victory.
| The poems of Ossian | |