COMALA:
A DRAMATIC POEM.
ARGUMENT.
This poem is valuable on account of the light it throws on the
antiquity of Ossian's compositions. The Caracul mentioned
here is the same with Caracalla, the son of Severus, who, in
the year 211, commanded an expedition against the Caledonians.
The variety of the measure shews that the poem was
originally set to music, and perhaps presented before the chiefs
upon solemn occasions. Tradition has handed down the story
more complete than it is in the poem. “Comala, the daughter
of Sarno, king of Inistore, or Orkney islands, fell in love
with Fingal, the son of Comhal, at a feast, to which her father
had invited him [Fingal, B. III.], upon his return from
Lochlin, after the death of Agandecca. Her passion was so
violent, that she followed him, disguised like a youth, who
wanted to be employed in his wars. She was soon discovered
by Hidallan, the son of Lamor, one of Fingal's heroes,
whose love she had slighted some time before. Her romantic
passion and beauty recommended her so much to the king,
that he had resolved to make her his wife; when news was
brought him of Caracul's expedition. He marched to stop
the progress of the enemy, and Comala attended him. He
left her on a hill, within sight of Caracul's army, when he
himself went to battle, having previously promised, if he survived,
to return that night.” The sequel of the story may
be gathered from the poem itself.
Macpherson.
THE PERSONS.
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Fingal.
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Hidallan.
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Comala.
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Melilcoma, Daughter of Morni.
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Dersagrena, Daughter of Morni.
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Bards.
DERSAGRENA.
The chace is over
The chace is over. No noise on Ardven but
the torrent's roar! Daughter of Morni, come
from Crona's banks. Lay down the bow, and
take the harp. Let the night come on with
songs, let our joy be great on Ardven.
MELILCOMA.
Night comes apace, thou blue-eyed maid;
grey night grows dim along the plain. I saw a
deer at Crona's stream; a mossy bank he seemed
through the gloom; but soon he bounded away.
A meteor played round his branching horns!
the awful faces of other times looked from the
clouds of Crona!
DERSAGRENA.
These are the signs of Fingal's death. The
king of shields is fallen! and Caracul prevails.
Rise, Comala, from thy rock; daughter of Sarno,
rise in tears. The youth of thy love is low;
his ghost is on our hills.
MELILCOMA.
There Comala sits forlorn! two grey dogs
near shake their rough ears, and catch the flying
breeze. Her red cheek rests upon her arm;
the mountain wind is in her hair. She turns her
blue eyes towards the fields of his promise.
Where art thou, O Fingal, the night is gathering
around?
COMALA.
O Carun of the streams! why do I behold
thy waters rolling in blood? Has the noise of
the battle been heard; and sleeps the king of
Morven? Rise, moon, thou daughter of the
sky! look from between thy clouds; rise, that
I may behold the gleam of his steel, on the field
of his promise. Or rather let the meteor, that
lights our fathers through the night, come, with
its red beam, to shew me the way to my fallen
hero. Who will defend me from sorrow? Who
from the love of Hidallan? Long shall Comala
look before she can behold Fingal in the midst
of his host; bright as the coming forth of the
morning, in the cloud of an early shower.
HIDALLAN.
Dwell, thou mist of gloomy Crona, dwell on
the path of the king. Hide his steps from mine
eyes, let me remember my friend no more. The
bands of battle are scattered, no crowding tread
is round the noise of his steel. O Carun, roll
thy streams of blood, the chief of the people is
low.
COMALA.
Who fell on Carun's sounding banks, son of
the cloudy night? Was he white as the snow of
Ardven? Blooming as the bow of the shower?
Was his hair like the mist of the hill, soft and
curling in the day of the sun? Was he like
the thunder of heaven in battle? Fleet as the
roe of the desart?
HIDALLAN.
O that I might behold his love, fair-leaning
from her rock! Her red eye dim in tears, her
blushing cheek half hid in her locks! Blow, O
gentle breeze, lift thou the heavy locks of the
maid, that I may behold her white arm, her lovely
cheek in her grief.
COMALA.
And is the son of Comhal fallen, chief of the
mournful tale? The thunder rolls on the hill!
The lightning flies on wings of fire! They
frighten not Comala; for Fingal is low. Say,
chief of the mournful tale, fell the breaker of
the shields?
HIDALLAN.
The nations are scattered on their hills! they
shall hear the voice of the king no more.
COMALA.
Confusion pursue thee over thy plains! Ruin
overtake thee, thou king of the world! Few be
thy steps to thy grave; and let one virgin mourn
thee. Let her be like Comala, tearful in the
days of her youth. Why hast thou told me, Hidallan,
that my hero fell? I might have hoped
a little while his return; I might have thought
I saw him on the distant rock; a tree might
have deceived me with his appearance; the wind
of the hill might have been the sound of his
horn in mine ear. O that I were on the banks
of Carun! that my tears might be warm on his
cheek!
HIDALLAN.
He lies not on the banks of Carun: on Ardven
heroes raise his tomb. Look on them, O
moon, from thy clouds; be thy beam bright on
his breast, that Comala may behold him in the
light of his armour.
COMALA.
Stop, ye sons of the grave, till I behold my
love! He left me at the chace alone. I knew
not that he went to war. He said he would return
with the night; the king of Morven is returned!
Why didst thou not tell me that he
would fall, O trembling dweller of the rock.
Thou sawest him in the blood of his youth; but
thou didst not tell Comala!
MELILCOMA.
What sound is that on Ardven? Who is that
bright in the vale? Who comes like the strength
of rivers, when their crowded waters glitter to
the moon?
COMALA.
Who is it but the foe of Comala, the son of
the king of the world! Ghost of Fingal! do
thou, from thy cloud, direct Comala's bow. Let
him fall like the hart of the desart. It is Fingal
in the crowd of his ghosts. Why dost thou
come, my love, to frighten and please my soul?
FINGAL.
Raise, ye bards, the song, raise the wars of
the streamy Carun! Caracul has fled from our
arms along the fields of his pride. He sets far
distant like a meteor, that incloses a spirit of
night, when the winds drive it over the heath,
and the dark woods are gleaming around. I
heard a voice, or was it the breeze of my hills?
Is it the huntress of Ardven, the white-handed
daughter of Sarno? Look from thy rocks, my
love; let me hear the voice of Comala.
COMALA.
Take me to the cave of thy rest, O lovely son
of death!
FINGAL.
Come to the cave of my rest. The storm is
past, the sun is on our fields. Come to the cave
of my rest, huntress of echoing Ardven!
COMALA.
He is returned with his fame! I feel the right
hand of his wars! But I must rest beside the
rock, till my soul returns from my fear! O let
the harp be near! raise the song, ye daughters
of Morni!
DERSAGRENA.
Comala has slain three deer on Ardven, the
fire ascends on the rock; go to the feast of Comala,
king of the woody Morven!
FINGAL.
Raise, ye sons of song, the wars of the streamy
Carun; that my white-handed maid may rejoice:
while I behold the feast of my love.
BARDS.
Roll, streamy Carun, roll in joy; the sons of
battle fled! The steed is not seen on our fields;
the wings of their pride spread in other lands.
The sun will now rise in peace, and the shadows
descend in joy. The voice of the chace will be
heard: the shields hang in the hall. Our delight
will be in the war of the ocean, our hands
shall grow red in the blood of Lochlin. Roll,
streamy Carun, roll in joy; the sons of battle
fled!
MELILCOMA.
Descend ye light mists from high! Ye moonbeams,
lift her soul. Pale lies the maid at the
rock! Comala is no more!
FINGAL.
Is the daughter of Sarno dead; the white-bosomed
maid of my love? Meet me, Comala, on
my heaths, when I sit alone at the streams of
my hills!
HIDALLAN.
Ceased the voice of the huntress of Ardven?
Why did I trouble the soul of the maid? When
shall I see thee, with joy, in the chace of the
dark-brown hinds?
FINGAL.
Youth of the gloomy brow! no more shalt
thou feast in my halls. Thou shalt not pursue
my chace, my foes shall not fall by thy sword.
Lead me to the place of her rest, that I may behold
her beauty. Pale she lies at the rock, the
cold winds lift her hair. Her bow-string sounds
in the blast, her arrow was broken in her fall.
Raise the praise of the daughter of Sarno! give
her name to the winds of heaven!
BARDS.
See! meteors gleam around the maid! See!
moon-beams lift her soul! Around her, from their
clouds, bend the awful faces of her fathers; Sarno
of the gloomy brow! the red-rolling eyes of
Fidallan! When shall thy white hand arise?
When shall thy voice be heard on our rocks?
The maids shall seek thee on the heath, but they
shall not find thee. Thou shalt come, at times,
to their dreams, to settle peace in their soul.
Thy voice shall remain in their ears; they shall
think with joy on the dreams of their rest.
Meteors gleam around the maid, and moonbeams
lift her soul!