SULMALLA OF LUMON:
A POEM.
ARGUMENT.
This poem, which, properly speaking, is a continuation of the
last, opens with an address to Sul-malla, the daughter of the
king of Inis-huna, whom Ossian met at the chace, as he returned
from the battle of Rath-col. Sul-malla invites Ossian
and Oscar to a feast, at the residence of her father, who
was then absent in the wars. Upon hearing their name and
family, she relates an expedition of Fingal into Inis-huna.
She casually mentioning Cathmor, chief of Atha (who then
assisted her father against his enemies), Ossian introduces the
episode of Culgorm and Surandronlo, two Scandinavian kings,
in whose wars Ossian himself and Cathmor were engaged on
opposite sides. The story is imperfect, a part of the original
being lost. Ossian, warned in a dream by the ghost of Trenmor,
sets sail from Inis-huna.
Macpherson.
Who moves so stately, on Lumon
Who moves so stately, on Lumon, at the roar
of the foamy waters? Her hair falls upon her
heaving breast. White is her arm behind, as
slow she bends the bow. Why dost thou wander
in deserts, like a light through a cloudy
field? The young roes are panting, by their secret
rocks. Return, thou daughter of kings!
the cloudy night is near! It was the young
branch of green Inis-huna, Sul-malla of blue
eyes. She sent the bard from her rock, to bid
us to her feast. Amidst the song we sat down,
in Cluba's echoing hall. White moved the hands
of Sul-malla, on the trembling strings. Half-heard
amidst the sound, was the name of Atha's
king: he that was absent in battle for her own
green land. Nor absent from her soul was he;
he came midst her thoughts by night. Tonthena
looked in, from the sky, and saw her tossing arms.
The sound of shells had ceased. Amidst long
locks, Sul-malla rose. She spoke with bended
eyes, and asked of our course through seas; “for
of the kings of men are ye, tall riders of the
wave.” “Not unknown,” I said, “at his
streams is he, the father of our race. Fingal has
been heard of at Cluba. blue-eyed daughter of
kings. Nor only, at Cona's stream, is Ossian
and Oscar known. Foes trembled at our voice,
and shrunk in other lands.”
“Not unmarked,” said the maid, “by Sul-malla,
is the shield of Morven's king. It hangs
high, in my father's hall, in memory of the past;
when Fingal came to Cluba, in the days of other
years. Loud roared the boar of Culdarnu, in
the midst of his rocks and woods. Inis-huna
sent her youths, but they failed; and virgins wept
over tombs. Careless went Fingal to Culdarnu.
On his spear rolled the strength of the woods.
He was bright, they said, in his locks, the first
of mortal men. Nor at the feast were heard his
words. His deeds passed from his soul of fire,
like the rolling of vapours from the face of the
wandering sun. Not careless looked the blue
eyes of Cluba on his stately steps. In white bosoms
rose the king of Selma, in the midst of
their thoughts by night. But the winds bore
the stranger to the echoing vales of his roes.
Nor lost to other lands was he, like a meteor
that sinks in a cloud. He came forth, at times,
in his brightness, to the distant dwelling of foes.
His fame came, like the sound of winds, to Cluba's
woody vale.”
“Darkness dwells in Cluba of harps: the race
of kings is distant far; in battle is my father
Conmor: and Lormar my brother, king of streams.
Nor darkening alone are they; a beam, from
other lands, is nigh; the friend of strangers in
Atha, the troubler of the field. High, from their
misty hills, look forth the blue eyes of Erin; for
he is far away, young dweller of their souls!
Nor harmless, white hands of Erin! is Cathmor
in the skirts of war; he rolls ten thousand before
him, in his distant field.”
“Not unseen by Ossian,” I said, “rushed
Cathmor from his streams, when he poured his
strength on I-thorno, isle of many waves! In
strife met two kings in I-thorno, Culgorm and
Suran-dronlo: each from his echoing isle, stern
hunters of the boar!
“They met a boar, at a foamy stream: each
pierced him with his spear. They strove for the
fame of the deed; and gloomy battle rose. From
isle to isle they sent a spear, broken and stained
with blood, to call the friends of their fathers, in
their sounding arms. Cathmor came, from Erin,
to Culgorm, red-eyed king: I aided Suran-dronlo,
in his land of boars.
“We rushed on either side of a stream, which
roared through a blasted heath. High broken
rocks were round, with all their bending trees.
Near were two circles of Loda, with the stone
of power; where spirits descended, by night, in
dark-red streams of fire. There, mixed with the
murmur of waters, rose the voice of aged men;
they called the forms of night to aid them in
their war.”
Heedless I stood, with my people, where fell
the foamy stream from rocks. The moon moved
red from the mountain. My song, at times,
arose. Dark, on the other side, young Cathmor
heard my voice; for he lay, beneath the oak, in
all his gleaming arms. Morning came; we rushed
to fight: from wing to wing is the rolling of
strife. They fell, like the thistle's head, beneath
autumnal winds.
In armour came a stately form: I mixed my
strokes with the chief. By turns our shields are
pierced: loud rung our steely mails. His helmet
fell to the ground. In brightness shone the
foe. His eyes, two pleasant flames, rolled between
his wandering locks. I knew Cathmor of
Atha, and threw my spear on earth. Dark, we
turned, and silent passed to mix with other foes.
“Not so passed the striving kings. They mixed
in echoing fray; like the meeting of ghosts
in the dark wing of winds. Through either
breast rushed the spears; nor yet lay the foes
on earth! A rock received their fall; half-reclined
they lay in death. Each held the lock of
his foe; each grimly seemed to roll his eyes.
The stream of the rock leapt on their shields,
and mixed below with blood.
“The battle ceased in I-thorno. The strangers
met in peace: Cathmor from Atha of streams,
and Ossian, king of harps. We placed the dead
in earth. Our steps were by Runar's bay. With
the bounding boat, afar, advanced a ridgy wave.
Dark was the rider of seas, but a beam of light
was there, like the ray of the sun, in Stromlo's
rolling smoke. It was the daughter of Suran-dronlo,
wild in brightened looks. Her eyes were
wandering flames, amidst disordered locks. Forward
is her white arm, with the spear; her high-heaving
breast is seen, white as foamy waves
that rise, by turns, amidst rocks. They are beautiful,
but terrible, and mariners call the winds!”
“Come, ye dwellers of Loda!” she said,
“come, Carchar, pale in the midst of clouds!
Sluthmor, that stridest in airy halls! Corchtur,
terrible in winds! Receive, from his daughter's
spear, the foes of Suran-dronlo. No shadow, at
his roaring streams; no mildly-looking form was
he! When he took up his spear, the hawks
shook their sounding wings; for blood was
poured around the steps of dark-eyed Suran-dronlo.
He lighted me, no harmless beam, to
glitter on his streams. Like meteors I was bright;
but I blasted the foes of Suran-dronlo.”
[OMITTED]
Nor unconcerned heard Sul-malla, the praise
of Cathmor of shields. He was within her soul,
like a fire in secret heath, which awakes at the
voice of the blast, and sends its beam abroad.
Amidst the song removed the daughter of kings,
like the voice of a summer breeze; when it lifts
the heads of flowers, and curls the lakes and
streams. The rustling sound gently spreads o'er
the vale, softly-pleasing as it saddens the soul.
By night came a dream to Ossian; formless
stood the shadow of Trenmor. He seemed to
strike the dim shield, on Selma's streamy rock.
I rose, in my rattling steel; I knew that war was
near. Before the winds our sails were spread;
when Lumon shewed its streams to the morn.
Come from the watching of night, Malvina,
lonely beam!
