[FRAGMENT] VII. James Macpherson Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T83707 K068251.000 Macpherson, James, 1736-1796 Fragments of ancient poetry, collected in the Highlands of Scotland, and translated from the Galic or Erse language. Edinburgh printed for G. Hamilton and J. Balfour 1760 pp. []-36. 70p.; 8⁰.

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[ FRAGMENT ] VII .

WHY openest thou afresh the spring of my grief , O son of Alpin , inquiring how Oscur fell ? My eyes are blind with tears ; but memory beams on my heart . How can I relate the mournful death of the head of the people ! Prince of the warriours , Oscur my son , shall I see thee no more !

HE fell as the moon in a storm ; as the sun from the midst of his course , when clouds rise from the waste of the waves , when the blackness of the storm inwraps the rocks of Ardannider . I , like an ancient oak on Morven , I moulder alone in my place . The blast hath lopped my branches away ; and I tremble at the wings of the north . Prince of the warriors , Oscur my son ! shall I see thee no more !

DERMID and Oscur were one : They reaped the battle together . Their friendship was strong as their steel ; and death walked between them to the field . They came on the foe like two rocks falling from the brows of Ardven . Their swords were stained with the blood of the valiant : warriours fainted at their names . Who was a match for Oscur , but Dermid ? and who for Dermid , but Oscur ?

THEY killed , mighty Dargo in the field ; Dargo before invincible . His daughter was fair as the morn ; mild as the beam of night . Her eyes , like two stars in a shower : her breath , the gale of spring : her breasts , as the new-fallen snow floating on the moving heath . The warriours saw her , and loved ; their souls were fixed on the maid . Each loved her , as his fame ; each must possess her or die . But her soul was fixed on Oscur ; my son was the youth of her love . She forgot the blood of her father ; and loved the hand that slew him .

SON of Oscian , said Dermid , I love ; O Oscur , I love this maid . But her soul cleaveth unto thee ; and nothing can heal Dermid . Here , pierce this bosom , Oscur ; relieve me , my friend , with thy sword .

MY sword , son of Morny , shall never be stained with the blood of Dermid .

WHO then is worthy to slay me , O Oscur son of Oscian ? Let not my life pass away unknown . Let none but Oscur slay me . Send me with honour to the grave , and let my death be renowned .

DERMID , make use of thy sword ; son of Morny , wield thy steel . Would that I fell with thee ! that my death came from the hand of Dermid !

THEY sought by the brook of the mountain ; by the streams of Branno . Blood tinged the silvery stream , and crudled round the mossy stones . Dermid the graceful fell ; fell , and smiled in death .

AND fallest thou , son of Morny ; fallest thou by Oscur's hand ! Dermid invincible in war , thus do I see thee fall ! — He went , and returned to the maid whom he loved ; returned , but she perceived his grief .

WHY that gloom , son of Oscian ? what shades thy mighty soul ?

THOUGH once renowned for the bow , O maid , I have lost my same . Fixed on a tree by the brook of the hill , is the shield of Gormur the brave , whom in battle I slew . I have wasted the day in vain , nor could my arrow pierce it .

LET me try , son of Oscian , the skill of Dargo's daughter . My hands were taught the bow : my father delighted in my skill .

SHE went . He stood behind the shield . Her arrow flew and pierced his breast Nothing was held by the ancient Highlanders more essential to their glory , than to die by the hand of some person worthy or renowned . This was the occasion of Oscur's contriving to be slain by his mistress , now that he was weary of life . In those early times suicide was utterly unknown among that people , and no traces of it are found in the old poetry . Whence the translator suspects the account that follows of the daughter of Dargo killing herself , to be the interpolation of some later Bard . .

BLESSED be that hand of snow ; and blessed thy bow of yew ! I fall resolved on death : and who but the daughter of Dargo was worthy to slay me ? Lay me in the earth , my fair-one ; lay me by the side of Dermid .

OSCUR ! I have the blood , the soul of the mighty Dargo . Well pleased I can meet death . My sorrow I can end thus . — She pierced her white bosom with steel . She fell ; she trembled ; and died .

BY the brook of the hill their graves are laid ; a birch's unequal shade covers their tomb . Often on their green earthen tombs the branchy sons of the mountain feed , when mid-day is all in flames , and silence is over all the hills .