BERRATHON
:
A
POEM
This
poem
is
reputed
to
have
been
composed
by
Ossian
,
a
little
time
before
his
death
;
and
consequently
it
is
known
in
tradition
by
no
other
name
than
Ossian's
last
hymn
.
The
translator
has
taken
the
liberty
to
call
it
Berrathon
,
from
the
episode
concerning
the
re-establishment
of
Larth
mor
king
of
that
island
,
after
he
had
been
dethroned
by
his
own
son
Uthal
.
Fingal
in
his
voyage
to
Lochlin
[
Fing.
B.
III
.
]
whither
he
had
been
invited
by
Starno
the
father
of
Agandecca
,
so
often
mentioned
in
Ossian's
poems
,
touched
at
Berrathon
,
an
island
of
Scandinavia
,
where
he
was
kindly
entertained
by
Larthmor
the
petty
king
of
the
place
,
who
was
a
vassal
of
the
supreme
kings
of
Lochlin
.
The
hospitality
of
Larth
mor
gained
him
Fingal's
friendship
,
which
that
hero
manifested
,
after
the
imprisonment
of
Larthmor
by
his
own
son
,
by
sending
Ossian
and
Toscar
,
the
father
of
Malvina
so
often
mentioned
,
to
rescue
Larthmor
,
and
to
punish
the
unnatural
behaviour
of
Uthal
.
Uthal
was
handsome
to
a
proverb
,
and
consequently
much
admired
by
the
ladies
.
Nina-thoma
the
beautiful
daughter
of
Tor
thóma
,
a
neighbouring
prince
,
fell
in
love
and
fled
with
him
.
He
proved
unconstant
;
for
another
lady
,
whose
name
is
not
men
tioned
,
gaining
his
affections
,
he
confined
Nina-thoma
to
a
desart
island
near
the
coast
of
Berrathon
.
She
was
relieved
by
Ossian
,
who
,
in
company
with
Toscar
,
landing
on
Berrathon
,
defeated
the
forces
of
Uthal
,
and
killed
him
in
a
single
combat
.
Nina-thoma
,
whose
love
not
all
the
bad
behaviour
of
Uthal
could
erase
,
hearing
of
his
death
,
died
of
grief
.
In
the
mean
time
Larthmor
is
restored
,
and
Ossian
and
Toscar
returned
in
triumph
to
Fingal
.
The
present
poem
opens
with
an
elegy
on
the
death
of
Malvina
the
daughter
of
Toscar
,
and
closes
with
presages
of
the
poet's
death
.
It
is
almost
altogether
in
a
lyric
measure
,
and
has
that
melancholy
air
which
distinguishes
the
remains
of
the
works
of
Ossian
.
If
ever
he
composed
any
thing
of
a
merry
turn
it
is
long
since
lost
.
The
serious
and
melancholy
make
the
most
lasting
impressions
on
the
human
mind
,
and
bid
fairest
for
being
transmitted
from
generation
to
generation
by
tradition
.
Nor
is
it
probable
that
Ossian
dea't
much
in
chearful
composition
.
Melancholy
is
so
much
the
companion
of
a
great
genius
,
that
it
is
difficult
to
separate
the
idea
of
levity
from
chearfulness
,
which
is
some
times
the
mark
of
an
amiable
disposition
,
but
never
the
characteristic
of
elevated
parts
.
.
BEND
thy
blue
course
,
O
stream
,
round
the
narrow
plain
of
Lutha
Lutha
,
swift
stream
.
It
is
impossible
,
at
this
distance
of
time
,
to
ascertain
where
the
scene
here
described
lies
.
Tradition
is
silent
on
that
head
,
and
there
is
nothing
in
the
poem
from
which
a
conjecture
can
be
drawn
.
.
Let
the
green
woods
hang
over
it
from
their
moun
tains
:
and
the
sun
look
on
it
at
noon
.
The
thistle
is
there
on
its
rock
,
and
shakes
its
beard
to
the
wind
.
The
flower
hangs
its
heavy
head
,
waving
,
at
times
,
to
the
gale
.
Why
dost
thou
awake
me
,
O
gale
,
it
seems
to
say
,
I
am
covered
with
the
drops
of
heaven
?
The
time
of
of
my
fading
is
near
,
and
the
blast
that
shall
scatter
my
leaves
.
To-morrow
shall
the
traveller
come
,
he
that
saw
me
in
my
beauty
shall
come
;
his
eyes
will
search
the
field
,
but
they
will
not
find
me
?
—
So
shall
they
search
in
vain
,
for
the
voice
of
Cona
,
after
it
has
failed
in
the
field
.
The
hunter
shall
come
forth
in
the
morning
,
and
the
voice
of
my
harp
shall
not
be
heard
.
"
Where
is
the
son
of
car-borne
Fingal
?
"
The
tear
will
be
on
his
cheek
.
THEN
come
thou
,
O
Malvina
Mal-mhina
,
soft
or
love'y
brow
.
Mh
in
the
Galic
language
has
the
same
sound
with
v
in
English
.
,
with
all
thy
music
,
come
;
lay
Ossian
in
the
plain
of
Lutha
:
let
his
tomb
rise
in
the
lovely
field
.
—
Malvina
!
where
art
thou
,
with
thy
songs
:
with
the
soft
sound
of
thy
steps
?
—
Son
Tradition
has
not
handed
down
the
name
of
this
son
of
Alpin
.
His
father
was
one
of
Fingal's
principal
bards
,
and
he
appears
himself
to
have
had
a
poetical
ge
nius
.
of
Alpin
art
thou
near
?
where
is
the
daughter
of
Toscar
?
I
PASSED
,
O
son
of
Fingal
,
by
Tar-lutha's
mossy
walls
.
The
smoke
of
the
hall
was
ceased
:
silence
was
among
the
trees
of
the
hill
.
The
voice
of
the
chace
was
over
.
I
saw
the
daughters
of
the
bow
.
I
asked
about
Malvina
,
but
they
answered
not
.
They
turned
their
faces
away
:
thin
darkness
covered
their
beauty
.
They
were
like
stars
,
on
a
rainy
hill
,
by
night
,
each
looking
faintly
through
her
mist
.
PLEASANT
Ossian
speaks
.
He
calls
Malvina
a
beam
of
light
,
and
continues
the
metaphor
throughout
the
paragraph
.
be
thy
rest
,
O
lovely
beam
!
soon
hast
thou
set
on
our
hills
!
The
steps
of
thy
departure
were
stately
,
like
the
moon
on
the
blue
,
trembling
wave
.
But
thou
hast
left
us
in
darkness
,
first
of
the
maids
of
Lutha
!
We
sit
,
at
the
rock
,
and
there
is
no
voice
;
no
light
but
the
meteor
of
fire
!
Son
hast
thou
set
,
Malvina
,
daugh
ter
of
generous
Toscar
!
BUT
thou
risest
like
the
beam
of
the
east
,
among
the
spirits
of
thy
friends
,
where
they
sit
in
their
stormy
halls
,
the
chambers
of
the
thunder
.
—
A
cloud
hovers
over
Cona
:
its
blue
curling
sides
are
high
.
The
winds
are
beneath
it
,
with
their
wings
;
within
it
is
the
dwelling
The
description
of
this
ideal
palace
of
Fingal
is
very
poetical
,
and
agreeable
to
the
notions
of
those
times
,
concerning
the
state
of
the
deceased
,
who
were
supposed
to
pursue
,
after
death
,
the
pleasures
and
employments
of
their
former
life
.
The
situation
of
Ossian's
heroes
,
in
their
sepa
rate
state
,
if
not
entirely
happy
,
is
more
agreeable
,
than
the
notions
of
the
antient
Greeks
concerning
their
departed
heroes
.
See
Hom.
Odyss.
I.
11.
of
Fingal
.
There
the
hero
sits
in
darkness
;
his
airy
spear
is
in
his
hand
.
His
shield
half
covered
with
clouds
,
is
like
the
darkened
moon
;
when
one
half
still
remains
in
the
wave
,
and
the
other
looks
sickly
on
the
field
.
HIS
friends
sit
around
the
king
,
on
mist
;
and
hear
the
songs
of
Ullin
:
he
strikes
the
half-viewless
harp
;
and
raises
the
feeble
voice
.
The
lesser
heroes
,
with
a
thousand
meteors
,
light
the
airy
hall
.
Malvina
rises
,
in
the
midst
;
a
blush
is
on
her
cheek
.
She
beholds
the
unknown
faces
of
her
fathers
,
and
turns
aside
her
humid
eyes
.
ART
thou
come
so
soon
,
said
Fingal
,
daughter
of
generous
Tos
car
?
Sadness
dwells
in
the
halls
of
Lutha
.
My
aged
son
Ossian
;
who
had
a
great
friendship
for
Malvina
,
both
on
account
of
her
love
for
his
son
Oscar
,
and
her
attention
to
his
own
poems
.
is
sad
.
I
hear
the
breeze
of
Cona
,
that
was
wont
to
lift
thy
heavy
locks
.
It
comes
to
the
hall
,
but
thou
art
not
there
;
its
voice
is
mournful
among
the
arms
of
thy
fathers
.
Go
with
thy
rustling
wing
,
O
breeze
!
and
sigh
on
Malvina's
tomb
.
It
rises
yonder
beneath
the
rock
,
at
the
blue
stream
of
Lutha
.
The
maids
That
is
,
the
young
virgins
who
sung
the
funeral
clegy
over
her
tomb
.
are
departed
to
their
place
;
and
thou
alone
,
O
breeze
mournest
there
.
BUT
who
comes
from
the
dusky
west
,
supported
on
a
cloud
?
A
smile
is
on
his
gray
,
watry
face
;
his
locks
of
mist
fly
on
the
wind
:
he
bends
forward
on
his
airy
spear
:
it
is
thy
father
,
Malvina
!
Why
shinest
thou
,
so
soon
,
on
our
clouds
,
he
says
,
O
lovely
light
of
Lu
tha
!
—
But
thou
wert
sad
,
my
daughter
,
for
thy
friends
were
passed
away
.
The
sons
of
little
men
Ossian
,
by
way
of
disrespect
,
calls
those
,
who
succeeded
the
heroes
whose
actions
he
celebrates
,
the
sons
of
little
men
.
Tradition
is
entirely
silent
concerning
what
passed
in
the
north
,
immediately
after
the
death
of
Fingal
and
all
his
heroes
;
but
it
appears
from
that
term
of
ignominy
just
mentioned
,
that
the
actions
of
their
successors
were
not
to
be
compared
to
those
of
the
renown
ed
Fingalians
.
were
in
the
hall
;
and
none
remained
of
the
heroes
,
but
Ossian
king
of
spears
.
AND
dost
thou
remember
Ossian
,
car-borne
Toscar
Toscar
was
the
son
of
that
Conloch
,
who
was
also
father
to
the
lady
,
whose
un
fortunate
death
is
related
in
the
last
epi
sode
of
the
second
book
of
Fingal
.
son
of
Con
loch
?
The
battles
of
our
youth
were
many
;
our
swords
went
to
gether
to
the
field
.
They
saw
us
coming
like
two
falling
rocks
;
and
the
sons
of
the
stranger
fled
.
There
come
the
warriors
of
Co
na
,
they
said
;
their
steps
are
in
the
paths
of
the
vanquished
.
DRAW
near
,
son
of
Alpin
,
to
the
song
of
the
aged
.
The
actions
of
other
times
are
in
my
soul
:
my
memory
beams
on
the
days
that
are
past
.
On
the
days
of
the
mighty
Toscar
,
when
our
path
was
in
the
deep
.
Draw
near
,
son
of
Alpin
,
to
the
last
sound
Ossian
seems
to
intimate
by
this
ex
pression
,
that
this
poem
was
the
last
of
his
composition
;
so
that
there
is
some
founda
tion
for
the
traditional
title
of
the
last
hymn
of
Ossian
.
of
the
voice
of
Cona
.
THE
king
of
Morven
commanded
,
and
I
raised
my
sails
to
the
wind
.
Toscar
chief
of
Lutha
stood
at
my
side
,
as
I
rose
on
the
dark-blue
wave
.
Our
course
was
to
sea-surrounded
Berrathon
Barrathón
,
a
promontory
in
the
midst
of
waves
.
The
poet
gives
it
the
epithet
of
sea-surrounded
,
to
prevent
its
being
taken
for
a
peninsula
in
the
literal
sense
.
,
the
isle
of
many
storms
.
There
dwelt
,
with
his
locks
of
age
,
the
stately
strength
of
Larthmor
.
Larthmor
who
spread
the
feast
of
shells
to
Comhal's
mighty
son
,
when
he
went
to
Starno's
halls
,
in
the
days
of
Agandecca
.
But
when
the
chief
was
old
,
the
pride
of
his
son
arose
,
the
pride
of
fair-haired
Uthal
,
the
love
of
a
thousand
maids
.
He
bound
the
aged
Larthmor
,
and
dwelt
in
his
sounding
halls
.
LONG
pined
the
king
in
his
cave
,
beside
his
rolling
sea
.
Day
did
not
come
to
his
dwelling
;
nor
the
burning
oak
by
night
.
But
the
wind
of
ocean
was
there
,
and
the
parting
beam
of
the
moon
.
The
red
star
looked
on
the
king
,
when
it
trembled
on
the
western
wave
.
Snitho
came
to
Selma's
hall
:
Snitho
companion
of
Larthmor's
youth
.
He
told
of
the
king
of
Berrathon
:
the
wrath
of
Fingal
rose
.
Thrice
he
assumed
the
spear
,
resolved
to
stretch
his
hand
to
Uthal
.
But
the
memory
The
meaning
of
the
poet
is
,
that
Fin
gal
remembered
his
own
great
actions
,
and
consequently
would
not
fully
them
by
engaging
in
a
petty
war
against
Uthal
,
who
was
so
far
his
inferior
in
valour
and
power
.
of
his
actions
rose
before
the
king
,
and
he
sent
his
son
and
Toscar
.
Our
joy
was
great
on
the
rolling
sea
;
and
we
often
half-unsheathed
our
swords
The
impatience
of
a
young
warrior
,
going
on
their
first
expedition
,
is
well
marked
by
their
half-drawing
their
swords
.
The
modesty
of
Ossian
,
in
his
narration
of
a
story
which
does
him
so
much
honour
,
is
remarkable
;
and
his
humanity
to
Nina-thoma
would
grace
a
hero
of
our
own
po
lished
age
.
Though
Ossian
passes
over
his
own
actions
in
silence
,
or
slightly
men
tions
them
;
tradition
has
done
ample
ju
stice
to
his
martial
fame
,
and
perhaps
has
exaggerated
the
actions
of
the
poet
beyond
the
bounds
of
credibility
.
.
For
never
before
had
we
fought
alone
,
in
the
battles
of
the
spear
.
Night
came
down
on
the
ocean
;
the
winds
departed
on
their
wings
.
Cold
and
pale
is
the
moon
.
The
red
stars
lift
their
heads
.
Our
course
is
slow
along
the
coast
of
Berrathon
;
the
white
waves
tumble
on
the
rocks
.
WHAT
voice
is
that
,
said
Toscar
,
which
comes
between
the
sounds
of
the
waves
?
It
is
soft
but
mournsul
,
like
the
voice
of
de
parted
bards
.
But
I
behold
the
maid
Nina-thoma
the
daughter
of
Tor
thóma
,
who
had
been
confined
to
a
desart
island
by
her
lover
Uthal
.
,
she
sits
on
the
rock
alone
.
Her
head
bends
on
her
arm
of
snow
:
her
dark
hair
is
in
the
wind
.
Hear
,
son
of
Fingal
,
her
song
,
it
is
smooth
as
the
gliding
waters
of
Lavath
.
—
We
came
to
the
silent
bay
,
and
heard
the
maid
of
night
.
How
long
will
ye
roll
around
me
,
blue-tumbling
waters
of
ocean
?
My
dwelling
was
not
always
in
caves
,
nor
beneath
the
whistling
tree
.
The
feast
was
spread
in
Torthóma's
hall
;
my
father
delight
ed
in
my
voice
.
The
youths
beheld
me
in
the
steps
of
my
loveli
ness
,
and
they
blessed
the
dark-haired
Nina-thoma
.
It
was
then
thou
didst
come
,
O
Uthal
!
like
the
sun
of
heaven
.
The
souls
of
the
virgins
are
thine
,
son
of
generous
Larthmor
!
But
why
dost
thou
leave
me
alone
in
the
midst
of
roaring
waters
.
Was
my
soul
dark
with
thy
death
?
Did
my
white
hand
lift
the
sword
?
Why
then
hast
thou
left
me
alone
,
king
of
high
Finthormo
Finthormo
,
the
palace
of
Uthal
.
The
names
in
this
episode
are
not
of
a
Celtic
original
;
which
makes
it
probable
that
Ossian
sounds
his
poem
on
a
true
story
.
!
THE
tear
started
from
my
eye
,
when
I
heard
the
voice
of
the
maid
.
I
stood
before
her
in
my
arms
,
and
spoke
the
words
of
peace
.
—
Lovely
dweller
of
the
cave
,
what
sigh
is
in
that
breast
?
Shall
Ossian
lift
his
sword
in
thy
presence
,
the
destruction
of
thy
foes
?
—
Daugh
ter
of
Torthóma
,
rise
,
I
have
heard
the
words
of
thy
grief
.
The
race
of
Morven
are
around
thee
,
who
never
injured
the
weak
.
Come
to
our
dark-bosomed
ship
,
thou
brighter
than
that
setting
moon
.
Our
course
is
to
the
rocky
Berrathon
,
to
the
ecchoing
walls
of
Finthormo
.
—
She
came
in
her
beauty
,
she
came
with
all
her
lovely
steps
.
Silent
joy
brightened
in
her
face
,
as
when
the
sha
dows
fly
from
the
field
of
spring
;
the
blue-stream
is
rolling
in
brightness
,
and
the
green
bush
bends
over
its
course
.
THE
morning
rose
with
its
beams
.
We
came
to
Rothma's
bay
.
A
boar
rushed
from
the
wood
;
my
spear
pierced
his
side
.
I
rejoiced
over
the
blood
Ossian
thought
that
his
killing
the
boar
,
on
his
first
landing
in
Berrathon
,
was
a
good
omen
of
his
future
success
in
that
island
.
The
present
highlanders
look
,
with
a
de
gree
of
superstition
,
upon
the
success
of
their
first
action
,
after
they
have
engaged
in
any
desperate
undertaking
.
,
and
foresaw
my
growing
fame
.
—
But
now
the
sound
of
Uthal's
train
came
from
the
high
Fin-thormo
;
they
spread
over
the
heath
to
the
chance
of
the
boar
.
Himself
comes
slowly
on
,
in
the
pride
of
his
strength
.
He
lifts
two
pointed
spears
.
On
his
side
is
the
hero's
sword
.
Three
youths
carry
his
polished
bows
:
the
bounding
of
five
dogs
is
before
him
.
His
heroes
move
on
,
at
a
distance
,
admiring
the
steps
of
the
king
.
Stately
was
the
son
of
Larthmor
!
but
his
soul
was
dark
.
Dark
as
the
troubled
face
of
the
moon
,
when
it
foretels
the
storms
.
WE
rose
on
the
heath
before
the
king
;
he
stopt
in
the
midst
of
his
course
.
His
heroes
gathered
around
,
and
a
gray-haired
bard
ad
vanced
.
Whence
are
the
sons
of
the
strangers
!
begun
the
bard
of
the
song
;
the
children
of
the
unhappy
come
to
Berrathon
;
to
the
sword
of
car-borne
Uthal
.
He
spreads
no
feast
in
his
hall
:
the
blood
of
strangers
is
on
his
streams
.
If
from
Selma's
walls
ye
come
,
from
the
mossy
walls
of
Fingal
,
chuse
three
youths
to
go
to
your
king
to
tell
of
the
fall
of
his
people
.
Perhaps
the
hero
may
come
and
pour
his
blood
on
Uthal's
sword
;
so
shall
the
fame
of
Finthormo
arise
,
like
the
growing
tree
of
the
vale
.
NEVER
will
it
rise
,
O
bard
,
I
said
in
the
pride
of
my
wrath
.
He
would
shrink
in
the
presence
of
Fingal
,
whose
eyes
are
the
flames
of
death
.
The
son
of
Comhal
comes
,
and
the
kings
vanish
in
his
presence
;
they
are
rolled
together
,
like
mist
,
by
the
breath
of
his
rage
.
Shall
three
tell
to
Fingal
,
that
his
people
fell
?
Yes
!
—
they
may
tell
it
,
bard
!
but
his
people
shall
fall
with
fame
.
I
STOOD
in
the
darkness
of
my
strength
;
Toscar
drew
his
sword
at
my
side
.
The
foe
came
on
like
a
stream
:
the
mingled
sound
of
death
arose
.
Man
took
man
,
shield
met
shield
;
steel
mixed
its
beams
with
steel
.
—
Darts
hiss
through
air
;
spears
ring
on
mails
;
and
swords
on
broken
bucklers
bound
.
As
the
noise
of
an
aged
grove
beneath
the
roaring
wind
,
when
a
thousand
ghosts
break
the
trees
by
night
,
such
was
the
din
of
arms
.
—
But
Uthal
fell
beneath
my
sword
;
and
the
sons
of
Berrathon
fled
.
—
It
was
then
I
saw
him
in
his
beauty
,
and
the
tear
hung
in
my
eye
.
Thou
art
fallen
To
mourn
over
the
fall
of
their
enemies
was
a
practice
universal
among
Ossian's
heroes
.
This
is
more
agreeable
to
huma
nity
,
than
the
shameful
insulting
of
the
dead
,
so
common
in
Homer
,
and
after
him
,
servilely
copied
by
all
his
imitators
,
the
humane
Virgil
not
excepted
,
who
have
been
more
successful
in
borrowing
the
im
perfections
of
that
great
poet
,
than
in
their
imitations
of
his
beauties
.
Homer
,
it
is
probable
,
gave
the
manners
of
the
times
in
which
he
wrote
,
not
his
own
senti
ments
:
Ossian
also
seems
to
keep
to
the
sentiments
of
his
heroes
.
The
reverence
,
which
the
most
barbarous
highlanders
have
still
for
the
remains
of
the
deceased
,
seems
to
have
descended
to
them
from
their
most
remote
ancestors
.
,
young
tree
,
I
said
,
with
all
thy
beauty
round
thee
.
Thou
art
fallen
on
thy
plains
,
and
the
field
is
bare
.
The
winds
come
from
the
desart
,
and
there
is
no
sound
in
thy
leaves
!
Lovely
art
thou
in
death
,
son
of
car-borne
Larthmor
.
NINA-THOMA
sat
on
the
shore
,
and
heard
the
sound
of
battle
.
She
turned
her
red
eyes
on
Lethmal
the
gray-haired
bard
of
Selma
,
for
he
had
remained
on
the
coast
,
with
the
daughter
of
Torthóma
.
Son
of
the
times
of
old
!
she
said
,
I
hear
the
noise
of
death
.
Thy
friends
have
met
with
Uthal
and
the
chief
is
low
!
O
that
I
had
remained
on
the
rock
,
inclosed
with
the
tumbling
waves
!
Then
would
my
soul
be
sad
,
but
his
death
would
not
reach
my
ear
.
Art
thou
fallen
on
thy
heath
,
O
son
of
high
Finthormo
!
thou
didst
leave
me
on
a
rock
,
but
my
soul
was
full
of
thee
.
Son
of
high
Finthormo
!
art
thou
fallen
on
thy
heath
?
SHE
rose
pale
in
her
tears
,
and
saw
the
bloody
shield
of
Uthal
;
she
saw
it
in
Ossian's
hand
;
her
steps
were
distracted
on
the
heath
.
She
flew
;
she
found
him
;
she
fell
.
Her
soul
came
forth
in
a
sigh
.
Her
hair
is
spread
on
his
face
.
My
bursting
tears
descend
.
A
tomb
arose
on
the
unhappy
;
and
my
song
was
heard
.
REST
,
hapless
children
of
youth
!
and
the
noise
of
that
mossy
stream
.
The
virgins
will
see
your
tomb
,
at
the
chace
,
and
turn
away
their
weeping
eyes
.
Your
fame
will
be
in
the
song
;
the
voice
of
the
harp
will
be
heard
in
your
praise
.
The
daughters
of
Selma
shall
hear
it
;
and
your
renown
shall
be
in
other
lands
.
—
Rest
,
children
of
youth
,
at
the
noise
of
the
mossy
stream
.
Two
days
we
remained
on
the
coast
.
The
heroes
of
Berrathon
convened
.
We
brought
Larthmor
to
his
halls
;
the
feast
of
shells
is
spread
.
—
The
joy
of
the
aged
was
great
;
he
looked
to
the
arms
of
his
fathers
;
the
arms
which
he
left
in
his
hall
,
when
the
pride
of
Uthal
arose
—
We
were
renowned
before
Larthmor
,
and
he
blessed
the
chiefs
of
Morven
;
but
he
knew
not
that
his
son
was
low
,
the
stately
strength
of
Uthal
.
They
had
told
,
that
he
had
retired
to
the
woods
,
with
the
tears
of
grief
;
they
had
told
it
,
but
he
was
silent
in
the
tomb
of
Rothma's
heath
.
ON
the
fourth
day
we
raised
our
sails
to
the
roar
of
the
northern
wind
.
Larthmor
came
to
the
coast
,
and
his
bards
raised
the
song
.
The
joy
of
the
king
was
great
,
he
looked
to
Rothma's
gloomy
heath
;
he
saw
the
tomb
of
his
son
;
and
the
memory
of
Uthal
rose
.
—
Who
of
my
heroes
,
he
said
,
lies
there
:
he
seems
to
have
been
of
the
kings
of
spears
?
Was
he
renowned
in
my
halls
,
before
the
pride
of
Uthal
rose
?
YE
are
silent
,
ye
sons
of
Berrathon
,
is
the
king
of
heroes
low
?
—
My
heart
melts
for
thee
,
O
Uthal
;
though
thy
hand
was
against
thy
father
.
—
O
that
I
had
remained
in
the
cave
!
that
my
son
had
dwelt
in
Finthormo
!
—
I
might
have
heard
the
tread
of
his
feet
,
when
he
went
to
the
chace
of
the
boar
.
—
I
might
have
heard
his
voice
on
the
blast
of
my
cave
.
Then
would
my
soul
be
glad
:
but
now
darkness
dwells
in
my
halls
.
SUCH
were
my
deeds
,
son
of
Alpin
,
when
the
arm
of
my
youth
was
strong
;
such
were
Ossian
speaks
.
the
actions
of
Toscar
,
the
car-borne
son
of
Conloch
.
But
Toscar
is
on
his
flying
cloud
;
and
I
am
alone
at
Lutha
:
my
voice
is
like
the
last
sound
of
the
wind
,
when
it
forsakes
the
woods
.
But
Ossian
shall
not
be
long
alone
,
he
sees
the
mist
that
shall
receive
his
ghost
.
He
beholds
the
mist
that
shall
sorm
his
robe
,
when
he
appears
on
his
hills
.
The
sons
of
little
men
shall
behold
me
,
and
admire
the
stature
of
the
chiefs
of
old
.
They
shall
creep
to
their
caves
,
and
look
to
the
sky
with
fear
;
for
my
steps
shall
be
in
the
clouds
,
and
darkness
shall
roll
on
my
side
.
LEAD
,
son
of
Alpin
,
lead
the
aged
to
his
woods
.
The
winds
begin
to
rise
.
The
dark
wave
of
the
lake
resounds
.
Bends
there
not
a
tree
from
Mora
with
its
branches
bare
?
It
bends
,
son
of
Alpin
,
in
the
rustling
blast
.
My
harp
hangs
on
a
blasted
branch
.
The
sound
of
its
strings
is
mournful
.
—
Does
the
wind
touch
thee
,
O
harp
,
or
is
it
some
passing
ghost
!
—
It
is
the
hand
of
Malvina
!
but
bring
me
the
harp
,
son
of
Alpin
;
another
song
shall
rise
.
My
soul
shall
depart
in
the
sound
;
my
fathers
shall
hear
it
in
their
airy
hall
.
—
Their
dim
faces
shall
hang
,
with
joy
,
from
their
clouds
;
and
their
hands
receive
their
son
.
Here
begins
the
lyric
piece
,
with
which
,
tradition
says
,
Ossian
concluded
his
poems
.
—
It
is
set
to
music
,
and
still
sung
in
the
north
,
with
a
great
deal
of
wild
simplicity
,
but
little
variety
of
sound
.
The
aged
oak
bends
over
the
stream
.
It
sighs
with
all
its
moss
.
The
withered
fern
whistles
near
,
and
mixes
,
as
it
waves
,
with
Ossian's
hair
.
—
Strike
the
harp
and
raise
the
song
:
be
near
,
with
all
your
wings
,
ye
winds
.
Bear
the
mournful
sound
away
to
Fingal's
airy
hall
.
Bear
it
to
Fingal's
hall
,
that
he
may
hear
the
voice
of
his
son
;
the
voice
of
him
that
praised
the
mighty
.
—
The
blast
of
north
opens
thy
gates
,
O
king
,
and
I
behold
thee
sitting
on
mist
,
dimly
gleaming
in
all
thine
arms
.
Thy
form
now
is
not
the
terror
of
the
valiant
:
but
like
a
watery
cloud
;
when
we
see
the
stars
be
hind
it
with
their
weeping
eyes
.
Thy
shield
is
like
the
aged
moon
:
thy
sword
a
vapour
half-kindled
with
fire
.
Dim
and
feeble
is
the
chief
,
who
travelled
in
brightness
before
.
—
BUT
thy
steps
This
magnificent
description
of
the
power
of
Fingal
over
the
winds
and
storms
,
and
the
image
of
his
taking
the
sun
,
and
hiding
him
in
the
clouds
,
do
not
correspond
with
the
preceding
paragraph
,
where
he
is
represented
as
a
feeble
ghost
,
and
no
more
the
TERROR
OF
THE
VA
LIANT
;
but
it
agrees
with
the
notion
of
the
times
concerning
the
souls
of
the
de
ceased
,
who
,
it
was
supposed
,
had
the
command
of
the
winds
and
storms
,
but
tock
no
concern
in
the
affairs
of
men
.
It
was
the
immoderate
praise
bestowed
by
the
poets
on
their
departed
friends
,
that
gave
the
first
hint
to
superstition
to
deify
the
deceased
heroes
;
and
those
new
divi
nities
owed
all
their
attributes
to
the
fancy
of
the
bard
who
sung
their
elegies
.
We
do
not
find
,
that
the
praises
of
Fin
gal
had
this
effect
upon
his
countrymen
;
but
that
is
to
be
imputed
to
the
idea
they
had
of
power
,
which
they
always
con
nected
with
bodily
strength
and
personal
valour
,
both
which
were
dissolved
by
death
.
are
on
the
winds
of
the
desart
,
and
the
storms
darken
in
thy
hand
.
Thou
takest
the
sun
in
thy
wrath
,
and
hidest
him
in
thy
clouds
.
The
sons
of
little
men
are
afraid
;
and
a
thou
sand
showers
descend
.
—
BUT
when
thou
comest
forth
in
thy
mildness
;
the
gale
of
the
morning
is
near
thy
course
.
The
sun
laughs
in
his
blue
fields
;
and
the
gray
stream
winds
in
its
valley
.
—
The
bushes
shake
their
green
heads
in
the
wind
.
The
roes
bound
towards
the
desart
.
BUT
there
is
a
murmur
in
the
heath
!
the
stormy
winds
abate
!
I
hear
the
voice
of
Fingal
.
Long
has
it
been
absent
from
mine
ear
!
—
Come
,
Ossian
,
come
away
,
he
says
:
Fingal
has
received
his
fame
.
We
passed
away
,
like
flames
that
had
shone
for
a
season
,
our
departure
was
in
renown
.
Though
the
plains
of
our
battles
are
dark
and
silent
;
our
fame
is
in
the
four
gray
stones
.
The
voice
of
Ossian
has
been
heard
;
and
the
harp
was
strung
in
Selma
.
—
Come
Ossian
,
come
away
,
he
says
,
and
fly
with
thy
fathers
on
clouds
.
AND
come
I
will
,
thou
king
of
men
!
the
life
of
Ossian
fails
.
I
begin
to
vanish
on
Cona
;
and
my
steps
are
not
seen
in
Selma
.
Beside
the
stone
of
Mora
I
shall
fall
asleep
.
The
winds
whistling
in
my
grey
hair
,
shall
not
waken
me
.
—
Depart
on
thy
wings
,
O
wind
:
thou
canst
not
disturb
the
rest
of
the
bard
.
The
night
is
long
,
but
his
eyes
are
heavy
;
depart
,
thou
rustling
blast
.
BUT
why
art
thou
sad
,
son
of
Fingal
?
Why
grows
the
cloud
of
thy
soul
?
The
chiefs
of
other
times
are
departed
;
they
have
gone
without
their
fame
.
The
sons
of
future
years
shall
pass
away
;
and
another
race
arise
.
The
people
are
like
the
waves
of
ocean
:
like
the
leaves
The
same
thought
may
be
found
al
most
in
the
same
words
,
in
Homer
,
vi
.
46.
foreign
foreign
foreign
Mr.
Pope
falls
short
of
his
original
;
in
particular
he
has
omitted
altogether
the
beautiful
image
of
the
wind
strewing
the
withered
leaves
on
the
ground
.
Like
leaves
on
trees
the
race
of
men
are
sound
,
Now
green
in
youth
,
now
with'ring
on
the
ground
;
Another
race
the
following
spring
supplies
;
They
fall
successive
,
and
successive
rise
.
POPE
.
of
woody
Morven
,
they
pass
away
in
the
rustling
blast
,
and
other
leaves
lift
their
green
heads
.
—
DID
thy
beauty
last
,
O
Ryno
Ryno
,
the
son
of
Fingal
,
who
was
kill
ed
in
Ireland
,
in
the
war
against
Swaran
,
[
Fing.
b.
5.
]
was
remarkable
for
the
beau
ty
of
his
person
,
his
swiftness
and
great
exploits
.
Minvane
,
the
daughter
of
Mor
ni
,
and
sister
to
Gaul
so
often
mentioned
in
Ossian's
compositions
,
was
in
love
with
Ryno
.
—
Her
lamentation
over
her
lover
is
introduced
as
an
episode
in
one
of
Ossian's
great
poems
.
The
lamentation
is
the
only
part
of
the
poem
now
extant
,
and
as
it
has
some
poetical
merit
,
I
have
subjoined
it
to
this
note
.
The
poet
represents
Min
vane
as
seeing
,
from
one
of
the
rocks
of
Morven
,
the
fleet
of
Fingal
returning
from
Ireland
.
SHE
blushing
sad
,
from
Morven's
rocks
,
bends
over
the
darkly-rolling
sea
.
She
saw
the
youths
in
all
their
arms
.
—
Where
,
Ryno
,
where
art
thou
?
Our
dark
looks
told
that
he
was
low
!
—
That
pale
the
hero
flew
on
clouds
!
That
in
the
grass
of
Morven's
hills
,
his
feeble
voice
was
heard
in
wind
!
And
is
the
son
of
Fingal
fallen
,
on
Ul
lin's
mossy
plains
?
Strong
was
the
arm
that
conquered
him
!
—
Ah
me
!
I
am
alone
.
Alone
I
will
not
be
,
ye
winds
!
that
lift
my
dark-brown
hair
.
My
sighs
will
not
long
mix
with
your
stream
;
for
I
must
sleep
with
Ryno
.
I
see
thee
not
with
beauty's
steps
return
ing
from
the
chace
.
—
The
night
is
round
Minaven's
love
;
and
silence
dwells
with
Ryno
.
Where
are
thy
dogs
,
and
where
thy
bow
?
Thy
shield
that
was
so
strong
?
Thy
sword
like
heaven's
descending
fire
?
The
bloody
spear
of
Ryno
?
I
see
them
mixed
in
thy
ship
;
I
see
them
stained
with
blood
.
—
No
arms
are
in
thy
narrow
hall
,
O
darkly-dwelling
Ryno
!
When
will
the
morning
come
,
and
say
,
arise
,
thou
king
of
spears
!
arise
,
the
hun
ters
are
abroad
.
The
hinds
are
near
thee
,
Ryno
!
Away
,
thou
fair-haired
morning
,
away
!
the
slumbering
king
hears
thee
not
!
The
hinds
bound
over
his
narrow
tomb
;
for
death
dwells
round
young
Ryno
.
But
I
will
tread
softly
,
my
king
!
and
steal
to
the
bed
of
thy
repose
.
Minvane
will
lie
in
silence
,
near
her
slumbering
Ryno
.
The
maids
shall
seek
me
;
but
they
shall
not
find
me
:
they
shall
follow
my
depar
ture
with
songs
.
But
I
will
not
hear
you
,
O
maids
:
I
sleep
with
fair-haired
Ryno
.
?
Stood
the
strength
of
car-borne
Oscar
?
Fingal
himself
passed
away
;
and
the
halls
of
his
fathers
forgot
his
steps
.
—
And
shalt
thou
remain
,
aged
bard
!
when
the
mighty
have
failed
?
—
But
my
fame
shall
remain
,
and
grow
like
the
oak
of
Morven
;
which
lifts
its
broad
head
to
the
storm
,
and
rejoices
in
the
course
of
the
wind
.