the king. Sleep returned to their eyes; the field was dark and still 8. No sleep was thine in darkness, blue-eyed daughter of Conmor! Sul-malla heard the dread 8 Sleep returned to their eyes; the field was dark and still.} Eneid, iv. 522. Nox erat; et placidum carpebant fessa soporem At non infelix animi Phœnissa, neque unquam "No sleep was thine in darkness, blue-eyed daughter of Conmor." And the same transition to Dido and to Sul-malla, indicates sufficiently the original of the night descriptions in Os'sian. Supra, 2. 9 A bard, several ages more modern than Ossian, was so sensible of the beauty of this passage, as to give a close imitation of it, in a poem, concerning the great actions of Keneth Mac-Alpin, king of Scotland, against the Picts. As the poem is long, I shall only give here the story of it, with a translation of that paragraph, which bears the nearest resemblance to the passage of Temora just now before me. When Keneth was making preparations for that war, which terminated in the subversion of the Pictish kingdom, Flathal, his sister, had demanded permission from him, of attending him in the expedition, in order to have a share in revenging the death of her father Alpin, who had been barbarously murdered by the Picts. The king, though he perhaps approved of the gallant disposition of his sister, refused, on account of her sex, to grant her request. The he ful shield, and rose, amid the night. Her steps are towards the king of Atha. "Can danger shake his daring soul!" In doubt she stands, roine, however, dressed herself in the habit of a young warrior; and, in that disguise, attended the army, and performed many gallant exploits. On the night preceding the final overthrow of the Picts, Keneth, as was the custom among the kings of Scots, retired to a hill, without the verge of the camp, to meditate on the dispositions he was to make in the approaching battle. Flathal, who was anxious about the safety of her brother, went privately to the top of an adjoining rock, and kept watch there to prevent his being surprized by the enemy. Keneth fell asleep, in his arms; and Flathal observed a body of the Picts surrounding the hill whereon the king lay. The sequel of the story may be gathered from the words of the bard. "Her eyes, like stars, roll over the plain. She trembled for Alpin's race. She saw the gleaming foe. Her steps arose: she stopt. " Why should he know of Flathal? he the king of men ! But hark! the sound is high. It is but the wind of night, lonely-whistling in my locks. I hear the echoing shields!"' Her spear fell from her hand. The lofty rock resounds. He rose, a gathered cloud. "Who wakes Conad of Albion, in the midst of his secret hill? I heard the soft voice of Flathal. Why, maid, dost thou shine in war? The daughters roll their blue eyes by the streams. No field of blood is theirs. "Alpin of Albion was mine, the father of Flathal of harps. He is low, mighty Conad, and my soul is fire. Could Flathal, by the secret stream, behold the blood of her foes? I am a young eagle, on Dura, king of Drum-albin of winds.” In the sequel of the piece, the bard does not imitate Ossian, and his poem is so much the worse for it. Keneth, with his with bending eyes. stars. Heaven burns with all its Again the shield resounds! She rushed. She stopt. Her voice half rose. It failed. She saw him, amidst his arms, that gleamed to heaven's fire. She saw him dim in his locks, that rose to nightly wind. Away, for fear, she turned her steps. "Why should the king of Erin awake? Thou art not a dream to his rest, daughter of Inis-huna." starts. More dreadful rings the shield. Sul-malla Her helmet falls. Loud echoes Lubar'srock, as over it rolls the steel. Bursting from the dreams of night, Cathmor half rose, beneath his tree. He saw the form of the maid, above him, on the rock. A red star, with twinkling beam, looked through her floating hair. "Who comes through night to Cathmor, in the season of his dreams? Bringest thou aught of war? Who art thou, son of night? Standest thou before me, a form of the times of old? A sister's assistance, forced his way through the advanced parties of the enemy, and rejoined his own army. The bard has given a catalogue of the Scotch tribes, as they marched to battle; but, as he did not live near the time of Keneth, his accounts are to be little depended on. MACPHERSON, 1st edit. voice from the fold of a cloud, to warn me of the danger of Erin ?" "Nor lonely scout am I, nor voice from folded cloud," she said; "but I warn thee of the danger of Erin. Dost thou hear that sound? It is not the feeble, king of Atha, that rolls his signs on night." "Let the warrior roll his signs," he replied; "to Cathmor they are the sounds of harps. My joy is great, voice of night, and burns over all my thought. This is the music of kings, on lonely hills, by night; when they light their daring souls, the sons of mighty deeds! The feeble dwell alone, in the valley of the breeze; where mists lift their morning skirts, from the blue-winding streams." "Not feeble, king of men, were they, the fathers of my race. They dwelt in the folds of battle, in their distant lands. Yet delights not my soul, in the signs of death! He, who never yields, comes forth: O send the bard of peace!" Like a dropping rock, Cathmor in his tears 10. in the desert, stood Her voice came, a stood Cathmor in his 10 Like a dropping rock, in the desert, tears.] DRYDEN's Virgil, Georg. ii. 259. Supra, i. 23. breeze, on his soul, and awaked the memory of her land; where she dwelt by her peaceful streams, before he came to the war of Conmor. "Daughter of strangers," he said; (she trembling turned away) "long have I marked thee in thy steel, young pine of Inis-huna. But my soul, I said, is folded in a storm. Why should that beam arise, till my steps return in peace ? Have I been pale in thy presence, as thou bidst me to fear the king? The time of danger, O maid, is the season of my soul; for then it swells, a mighty stream, and rolls me on the foe. "Beneath the moss-covered rock of Lona, near his own loud stream; grey in his locks of age, dwells Clonmal, king of harps. Above him is his echoing tree, and the dun bounding of roes. The noise of our strife reaches his ear, as he bends in the thoughts of years. There let thy rest be, Sul-malla, until our battle cease. Until I return, in my arms, from the skirts of the evening mist, that rises, on Lona, round the dwelling of my love." A light fell on the soul of the maid; it rose Such as in cheerful vales we view from high, Which dripping rocks with rowling streams supply. |