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The Death of Cuchullin: A PoemDisplay note.

Is the wind on Fingal's shield? Or is the voice of past times in my hall? Sing on, sweet voice, for thou art pleasant, and carriest away my night with joy. Sing on, O Bragela, daughter of Car-borne Songlan!

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It is the white wave of the rock, and not Cuchullin's sails. Often do the mists deceive me for the ship of my love! when they rise round [ 204 ] View Page Image some ghost, and spread their gray skirts on the wind. Why dost thou delay thy coming, son of the generous Semo?—Four times has autumn returned with its winds, and raised the seas of TogormaDisplay note, since thou hast been in the roar of battles, and Bragéla distant far.—Hills of the isle of mist! when will ye answer to his hounds?——But ye are dark in your clouds, and sad Bragéla calls in vain. Night comes rolling down: the face of ocean fails. The heath-cock's head is beneath his wing: the hind sleeps with the hart of the desart. They shall rise with the morning's light, and feed on the mossy stream. But my tears return with the sun, my [ 205 ] View Page Image sighs come on with the night. When wilt thou come in thine arms, O chief of mossy Tura?

Pleasant is thy voice in Ossian's ear, daughter of car-borne Sorglan! But retire to the hall of shells; to the beam of the burning oak.——Attend to the murmur of the sea: it rolls at Dunscaich's walls: let sleep descend on thy blue eyes, and the hero come to thy dreams.

Cuchullin sits at Lego's lake, at the dark rolling of waters. Night is around the hero; and his thousands spread on the heath: a hundred oaks burn in the midst, the feast of shells is smoaking wide.—Carril strikes the harp, beneath a tree; his gray locks glitter in the beam; the rustling blast of night is near, and lifts his aged hair.—His song is of the blue Togorma, and of its chief, Cuchullin's friend.

Why art thou absent, Connal, in the day of the gloomy storm? The chiefs of the south have convened against the car-borne Cormac: the winds detain thy sails, and thy blue waters roll around thee. But Cormac is not alone: the son of Semo fights his battles. Semo's son his battles fights! the terror of the stranger! he that [ 206 ] View Page Image is like the vapour of deathDisplay note, slowly borne by sultry winds. The sun reddens in its presence, the people fall around.

Such was the song of Carril, when a son of the foe appeared; he threw down his pointless spear, and spoke the words of Torlath: Torlath the chief of heroes, from Lego's sable surge: he that led his thousands to battle, against car-borne Cormac. Cormac who was distant far, in Temora'sDisplay note echoing halls: he learned to bend the bow of his fathers; and to lift the spear. Nor long didst thou lift the spear, mildly-shining beam of youth! death stands dim behind thee, like the darkened half of the moon behind its growing light.

Cuchullin rose before the bardDisplay note, that came from generous Torlath; he offered him [ 207 ] View Page Image the shell of joy, and honoured the son of songs. Sweet voice of Lego! he said, what are the words of Torlath? Comes he to our feast or battle, the car-borne son of CantélaDisplay note?

He comes to thy battle, replied the bard, to the sounding strife of spears.——When morning is gray on Lego, Torlath will fight on the plain: and wilt thou meet him, in thine arms, king of the isle of mist? Terrible is the spear of Torlath! it is a meteor of night. He lifts it, and the people fall: death sits in the lightning of his sword.

Do I fear, replied Cuchullin, the spear of car-borne Torlath? He is brave as a thousand heroes; but my soul delights in war. The sword rests not by the side of Cuchullin, bard of the times of old! Morning shall meet me on the plain, and gleam on the blue arms of Semo's son.—But sit thou, on the heath, O bard! and let us hear thy voice: partake of the joyful shell; and hear the songs of Temora.

This is no time, replied the bard, to hear the song of joy; when the mighty are to meet [ 208 ] View Page Image in battle like the strength of the waves of Lego. Why art thou so dark, SlimoraDisplay note! with all thy silent woods? No green star trembles on thy top; no moon-beam on thy side. But the meteors of death are there, and the gray watry forms of ghosts. Why art thou dark, Slimora! with thy silent woods?

He retired, in the sound of his song; Carril accompanied his voice. The music was like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to the soul. The ghosts of departed bards heard it from Slimora's side. Soft sounds spread along the wood, and the silent valleys of night rejoice.——So, when he sits in the silence of noon, in the valley of his breeze, the humming of the mountain bee comes to Ossian's ear: the gale drowns it often in its course; but the pleasant sound returns again.

Raise, said Cuchullin, to his hundred bards, the song of the noble Fingal: that song which he hears at night, when the dreams of his rest descend: when the bards strike the distant harp, and the faint light gleams on Selma's walls. Or let the grief of Lara rise, and the sighs of the mother of CalmarDisplay note, when he was fought, in [ 209 ] View Page Image vain, on his hills; and she beheld his bow in the hall.——Carril, place the shield of Caithbat on that branch; and let the spear of Cuchullin be near; that the sound of my battle may rise with the gray beam of the east.

The hero leaned on his father's shield: the song of Lara rose, The hundred bards were distant far: Carril alone is near the chief. The words of the song were his; and the sound of his harp was mournful.

AlclethaDisplay note with the aged locks! mother of car-borne Calmar! why dost thou look towards the desart, to behold the return of thy son? These are not his heroes, dark on the heath: nor is that the voice of Calmar: it is but the distant grove, Alcletha! but the roar of the mountain wind!

WhoDisplay note bounds over Lara's stream, sister of the noble Calmar? Does not Alclétha behold his [ 210 ] View Page Image spear? But her eyes are dim! Is it not the son of Matha, daughter of my love?

It is but an aged oak, Alclétha! replied the lovely weeping AlonaDisplay note; it is but an oak, Alclétha, bent over Lara's stream. But who comes along the plain? sorrow is in his speed. He lifts high the spear of Calmar. Alclétha, it is covered with blood!

But it is covered with the blood of foesDisplay note, sister of car-borne Calmar! his spear never returned unstained with bloodDisplay note, nor his bow from the strife of the mighty. The battle is consumed in his presence: he is a flame of death, Alona!——YouthDisplay note of the mournful speed! where is the son of Alclétha? Does he return with his fame? in the midst of his echoing shields?——Thou art dark and silent!—Calmar is then no more. Tell me not, warrior, how he fell, for I cannot hear of his wound.——

Why dost thou look towards the desart, mother of car-borne Calmar?——

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Such was the song of Carril, when Cuchullin lay on his shield: the bards rested on their harps, and sleep fell softly around.——The son of Semo was awake alone; his soul was fixed on the war.——The burning oaks began to decay; faint red light is spread around.—A feeble voice is heard: the ghost of Calmar came. He stalked in the beam. Dark is the wound in his side. His hair is disordered and loose. Joy sits darkly on his face; and he seems to invite Cuchullin to his cave.

Son of the cloudy night! said the rising chief of Erin; Why dost thou bend thy dark eyes on me, ghost of the car-borne Calmar? Wouldest thou frighten me, O Matha's son! from the battles of Cormac? Thy hand was not feeble in war; neither was thy voiceDisplay note for peace. How art thou changed, chief of Lara! if thou now dost advise to fly!——But, Calmar, I never fled. I never fearedDisplay note the ghosts of the desart. Small is their knowledge, and weak their hands; their dwelling is in the wind.——But my soul grows in danger, and rejoices in the noise of steel. Retire thou to thy cave; thou art not [ 212 ] View Page Image Calmar's ghost; he delighted in battle, and his arm was like the thunder of heaven.

He retired in his blast with joy, for he had heard the voice of his praise. The faint beam of the morning rose, and the sound of Caithbat's buckler spread. Green Ullin's warriors convened, like the roar of many streams.—The horn of war is heard over Lego; the mighty Torlath came.

Why dost thou come with thy thousands, Cuchullin, said the chief of Lego. I know the strength of thy arm, and thy soul is an unextinguished fire.—Why fight we not on the plain, and let our hosts behold our deeds? Let them behold us like roaring waves, that tumble round a rock: the mariners hasten away, and look on their strife with fear.

Thou risest, like the sun, on my soul, replied the son of Semo. Thine arm is mighty, O Torlath! and worthy of my wrath. Retire, ye men of Ullin, to Slimora's shady side; behold the chief of Erin, in the day of his fame.——Carril! tell to mighty Connal, if Cuchullin must fall, tell him I accused the winds which roar on Togorma's waves.—Never was he absent in battle, when the strife of my fame arose.—Let this sword be before Cormac, like the beam of [ 213 ] View Page Image heaven: let his counsel sound in Temora in the day of danger.—

He rushed, in the sound of his arms, like the terrible spirit of LodaDisplay note, when he comes in the roar of a thousand storms, and scatters battles from his eyes.—He sits on a cloud over Lochlin's seas: his mighty hand is on his sword, and the winds lift his flaming locks.—So terrible was Cuchullin in the day of his fame.—Torlath fell by his hand, and Lego's heroes mourned.—They gather around the chief like the clouds of the desart.—A thousand swords rose at once; a thousand arrows flew; but he stood like a rock in the midst of a roaring sea.——They fell around; he strode in blood: dark Slimora echoed wide.—The sons of Ullin came, and the battle spread over Lego.—The chief of Erin overcame; he returned over the field with his fame.——

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But pale he returned! The joy of his face was dark. He rolled his eyes in silence.—The sword hung, unsheathed, in his hand, and his spear bent at every step.

Carril, said the king in secret, the strength of Cuchullin fails. My days are with the years that are past: and no morning of mine shall arise.—They shall seek me at Temora, but I shall not be found. Cormac will weep in his hall, and say, "Where is Tura's chief?" —But my name is renowned! my fame in the song of bards.——The youth will say in secret, O let me die as Cuchullin died; renown cloathed him like a robe; and the light of his fame is great. Draw the arrow from my side; and lay Cuchullin beneath that oak. Place the shield of Caithbat near, that they may behold me amidst the arms of my fathers.—

And is the son of Semo fallenDisplay note, said Carril with a sigh?——Mournful are Tura's walls; and sorrow dwells at Dunscaich.—Thy spouse [ 215 ] View Page Image is left alone in her youth, the sonDisplay note of thy love is alone.—He shall come to Bragela, and ask her why she weeps.—He shall lift his eyes to the wall, and see his father's sword.—Whose sword is that? he will say: and the soul of his mother is sad. Who is that, like the hart of the desart, in the murmur of his course?—His eyes look wildly round in search of his friend.——Connal, son of Colgar, where hast thou been, when the mighty fell? Did the seas of Togorma roll round thee? Was the wind of the south in thy sails? The mighty have fallen in battle, and thou wast not there.—Let none tell it in Selma, nor in Morven's woody land; Fingal will be sad, and the sons of the desart mourn.

By the dark rolling waves of Lego they raised the hero's tomb.——LuäthDisplay note, at a distance, lies, the companion of Cuchullin, at the chace. [ 216 ] View Page Image——BlestDisplay note be thy soul, son of Semo; thou wert mighty in battle.—Thy strength was like the strength of a stream: thy speed like the eagle'sDisplay note wing.——Thy path in the battle was terrible: the steps of death were behind thy sword.——Blest be thy soul, son of Semo; car-borne chief of Dunscaich!

Thou hast not fallen by the sword of the mighty, neither was thy blood on the spear of the valiant.—The arrow came, like the sting of death in a blast: nor did the feeble hand, which drew the bow, perceive it. Peace to thy soul, in thy cave, chief of the isle of Mist!

The mighty are dispersed at Temora: there is none in Cormac's hall. The king mourns in his youth, for he does not behold thy coming. The sound of thy shield is ceased: his foes are gathering round. Soft be thy rest in thy cave, chief of Erin's wars!

Bragela will not hope thy return, or see thy sails in ocean's foam.——Her steps are not on the shore: nor her ear open to the voice of thy [ 217 ] View Page Image rowers.—She sits in the hall of shells, and sees the arms of him that is no more.—Thine eyes are full of tears, daughter of car-borne Sorglan!——Blest be thy soul in death, O chief of shady Cromla!