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from Abildgaard's "Ossian"
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James MacPherson's The Poems of Ossian COLNA-DONA, &c. A Selection of Poems Colna-Dona | Oithona | Croma Calthon | Caros | Cathlin Sul-Malla | Inis-Thona | Selma |
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1796 Poems of Ossian Title Page
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[ 95 ] C O L N A - D O N A: A P O E M. [ 96 ] A R G U M E N T. Fingal despatches Ossian and Toscar, the son of Conloch, and father of Malvina, to raise a stone on the banks of the stream of Crona, to perpetuate the memory of a victory which he had obtained in that place. When they were employed in that work, Car-ul, a neighboring chief, invited them to a feast. They went, and Toscar fell desperately in love with Colna-dona, the daughter of Car-ul. Colna-dona became no less enamored. An incident at a hunting party brings their loves to a happy issue. [ 97 ] C O L N A - D O N A: A P O E M. COL-AMON * of troubled streams, dark wanderer of distant vales, I behold thy course, between trees near Car-ul's echoing halls! There dwelt bright Colna-dona, the daughter of the king... Beneath the voice of the king... Oozy daughter of streams, that now art reared... There Car-ul brightened between his aged locks... Toscar darkened in his place... [102] [blank] |
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[183] THE S O N G S OF S E L M A. [184] A R G U M E N T. Address to the evening star. Apostrophe to Fingal and his times. Minona sings before the king the song of the unfortunate Colma; and the bards exhibit other specimens of their poetical talents; according to an annual custom established by the monarchs of the ancient Caledonians. [185] THE SONGS of SELMA. STAR of descending night! fair is thy light... with the tuneful voice! the soft complaint of Minona... alone! his bow bear him, unstrung: his dogs panting... thousands! he was terrible in fight... first of mortal men... the mourner shall sit on thy tomb... but thee. He heard of thy fame in war... Sad! I am! nor small is my cause of woe!... in the sea, bears a tree on its side... round thy feet is poured thy brother's blood... age is now on my tongue; my soul has failed! I hear, at times, the ghosts of bards, and learn their pleasant song. But memory fails on my mind. I hear the call of years! They say, as they pass along, why does Ossian sing? Soon shall he lie in the narrow house, and no bard shall raise his fame! Roll on, ye dark-brown years; ye bring no joy on your course! Let the tomb open to Ossian, for his strength has failed. The sons of song are to rest. My voice remains, like a blast, that roars, lonely on the sea-surrounding rock, after the winds are laid. The dark moss whistles there; the distant mariner sees the waving trees! [196] [blank] Continue reading on page 197 |
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