Habeo quinquagies Ex belli invitatione et semel Minime putavi hominum Quod me futurus esset Juvenis didici mucronem rubefacere Alius rex præstantior Nos Asæ invitabunt Non est lugenda mors. CATH-LODA. ARGUMENT OF DUAN I.* Fingal, when very young, making a voyage to the Orkney Islands, was driven by stress of weather, into a bay of Scandinavia, near the residence of Starno, king of Lochliu. Starno invites Fingal to a feast. Fingal, doubting the faith of the king, and mindful of a former breach of hospitality, refuses to go.-Starno gathers together his tribes; Fingal resolves to defend himself.-Night coming tions of the enemy.-The king himself undertakes the on, Duth-maruno proposes to Fingal to observe the mocomes to the cave of Turthor, where Starno had confinwatch. Advancing towards the enemy, he accidentally ed Conban Cârgla, the captive daughter of a neighbouring chief.-Her story is imperfect, a part of the original being lost.-Fingal comes to a place of worship, where Starno, and his son Swaran, consulted the spirit of Loda concerning the issue of the war.-The rencounter of Fingal of the airy hall of Cruth-loda, supposed to be the Odin of Scandinavia. A TALE of the times of old! Why, thou wanderer unseen! thou bender of the thistle of Lora; why thou breeze of the valley, hast thou left mine eat? I bear no distant roar of streams! No sound of the harp from the rock! Come, thou huntress of Lutha, Malvina, call back his soul to the bard. I look forward to Lochlin of lakes, to the dark billowy bay of U-thorno, where Fingal descends from ocean, from the roar of winds. Few are the heroes of Morven in a land unknown! Starno sent a dweller of Loda to bid Fingal to the feast; but the king remembered the past, and all his rage arose. Nor Gormal's mossy towers, nor Starno, shall Fingal behold. Deaths wander, like shadows, over his fiery soul! Do I The bards distinguished those compositions, in which the narration is often interrupted by episodes and apostrophes, by the name of Duan. forget that beam of light, the white-handed daughter of kings?* Go, son of Loda; his words are wind to Fingal. wind, that, to and fro, drives the thistle in autumn's dusky vale. Duth-maruno, arm of death! Cromma-glas, of Iron shields! Struthmor dweller of battle's wing! Cromar, whose ships bound on seas, careless as the course of a meteor, on dark rolling clouds! Arise around me, children of heroes, in a land unknown! Let each look on his shield like Trenmor, the ruler of wars.'-' Come down,' thus Trenmor said, 'thou dweller between the harps! Thou shalt roll this stream away, or waste with me in earth.' No Around the king they rise in wrath. words come forth: they seize their spears. Each soul is rolled into itself. At length the sudden clang is waked on all their echoing shields. Each takes his hill by night; at intervals they darkly stand. Unequal bursts the hum of songs, between the roaring wind! Broad over them rose the moon! In his arms came tall Duth-maruno: he, from Croma of rocks, stern hunter of the boar! In his dark boat he rose on waves, when Crumthormot awaked its woods. In the chase he shone, among foes: No fear was thine, Duthmaruno ! 'Son of daring Comhal, shall my steps be forward through night? From this shield shall I view them, over their gleaming tribes? Starno, king of lakes, is before me, and Swaran, the foe of strangers. Their words are not in vain, by Loda's stone of power. Should Duth-maruno Agandeeca, the daughter of Starno, whom her father killed, on account of her discovering to Fingal a plot laid against his life. † Crumthormoth, one of he Orkney or Shetland Islands not return, his spouse is lonely at home, where meet two roaring streams on Crathmocraulo's plain. Around are hills, with echoing woods, the ocean is rolling near. My son looks on screaming sea-fowl, a young wanderer on the field. Give the head of a boar to Candona, tell him of his father's joy, when the bristly strength of U-thorno rolled on his lifted spear. Tell him of my deeds in war! Tell where his father fell!' Not forgetful of my fathers,' said Fingal, I have bounded over the seas. Theirs were the times of danger in the days of old. Nor settles darkness on me, before foes, though youthful in my locks. Chief of Crathmocraulo, the field of night is mine.' Fingal rushed, in all his arms, wide bounding over Turthor's stream, that sent its sullen roar, by night, through Gormal's misty vale. A moon beam glittered on a rock; in the midst stood a stately form; a form with floating locks, like Lochlin's white bosomed maids. Unequal are her steps, and short. She throws a broken song on wind. At times she tosses her white arms: for grief is dwelling in her soul. Torcal-torno, of aged locks,' she said, 'where now are thy steps, by Lulan? Thou hast failed at thine own dark streams, father of Conbancargla ! But I behold thee, chief of Lulan, sporting by Loda's hall, when the dark skirted night is rolled along the sky. Thou sometimes hidest the moon with thy shield. I have seen her dim, in heaven. Thou kindlest thy hair into meteors, and sailest along the night. Why am I forgot, in my cave, king of shaggy boars? Look from the hall of Loda, on thy lonely daughter. Who art thou,' said Fingal, voice of night?' She, trembling, turned away. Who art thou, in thy darkness?' She shrunk into the cave. The king loosed the thong from her hands. He asked about her fathers. 6 Torcul-torno,' she said, once dwelt at Lulan's foamy stream: he dwelt-but now, in Loda's hall, he shakes the sounding shell. He met Starno of Lochlin in war; long fought the darkeyed kings. My father fell, in his blood, blueshielded Torcul-torno! By a rock, at Lulan's stream, I had pierced the bounding roe. My white hand gathered my hair from off the rushing winds. 1 heard a noise. Mine eyes were up. My soft breast rose on high. My step was forward, at Lulan, to meet thee, Torcul-torno. It was Starno, dreadful king! His red eyes rolled on me in love. Dark waved his shaggy brow, above his gathered smile. Where is my father, I said, he that was mighty in war! Thou art left alone among foes, O daughter of Torcultorno! He took my hand. He raised the sail. In this cave he placed me dark. At times he comes a gathered mist. He lifts before me my father's shield. But often passes a beam of youth far distant from my cave. The son of Starno moves in my sight. He dwells lonely in my soul.' Maid of Lulan,' said Fingal, white-handed daughter of grief! a cloud, marked with streaks of fire, is rolled along my soul. Look not to that dark-robed moon; look not to those meteors of heaven. My gleaming steel is around thee, the terror of my foes! It is not the steel of the feeble, nor of the dark in soul! The maids are not shut in our caves of streams. They toss not their white arms alone. They bend fair within their locks, above the harps of Selma. Their voice is not in the desert wild. We melt along the pleasing sound!' |