his steps. He saw fierce Erath on the shore: he seized and bound him to an oak. Thick wind the thongs of the hide around his limbs; he loads the wind with his groans. Arindal ascends the deep in his boat, to bring Daura to land. Armar came in his wrath, and let fly the grey feathered shaft. It sung; it sunk in thy heart *4, O Arindal my son! for Erath the traitor thou diedst. The oar is stopped at once: he panted on the rock, and expired. What is thy grief, O Daura, when round thy feet is poured thy brother's blood! The boat is broken in twain. Armar plunges into the sea, to rescue his Daura or die. Sudden a blast from the hill came over the waves. He sunk, and he rose no more "5. "He descended from heaven.----On his shoulders his bow is hung; his quiver filled with deadly shafts: which harshly rattled as he strode in his wrath." MACPHERSON's Homer, i. 2. But "Arindal rough in the spoils of the chace," is preposterous; for what else had those hunters to wear? 24 Let fly the grey feathered shaft. It sung; it sunk in thy heart.] Chevy Chace. Against Sir Hugh Montgomerie, So right his shaft he set, The grey goose wing that was therein, In his heart blood was wet. 25 Sudden a blast from the hill came over the waves. He sunk, and he rose no more.] An incident from MACPHERSON'S poem on Death. Alone, on the sea-beat rock, my daughter was heard to complain. Frequent and loud were her cries. What could her father do? All night I stood on the shore. I saw her by the faint beam of the moon. All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind; the rain beat hard on the hill. Before morning appeared, her voice was weak. It died away, like the evening breeze among the grass of the rocks. Spent with grief, she expired; and left thee, Armin, alone. Gone is my strength in war! fallen my pride among women! When the storms aloft arise; when the north lifts the wave on high; I sit by the sounding shore, and look on the fatal rock. Often by the setting moon, I see the ghosts of my children. Half-viewless, they walk in mournful conference together. Will none of you speak in pity? They do not regard their father *. I When a rough whirlwind sweeps along the main, His voice, and sunk him to the mighty dead. 46 26 Will none of you speak in pity! They do not regard their father.] BLAIR's Grave. Supra 12. Tell me, ye dead, will none of you, in pity Of your society forbid your speaking? am sad, O Carmor; nor small is my cause of woe! Such were the words of the bards in the days of song; when the king heard the music of harps, the tales of other times! The chiefs gathered from all their hills, and heard the lovely sound. They praised the voice of Cona! the first among a thousand bards! But 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 7? 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 gone to rest. My voice remains, like a blast, that roars, lonely, on a sea-surrounded rock, after the winds are laid. The dark moss whistles there; the distant mariner sees the waving-trees! 27 I hear the call of years. They say, as they pass along, why does Ossian sing.] YOUNG's Night Thoughts, Night iv. I scarce can meet a monument but holds My younger; every date cries, Come away! |