FRAGMENTS OF ANCIENT POETRY, Collected in the Highlands of Scotland, AND Tranſlated from the Galic or Erſe Language.
EDINBURGH: Printed for G. HAMILTON and J. BALFOUR. MDCCLX
PREFACE.
[]THE public may depend on the following fragments as genuine remains of ancient Scottiſh poetry. The date of their compoſition cannot be ex⯑actly actly aſcertained. Tradition, in the country where they were written, refers them to an aera of the moſt remote anti⯑quity: and this tradition is ſupported by the ſpirit and ſtrain of the poems them⯑ſelves; which abound with thoſe ideas, and paint thoſe manners, that belong to the moſt early ſtate of ſo⯑ciety. The diction too, in the origi⯑nal, is very obſolete; and differs wide⯑ly from the ſtyle of ſuch poems as have been written in the ſame language two or three centuries ago. They were cer⯑tainly compoſed before the eſtabliſh⯑ment [iv] of clanſhip in the northern part of Scotland, which is itſelf very an⯑cient; for had clans been then formed and known, they muſt have made a con⯑ſiderable figure in the work of a Highland Bard; whereas there is not the leaſt men⯑tion of them in theſe poems. It is remark⯑able that there are found in them no allu⯑ſions to the Chriſtian religion or worſhip; indeed, few traces of religion of any kind. One circumſtance ſeems to prove them to be coeval with the very infancy of Chriſtianity in Scotland. In a frag⯑ment of the ſame poems, which the tranſlator has ſeen, a Culdee or Monk is repreſented as deſirous to take down in writing from the mouth of Oſcian, who is the principal perſonage in ſeveral of the following fragments, his warlike atchievements and thoſe of his family. But Oſcian treats the monk and his reli⯑gion with diſdain, telling him, that the deeds of ſuch great men were ſubjects too [v] high to be recorded by him, or by any of his religion: A full proof that Chriſtianity was not as yet eſtabliſhed in the country.
Though the poems now publiſhed appear as detached pieces in this col⯑lection, there is ground to believe that moſt of them were originally epiſodes of a greater work which related to the wars of Fingal. Concerning this hero innumerable traditions remain, to this day, in the Highlands of Scotland. The ſtory of Oſcian, his ſon, is ſo generally known, that to deſcribe one in whom the race of a great family ends, it has paſſed into a proverb; ‘"Oſcian the laſt of the heroes."’
There can be no doubt that theſe poems are to be aſcribed to the Bards; a race of men well known to have conti⯑nued throughout many ages in Ireland [vi] and the north of Scotland. Every chief or great man had in his family a Bard or poet, whoſe office it was to record in verſe, the illuſtrious actions of that fa⯑mily. By the ſucceſſion of theſe Bards, ſuch poems were handed down from race to race; ſome in manuſcript, but more by oral tradition. And tradition, in a country ſo free of intermixture with fo⯑reigners, and among a people ſo ſtrong⯑ly attached to the memory of their an⯑ceſtors, has preſerved many of them in a great meaſure incorrupted to this day.
They are not ſet to muſic, nor ſung. The verſification in the original is ſimple; and to ſuch as underſtand the language, very ſmooth and beautiful. Rhyme is ſeldom uſed: but the cadence, and the length of the line varied, ſo as to ſuit the ſenſe. The tranſlation is ex⯑tremely literal. Even the arrangement of the words in the original has been [vii] imitated; to which muſt be imputed ſome inverſions in the ſtyle, that other⯑wiſe would not have been choſen.
Of the poetical merit of theſe frag⯑ments nothing ſhall here be ſaid. Let the public judge, and pronounce. It is believed, that, by a careful inquiry, many more remains of ancient genius, no leſs valuable than thoſe now given to the world, might be found in the ſame country where theſe have been collected. In particular there is reaſon to hope that one work of conſiderable length, and which deſerves to be ſtyled an heroic poem, might be recovered and tranſlated, if encouragement were given to ſuch an undertaking. The ſub⯑ject is, an invaſion of Ireland by Swarthan King of Lochlyn; which is the name of Denmark in the Erſe lan⯑guage. Cuchulaid, the General or Chief of the Iriſh tribes, upon intelligence of the [viii] invaſion, aſſembles his forces. Councils are held; and battles fought. But af⯑ter ſeveral unſucceſsful engagements, the Iriſh are forced to ſubmit. At length, Fingal King of Scotland, called in this poem, "The Deſert of the hills," arrives with his ſhips to aſſiſt Cuchu⯑laid. He expels the Danes from the country; and returns home victorious. This poem is held to be of greater anti⯑quity than any of the reſt that are pre⯑ſerved: And the author ſpeaks of him⯑ſelf as preſent in the expedition of Fin⯑gal. The three laſt poems in the collec⯑tion are fragments which the tranſlator obtained of this epic poem; and though very imperfect, they were judged not unworthy of being inſerted. If the whole were recovered, it might ſerve to throw conſiderable light upon the Scot⯑tiſh and Iriſh antiquities.
FRAGMENT I.
[]MY love is a ſon of the hill. He purſues the flying deer. His grey dogs are panting around him; his bow-ſtring ſounds in the wind. Whether by the fount of the rock, or by the ſtream of the mountain thou lieſt; when the ruſhes are nodding with the wind, and the miſt is flying over thee, let me approach my love unperceived, and ſee him from the rock. Lovely I ſaw thee firſt by the aged oak; thou wert re⯑turning tall from the chace; the faireſt among thy friends.
WHAT voice is that I hear? that voice like the ſummer-wind.—I ſit not by the nodding ruſhes; I hear not the fount of the rock. Afar, Vinvela, afar I go to the wars of Fingal. My dogs attend me no more. No more I tread the hill. No more from on high I ſee thee, fair-moving by the ſtream of the plain; bright as the bow of heaven; as the moon on the weſtern wave.
THEN thou art gone, O Shilric! and I am alone on the hill. The deer are ſeen on the brow; void of fear they graze along. No more they dread the wind; no more the ruſtling tree. The hunter is far removed; [11] he is in the field of graves. Stran⯑gers! ſons of the waves! ſpare my lovely Shilric.
IF fall I muſt in the field, raiſe high my grave, Vinvela. Grey ſtones, and heaped-up earth, ſhall mark me to future times. When the hunter ſhall fit by the mound, and produce his food at noon, ‘"ſome warrior reſts here,"’ he will ſay; and my fame ſhall live in his praiſe. Remember me, Vinvela, when low on earth I lie!
YES!—I will remember thee—indeed my Shilric will fall. What ſhall I do, my love! when thou art gone for ever? Through theſe hills I will go at noon: I will go through the ſilent heath. There [12] I will ſee where often thou fatteſt return⯑ing from the chace. Indeed, my Shil⯑ric will fall; but I will remember him.
II.
[13]I SIT by the moſſy fountain; on the top of the hill of winds. One tree is ruſtling above me. Dark waves roll over the heath. The lake is troubled below. The deer deſcend from the hill. No hunter at a diſtance is ſeen; no whiſtling cow-herd is nigh. It is mid-day: but all is ſilent. Sad are my thoughts as I ſit alone. Didſt thou but appear, O my love, a wanderer on the heath! thy hair floating on the wind behind thee; thy boſom heaving on the ſight; thine eyes full of tears for thy friends, whom the miſt of the hill had concealed! Thee I would com⯑fort, my love, and bring thee to thy father's houſe.
BUT is it ſhe that there appears, like a beam of light on the heath? bright [14] as the moon in autumn, as the ſun in a ſummer-ſtorm?—She ſpeaks: but how weak her voice! like the breeze in the reeds of the pool. Hark!
RETURNEST thou ſafe from the war? Where are thy friends, my love? I heard of thy death on the hill; I heard and mourned thee, Shilric!
YES, my fair, I return; but I alone of my race. Thou ſhalt ſee them no more: their graves I raiſed on the plain. But why art thou on the deſert hill? why on the heath, alone?
ALONE I am, O Shilric! alone in the winter-houſe. With grief for thee I ex⯑pired. Shilric, I am pale in the tomb.
SHE fleets, ſhe ſails away; as grey miſt before the wind!—and, wilt thou [15] not ſtay, my love? Stay and behold my tears? fair thou appeareſt, my love! fair thou waſt, when alive!
By the moſſy fountain I will ſit; on the top of the hill of winds. When mid-day is ſilent around, converſe, O my love, with me! come on the wings of the gale! on the blaſt of the moun⯑tain, come! Let me hear thy voice, as thou paſſeſt, when mid-day is ſilent a⯑round.
III.
[16]EVENING is grey on the hills. The north wind reſounds through the woods. White clouds riſe on the ſky: the trembling ſnow deſcends. The river howls afar, along its winding courſe. Sad, by a hollow rock, the grey-hair'd Carryl ſat. Dry fern waves over his head; his ſeat is in an aged birch. Clear to the roaring winds he lifts his voice of woe.
TOSSED on the wavy ocean is He, the hope of the iſles; Malcolm, the ſupport of the poor; foe to the proud in arms! Why haſt thou left us behind? why live we to mourn thy fate? We might have heard, with thee, the voice of the deep; have ſeen the oozy rock.
SAD on the ſea-beat ſhore thy ſpouſe looketh for thy return. The time of [17] thy promiſe is come; the night is ga⯑thering around. But no white ſail is on the ſea; no voice is heard except the bluſtering winds. Low is the ſoul of the war! Wet are the locks of youth! By the foot of ſome rock thou lieſt; waſhed by the waves as they come. Why, ye winds, did ye bear him on the deſert rock? Why, ye waves, did ye roll over him?
BUT, Oh! what voice is that? Who rides on that meteor of fire! Green are his airy limbs. It is he! it is the ghoſt of Malcolm!—Reſt, lovely ſoul, reſt on the rock; and let me hear thy voice!—He is gone, like a dream of the night. I ſee him through the trees. Daughter of Reynold! he is gone. Thy ſpouſe ſhall return no more. No more ſhall his hounds come from the hill, forerunners of their maſter. No more from the diſtant rock ſhall his [] voice greet thine ear. Silent is he in the deep, unhappy daughter of Rey⯑nold!
I will ſit by the ſtream of the plain. Ye rocks! hang over my head. Hear my voice, ye trees! as ye bend on the ſhaggy hill. My voice ſhall preſerve the praiſe of him, the hope of the iſles.
IV.
[19]WHO cometh from the hill, like a cloud tinged with the beam of the weſt? Whoſe voice is that, loud as the wind, but pleaſant as the harp of Carryl? It is my love in the light of ſteel; but ſad is his darkened brow. Live the mighty race of Fingal? or what diſturbs my Connal?
THEY live. I ſaw them return from the chace, like a ſtream of light. The fun was on their ſhields: In a line they deſcended the hill. Loud is the voice of [] the youth; the war, my love, is near. To-morrow the enormous Dargo comes to try the force of our race. The race of Fingal he defies; the race of battle and wounds.
CONNAL, I ſaw his ſails like grey miſt on the ſable wave. They came to land. Connal, many are the warriors of Dargo!
BRING me thy father's ſhield; theiron ſhield of Rinval; that ſhield like the full moon when it is darkened in the ſky.
THAT ſhield I bring, O Connal; but it did not defend my father. By the ſpear of Gauror he fell. Thou mayſt fall, O Connal!
FALL indeed I may: But raiſe my tomb, Crimora. Some ſtones, a mound of earth, ſhall keep my memory. Though fair thou art, my love, as the light; more pleaſant than the gale of the hill; yet I will not ſtay. Raiſe my tomb, Crimora.
THEN give me thoſe arms of light; that ſword, and that ſpear of ſteel. I ſhall meet Dargo with thee, and aid my [22] lovely Connal. Farewell, ye rocks of Ardven! ye deer! and ye ſtreams of the hill!—We ſhall return no more. Our tombs are diſtant far.
V.
[]AUTUMN is dark on the mountains; grey miſt reſts on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. A tree ſtands alone on the hill, and marks the grave of Connal. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and ſtrew the grave of the dead. At times are ſeen here the ghoſts of the deceaſed, when the muſing hunter alone ſtalks ſlowly over the heath.
WHO can reach the ſource of thy race, O Connal? and who recount thy Fathers? Thy family grew like an oak on the mountain, which meeteth the wind with its lofty head. But now it is torn from the earth. Who ſhall ſup⯑ply the place of Connal?
[] HERE was the din of arms; and here the groans of the dying. Mourn⯑ful are the wars of Fingal! O Connal! it was here thou didſt fall. Thine arm was like a ſtorm; thy ſword, a beam of the ſky; thy height, a rock on the plain; thine eyes, a furnace of fire. Louder than a ſtorm was thy voice, when thou confoundedſt the field. War⯑riors fell by thy ſword, as the thiſtle by the ſtaff of a boy.
DARGO the mighty came on, like a cloud of thunder. His brows were con⯑tracted and dark. His eyes like two caves in a rock. Bright roſe their ſwords on each ſide; dire was the clang of their ſteel.
THE daughter of Rinval was near; Crimora, bright in the armour of man; her hair looſe behind, her bow in her hand. She followed the youth to the [25] war, Connal her much beloved. She drew the ſtring on Dargo; but erring pierced her Connal. He falls like an oak on the plain; like a rock from the ſhaggy hill. What ſhall ſhe do, hap⯑leſs maid!—He bleeds; her Connal dies. All the night long ſhe cries, and all the day, O Connal, my love, and my friend! With grief the ſad mourner died.
EARTH here incloſeth the lovelieſt pair on the hill. The graſs grows be⯑tween the ſtones of their tomb; I ſit in the mournful ſhade. The wind ſighs through the graſs; and their memory ruſhes on my mind. Undiſturbed you now ſleep together; in the tomb of the mountain you reſt alone.
VI.
[]SON of the noble Fingal, Oſcian, Prince of men! what tears run down the cheeks of age? what ſhades thy mighty ſoul?
MEMORY, ſon of Alpin, memory wounds the aged. Of former times are my thoughts; my thoughts are of the noble Fingal. The race of the king re⯑turn into my mind, and wound me with remembrance.
ONE day, returned from the ſport of the mountains, from purſuing the ſons of the hill, we covered this heath with our youth. Fingal the mighty was here, and Oſcur, my ſon, great in war. Fair on our ſight from the ſea, at once, a virgin came. Her breaſt was like the ſnow of one night. Her cheek like the [] bud of the roſe. Mild was her blue rolling eye: but ſorrow was big in her heart.
FINGAL renowned in war! ſhe cries, ſons of the king, preſerve me! Speak ſe⯑cure, replies the king, daughter of beau⯑ty, ſpeak: our ear is open to all: our ſwords redreſs the injured. I fly from Ullin, ſhe cries, from Ullin famous in war. I fly from the embrace of him who would debaſe my blood. Cremor, the friend of men, was my father; Cre⯑mor the Prince of Inverne.
FINGAL's younger ſons aroſe; Carryl expert in the bow; Fillan beloved of the fair; and Fergus firſt in the race.—Who from the fartheſt Lochlyn? who to the ſeas of Molochaſquir? who dares hurt the maid whom the ſons of Fingal guard? Daughter of beauty, reſt [] ſecure; reſt in peace, thou faireſt of wo⯑men.
FAR in the blue diſtance of the deep, ſome ſpot appeared like the back of the ridge-wave. But ſoon the ſhip increaſed on our ſight. The hand of Ullin drew her to land. The mountains trembled as he moved. The hills ſhook at his ſteps. Dire rattled his armour around him. Death and deſtruction were in his eyes. His ſtature like the roe of Mor⯑ven. He moved in the lightning of ſteel.
OUR warriours fell before him, like the field before the reapers. Fin⯑gal's three ſons he bound. He plun⯑ged his ſword into the fair-one's breaſt. She fell as a wreath of ſnow before the ſun in ſpring. Her boſom heaved in death; her ſoul came forth in blood.
[] OSCUR my ſon came down; the mighty in battle deſcended. His armour rattled as thunder; and the lightning of his eyes was terrible. There, was the claſhing of ſwords; there, was the voice of ſteel. They ſtruck and they thruſt; they digged for death with their ſwords. But death was diſtant far, and delayed to come. The ſun began to decline; and the cow-herd thought of home. Then Oſcur's keen ſteel found the heart of Ullin. He fell like a mountain-oak covered over with gliſtering froſt: He ſhone like a rock on the plain.—Here the daughter of beauty lieth; and here the braveſt of men. Here one day ended the fair and the valiant. Here reſt the purſuer and the pur⯑ſued.
SON of Alpin! the woes of the aged are many: their tears are for the paſt. This raiſed my ſorrow, warriour; me⯑mory [] awaked my grief. Oſcur my ſon was brave; but Oſcur is now no more. Thou haſt heard my grief, O ſon of Alpin; forgive the tears of the aged.
VII.
[]WHY openeſt thou afreſh the ſpring of my grief, O ſon of Alpin, inquiring how Oſcur fell? My eyes are blind with tears; but memory beams on my heart. How can I relate the mournful death of the head of the people! Prince of the warriours, Oſcur my ſon, ſhall I ſee thee no more!
HE fell as the moon in a ſtorm; as the ſun from the midſt of his courſe, when clouds riſe from the waſte of the waves, when the blackneſs of the ſtorm inwraps the rocks of Ardannider. I, like an ancient oak on Morven, I moulder alone in my place. The blaſt hath lop⯑ped my branches away; and I tremble at the wings of the north. Prince of the warriors, Oſcur my ſon! ſhall I ſee thee no more!
[] DERMID and Oſcur were one: They reaped the battle together. Their friendſhip was ſtrong as their ſteel; and death walked between them to the field. They came on the foe like two rocks falling from the brows of Ardven. Their ſwords were ſtained with the blood of the valiant: warriours fainted at their names. Who was a match for Oſcur, but Dermid? and who for Dermid, but Oſcur?
THEY killed, mighty Dargo in the field; Dargo before invincible. His daughter was fair as the morn; mild as the beam of night. Her eyes, like two ſtars in a ſhower: her breath, the gale of ſpring: her breaſts, as the new-fallen ſnow floating on the moving heath. The warriours ſaw her, and loved; their ſouls were fixed on the maid. Each loved her, as his fame; each muſt poſ⯑ſeſs her or die. But her ſoul was fixed [33] on Oſcur; my ſon was the youth of her love. She forgot the blood of her father; and loved the hand that ſlew him.
SON of Oſcian, ſaid Dermid, I love; O Oſcur, I love this maid. But her ſoul cleaveth unto thee; and nothing can heal Dermid. Here, pierce this boſom, Oſcur; relieve me, my friend, with thy ſword.
MY ſword, ſon of Morny, ſhall ne⯑ver be ſtained with the blood of Der⯑mid.
WHO then is worthy to ſlay me, O Oſcur ſon of Oſcian? Let not my life paſs away unknown. Let none but Oſ⯑cur ſlay me. Send me with honour to the grave, and let my death be renown⯑ed.
[34] DERMID, make uſe of thy ſword; ſon of Morny, wield thy ſteel. Would that I fell with thee! that my death came from the hand of Dermid!
THEY ſought by the brook of the mountain; by the ſtreams of Branno. Blood tinged the ſilvery ſtream, and crudled round the moſſy ſtones. Der⯑mid the graceful fell; fell, and ſmiled in death.
AND falleſt thou, ſon of Morny; falleſt thou by Oſcur's hand! Dermid invincible in war, thus do I ſee thee fall!—He went, and returned to the maid whom he loved; returned, but ſhe per⯑ceived his grief.
WHY that gloom, ſon of Oſcian? what ſhades thy mighty ſoul?
THOUGH once renowned for the bow, [35] O maid, I have loſt my ſame. Fixed on a tree by the brook of the hill, is the ſhield of Gormur the brave, whom in battle I ſlew. I have waſted the day in vain, nor could my arrow pierce it.
LET me try, ſon of Oſcian, the ſkill of Dargo's daughter. My hands were taught the bow: my father delighted in my ſkill.
SHE went. He ſtood behind the ſhield. Her arrow flew and pierced his breaſt*.
[36] BLESSED be that hand of ſnow; and bleſſed thy bow of yew! I fall reſolved on death: and who but the daughter of Dargo was worthy to ſlay me? Lay me in the earth, my fair-one; lay me by the ſide of Dermid.
OSCUR! I have the blood, the ſoul of the mighty Dargo. Well pleaſed I can meet death. My ſorrow I can end thus.—She pierced her white boſom with ſteel. She fell; ſhe trembled; and died.
BY the brook of the hill their graves are laid; a birch's unequal ſhade covers their tomb. Often on their green earth⯑en tombs the branchy ſons of the moun⯑tain feed, when mid-day is all in flames, and ſilence is over all the hills.
VIII.
[37]BY the ſide of a rock on the hill, be⯑neath the aged trees, old Oſcian fat on the moſs; the laſt of the race of Fingal. Sightleſs are his aged eyes; his beard is waving in the wind. Dull through the leafleſs trees he heard the voice of the north. Sorrow revived in his ſoul: he began and lamented the dead.
How haſt thou fallen like an oak, with all thy branches round thee! Where is Fingal the King? where is Oſcur my ſon? where are all my race? Alas! in the earth they lie. I feel their tombs with my hands. I hear the river below murmuring hoarſely over the ſtones. What doſt thou, O river, to me? Thou bringeſt back the memory of the paſt.
[38] THE race of Fingal ſtood on thy banks, like a wood in a fertile ſoil. Keen were their ſpears of ſteel. Hardy was he who dared to encounter their rage. Fillan the great was there. Thou Oſcur wert there, my ſon! Fingal him⯑ſelf was there, ſtrong in the grey locks of years. Full roſe his ſinewy limbs; and wide his ſhoulders ſpread. The unhappy met with his arm, when the pride of his wrath aroſe.
THE ſon of Morny came; Gaul, the talleſt of men. He ſtood on the hill like an oak; his voice was like the ſtreams of the hill. Why reigneth alone, he cries, the ſon of the mighty Corval? Fingal is not ſtrong to ſave: he is no ſupport for the people. I am ſtrong as a ſtorm in the ocean; as a whirlwind on the hill. Yield, ſon of Corval; Fingal, yield to me.
[39] OSCUR ſtood forth to meet him; my ſon would meet the foe. But Fin⯑gal came in his ſtrength, and ſmiled at the vaunter's boaſt. They threw their arms round each other; they ſtruggled on the plain. The earth is ploughed with their heels. Their bones crack as the boat on the ocean, when it leaps from wave to wave. Long did they toil; with night, they fell on the ſounding plain; as two oaks, with their branches mingled, fall craſhing from the hill. The tall ſon of Morny is bound; the aged over⯑came.
FAIR with her locks of gold, her ſmooth neck, and her breaſts of ſnow; fair, as the ſpirits of the hill when at ſilent noon they glide along the heath; fair, as the rain-bow of heaven; came Minvane the maid. Fingal! ſhe ſoft⯑ly ſaith, looſe me my brother Gaul. Looſe me the hope of my race, the ter⯑ror [40] of all but Fingal. Can I, replies the King, can I deny the lovely daughter of the hill? take thy brother, O Min⯑vane, thou fairer than the ſnow of the north!
SUCH, Fingal! were thy words; but thy words I hear no more. Sightleſs I ſit by thy tomb. I hear the wind in the wood; but no more I hear my friends. The cry of the hunter is over. The voice of war is ceaſed.
IX.
[41]THOU aſkeſt, fair daughter of the iſles! whoſe memory is preſerved in theſe tombs? The memory of Ron⯑nan the bold, and Connan the chief of men; and of her, the faireſt of maids, Rivine the lovely and the good. The wing of time is laden with care. Every moment hath woes of its own. Why ſeek we our grief from afar? or give our tears to thoſe of other times? But thou commandeſt, and I obey, O fair daugh⯑ter of the iſles!
CONAR was mighty in war. Caul was the friend of ſtrangers. His gates were open to all; midnight darkened not on his barred door. Both lived upon the ſons of the mountains. Their bow was the ſupport of the poor.
[42] CONNAN was the image of Conar's ſoul. Caul was renewed in Ronnan his ſon. Rivine the daughter of Conar was the love of Ronnan; her brother Con⯑nan was his friend. She was fair as the harveſt-moon ſetting in the ſeas of Molo⯑chaſquir. Her ſoul was ſettled on Ron⯑nan; the youth was the dream of her nights.
RIVINE, my love! ſays Ronnan, I go to my king in Norway*. A year and a day ſhall bring me back. Wilt thou be true to Ronnan?
RONNAN! a year and a day I will ſpend in ſorrow. Ronnan, behave like a man, and my ſoul ſhall exult in thy valour. Connan my friend, ſays Ron⯑nan, wilt thou preſerve Rivine thy ſi⯑ſter? Durſtan is in love with the maid; [43] and ſoon ſhall the ſea bring the ſtran⯑ger to our coaſt.
RONNAN, I will defend: Do thou ſecurely go.—He went. He return⯑ed on his day. But Durſtan returned before him.
GIVE me thy daughter, Conar, ſays Durſtan; or fear and feel my power.
HE who dares attempt my ſiſter, ſays Connan, muſt meet this edge of ſteel. Unerring in battle is my arm: my ſword, as the lightning of heaven.
RONNAN the warriour came; and much he threatened Durſtan.
BUT, faith Euran the ſervant of gold, Ronnan! by the gate of the north ſhall Durſtan this night carry thy fair⯑one away. Accurſed, anſwers Ron⯑nan, [44] be this arm if death meet him not there.
CONNAN! faith Euran, this night ſhall the ſtranger carry thy ſiſter away. My ſword ſhall meet him, replies Con⯑nan, and he ſhall lie low on earth.
THE friends met by night, and they ſought. Blood and ſweat ran down their limbs as water on the moſſy rock. Connan falls; and cries, O Durſtan, be favourable to Rivine!—And is it my friend, cries Ronnan, I have ſlain? O Connan! I knew thee not.
HE went, and he fought with Dur⯑ſtan. Day began to riſe on the com⯑bat, when fainting they fell, and expi⯑red. Rivine came out with the morn; and—O what detains my Ronnan!—She ſaw him lying pale in his blood; and her brother lying pale by his ſide. [45] What could ſhe ſay? what could ſhe do? her complaints were many and vain. She opened this grave for the warri⯑ours; and fell into it herſelf, before it was cloſed; like the ſun ſnatched away in a ſtorm.
THOU haſt heard this tale of grief, O fair daughter of the iſles! Rivine was fair as thyſelf: ſhed on her grave a tear.
X.
[46]IT is night; and I am alone, forlorn on the hill of ſtorms. The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent ſhrieks down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds.
RISE, moon! from behind thy clouds; ſtars of the night, appear! Lead me, ſome light, to the place where my love reſts from the toil of the chace! his bow near him, unſtrung; his dogs panting around him. But here I muſt ſit alone, by the rock of the moſſy ſtream. The ſtream and the wind roar; nor can I hear the voice of my love.
WHY delayeth my Shalgar, why the ſon of the hill, his promiſe? Here is [47] the rock; and the tree; and here the roaring ſtream. Thou promiſedſt with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Shalgar gone? With thee I would fly my father; with thee, my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes; but we are not foes, O Shalgar!
CEASE a little while, O wind! ſtream, be thou ſilent a while! let my voice be heard over the heath; let my wanderer hear me. Shalgar! it is I who call. Here is the tree, and the rock. Shalgar, my love! I am here. Why delayeſt thou thy coming? Alas! no anſwer.
Lo! the moon appeareth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are grey on the face of the hill. But I ſee him not on the brow; his dogs before him tell not that he is coming. Here I muſt ſit alone.
[48] BUT who are theſe that lie beyond me on the heath? Are they my love and my brother?—Speak to me, O my friends! they anſwer not. My ſoul is tormented with fears.—Ah! they are dead. Their ſwords are red from the fight. O my brother! my brother! why haſt thou ſlain my Shalgar? why, O Shalgar! haſt thou ſlain my brother? Dear were ye both to me! ſpeak to me; hear my voice, ſons of my love! But alas! they are ſilent; ſilent for ever! Cold are their breaſts of clay!
OH! from the rock of the hill; from the top of the mountain of winds, ſpeak ye ghoſts of the dead! ſpeak, and I will not be afraid.—Whither are ye gone to reſt? In what cave of the hill ſhall I find you?
I ſit in my grief. I wait for morn⯑ing in my tears. Rear the tomb, ye [] friends of the dead; but cloſe it not till I come. My life flieth away like a dream: why ſhould I ſtay behind? Here ſhall I reſt with my friends by the ſtream of the ſounding rock. When night comes on the hill; when the wind is up on the heath; my ghoſt ſhall ſtand in the wind, and mourn the death of my friends. The hunter ſhall hear from his booth. He ſhall ſear, but love my voice. For ſweet ſhall my voice be for my friends; for pleaſant were they both to me.
XI.
[]SAD! I am ſad indeed: nor ſmall my cauſe of woe!—Kirmor, thou haſt loſt no ſon; thou haſt loſt no daugh⯑ter of beauty. Connar the valiant lives; and Annir the faireſt of maids. The boughs of thy family flouriſh, O Kir⯑mor! but Armyn is the laſt of his race.
RISE, winds of autumn, riſe; blow upon the dark heath! ſtreams of the mountains, roar! howl, ye tempeſts, in the trees! walk through broken clouds, O moon! ſhow by intervals thy pale face! bring to my mind that ſad night, when all my children fell; when Arindel the mighty fell; when Daura the lovely died.
DAURA, my daughter! thou wert [] fair; fair as the moon on the hills of Jura; white as the driven ſnow; ſweet as the breathing gale. Armor renowned in war came, and ſought Daura's love; he was not long denied; fair was the hope of their friends.
EARCH ſon of Odgal repined; for his brother was ſlain by Armor. He came diſguiſed like a ſon of the ſea: fair was his ſkiff on the wave; white his locks of age; calm his ſerious brow. Faireſt of women, he ſaid, lovely daugh⯑ter of Armyn! a rock not diſtant in the ſea, bears a tree on its ſide; red ſhines the fruit afar. There Armor waiteth for Daura. I came to fetch his love. Come, fair daughter of Ar⯑myn!
SHE went; and ſhe called on Armor. Nought anſwered, but the ſon of the rock. Armor, my love! my love! [] why tormenteſt thou me with fear? come, graceful ſon of Ardnart, come; it is Daura who calleth thee!—Earch the traitor fled laughing to the land. She lifted up her voice, and cried for her brother and her father. Arindel! Armyn! none to relieve your Daura?
HER voice came over the ſea. Arin⯑del my ſon deſcended from the hill; rough in the ſpoils of the chace. His arrows rattled by his ſide; his bow was in his hand; five grey dogs attended his ſteps. He ſaw fierce Earch on the ſhore; he ſeized and bound him to an oak. Thick fly the thongs of the hide around his limbs; he loads the wind with his groans.
ARINDEL aſcends the ſurgy deep in his boat, to bring Daura to the land. Armor came in his wrath, and let fly the grey-feathered ſhaft. It ſung; it [] ſunk in thy heart, O Arindel my ſon! for Earch the traitor thou diedſt. What is thy grief, O Daura, when round thy feet is poured thy brother's blood!
THE boat is broken in twain by the waves. Armor plunges into the ſea, to reſcue his Daura or die. Sudden a blaſt from the hill comes over the waves. He ſunk, and he roſe no more.
ALONE, on the ſea-beat rock, my daughter was heard to complain. Fre⯑quent and loud were her cries; nor could her father relieve her. All night I ſtood on the ſhore. All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind; and the rain beat hard on the ſide of the mountain. 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. O lay me ſoon by her ſide.
[] WHEN the ſtorms of the mountain come; when the north lifts the waves on high; I ſit by the founding ſhore, and look on the fatal rock. Often by the ſetting moon I ſee the ghoſts of my children. Indiſtinct, they walk in mournful conference together. Will none of you ſpeak to me?—But they do not regard their father.
XII.
[]THE wind and the rain are over: calm is the noon of day. The clouds are divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies the inconſtant ſun. Red through the ſtony vale comes down the ſtream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O ſtream! but more ſweet is the voice I hear. It is the voice of Alpin the ſon of the ſong, mourning for the dead. Bent is his head of age, and red his tearful, eye. Alpin, thou ſon of the ſong, why alone on the ſi⯑lent hill? why complaineſt thou, as a blaſt in the wood; as a wave on the lonely ſhore?
MY tears, O Ryno! are for the dead; my voice, for the inhabitants of the grave. Tall thou art on the hill; fair among the ſons of the plain. But thou ſhalt fall like Morar; and the mourner ſhalt ſit on thy tomb. The hills ſhall know thee no more; thy bow ſhall lie in the hall, unſtrung.
THOU wert ſwift, O Morar! as a roe on the hill; terrible as a meteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the ſtorm of December. Thy ſword in battle, as lightning in the field. Thy voice was like a ſtream after rain; like thunder on diſtant hills. Many fell by thy arm; they were conſumed in the flames of thy wrath.
BUT when thou returnedſt from war, [57] how peaceful was thy brow! Thy face was like the ſun after rain; like the moon in the ſilence of night; calm as the breaſt of the lake when the loud wind is laid.
NARROW is thy dwelling now; dark the place of thine abode. With three ſteps I compaſs thy grave, O thou who waſt ſo great before! Four ſtones with their heads of moſs are the only memo⯑rial of thee. A tree with ſcarce a leaf, long graſs which whiſtles in the wind, mark to the hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed. Thou haſt no mother to mourn thee; no maid with her tears of love. Dead is ſhe that brought thee forth. Fallen is the daughter of Mor⯑glan.
WHO on his ſtaff is this? who is this, whoſe head is white with age, whoſe [58] eyes are red with tears, who quakes at every ſtep?—It is thy father, O Morar! the father of none but thee. He heard of thy fame in battle; he heard of foes diſperſed. He heard of Morar's fame; why did he not hear of his wound? Weep, thou father of Morar! weep; but thy ſon heareth thee not. Deep is the ſleep of the dead; low their pillow of duſt. No more ſhall he hear thy voice; no more ſhall he awake at thy call. When ſhall it be morn in the grave, to bid the ſlumberer awake?
FAREWELL, thou braveſt of men! thou conqueror in the field! but the field ſhall ſee thee no more; nor the dark wood be lightened with the ſplendor of thy ſteel. Thou haſt left no ſon. But the ſong ſhall preſerve thy name. Future times ſhall hear of thee; they ſhall hear of the fallen Morar.
XIII*.
[59]CUCHULAID ſat by the wall; by the tree of the ruſtling leaf†. His ſpear leaned againſt the moſſy rock. His ſhield lay by him on the graſs. Whilſt he thought on the mighty Carbre whom he ſlew in battle, the ſcout of the ocean came, Moran the ſon of Fi⯑thil.
RISE, Cuchulaid, riſe! I ſee the ſhips of Garve. Many are the foe, Cuchulaid; many the ſons of Lochlyn.
MORAN! thou ever trembleſt; thy fears increaſe the foe. They are the ſhips of the Deſert of hills arrived to aſ⯑ſiſt Cuchulaid.
[] I ſaw their chief, ſays Moran, tall as a rock of ice. His ſpear is like that fir; his ſhield like the riſing moon. He ſat upon a rock on the ſhore, as a grey cloud upon the hill. Many, mighty man! I ſaid, many are our heroes; Garve, well art thou named*, many are the ſons of our king.
HE anſwered like a wave on the rock; who is like me here? The va⯑liant live not with me; they go to the earth from my hand. The king of the Deſert of hills alone can fight with Garve. Once we wreſtled on the hill. Our heels overturned the wood. Rocks fell from their place, and rivulets chan⯑ged their courſe. Three days we ſtrove together; heroes ſtood at a diſtance, and feared. On the fourth, the King ſaith that I fell; but Garve ſaith, he [61] ſtood. Let Cuchulaid yield to him that is ſtrong as a ſtorm.
No. I will never yield to man. Cuchulaid will conquer or die. Go, Moran, take my ſpear; ſtrike the ſhield of Caithbait which hangs before the gate. It never rings in peace. My he⯑roes ſhall hear on the hill.—
XIV.
[62]*MORNA, thou faireſt of women, daughter of Cormac-Carbre! why in the circle of ſtones, in the cave of the rock, alone? The ſtream mur⯑mureth hoarſely. The blaſt groaneth in the aged tree. The lake is troubled before thee. Dark are the clouds of the ſky. But thou art like ſnow on the heath. Thy hair like a thin cloud of gold on the top of Cromleach. Thy [63] breaſts like two ſmooth rocks on the hill which is ſeen from the ſtream of Bran⯑nuin. Thy arms, as two white pillars in the hall of Fingal.
WHENCE the ſon of Mugruch, Du⯑chommar the moſt gloomy of men? Dark are thy brows of terror. Red thy roll⯑ing eyes. Does Garve appear on the ſea? What of the foe, Duchommar?
FROM the hill I return, O Morna, from the hill of the flying deer. Three have I ſlain with my bow; three with my panting dogs. Daughter of Cor⯑mac-Carbre, I love thee as my ſoul. I have ſlain a deer for thee. High was his branchy head; and fleet his feet of wind.
GLOOMY ſon of Mugruch, Duchom⯑mar! I love thee not: hard is thy heart of rock; dark thy terrible brow. But Cadmor the ſon of Tarman, thou art the love of Morna! thou art like a ſun⯑beam on the hill, in the day of the gloomy ſtorm. Saweſt thou the ſon of Tarman, lovely on the hill of the chace? Here the daughter of Cormac-Carbre waiteth the coming of Cadmor.
AND long ſhall Morna wait. His blood is on my ſword. I met him by the moſſy ſtone, by the oak of the noiſy ſtream. He fought; but I ſlew him; his blood is on my ſword. High on the hill I will raiſe his tomb, daughter of Cormac-Carbre. But love thou the [65] ſon of Mugruch; his arm is ſtrong as a ſtorm.
AND is the ſon of Tarman fallen; the youth with the breaſt of ſnow! the firſt in the chace of the hill; the foe of the ſons of the ocean!—Duchom⯑mar, thou art gloomy indeed; cruel is thy arm to me.—But give me that ſword, ſon of Mugruch; I love the blood of Gadmor.
[HE gives her the ſword, with which ſhe inſtantly ſtabs him.]
DAUGHTER of Cormac-Carbre, thou haſt pierced Duchommar! the ſword is cold in my breaſt; thou haſt killed the ſon of Mugruch. Give me to Moinie [66] the maid; for much ſhe loved Duchom⯑mar. My tomb ſhe will raiſe on the hill; the hunter ſhall ſee it, and praiſe me.—But draw the ſword from my ſide, Morna; I feel it cold.—
[UPON her coming near him, he ſtabs her. As ſhe fell, ſhe plucked a ſtone from the ſide of the cave, and placed it betwixt them, that his blood might not be mingled with hers.]
XV.
[67]*WHERE is Gealchoſſa my love, the daughter of Tuathal-Teachvar? I left her in the hall of the plain, when I fought with the hairy Ulfadha. Re⯑turn ſoon, ſhe ſaid, O Lamderg! for here I wait in ſorrow. Her white breaſt roſe with ſighs; her cheek was wet with tears. But ſhe cometh not to meet Lamderg; or ſooth his ſoul after battle. Silent is the hall of joy; I hear not the voice of the ſinger. Brann does not ſhake his chains at the gate, glad at the coming of his maſter. Where is Gealchoſſa my love, the daughter of Tuathal-Teachvar?
[68] LAMDERG! ſays Firchios ſon of Ay⯑don, Gealchoſſa may be on the hill; ſhe and her choſen maids purſuing the flying deer.
FIRCHIOS! no noiſe I hear. No ſound in the wood of the hill. No deer fly in my ſight; no panting dog purſueth. I ſee not Gealchoſſa my love; fair as the full moon ſetting on the hills of Cromleach. Go, Firchios! go to Allad*, the grey-haired ſon of the rock. He liveth in the circle of ſtones; he may tell of Gealchoſſa.
ALLAD! ſaith Firchios, thou who dwelleſt in the rock; thou who trem⯑bleſt alone; what ſaw thine eyes of age?
I ſaw, anſwered Allad the old, Ul⯑lin [69] the ſon of Carbre: He came like a cloud from the hill; he hummed a ſur⯑ly ſong as he came, like a ſtorm in leafleſs wood. He entered the hall of the plain. Lamderg, he cried, moſt dreadful of men! fight, or yield to Ul⯑lin. Lamderg, replied Gealchoſſa, Lamderg is not here: he fights the hairy Ulfadha; mighty man, he is not here. But Lamderg never yields; he will fight the ſon of Carbre. Lovely art thou, O daughter of Tuathal-Teach⯑var! ſaid Ullin. I carry thee to the houſe of Carbre; the valiant ſhall have Gealchoſſa. Three days from the top of Cromleach will I call Lamderg to fight. The fourth, you belong to Ul⯑lin, if Lamderg die, or fly my ſword.
ALLAD! peace to thy dreams!—ſound the horn, Firchios!—Ullin may hear, and meet me on the top of Crom⯑leach.
[70] LAMDERG ruſhed on like a ſtorm. On his ſpear he leaped over rivers. Few were his ſtrides up the hill. The rocks fly back from his heels; loud craſhing they bound to the plain. His armour, his buckler rung. He hummed a ſurly ſong, like the noiſe of the falling ſtream. Dark as a cloud he ſtood a⯑bove; his arms, like meteors, ſhone. From the ſummit of the hill, he rolled a rock. Ullin heard in the hall of Carbre.—
- Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4688 Fragments of ancient poetry collected in the Highlands of Scotland and translated from the Galic or Erse language. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-59B6-3