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their chinks have failed. The stream of Teutha rolled, in its pride, before the gloomy foe. I sent a bard to Dunthalıno, to offer the combat on the plain; but he smiled in the darkness of his pride. His unsettled host moved on the hill; like the mountain cloud, when the blast has entered its womb, and scatters the curling gloom on every side.
They brought Colmar to Teutha's bank, bound with a thousand thongs. The chief is sad, but stately. His eye is on his friends; for we stood in our arms, whilst Teutha's waters rolled between. Dunthalmo came with his spear, and pierced the hero's side: he rolled on the bank in his blood. We heard his broken sighs. Calthon rushed into the stream: I bounded forward on my spear. Teutha’s race fell before us. Night came rolling down. Dunthalmo rested on a rock, amidst an aged wood. The rage of his bosom burned against
Who was the fairest and most lovely? Who but Collath's stately son? Who sat in the midst of the wise, but Dargo of the mighty deeds?
Thy hand touched the trembling harp: Thy voice was soft as summer winds. Ah me! what shall the heroes say? for Dargo fell before a boar. Pale is the lovely cheek; the look of which was firmi in danger! Why hast thou failed on our hills, thou fairer than the beams of the sun!
The daughter of Adonsion was lovely in the eyes of the valiant; she was lovely in their eyes, but she chose to be the spouse of Dargo.
But thou art alone, Mingala ! the night is coming with its clouds; where is the bed of thy repose? Where but in the tomb of Dargo.
Why dost thou lift the stone, O bard! why dost thou shut the narrow house? Mingala's eyes are heavy, bard! She must sleep with Dargo.
Last night I heard the song of joy in Lartho's lofty hall. But si lence dwells around my bed. Mingala rests with Darge.
the car-borne Calthon. But Calthon stood in his grief; he mourned the fallen Colmar; Colmar slain in youth, before his fame arose!
I bade the song of wo to rise, to sooth the mournful chief; but he stood beneath a tree, and often threw his spear on the earth. The humid eye of Colmal rolled near in a secret tear: she foresaw the fall of Dunthalmo, or of Clutha's warlike chief. Now half the night had passed away. Silence and darkness were on the field. Sleep rested on the eyes of the heroes : Calthon's settling soul was still. His eyes were half closed; but the murmur of Teutha had not yet failed in his ear. Pale, and showing his wounds, the ghost of Colmar came: he bent his head over the hero, and raised his feeble voice!
“ Sleeps the son of Rathmor in his night, and “ his brother low? Did we not rise to the chase “ together? Pursued we not the dark-brown “hinds? Colmar was not forgot till he fell, till “death had blasted his youth. I lie pale beneath “ the rock of Lona. O let Calthon rise! the « morning comes with its beams; Dunthalmo will á dishonour the fallen.” He passed away in his blast. The rising Calthon saw the steps of his departure. He rushed in the sound of his steel. Unhappy Colmal rose. She followed her hero through night, and dragged her spear behind. But when Calthon came to Lona's rock he found his fallen brother. The rage of his bosom rose;
he rushed among the foe. The groans of death ascend. They close around the chief. He is bound in the midst, and brought to gloomy Dunthalmo. The shout of joy arose: and the hills of night replied.
I started at the sound; and took my father's spear. Diaran rose at my side; and the youthful strength of Dargo. We missed the chief of Clutha, and our souls were sad. I dreaded the departure of my fame. The pride of my valour rose! “ Sons of Morven!” I said, “ it is not thus “ our fathers fought. They rested not on the “ field of strangers, when the foe was not fallen “ before them. Their strength was like the eagles “ of heaven; their renown is in the song. Butour “ people fall by degrees. Our fame begins to de“ part. What shall the king of Morven say, if “ Ossian conquers not at Teutha ? Rise in your “steel, ye warriors ! follow the sound of Ossian's “ course. He will not return, but renowned, to " the echoing walls of Selma."
Morning rose on the blue waters of Teutha, Colmal stood before me in tears. She told of the chief of Clutha : thrice the spear fell from her hand. My wrath turned against the stranger; for my soul trembled for Calthon. “Son of the “ feeble hand!” I said, “do Teutha's warriors fight “ with tears? The battle is not won with grief; “ nor dwells the sigh in the soul of war. Go to “the deer of Carmun, to the lowing herds of * Teutha. But leave these arms, thou son of fear! “ A warrior may lift them in fight.”
I tore the mail from her shoulders. Her snowy breast appeared. She bent her blushing face to the ground. I looked in silence to the chiefs. The spear fell from my hand; the sigh of my bosom rose! But when I heard the name of the maid, my crowding tears rushed down. I blessed the lovely beam of youth, and bade the battle move!
Why, son of the rock, should Ossian tell how Teutha's warriors died? They are now forgot in their land; their tombs are not found on the heath. Years came on with their storms. The green mounds are mouldered away. Scarce is the grave of Dunthalmo seen, or the place where he fell by the spear of Ossian. Some grey warrior, half blind with age, sitting by night at the flaming oak of the hall, tells now my deeds to his sons, and the fall of the dark Dunthalmo. The faces of youth bend sidelong towards his voice. Surprise and joy burn in their eyes! I found Calthon bound to an oak; my sword cut the thongs from his hands. I gave him the whitebosomed Colmal. They dwelt in the halls of Teutha,