CONLATH and CUTHÓNA:

A

POE

OE M.

ID not Offian hear a voice? or is it the

D'D

found of days that are no more? Often does the memory of former times come, like the evening fun, on my foul. The noife of the chace is renewed. In thought, I lift the fpear. But Offian did hear a voice! Who art thou, fon of night? The children of the feeble are afleep. The midnight wind is in my hall. Perhaps it is the shield of Fingal that ecchoes to the blaft. It hangs in Offian's hall. He feels it fometimes with his hands. Yes! I hear thee, my friend! Long has thy voice been absent from mine ear! What brings thee, on thy cloud, to Offian, fon of generous Morni? Are the friends of the aged near thee? Where is Ofcar, fon of fame? He was often near thee, O Conlath, when the found of battle arofe.

GHOST of CONLATH.

SLEEPS the fweet voice of Cona, in the midst of his rustling hall?. Sleeps Offian in his hall, and his friends without their fame? The fea rolls round dark I-thona*. Our tombs are not feen in our ifle. How long fhall our fame be unheard, fon of refounding Selma?

OSSIAN.

O THAT mine eyes could behold thee! Thou fitteft, dim, on thy cloud! Art thou like the mift of Lano? An half-extinguished meteor of fire? Of what are the skirts of thy robe? Of what is thine airy bow? He is gone on his blast like the fhade of a wandering cloud. Come from thy wall, O harp! Let me hear thy found. Let the light of memory rife on I-thona. Let me behold again my friends! And Offian does behold his friends, on the dark-blue ifle. The cave of Thona appears, with its moffy rocks and bending trees. A ftream roars at its mouth. Tofcar bends over. its courfe. Ferçuth is fad by his fide. Cuthóna fits at a distance, and weeps. Does the wind of

* I-thonn, island of waves, one of the uninhabited western ifles.

+ Cuthona the daughter of Rumar, whom Tofcar had carried away by force.

the waves deceive me? Or do I hear them

fpeak?

TOSCAR.

THE night was ftormy. From their hills the

groaning oaks came down.

The fea darkly

The roaring waves

tumbled beneath the blaft. climbed againft our rocks. The lightning came often and fhewed the blafted fern. Fercuth! I faw the ghoft who embroiled the night *. Silent he ftood, on that bank. His robe of mift flew on the wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man he feemed, and full of thought!

FERCUTH.

Ir was thy father, O Tofcar. He forefees fome death among his race. Such was his appearance on Cromla, before the great Maronnan fell. Erin of hills of grafs! how pleasant are thy vales? Silence is near thy blue ftreams. The fun is on thy fields, Soft is the

It was long thought, in the north of Scotland, that storms were raised by the ghosts of the deceased. This notion is ftill entertained by the vulgar; for they think that whirlwinds, and fudden fqualls of wind are occafioned by fpirits, who tranfport themfelves, in that manner, from one place to another.

Ma-ronnan was the brother of Tofcar.

found

found of the harp in Seláma *. Lovely the cry of the hunter on Crómla. But we are in dark I-thona, furrounded by the ftorm. The billows lift their white heads above our rocks. We tremble amidst the night.

TOSCAR.

WHITHER is the foul of battle fled, Fercuth with locks of age? I have seen thee undaunted in danger: thine eyes burning with joy in the fight. Whither is the foul of battle fled? Our fathers never feared. Go: view the fettling fea the ftormy wind is laid. The billows ftill tremble on the deep. They feem to fear the blaft. Go view the fettling fea. Morning is grey on our rocks. The fun will look foon from his eaft; in all his pride of light! I lifted up my fails, with joy, before the halls of generous Conlath. My courfe was by a defart ifle: where Cuthona purfued the deer. I faw her, like that beam of the fun that iffues from the cloud. Her hair was on her heaving breast. She, bending forward, drew the bow. Her white arm feemed, behind her, like the fnow of Cromla. Come to my foul, I said, huntress

* Selámath, beautiful to behold, the name of Toscar's refidence, on the coast of Ulfter, near the mountain Cromla.

of

of the defart ifle! But fhe waftes her time in tears. She thinks of the generous Conlath. Where can I find thy peace, Cuthona, lovely maid!

CU-THONA'

A DISTANT fteep bends over the fea, with aged trees and moffy rocks. The billow rolls at its feet. On its fide is the people call it Mora.

dwelling of roes. The

There the towers of my love arife. There Conlath looks over the fea for his only love. The daughters of the chace returned. He beheld their downcaft eyes. "Where is the daughter of Rumar?" But they answered not. My peace dwells on Mora, fon of the distant land!

TOSCAR.

CUTHONA fhall return to her peace: to the towers of generous Conlath. He is the friend of Tofcar! I have feasted in his halls! Rife, ye gentle breezes of Erin. Stretch my fails toward Mora's fhores. Cuthona fhall reft on Mora: but the days of Tofcar must be fad. I fhall fit in my cave in the field of the fun. The

Cu-thona, the mournful found of the waves; a poetical name given her on account of her mourning to the sound of the waves; her name in tradition is Gorm-huil, the blue-eyed