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the fair-haired, blue-eyed Colmal.* Her eye had rolled in secret on Calthon; his loveliness swelled in her soul. She trembled for her warrior; but what could Colmal do? Her arm could not lift the spear; nor was the sword formed for her side. Her white breast never rose beneath a mail. Neither was her eye the terror of heroes. What canst thou do, O Colmal! for the fallen chief? Her steps are unequal; her hair is loose her eye looks wildly through her tears. She came, by night, to the hall. She armed her lovely form in steel; the steel of a young warrior, who fell in the first of his battles. She came to the cave of Calthon, and loosed the thong from his hands.

"Arise, son of Rathmor," she said, "arise, the "night is dark! Let us fly to the king of Selma,‡ "chief of fallen Clutha! I am the son of Lam

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gal, who dwelt in thy father's hall. I heard "of thy dark dwelling in the cave, and my soul 66 arose. Arise, son of Rathmor, arise, the night " is dark!”—“ Blest voice!" replied the chief, "comest thou from the clouds to Calthon? The

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ghosts of his fathers have often descended in

Caol-mhal, a woman with small eye-brows; small eye-brows were a distinguishing part of beauty in Ossian's time; and he seldom fails to give them to the fine women of his poems.

†That is, the hall where the arms taken from enemies were hung up as trophies. Ossian is very careful to make his stories probable; for he makes Colmal put on the arms of a youth killed in his first battle, as more proper for a young woman, who cannot be supposed strong enough to carry the armour of a full-grown warrior.

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"his dreams, since the sun has retired from his 66 eyes, and darkness has dwelt around him. Or "art thou the son of Lamgal, the chief I often "saw in Clutha? But shall I fly to Fingal, and "Colmar my brother low? Will I fly to Mor

ven, and the hero closed in night? No; give me that spear son of Lamgal, Calthon will "defend his brother!"

"A thousand warriors," replied the maid, "stretch their spears round car-borne Colmar. "What can Calthon do against a host so great? "Let us fly to the king of Morven, he will come "with war. His arm is stretched forth to the "unhappy; the lightning of his sword is round "the weak. Arise, thou son of Rathmor! the "shadows will fly away. Arise, or thy steps

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may be seen, and thou must fall in youth.”

The sighing hero rose; his tears descend for car-borne Colmar. He came with the maid to Selma's hall; but he knew not that it was Colmal. The helmet covered her lovely face. Her bosom heaved beneath the steel. Fingal returned from the chase, and found the lovely strangers. They were like two beams of light, in the midst of the hall of shells. The king heard the tale of grief; and turned his eyes around. A thousand heroes half-rose before him; claiming the war of Teutha. I came with my spear from the hill; the joy of battle rose in my breast; for the king spoke to Ossian in the midst of a thousand chiefs.

"Son of my strength," began the king, "take thou the spear of Fingal. Go to Teutha's rushing stream, and save the car-borne Colmar. Let thy fame return before thee like a pleasant gale; that my soul may rejoice over my son, who renews the renown of our fathers. Ossian! be thou a storm in war; but mild when the foe is low! it was thus my fame arose, O my son ! be thou like Selma's chief. When the haughty come to my halls, my eyes behold them not. my arm is stretched forth to the unhappy. My sword defends the weak.

But

I rejoiced in the words of the king. I took my rattling arms. Diaran* rose at my side, and Dargot king of spears. Three hundred youths followed our steps; the lovely strangers were at my side. Dunthalmo beard the sound of our approach. He gathered the strength of Teutha. He stood on a hill with his host. They were like rocks broken with thunder, when their bent trees are singed and bare, and the streams of

* Diaran, father of that Connal who was unfortunately killed by Crimora his mistress.

+ Dargo, the son of Collath, is celebrated in other poems by Ossian. He is said to have been killed by a boar at a hunting party. The lamentation of his mistress, or wife, Mingala, over his body, is extant; but whether it is of Ossian's composition, I cannot determine. It is generally ascribed to him, and has much of his manner: but some traditions mention it as an imitation by some later bard. As it has some poetical merit, I have subjoined it.

The spouse of Dargo comes in tears; for Dargo was no more! The heroes sigh over Lartho's chief! and what shall sad Mingala do? The dark soul vanished like morning mist, before the king of spears; but the generous glowed in his presence like the morning star.

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their chinks have failed. The stream of Teutha rolled, in its pride, before the gloomy foe. sent a bard to Dunthalmo, 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 firm 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 nar row 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

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morning comes with its beams; Dunthalmo will "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;

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