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“Sons of the mighty,” he said, "ye bring back the days of old, when first I descended from waves, on Selma's streamy vale! I pursued Duthmocarglos, dweller of ocean's wind. Our fathers had been foes, we met by Clutha's winding waters. He fled, along the sea, and my sails were spread behind him. Night deceived me, on the deep. I came to the dwelling of kings, to Selma of high-bosomed maids. Fingal came forth with his bards, and Conloch, arm of death. I feasted three days in the hall, and saw the blue-eyes of Erin, Ros-crana, daughter of heroes, light of Cormac's race. Nor forgot did my steps depart: the kings gave their shields to Car-ul: they hang, on high, in Col-amon, in memory of the past. Sons of the daring kings, ye bring back the days of old !”
Car-ul kindled the oak of feasts. He took two bosses from our shields. He laid them in earth, beneath a stone, to speak to the hero's
“When battle,” said the king, “ shall roar, and our sons are to meet in wrath, my race shall look, perhaps, on this stone, when they prepare the spear. Have not our fathers met in peace, they will
say, and lay aside the shield ?"
Night came down. In her long locks moved the daughter of Car-ul. Mixed with the harp arose the voice of white-armed Colna-dona. Toscar darkened in his place, before the love of heroes. She came on his troubled soul, like a beam to the dark-heaving ocean: when it bursts from a cloud, and brightens the foamy side of a
With morning we awaked the woods; and hung forward on the path of the roes. They fell by their wonted streams. We returned through Crona's vale. From the wood a youth came forward, with a shield and pointless spear. “Whence,” said Toscar of Lutha, “is the flying beam? Dwells there peace at Col-amon, round bright Colna-dona of harps ?”
By Col-amon of streams,” said the youth, bright Colna-dona dwelt. She dwelt; but her course is now in deserts, with the son of the king; he that seized with love her soul as it wandered through the hall.” “Stranger of tales,” said Toscar, “hast thou marked the warrior's course ? He must fall, give thou that bossy shield!” In wrath he took the shield. Fair behind it rose the breasts of a maid, white as the bosom of a swan, rising graceful on swift-rolling waves 3. It was Colna-dona of harps, the daughter of the king! Her blue eyes had rolled on Toscar, and her love arose !
3 Fair behind it rose the breasts of a maid, white as the bosom of a swan, rising graceful on swift-rolling waves.] Trembling on swift-rolling waves. Ist edit. Fingal, iv. From Par. Lost, vü. 487.
Others, on silver lakes and rivers, bath'd