CATH-LODA. DUAN' FIRST. A TALE of the times of old! Why, thou wanderer unseen! thou bender of the thistle of Lora; why, thou breeze of the valley, hast thou left mine ear? I hear no distant roar of streams! No sound of the harp, from the rock! Come, thou huntress of Lutha, Malvina, call back his soul to the bard. I look for The bards distinguished those compositions, in which the narration is often interrupted by episodes and apostrophes, by the name of Duän. Since the extinction of the order of the bards, it has been a general name for all ancient compositions in MACPHERSON. verse. Duän, a rhyme or song, seems to be a mere corruption of the English word tune. See Appendix to Mr MACKENZIE'S Report concerning Ossian's Poems, p. 54. ward to Lochlin of lakes, to the dark billowy bay of U-thorno, where Fingal descends from ocean, from the roar of winds. Few are the heroes of Morven, in a land unknown! Starno sent a dweller of Loda, to bid Fingal to the feast; but the king remembered the past, and all his rage arose. "Nor Gormal's mossy towers, nor Starno shall Fingal behold. Deaths wander, like shadows, over his fiery soul! Do I forget that beam of light, the white-handed daughter of kings? Go, son of Loda; his words are wind to Fingal: wind, that, to and fro, drives the thistle, in autumn's dusky vale *. Duth-maruno, arm of death! Crommaglas, of iron shields! Struthmor, dweller of battle's wing! Cormar, whose ships bound on seas, careless as the course of a meteor, on dark-rolling clouds! Arise, around me, children of heroes, in a land 2 Wind, that, to and fro, drives the thistle in autumn's dusky vale.] In the first editions more literally; "His words are but blasts to Fingal; blasts, that, to and fro, roll the thistle, in autumnal vales." From POPE's Odyssey, v. 417. As when a heap of gather'd thorns is cast, Now to, now fro, before th' autumnal blast, Together clung, it rolls around the field. See Sul-malla, 4. and Six Bards, 9. unknown! Let each look on his shield, like Trenmor, the ruler of wars. "Come down," thus Trenmor said, "thou dweller between the harps. Thou shalt roll this stream away, or waste with me in earth." Around the king they rise in wrath. No words come forth: they seize their spears. Each soul is rolled into itself. At length the sudden clang is waked, on all their echoing shields. Each takes his hill, by night; at intervals, they darkly stand. Unequal bursts the hum of songs, between the roaring wind 3 ! Broad over them rose the moon! In his arms came tall Duth-maruno; he from Croma of rocks, stern hunter of the boar! In his dark boat he rose on waves, when Crumthormo awaked its woods. In the chace he shone, among foes: No fear was thine, Duth-maruno! "Son of daring Comhal, shall my steps be forward through night! From this shield shall I view them, over their gleaming tribes? Starno, 3 Unequal bursts the hum of songs, between the roaring wind.] MACPHERSON's Hunter. 'Twixt ev'ry blast is heard the pleasing sound, Then in the howling hurricane is drowned. king of lakes, is before me, and Swaran, the foe of strangers. Their words are not in vain, by Loda's stone of power.-Should Duth-maruno not return, his spouse is lonely, at home, where meet two roaring streams, on Crathmo-craulo's plain. Around are hills, with echoing woods; the ocean is rolling near. My son looks on screaming sea-fowl, a young wanderer on the field. Give the head of a boar to Can-dona, tell him of his father's joy, when the bristly strength of I-thorno rolled on his lifted spear. Tell him of my deeds in war! Tell where his father fell!" "Not forgetful of my fathers," said Fingal, "I have bounded over the seas. Theirs were the times of danger, in the days of old. Nor settles darkness on me, before foes, though youthful in my locks. Chief of Crathmo-craulo, the field of night is mine." Fingal rushed, in all his arms, wide-bounding over Turthor's stream, that sent its sullen roar, by night, through Gormal's misty vale. A moonbeam glittered on a rock; in the midst stood a stately form; a form with floating locks, like Lochlin's white-bosomed maids. Unequal are her steps, and short. She throws a broken song on |