wilt thou come in thine arms, O chief of Erin's wars?'

Pleasant is thy voice in Ossian's ear, daughter of car-borne Sorglan! But retire to the hall of shells, to the beam of the burning oak. Attend to the murmur of the sea: it rolls at Dunscai's walls: let sleep descend on thy blue eyes. Let the hero arise in thy dreams!

spear of Torlath! it is a meteor of night. He lifts it, and the people fall! death sits in the lightning of his sword!' 'Do I fear,' replied Cuthullin, 'the spear of car-borne 5 Torlath? He is brave as a thousand heroes: but my soul delights in war! The sword rests not by the side of Cuthullin, bard of the times of old! Morning shall meet me on the plain, and the gleam on the blue arms of

bard, and let us hear thy voice. Partake of the joyful shell: and hear the songs of Temora!'

replied the bard, 'to

when the mighty are

'This is no time,' hear the song of joy: to meet in battle, like the strength of the waves of Lego. Why art thou so dark, Slimora! with all thy silent woods? No star trembles on thy top. No moonbeam on thy

Cuthullin sits at Lego's lake, at the dark 10 Semo's son. But sit thou on the heath, O rolling of waters. Night is around the hero. His thousands spread on the heath. A hundred oaks burn in the midst. The feast of shells is smoking wide. Carril strikes the harp beneath a tree. His gray locks glit- 15 ter in the beam. The rustling blast of night is near, and lifts his aged hair. His song is of the blue Togorma, and of its chief, Cuthullin's friend! 'Why art thou absent, Connal, in the days of the gloomy storm? 20 side. But the meteors of death are there: The chiefs of the south have convened against the car-borne Cormac. The winds detain thy sails. Thy blue waters roll around thee. But Cormac is not alone.

the gray watery forms of ghosts. Why art thou dark, Slimora! why thy silent woods?' He retired, in the sound of his song. Carril joined his voice. The music was like the

The son of Semo fights his wars! Semo's 25 memory of joys that are past, pleasant and

son his battles fights! the terror of the stranger! He that is like the vapor of death, slowly borne by sultry winds. The sun reddens in its presence; the people fall around.'

mournful to the soul. The ghosts of departed bards heard on Slimora's side. Soft sounds spread along the wood. The silent valleys of night rejoice. So when he sits in

breeze, the humming of the mountain bee comes to Ossian's ear: the gale drowns it in its course: but the pleasant sound returns again! Slant looks the sun on the field! gradual grows the shade of the hill!

'Raise,' said Cuthullin to his hundred bards, 'the song of the noble Fingal: that song which he hears at night, when the dreams of his rest descend; when the bards

Such was the song of Carril, when a son 30 the silence of the day, in the valley of his of the foe appeared. He threw down his pointless spear. He spoke the words of Torlath; Torlath, chief of heroes, from Lego's sable surge! He that led his thousands to battle, against car-borne Cormac. 35 Cormac, who was distant far, in Temora's echoing halls: he learned to bend the bow of his fathers; and to lift the spear. Nor long didst thou lift the spear, mildly-shining beam of youth! death stands dim behind thee, 40 strike the distant harp, and the faint light like the darkened half of the moon behind its glowing light. Cuthullin rose before the bard, that came from generous Torlath. He offered him the shell of joy. He honored the son of songs. 'Sweet voice of Lego!' he 45 hall. Carril, place the shield of Caithbat on said, 'what are the words of Torlath? Comes he to our feast or battle, the car-borne son of Cantela?'

gleams on Selma's walls. Or let the grief of Lara rise: the sighs of the mother of Calmar, when he was sought, in vain, on his hills; when she beheld his bow in the

that branch. Let the spear of Cuthullin be near; that the sound of my battle may rise, with the gray beam of the east.'

The hero leaned on his father's shield:

'He comes to thy battle,' replied the bard, 'to the sounding strife of spears. When 50 the song of Lara rose! The hundred bards

morning is gray on Lego, Torlath will fight on the plain. Wilt thou meet him, in thine arms, king of the isle of mist? Terrible is the

were distant far: Carril alone is near the chief. The words of the song were his: the sound of his harp was mournful.

weak their hands; their dwelling is in the wind. But my soul grows in danger, and rejoices in the noise of steel. Retire thou to thy cave. Thou art not Calmar's ghost. 5 He delighted in battle. His arm was like the thunder of heaven! He retired in his blast with joy, for he had heard the voice of his praise.'

'Alcletha with the aged locks! mother of car-borne Calmar! why dost thou look towards the desert, to behold the return of thy son? These are not his heroes, dark on the heath: nor is that the voice of Calmar. It is but the distant grove, Alcletha! but the roar of the mountain wind!"Who bounds over Lara's stream, sister of the noble Calmar? Does not Alcletha behold his spear? But her eyes are dim! Is it not the 10 sound of Caithbat's buckler spread. Green son of Matha, daughter of my love?"

The faint beam of the morning rose. The

Erin's warriors convened, like the roar of ""It is but an aged oak, Alcletha!" many streams. The horn of war is heard over replied the lovely weeping Alona. "It is Lego. The mighty Torlath came! 'Why dost but an oak, Alcletha, bent over Lara's thou come with thy thousands, Cuthullin,' stream. But who comes along the plain? 15 said the chief of Lego. 'I know the strength sorrow is in his speed. He lifts high the of thy arm. Thy soul is an unextinguished spear of Calmar. Alcletha, it is covered fire. Why fight we not on the plain, and let our hosts behold our deeds? Let them behold us like roaring waves, that tumble

with blood!"

666

But it is covered with the blood of foes, sister of car-borne Calmar! His 20 round a rock; the mariners hasten away,

spear never returned unstained with blood: nor his bow from the strife of the mighty. The battle is consumed in his presence: he

is a flame of death, Alona! - Youth of the

and look on their strife with fear.'

'Thou risest like the sun, on my soul,' replied the son of Semo. "Thine arm is mighty, O Torlath! and worthy of my wrath.

mournful speed! where is the son of Alcletha! 25 Retire, ye men of Ullin, to Slimora's shady

side. Behold the chief of Erin, in the day of his fame. Carril, tell to mighty Connal, if Cuthullin must fall, tell him I accused the winds, which roar on Togorma's waves.

Does he return with his fame, in the midst of his echoing shields? Thou art dark and silent! Calmar is then no more! Tell me not, warrior, how he fell. I must not hear of his wound!" Why dost thou look towards 30 Never was he absent in battle, when the the desert, mother of low-laid Calmar?'

strife of my fame arose. Let his sword be before Cormac, like the beam of heaven. Let his counsel sound in Temora, in the day of danger!'

He rushed, in the sound of his arms, like the terrible spirit of Loda, when he comes, in the roar of a thousand storms, and scatters battles from his eyes. He sits on a cloud over Lochlin's seas. His mighty hand is

Such was the song of Carril, when Cuthullin lay on his shield. The bards rested on their harps. Sleep fell softly around. The son of Semo was awake alone. His soul 35 fixed on war. The burning oaks began to decay. Faint red light is spread around. A feeble voice is heard! The ghost of Calmar came! He stalked dimly along the beam. Dark is the wound in his side. His hair is 40 on his sword. Winds lift his flaming locks! disordered and loose. Joy sits pale on his face. He seems to invite Cuthullin to his

cave.

'Son of the cloudy night!' said the rising chief of Erin; why dost thou bend thy dark 45 eyes on me, ghost of the noble Calmar? Wouldst thou frighten me, O Matha's son! from the battles of Cormac? Thy hand was not feeble in war: neither was thy voice for peace. of Lara! if thou now dost advise to fly! But, Calmar, I never fled. I never feared the ghosts of night. Small is their knowledge,

The waning moon half lights his dreadful face. His features blended in darkness arise to view. So terrible was Cuthullin in the day of his fame. Torlath fell by his hand. Lego's heroes mourned. They gather around the chief, like the clouds of the desert. A thousand swords rose at once; a thousand arrows flew; but he stood like a rock in the midst of a roaring sea. They fell around.

How art thou changed, chief 50 He strode in blood. Dark Slimora echoed

wide. The sons of Ullin came. The battle spread over Lego. The chief of Erin overHe returned over the field with his

came.

the bow, perceive it. Peace to thy soul, in thy cave, chief of the isle of mist!

"The mighty are dispersed at Temora; there is none in Cormac's hall. The king 5 mourns in his youth. He does not behold thy return. The sound of thy shield is ceased: his foes are gathering round. Soft be thy rest in thy cave, chief of Erin's wars! Bragela will not hope for thy return,

fame. But pale he returned! The joy of his face was dark. He rolled his eyes in silence. The sword hung, unsheathed, in his hand. His spear bent at every step! 'Carril,' said the chief in secret, 'the strength of Cuthullin fails. My days are with the years that are past. No morning of mine shall arise. They shall seek me at Temora, but I shall not be found. Cormac will weep in his hall, and say, Where is 10 or see thy sails in ocean's foam. Her steps Erin's chief? But my name is renowned! my fame in the song of bards. The youth will say, in secret, O let me die as Cuthullin died! Renown clothed him like a robe. The light of his fame is great. Draw the 15 tears, daughter of car-borne Sorglan! Blest arrow from my side. Lay Cuthullin beneath that oak. Place the shield of Caithbat near, that they may behold me amidst the arms of my fathers!'

'And is the son of Semo fallen?' said 20 Carril with a sigh. 'Mournful are Tura's walls. Sorrow dwells at Dunscai. Thy spouse is left alone in her youth. The son of thy love is alone! He shall come to Bragela and ask her why she weeps! He 25 shall lift his eyes to the wall, and see his father's sword. Whose sword is that? he will say. The soul of his mother is sad. Who is that, like the hart of the desert, in the murmur of his course? His eyes look wildly 30 round in search of his friend. Connal, son of Colgar, where hast thou been, when the mighty fell? Did the seas of Togorma roll around thee? Was the wind of the south in thy sails? The mighty have fallen in battle, 35 and thou wast not there. Let none tell it in Selma, nor in Morven's woody land. Fingal will be sad, and the sons of the desert mourn!'

By the dark-rolling waves of Lego they 40 raised the hero's tomb. Luath, at a distance, lies. The song of bards rose over the dead.

'Blest be thy soul, son of Semo! Thou wert mighty in battle. Thy strength was like the strength of a stream; thy speed like 45 the eagle's wing. Thy path in battle was terrible: the steps of death were behind thy sword. Blest be thy soul, son of Semo, car-borne chief of Dunscai! Thou hast not

fallen by the sword of the mighty, neither was thy blood on the spear of the brave. The arrow came, like the sting of death in a blast: nor did the feeble hand, which drew

50

are not on the shore: nor her ear open to the voice of thy rowers. She sits in the hall of shells. She sees the arms of him that is no more. Thine eyes are full of

be thy soul in death, O chief of shady Tura!'

1761

Thomas Chatterton (1752-1770)

BRISTOWE TRAGEDIE
OR THE DETHE OF SYR
CHARLES BAWDIN

THE featherd songster chaunticleer
Han wounde hys bugle horne,
And tolde the earlie villager

The commynge of the morne:

Kynge Edwarde sawe the ruddie streakes 5
Of lyghte eclypse the greie;

And herde the raven's crokynge throte
Proclayme the fated daie.

10

Thou 'rt ryghte,' quod he, 'for, by the Godde
That syttes enthroned on hyghe!
Charles Bawdin, and hys fellowes twaine,
To-daie shall surelie die.'

Thenne wythe a jugge of nappy ale

Hys knyghtes dydd onne hymm waite;
'Goe tell the traytour, thatt to-daie
Hee leaves thys mortall state.'

Sir Canterlone thenne bendedd lowe,
With harte brymm-fulle of woe;
Hee journeyed to the castle-gate,
And to Syr Charles dydd goe.

15

20

Butt whenne hee came, hys children twaine,
And eke hys lovynge wyfe,

Wythe brinie tears dydd wett the floore,
For goode Syr Charleses lyfe.

'O, goode Syr Charles!' sayd Canterlone, 25 'Badde tydyngs I doe brynge.'

'Speke boldlie, manne,' sayd brave Syr 'Was Godde to serche our hertes and reines, Charles,