The Chief of other years being landed, addressed Lady Darnley as follows:
Ossian.——I have escaped from the narrow-house[53]! I have crossed Col-amon[54], O daughter of Munster, to behold thy glory. My joy returns as when I first beheld the maid, the white-bosomed daughter of strangers, Moina[55] with the dark blue eyes: But Crimiona[56] should be thy name, for thou art the guiding star of the women of Albion, who mark no years with their deeds! Time rolls on, seasons return, but they are still unknown. Vanity is their recompence; and when their years shall have an end, no grey stone shall rise to their renown! But the departure of thy soul shall be a stream of light! A thousand bards shall sing of thy praise; and the maids of harmony, with their trembling harps, shall relate thy mighty deeds!
Thy son, when the years of his youth shall arise, will raise the mould about thy stone, and bid it speak to other years! The joy of his grief will be great! Like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to the soul. He will say, 'she will not come forth in her beauty, will move no more in the steps of her loveliness: but she will be like the rainbow on streams, or the gilding of sun-beams on the hills! She has not fallen unknown! Her fame surrounded her like light; her rays, like those of the sun, cherished all on whom they fell. Her wealth was the support of the needy; the weak rested secure in her halls! She softened at the sight of the sad; her blue eyes rolled in tears for the afflicted; her breast of snow heaved for the oppressed; and the moving of her lips assuaged their grief!—O sons of Albion, may you behold her son, like the halo of the rainbow, exhibit the same though fainter colours!'
Lady Darnley.—Father of heroes, dweller of eddying winds, thy praise gladdens my heart! My soul is exalted, my fame secured, by the voice of Conna[57]! Thou hast been a beam of light to latter times, as thy mighty deeds have been remembered, though thou hast long been a blast!
Thy renown grew only on the fall of the haughty; thy foes were the sons of the guilty; but thine arms rescued the feeble!
Thou wentest forth in echoing steel, and conquered the king of many isles: He brought thee his daughter Oina-moral, as an offering of peace. She was gentle as the evening breeze; her hair was of a raven black, and her bosom vied in whiteness with the Canna[58] on the Fuar-Bhean[59].—And though thy locks were young, yielded her to the hero she loved[60]! But like unto Cathmor[61] of old, I perceive the sound of thy praises is displeasing to thine ear!
Ossian.—Just praise, like the water of a clear fountain, was ever pleasant to my taste; but I never rejoiced in unmerited applause, resigning that muddy joy to the sons of later days!
It is true, O daughter of Albion, that, surrounded by the valiant in arms, I conquered the king of many isles—that he presented the maid to me in her loveliness as an offering of peace! She purpled the morn with blushes as she approached, and scattered such bright rays, as the sun might have dressed his beams with for that day's glory! But she had given her heart to another, and met my eyes of love with sorrow! In thrilling notes vibrating from her inmost soul, she conveyed to me the pangs of her heart! 'Breaker of the shield (said she) give ear unto the voice of mourning, attend to my tale, of woe—a tale, which though thy eyes of steel are used more to strike fire than shed a tear, must have that power to move thee.'
My parents had seen many returning seasons with their springs, but no offspring of theirs arose. My mother lamented a disgrace, scarce known amongst the daughters of Caledonia. She consulted the cunning-man of the rock: He said, 'Daughter, be of good cheer; take the son of thine adversary that is low, rear him; thy piety will be rewarded; thou shalt have a daughter whom thou must give him to wife!' When she declared this unto my father (as she was stricken in years) there immediately ran a smile over his face, like the little ruffling of water when a gentle breeze breathes upon the surface of a lake; but he adopted Tonthormid, and some moons after I came forth as a flower; but as the bud, hit with an envious worm ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air, or dedicate his beauty to the sun, dies, so shall I soon fly away as a shadow. Not the white down that decks the silver swan is more unlike the sooty raven's back, than my lover from the rest of his sex. Bred up with him, my first accents were attuned to love; he took delight in my infantine caresses. Time ran on with its years—My father corrected my tenderness; and I became sensible of my error as soon as I was conscious of my feelings. Tonthormid also, from our inequality of fortune, tried to suppress his passion, judging what was then a lambent fire, would soon blaze into a flame! True love, like the lily of the vale, is fond of concealment; but, as the fragrancy of the one occasions its discovery, so does the concealment of the other prove its reality! I loved and was beloved; my father saw, and approved our passion. A succession of moons had not frozen the genial current of his soul, nor repeated shocks blunted all its tenderest sensations—But we were ignorant of his intentions. When he appointed us to meet him at his cave of contemplation, the heart of Tonthormid palpitated with fear, mine with hope—we had a considerable way to go, but remained silent!—we walked through a pleasant grassy walk, shaded with rows of lime-trees, at the side of which ran along, in plaintive murmurs, a crystal brook, on the side of whose mazy and translucent stream were planted bushes of various kinds, with birds in high harmony on the sprays.