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No. 2. Cold LOCHLIN's smooth ships thro' the stormy surge.
this poem to be of considerable antiquity, is, the Norwegian vessels Somadh-leng, smooth ships, in contradistinction to those of our ancestors, which were covered with skins with the hair on, and appear indeed to have been little more than currachs, or round vessels formed with osier twigs and covered with hides, which have been used to cross ferries in Argyleshire in the memory of many now living. Yet the period in which this poem was composed appears to have been long subsequent to the FINGALIAN times; for we hear of cills, or tombs, on the
; sea-side, and of one sovereign under whose sway all the chiefs seem united. In the age of Fingal the four grey stones seem to have been the only memorial of the warrior or the hunter.
Said MORFOLT, “ let no warrior further comé.P.386.
MORFOLT appears to have been a Norwegian, thrown py a tempest in his youth upon the British coast, where receiving much kindness, and being captivated with the beauty of a maiden whom he calls Bosmina, smooth soft hand, he had been induced to reside in the land of her kindred; but now, in sorrow for her death, and remorse for fighting against his own countrymen, devotes himself to certain destruction. The fragment breaks off abruptly, and leaves the sequel of the story in obscurity,
AGED BARD'S WISH:
TRANSLATION OF A GAELIC POEM COMPOSED
IN THE ISLE OF SKY.
“ As when a minstrel, taught by Heav'n to sing, “ Awakes high raptures to the vocal string.
That glides away so softly slow,
Regard my languid limbs of age ; While on the new spring grass they lie, · Their warmth restore, their pains assuage.
Wave soft thy wings thou western gale,
Around my dewy bank be spread;
Let blossom'd branches softly bend,
The little birds their love-notes blend.
Where from yon crag, with age so grey,
, The fresh stream bursts with rushing sound, And echo bears the din
Of nature's joy that wakes around,
And roes in sprightly gambol bound,
Comes pleasing to my aged ear,
And dappled fauns, when tir'd of play, Beside
brook's green margin close, Or where the dashing fountains play.
To hear the bugle sound so shrill, While triumph bursts in joyful cries, Where sinks the dun deer on the hill,
That morn and eve my steps pursue ;
Which I at hopeless distance view *.
* The verses after this correspond with those of the same number in the original.
Amidst his green locks dream the roes, A thousand hills appear below,
And on his head the clouds repose.
Above my glen I see the grove
Where first is heard the cuckoo's song ;
And lead about their tender young,
Swims graceful on the swelling wave;
Their downy breasts incessant lave :
And when she wings her lofty flight,
Afar amidst the clouds to rise,
Commixing with the northern skies :