Recreations for Solitary Hours
A Translation — Of an Episode in Ossian
Of an Episode in Ossian.
Upon the rocks of winds, which loudly roar,
Oh weep! thou lovely maid of Inistore.
And bend thy fair head o'er the stormy waves,
Thou lovelier than the mountain ghost that moves
O'er Morven' silence, in the glowing rays
Of yonder sun, in its meridian blaze.
For now thy youth's laid low!—Ah! he is fallen,
Pale, pale beneath the sword of brave Cuthullen!
No more shall valour raise, nor aught that brings
Thy love again to match the blood of Kings.
For Trenor, graceful Trenor, is no more!
Thy youth has died, oh maid of Inistore!—
His gray dogs howling all at home do lie,
They see his haunting spirit passing by;
His bow unstrung now in the hall is found,
And in his hall of hinds, no more is heard his sound.