Temora - Book Iii Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: A B C D E F G C D C A H E I J K| ARGUMENT | A |
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| Morning coming on Fingal after a speech to his people devolved the command on Gaul the son of Morni it being the custom of the times that the king should not engage till the necessity of affairs required his superior valor and conduct The king and Ossian retire to the hill of Cormul which overlooked the field of battle The bards sing the war song The general conflict is described Gaul the son of Morni distinguishes himself kills Tur lathon chief of Moruth and other chiefs of lesser name On the other hand Foldath who commanded the Irish army for Cathmor after the example of Fingal kept himself from battle fights gallantly kills Connal chief of Dun lora and advances to engage Gaul himself Gaul in the mean time being wounded in the hand by a random arrow is covered by Fillan the son of Fingal who performs prodigies of valor Night comes on The horn of Fingal recalls his army The bards meet them with a congratulatory song in which the praises of Gaul and Fillan are particularly celebrated The chiefs sit down at a feast Fingal misses Connal The episode of Connal and Duth caron is introduced which throws further light on the ancient history of Ireland Carril is despatched to raise the tomb of Connal The action of this book takes up the second day from the opening of the poem | B |
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| Who is that at blue streaming Lubar Who by the bending hill of roes Tall he leans on an oak torn from high by nightly winds Who but Comhal's son brightening in the last of his fields His gray hair is on the breeze He half unsheathes the sword of Luno His eyes are turned to Moi lena to the dark moving of foes Dost thou hear the voice of the king it is like the bursting of a stream in the desert when it comes between its echoing rocks to the blasted field of the sun | C |
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| Wide skirted comes down the foe Sons of woody Selma arise Be ye like the rocks of our land in whose brown sides are the rolling of streams A beam of joy comes on my soul I see the foe mighty before me It is when he is feeble that the sighs of Fingal are heard lest death should come without renown and darkness dwell on his tomb Who shall lead the war against the host of Alnecma It is only when danger grows that my sword shalt shine Such was the custom heretofore of Trenmor the ruler of winds and thus descended to battle the blue shielded Trathal | D |
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| The chiefs bend towards the king Each darkly seems to claim the war They tell by halves their mighty deeds They turn their eyes on Erin But far before the rest the son of Morni stands Silent he stands for who had not heard of the battles of Gaul They rose within his soul His hand in secret seized the sword The sword which he brought from Strumon when the strength of Morni failed On his spear leans Fillan of Selma in the wandering of his locks Thrice he raises his eyes to Fingal his voice thrice fails him as he speaks My brother could not boast of battles at once he strides away Bent over a distant stream he stands the tear hangs in his eye He strikes at times the thistle's head with his inverted spear Nor is he unseen of Fingal Sidelong he beholds his son He beholds him with bursting joy and turns amid his crowded soul In silence turns the king towards Mora of woods He hides the big tear with his locks At length his voice is heard | E |
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| First of the sons of Morni Thou rock that defiest the storm Lead thou my battle for the race of low laid Cormac No boy's staff is thy spear no harmless beam of light thy sword Son of Morni of steeds behold the foe Destroy Fillan observe the chief He is not calm in strife nor burns he heedless in battle My son observe the chief He is strong as Lubar's stream but never foams and roars High on cloudy Mora Fingal shall behold the war Stand Ossian near thy father by the falling stream Raise the voice O bards Selma move beneath the sound It is my latter field Clothe it over with light | F |
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| As the sudden rising of winds or distant rolling of troubled seas when some dark ghost in wrath heaves the billows over an isle an isle the seat of mist on the deep for many dark brown years So terrible is the sound of the host wide moving over the field Gaul is tall before them The streams glitter within his strides The bards raise the song by his side He strikes his shield between On the skirts of the blast the tuneful voices rise | G |
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| On Crona said the bards there bursts a stream by night It swells in its own dark course till morning's early beam Then comes it white from the hill with the rocks and their hundred groves Far be my steps from Crona Death is tumbling there Be ye a stream from Mora sons of cloudy Morven | C |
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| Who rises from his car on Clutha The hills are troubled before the king The dark woods echo round and lighten at his steel See him amidst the foe like Colgach's sportful ghost when he scatters the clouds and rides the eddying winds It is Morni of bounding steeds Be like thy father O Gaul | D |
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| Selma is opened wide Bards take the trembling harps Ten youths bear the oak of the feast A distant sunbeam marks the hill The dusky waves of the blast fly over the fields of grass Why art thou silent O Selma The king returns with all his fame Did not the battle roar yet peaceful is his brow It roared and Fingal overcame Be like thy father O Fillan | C |
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| They move beneath the song High wave their arms as rushy fields beneath autumnal winds On Mora stands the king in arms Mist flies round his buckler abroad as aloft it hung on a bough on Cormul's mossy rock In silence I stood by Fingal and turned my eyes on Cromla's wood lest I should behold the host and rush amid my swelling soul My foot is forward on the heath I glittered tall in steel like the falling stream of Tromo which nightly winds bind over with ice The boy sees it on high gleaming to the early beam towards it he turns his ear wonders why it is so silent | A |
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| Nor bent over a stream is Cathmor like a youth in a peaceful field Wide he drew forward the war a dark and troubled wave But when he beheld Fingal on Mora his generous pride arose Shall the chief of Atha fight and no king in the field Foldath lead my people forth thou art a beam of fire | H |
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| Forth issues Foldath of Moma like a cloud the robe of ghosts He drew his sword a flame from his side He bade the battle move The tribes like ridgy waves dark pour their strength around Haughty is his stride before them His red eye rolls in wrath He calls Cormul chief of Dun ratho and his words were heard | E |
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| Cormul thou beholdest that path It winds green behind the foe Place thy people there lest Selma should escape from my sword Bards of green valleyed Erin let no voice of yours arise The sons of Morven must fall without song They are the foes of Cairbar Hereafter shall the traveller meet their dark thick mist on Lena where it wanders with their ghosts beside the reedy lake Never shall they rise without song to the dwelling of winds | I |
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| Cormul darkened as he went Behind him rushed his tribe They sunk beyond the rock Gaul spoke to Fillan of Selma as his eye pursued the course of the dark eyed chief of Dun ratho Thou beholdest the steps of Cormul Let thine arm be strong When he is low son of Fingal remember Gaul in war Here I fall forward into baffle amid the ridge of shields | J |
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| The sign of death ascends the dreadful sound of Morni's shield Gaul pours his voice between Fingal rises on Mora He saw them from wing to wing bending at once in strife Gleaming on his own dark hill stood Cathmor of streamy Atha The kings were like two spirits of heaven standing each on his gloomy cloud when they pour abroad the winds and lift the roaring seas The blue tumbling of waves is before them marked with the paths of whales They themselves are calm and bright The gale lifts slowly their locks of mist | K |
James Macpherson
(1)
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