When the world is dark with tempests, when thunder
rolls and lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from
the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou
lookest in vain, for he beholds thy beams no more; whether
thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou
tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art perhaps,
like me, for a season; thy years will have an end. Thou
shalt sleep in thy clouds careless of the voice of the
morning. Exult then, O sun, in the strength of thy youth!
Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of
the moon when it shines through broken clouds, and the mist
is on the hills: the blast of the north is on the plain; the
traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey.
DESOLATION OF BALCLUTHA.
I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate.
The fire had resounded in the halls; and the voice of the
people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed
from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook
there its lonely head; the moss whistled to the wind. The
fox looked out from the windows; the rank grass of the wall
waved round its head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina;
silence is in the house of her fathers. Raise the song of
mourning, O bards! over the land of strangers.
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