Hast thou left thy blue course in heaven, golden-haired son of the sky!

Hast thou left thy blue course in heaven, golden-haired son of the sky! The west has opened its gates, the bed of thy repose is there. The waves come to behold thy beauty. They lift their trembling heads. They see thee lovely in thy sleep; they shrink away with fear. Rest, in thy shady cave, O sun! let thy return be in joy.
But let a thousand lights arise to the sound of the harps of Selma: let the beam spread in the hall, the king of shells is returned! The strife of Carun is past, like sounds that are no more. Raise the song, O bards, the king is returned with his fame!

Fingal was sad for Carthon; he commanded his bards to mark

Fingal was sad for Carthon; he commanded his bards to mark the day, when shadowy autumn returned . . . Ossian often joined their voice; and added to their song. " My soul has been mournful for Carthon; he fell in the days of his youth: and thou, O Clessamor! where is thy dwelling in the wind? Has the youth forgot his wound? Flies he, on clouds, with thee? I feel the sun, O Malvina, leave me to my rest. Perhaps they may come to my dreams; I think I hear a feeble voice! The beam of heaven delights to shine on the grave of Carthon: I feel it warm around!

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