DOI Heft:
March 11, 1882
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17752#0124
Makch 11, 1882.]
PUNCII, OP THE LONBON CHARIYARL
11?
OSSIAN (WITH VARIATIONS).
THE SON OF IA-CULTCHA.
A tale of the times of old ! Where art thou, heam
of light ? Why, thou bearer of the Lily, thou wanderer
unseen, hast thou left these shores ? No sound of thy
song comes now. I hear but the roaring blasts. Strike
the harp and sound the song! The son of Cultcha
has gone to the Land of Strangers. Can I forget that
beam of light, that breeze of the valley, the long-lock’d
sunbeam of love ? I have heard the mournful tale.
AVhen the hero left these shores, three days he stayed
in the ship unseen—alone. It is dark. The meteor of
night is dim. The sea darkly tumbles beneath the ship.
Slowly, with unequal steps, he ascends the deck. Un-
frequent blasts rush through his hair. Grief is dwelling
in his soul. The song is faint on his lips. His face is
like the darkened moon. His arms hang disordered by
his side. His hair spreads wide across his face. With
trembling steps he nears the edge—He feels ihe unseen
foe ! See Cultcha’s mighty hero fails!! Thrice he
sighs over the dark billows. Thrice thev echo back the
mournful sound! He ,'bends his head above the sable
surge ! ! Then with a bursting sigh, he pours his signs
on night! !! Unhappy youth of Love, let me forget
that dreadful sound. The hero resumes his soul. He
gains the upper deck. He pours the song “ My soul,
0 lambent maiden, lies far away in thy bower ; but my
corse is on this all-too-rolling ocean. Never more
shalt thou flop with Ia-Cultcha’s chosen son, nor
sweetly sigh over a new ‘ JDepression.’ I am light as the
feather of our love, yet my limbs support not this airy
form. How long will ye roll -around me, 0 darkly
tumbling ocean ! ” Near, two sailors receive his words,
Swab’em of decks, and Stah.no. foe of strangers. They
rose in their wrath. “ Swab’em, lay that wanderer low,”
said Starno, in his pride. Swab’em heaves his marlin-
spike. He follows it with words. ****** Thc hero
ducks. The shaft falls rolling on the deck. Stab.no
turns away in wrath. The hero’s song is heard no more.
Rolled into himself, he departs. Pleasant is the joy of
grief.
ii.
The Chief steps on the stranger’s shore. Soon the
feast of shells is spread. The joy of the hero is great.
Again he resumes his soul. He forgets the dark-rolling ocean. It is in Fila-
Delfia’s Hall. The strangers come like a stream. His fame has reached
their shores. They fill the hall. Sixty youths come in. Each bears the
Flower of the Sun. 'The robe of eaeh descends to his knees. They fill the
foremost seats. Behold! he comes, the Son of Fa-me ! He hears the long,
bending Lily. His. face is like the broad, blank moon in the skirt of a cloua,
before the storms arise! He sees the youths. A cloud grows on his
soul. He pours the song, and ealls forthtall'his steel. The sons of the stranger
yawn. His eye is like a green meteor. His iace without forrn, and dark. He
tosses his wandering hair. A voice is heard in the mist, “ 0, cut it, Son of
Cultcha ! ” The hero’s wrath arose. His lips are trembling pale. He shakes
the dreadful Lily. He speaks, amidst his darkening joy. From thought to
thought rolls along his Kosmic Soul. ‘The sons of the stranger flee away.
Like mist they melted away. One stranger Chief remains. He lifts his
voice:—“ Son of a distant land, where thou dwellest in a field of fame, there
let thy song arise, but visit us no more! ” The Son of Love is alone! He
hides the big tear with his disordered locks, and turns amidst his crowded
soul. In wrath he leaves the Hall. His voice is heard in the mist, “ Awake
my soul no more ! I am come too soon ! ! ”
m.
Why art thou sad, 0 Son of Songs ? The vanquished, if brave, are re-
nowned. Soon hast thou set, 0 beam of light! but thou shalt rise like the
beam of the East, amongst thy friends, where they nit in the Dadoed Hall and
the Chamber of Yallery-green. Return! Return! for thou hast left us in
darkness. Thy voice has been heard. Thou hast sung of the Inexpressible.
Thou hast strung the harp in Bostona. Thou art one amongst a thousand foes !
Thou art not- understood ! Come, 0 come away, that joy may return to mi
darkened soul! For shall I live, and the Son of Cultcha low ? Return
Return ! for we will wither together, 0 car-borne -Son of Erin !
LAPSUS LINGU/E.”
Pccter. “Now, look here, my Boy, I oan’t have these late Hours
When I was your age, my Father wouldn’t let me stay out after dark.’
Filius. “ Humph ! ’Nice sort o’ Father you must have had, I shoult
SAY.”
Pater [waxing). “’Deuced sight better than you have, you young-”
\_Checlcs himself, and exit J
Mrs. Ramsbotham infinitely prefers “Closure” to “ Cloture.” In the
latter case, she says, one is so apt to omit the circumspect aspect over the “ o.”
PUNCII, OP THE LONBON CHARIYARL
11?
OSSIAN (WITH VARIATIONS).
THE SON OF IA-CULTCHA.
A tale of the times of old ! Where art thou, heam
of light ? Why, thou bearer of the Lily, thou wanderer
unseen, hast thou left these shores ? No sound of thy
song comes now. I hear but the roaring blasts. Strike
the harp and sound the song! The son of Cultcha
has gone to the Land of Strangers. Can I forget that
beam of light, that breeze of the valley, the long-lock’d
sunbeam of love ? I have heard the mournful tale.
AVhen the hero left these shores, three days he stayed
in the ship unseen—alone. It is dark. The meteor of
night is dim. The sea darkly tumbles beneath the ship.
Slowly, with unequal steps, he ascends the deck. Un-
frequent blasts rush through his hair. Grief is dwelling
in his soul. The song is faint on his lips. His face is
like the darkened moon. His arms hang disordered by
his side. His hair spreads wide across his face. With
trembling steps he nears the edge—He feels ihe unseen
foe ! See Cultcha’s mighty hero fails!! Thrice he
sighs over the dark billows. Thrice thev echo back the
mournful sound! He ,'bends his head above the sable
surge ! ! Then with a bursting sigh, he pours his signs
on night! !! Unhappy youth of Love, let me forget
that dreadful sound. The hero resumes his soul. He
gains the upper deck. He pours the song “ My soul,
0 lambent maiden, lies far away in thy bower ; but my
corse is on this all-too-rolling ocean. Never more
shalt thou flop with Ia-Cultcha’s chosen son, nor
sweetly sigh over a new ‘ JDepression.’ I am light as the
feather of our love, yet my limbs support not this airy
form. How long will ye roll -around me, 0 darkly
tumbling ocean ! ” Near, two sailors receive his words,
Swab’em of decks, and Stah.no. foe of strangers. They
rose in their wrath. “ Swab’em, lay that wanderer low,”
said Starno, in his pride. Swab’em heaves his marlin-
spike. He follows it with words. ****** Thc hero
ducks. The shaft falls rolling on the deck. Stab.no
turns away in wrath. The hero’s song is heard no more.
Rolled into himself, he departs. Pleasant is the joy of
grief.
ii.
The Chief steps on the stranger’s shore. Soon the
feast of shells is spread. The joy of the hero is great.
Again he resumes his soul. He forgets the dark-rolling ocean. It is in Fila-
Delfia’s Hall. The strangers come like a stream. His fame has reached
their shores. They fill the hall. Sixty youths come in. Each bears the
Flower of the Sun. 'The robe of eaeh descends to his knees. They fill the
foremost seats. Behold! he comes, the Son of Fa-me ! He hears the long,
bending Lily. His. face is like the broad, blank moon in the skirt of a cloua,
before the storms arise! He sees the youths. A cloud grows on his
soul. He pours the song, and ealls forthtall'his steel. The sons of the stranger
yawn. His eye is like a green meteor. His iace without forrn, and dark. He
tosses his wandering hair. A voice is heard in the mist, “ 0, cut it, Son of
Cultcha ! ” The hero’s wrath arose. His lips are trembling pale. He shakes
the dreadful Lily. He speaks, amidst his darkening joy. From thought to
thought rolls along his Kosmic Soul. ‘The sons of the stranger flee away.
Like mist they melted away. One stranger Chief remains. He lifts his
voice:—“ Son of a distant land, where thou dwellest in a field of fame, there
let thy song arise, but visit us no more! ” The Son of Love is alone! He
hides the big tear with his disordered locks, and turns amidst his crowded
soul. In wrath he leaves the Hall. His voice is heard in the mist, “ Awake
my soul no more ! I am come too soon ! ! ”
m.
Why art thou sad, 0 Son of Songs ? The vanquished, if brave, are re-
nowned. Soon hast thou set, 0 beam of light! but thou shalt rise like the
beam of the East, amongst thy friends, where they nit in the Dadoed Hall and
the Chamber of Yallery-green. Return! Return! for thou hast left us in
darkness. Thy voice has been heard. Thou hast sung of the Inexpressible.
Thou hast strung the harp in Bostona. Thou art one amongst a thousand foes !
Thou art not- understood ! Come, 0 come away, that joy may return to mi
darkened soul! For shall I live, and the Son of Cultcha low ? Return
Return ! for we will wither together, 0 car-borne -Son of Erin !
LAPSUS LINGU/E.”
Pccter. “Now, look here, my Boy, I oan’t have these late Hours
When I was your age, my Father wouldn’t let me stay out after dark.’
Filius. “ Humph ! ’Nice sort o’ Father you must have had, I shoult
SAY.”
Pater [waxing). “’Deuced sight better than you have, you young-”
\_Checlcs himself, and exit J
Mrs. Ramsbotham infinitely prefers “Closure” to “ Cloture.” In the
latter case, she says, one is so apt to omit the circumspect aspect over the “ o.”