While on the plains shines the moon, O Bard! And the shadow of Cona holds; Like a ghost breathes the wind from the mountain, With its spirit voice in its folds. There are two cloudy forms before us, Where its host the dim night shows; The sigh of the moon curls their tresses, As they tread over Alva of roes. Dusky his dogs came with one, And he bends his dark bow of yew; There’s a stream from the side of the sad-faced maid, Dyes her robe with a blood-red hue. Hold thou back, O thou wind! from the mountain, Let their image a moment stay; Nor sweep with thy skirts from our eyesight, Nor scatter their beauty away. O’er the glen of the rushes, the hill of the hinds, With the vague wandering vapours they go; O! Bard of the times that have left us, Aught of their life can’st thou show? To which Ossian replies:— The years that have been they come back as ye speak, To my soul in their music they glide; Like the murmur of waves in the far inland calm, Is their soft and smooth step by my side. Smith’s translation appeared in 1780, and the originals, nominally from the Gaelic of Ossian, Ullin, and Orran, etc., in 1787. The poems were fourteen in number, with titles as follow: “The Lay of the Red,” “The Death of Gaul,” “The Lay of Duhona,” “Diarmad,” “Clan Morni,” or “Finan and Lorma,” “The War of Linne,” “Cathula,” “The War of Manus,” including “The Lay of the Great Fool,” “Trahul,” “Dargo,” “Conn,” “The Burning of Taura,” “Calava,” and “The Death of Art.” In the lay of Taura there occurs the much admired word-portrait entitled, “Aisling air dhreach Mna,” or “The Vision of a Fair Woman.” This is how she looked in the eye of her Gaelic admirer, and one can judge if her charms match those of Aspasia or of Cleopatra:— Innseam pàirt do dreach nan reul; Bu gheal a deud gu h-ùr dlù; Mar channach an t-sléibh Bha cneas fa h-eideadh ùr. Bha a bràighe cearclach bàn Mar shneachda tlà nam beann; Bha a dà chich ag eiridh làn; B’e’n dreach sud miann nan sonn. Bu shoitheamh binn a gloir; S’ bu deirge na’n ròs a beul; Mar chobhar a sios n’a taobh Sinte gu caol bha gach meur. Bha a dà chaol mhala mhine Dûdhonn air liomh an loin. A da ghruaidh dhreachd nan caoran; ’Si gu iomlan saor o chron. Bha a gnuis mar bharra-gheuga Anns a cheud-fhás ûr; A falt buidhe mar óradh shleibhtean; ’S mar dhearsadh gréine bha sûil.