Evening star., 1925-03-11
THIS AND THAT
BY CHARLES E. TRACEWELL.

"A tale of the times of old''
This is the rousing beginning to the
poems of Ossian, the Scotch Homer,
who may, after all, have been only a
fgment of the imagination of James
Macpherson, the translator. who was
accused of having written the poems
himself.
Today it little matters to readers
who wrote these poems; they stand
as unusual examples of metrical work
in prose form, still possessing charm
thing.
Not every reader, be 1t known, will
care for Ossian. He is too tragical,
too sustained on a high plane, to ap-
peal to all modern readers. particu-
larly those who pine for the happy
ending"
The prose form in which he wrote.
too, with its cadenced sentences,
makes an appeal only to a certain
number. If you have read and liked
the exquisite prose poems of Oscar
Wilde you Will enjoy the poems of
Ossian.
This is not the sort of reading one
can pick up offhand and Immediately
get into the spirit of 1t. 1t Is neces-
sary to read and reread before one
gets the swing of the compositions.
The modern reader drst taking up
the poems of Ossian will do we'll to
forget all the old controversy about
their authorship, as detailed previous
ly In this column, and regard them
for the purposes of the reading, as
what they purport to be.
By tacitly assuming them to be
genuine, he enters at once into the
feeling that he Is getting a taste of
the ancient days, when warfare and
hunting, sunshine and love occupied
the time of men. AS a matter of fact.
the poems, at the least, are going on
200 years old, which is not incon-
siderable age in this world, where
most of US do well IL we last out the
biblical three score and ten
There comes a voice to Ossian and
awakes his soul. 1t is the voice of
years that are gone! They roll be-
fore me with all their deeds | seize
the tales as they pass and pour them
forth in song"
SO opens the tale OF Oina-M -Morul.
the white-armed Dina Morul. All
Ossian's heroines are white-armed
This description, alone, gives the
modern reader a taste of days of old
when the Scottish girls attracted at
tention with their bare arms, as the
gales of ocean blew their dark hair
around them.
II seize the tales as they pass"
says the old bard, land pour them
forth in song" Surely this Is a beau
tiful way of describing what a poet
does, or what any writer does. for
that matter.
The writer has ideas. II he does
not seize them as they pass, often
they escape him, and he has only
vague dreams left to mock him.
ferhaps as good a taste OF Ossian
as any can >be given by presenting
here the famous song of the hero.
flngal, as he sat in his great hall
Raise. ye bards," said the mighty
Fingal, the praise of unhappy Moina.
Call her ghost. with your songs. to
our hills; that she may rest with the
fair of Morven, the sunbeams of
other days, the delight of the heroes
of old.
II 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 it's lonely
head; the moss whistled to the wind
The fox looked out from the win
dows, the rank grass of the wall
waved around its head. Desolate is
the dwelling of Moina. silence is in
the house of her fathers. @
Raise the song of mourning, o
bards!s,over the land of strangers.