Ossian - Poem by Rev James Keegan

Ossian, son of the King, thy name to me

Comes like a burst of magic music, blown

By some stray wand’ring wind from o’er the sea,

That over perfumed woods and vales hath flown,

Gath’ring bright memories of those olden days

When higher rose than all the clash of war,

Or roar of winds and waters, thy proud lays;

Till, as we listen, all the direful jar

Of those wild times sinks hushed before thy strain,

That filled green Erin’s land from main to sounding main.

O prince, and bard, and knight of high emprise,

Thou wert a ray of glory through the gloom,

A golden morning star in thund’rous skies,

A strong enchanter at whose touch the tomb

Opes wide its gates and renders back its dead,

Whose deeds shall never die while song has power

To spread its halo round the hero’s head

(Such is of song supreme the priceless dower);

Who dared and did for virtue, love and fame,

In those heroic days when life was living flame.

O royal bard! whose deeds were as thy song,

A light sublime to guide the souls of men;

O stainless knight! whose war was waged on wrong,

On throned king and bandit in his den;

O sweet, strong voice! too oft a voice of dole,

No singer e’er had sorrow great as thine;

Ten thousand swords did pierce thy heart, thy soul

Was one dark sea of sadness, one deep mine

Of woe no tongue, or pen, or song could tell—

Wherefore thy strain endures,—whence thou didst sing so well.