Mo Ghare(Odia poem)
Desha bulibara nain mora
Achhi nijaku bulibara
Khola aakash tale.
Aakasharu khasuthiba upagraha
Aakhi rakhichhi mo badire
Aau mu rahichhi ghare.
Eka thile ghare laganta dara
Mo sahita achha tume
Aau bi annyamane.
Mo byatita aau jeunmane
Khaibe ethakara khadyapaniya
Mate nain jana.
Mu achhi mothi aau
achhi mo sahita e dharitri
Aau mo ghare aaloka bharti.
Dam achhi ta rahibaku heba chhup
Urmi thau ki na thau
Manakale aasipara tume.
Satarka na helekhalakhamara bhaya
na cherara na dalara
Jabodi dharibaku bi nain kichhi kouthi.
Hansa bhelire basichhi kau ta
Heba i heba sarbanasha jemiti heu
Aau jiba sarbaswa ghara sahita.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Jarata
1
Anka kasidelabelaku samaste ascharya
emiti phala baharila kemiti
jaha kaunasi sankyare chidunain.
sakala bipadaku taulilabelaku
bhari paduchhi a rajya
khuna jani guna uthuchhi ubuki.
Sara dipahara aaha chu chu karibaku
kie achhi bahara.
Netrutwa neba kana ede sahaja
mati pachi panka gandheilejai phute padma.
Bishada samayare sahi sambhali
rahiparile prakatibe Rama
juadu jemiti pabana bahuchhi
bahuthau chhada nain niti niyama.
Pratiti muhurtare jadi kichhi kichhi sikhuchha tebe jiinchha
samayara aahwana swikara kari aabhijana aarambha kale
hata paantaku aasijiba bijaya.
Bijay!
kahara bijaya?
satyara sindura phatibabele
jie thia hoithiba nischala tahara
kie uchha nischha kie
satrukie kiemitra
bachhabichara kichhi na thiba.
2
kana kemiti karibi mote pachara nain
kemiti udeibi aakasha chutuki phutai
kie kana karibe kemiti karibe
sabu jojana sarichhi
hebaki badalai kara kapala kostthi.
Janma mora bhala lagi
kebe karinain anista chinta kaharahele.
Jaha karichhi a jae sabu para lagi
mothi para aapana bheda e nain.
Samadrustire dekhichhi sabhinki
galikandi buleichhi panira siara kati kati.
Jaichhi jebe sakhinka melare
swapna dekhichhi matira aakashara
Taranakshyaramane olehhi aasichhanti sabhinka munhare
phutiuthichhi hasa.
[...] Read more
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Manthara
Ajira Surya bhinna
na janila na thekhila
na bujhila lokaku swapna
swapna au dukha
dukha au shoka
shoka au hahakara.
Tume jana
au tumadei mu jane
ketebele kouthi ki karya.
Mu jane kichhi bi nuhein
ethi akarana
karyakarana bhitare
samparka jodila belaku
pratiti sttanare
rahi rahi jauchhi tumara adachinha
dekhila lokaku dishuchhi
na dekhila lokaku sunya.
tume tebe kana
kana tuma saha mora samparka
hei hei kahu kahu
jauchhi au kuadaku
jie mora kahuchhi
tume tara
jie mora kahucchi tume tathu dura
ascharya a sarata sara sansara.
2
Ate sigra samaya chali jauchi kichi jani heu ni
samanya swana tie bhali sukhila hada khande pai
lobha karuchhi. Sinhaku dekhi bhabuchhi
Mothu chadei nebaku Aasuchhiki?
Ki nirbodhata mote grasuchhi
Mu mora badai karuchhi aau sei
badhaira analare nije dagdha hoichhi.
Jaha kichhi bhabithili, hela kana
Kana bhabithili hela kana
sakara aau nirakaraku kouthi kana
Rakhihela?
Yabade kana rahila?
Mora sara mothiki bahidi Aasiba
Kalpana na thila.
Aau amiti sabu sabu a kasangare hataru
[...] Read more
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Tapasya
Ethakara a golapgachha hela kian kata?
Kian pashki kuadu aasi basila dandapindare?
Uttaraku apeshkya na kari mu baharili kacheri
Bhala khabara jouthi na thae kebe kaha pain.
Dosi aau nirdosh bhitare pharak thae na mothi
Mo pain kacharagada kichi kamara nuhen semiti.
Bipada sahita mora dosti maobadi aatankabadi
Mora padosi kebe kaha sahita kou kamare hata
Milaiba katha jane bhalakari.
Desabhakti gita sabu mora priya
Nara bhitare akelachalo
Sarejahanse achha kahikahi
Badira mati lagain mathare.
Tara ru tara buliba bala mu
Gharabali paanta kemiti mate
Aau ghare rahanta kemiti shanti
Mu mora khojuthain aau aau
Sujoga dekhi kemiti jaanti
Helamatre tikie pahanti.
Kahaku kbe krini aapatti
Mu mora chhai dhari thain mothi
Katagolapa gachhare phute mora phula
pashkhi aasila aau na aasi bi subhe
Mate gita jou gita pain mora a tapasya.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Tapasya 2
Golapa gachha gala, jau
Apeshkhya kara debi phula.
Tuma hatare thiba golapa
Tume thiba mo pakhare
ubhayanka bhitaraku jauthiba
Golapabasna aau ubhaye aame
Bhokila jaha pain e jai.
Jaana mte chhadi
Thilesina tme hebi mu
Khyatakta taktata aau
Paibi maranantaka pida
Thile sina tume mora
chalithiba ethi emiti krida.
Tume na thile jagiba kemiti gachha
Tume na thile tuma aakhira nianre
Buda akai hebi kemiti rangina
Aau mu rangina na hele
Phutiba nain phula.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Taet
Pachas degla
sorsutar nain rahebar
god taltalala
thartharla hat
kain kainta aink nain disbar
gaintsabu chitkopotka
khaila baele nain jirbar
aaru hagamuta.
kentakari nachsan
kain karba janikari
pakharghare achhekie
kain karba janikari
kashi hela ki nain ganita
udla ki nain bel
kain sinema lagichhe
janikari bhi bhaida nain
nain kaha kichhi
nain lagibara jhumra
muin cheyichhen heta bhi nunhese
mte nain pachhrana
kahelata heba ki nain hue.
muin khula rakhichhen taet
jiba aasbar lukarthanu
sunmibalikari kainkainta
jenta mate nain subhe.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Se tarata
Delanain kichhi a rati mate
Aau chaligala aasithila joubate.
Rati galaparebi kian se tarata
sethi semiti rahichhi kejani!
Jane mu mora mora jaiparibi
dekhi dekhi mo bata mi aau
kahiparibi tarataku thare achhuta
jiropawar bulb pari sethi.
Kie kaha katha sune?
Tara kanei rahiba mo kathaku
aau kahiba saante hela sunili
jibe ni mate chhadi ta!
mu galabele kholi jae mo chhapala aau mu
tanka suna ghara badi pain jibaku
mana kare na aau jain
jain hataku kichhi aasena mora.
mu mora semiti padurahe saradina
phatibara thile phate pahada
nai uchhule kula langhe
pabana piti hue munuga gachhare
ethi sethi semiti sabuthi.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Delhi or Dilli kahara?
Dilli or Delhi kahara?
Kie se jie mana karuchhi dilli jubaku?
Dilli kana bharata bhitare?
Dilli chhadi kie jiba kouthiku?
Dilli ku nei ate katha kahinki?
Pratiti lokara adhikara rahichhi dillire
Dil rahichhi cillire
Dil o dilli ba delhiku chhadi kehi rahiparibeni
Kaunasi dala sasaka mana karibe kemiti
Mu dilhi pain rahichhi
Deli mo pain achhi.
Mora pitrupita sabu mate delli deichhanti
Mu mate sasa karuchhi mora mangala pain
Kie tume mte manakariba pain dilliku
Dilliru palli mora
Mu mukta bharatara bharatiya nagarika
Mora hurdaya dilli
Palli mora ghara.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Paili kuha
Jaha mo pakhare achhi
Kahibi ta bisayare kichhi
Dekhaibi seita tumaku
Ghanta chakata kari pacharibi
Dekhata rahichhi ki kouthi kichhi aau.
Jaha janichha kahuchha Manoj sahu
Thik na janichha nuhen
Apekhyshare achhi samaya
Kemiti kebe prayoga kariba sesabu
Sabu prani trupta hebe jemiti.
Bijulithu aahuri tibra gatire
Jauthilabele tume mu ethi dekhauchhi pani
Aau patharara khela jouthi phuti jauchhi
Malliphula jete prakarara mati achhi
Se sabura upare.
Bishtadi jaha sabu thila gorubazarare
Ghusuri sapha kalani se sabu
Sua aasi basilani dekha heiti
Palasa gachhadalare nua nua
Kanli uthuthiba patranka bhitare.
Kemiti kahiba aau kemti kahiba aasibaku
Deri karuchhanti surya
Eithi jete jaha achhi hei nia deuchhi
Paiba nischaya sethire sukha
Paili boli khali kaha.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Sikhsya
Ai pathara mate deichhi sikhsya
Kahichhi jare ja pathara hoi ja
Mu maruchhi pathara hoi na pari.
Mate sunaichhi gita ai pathara
Aau ai pathara mate sunaichhi
Aakasha aakasha au mu rati adhare
Pathara upare basi pacharichhi
Taranka bayasa.
Dekhichhi ai patharaku padiamajhire
Dekhichhi ambagachha tale
Dekhichhi puneire
Janichhi a pathara pain
Rahichhi mo ghara mo sansara.
A patharaku athu uthaiba nain prasna
janichhi ai pathara mate dhari
Rakhichhi mularu aau mu pathara sahita
Jaichhi udi sata samudra tera nai jouthi
Nain nain.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Tadaka
Samudaya janapad katha bhabibasile
tumara khola hata nirtesha karuchhi mo adaku
sandeha nahi, thik thik kari chaliba puni
ethakara sabu karmakarmani.
Mu pumi athi thia
aithu utari nebaku punu tumaku.. agaku.
Mu jane khanda pajei na rakhile
pasteibaku padiba pare
daha daha ninare luhaku tatei
garama rakhibaku heba natakara sesa jae.
A natakara sesha kouthi
Mu ta kebala gotae dala a natakara
chera jai rahichhi sata samudra bhitare
cheraku na upadibajae
tume kana swastire niswasa mari pariba.
2
Satyaku aaghata karu karu
satyatara pramana paili jetebele
Mati aakasha aaskasa mati
Pabana Aani aalua bhitare
Phenti hoigale surya chandra
Tara graha nashkra jete jouthi dhile
samaste akasangare mu bari hoi padili
Madhyannara andhara Bhali
Kanla surlokara sandhyare tumasamnare!
Kahapain kahara srusti
Mo pain tumara na tu pain mora
Kahara gurutwa kete mapiba kie
kouthire?
Desa jatira hita pain phul thikra
Pharak janiba pain ethiki mora
Aasiba, Aau tumara bi.
Sabu jani bijhi tume murki hasa deuchha
mote dekhi dekhi ki janibe rushi
Tuma mo bhitere chalithiba
a lila khela, a hasa khusi aaharnishi.
Khali gyana khali dyana nuhe jibana
gyana dhyanare karma na misile
nuhen sapurna.
Tenu tume mote padheichha
risimininku kriyasila kareibaku
tenu tum mate padheichha
utha utha kahi debaku rusimuniku
kichhi kara, jouthire satya santira
rakhya heba, Dyan dhara tapasya
Aahuri tibra heba
[...] Read more
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Raja praja
Odisha rahu odi hoi
Odiabhasare odianku dhari
Odiabirodhinku kuhajau
Odisha birodhi.
Odia swapna aau odia
Na janithiba lokara
a thi nain stana
Odia bhasaku nei
Odishara janma.
Kana nain odishare
Dhana jana gopalaxmi
Mukti Shakti Bhakti
Achhi puni sarabishware
Odianka kat ti .
Jetedura jaichhi odiabhasa
setedura lambichhi odisha
Jouthinain seita nuhen odisha.
Rajapraja jie hua
Bhasaku n dele sammana
Tume nuhan odishara santana
Odishare rahi odishara khai
Paribani mari odishara aatma
Jouta odia Bhasa.
Kahuchhata kuha garbare
Mo bapadadi odia
Aau mu mo bhasa pain
aethi thia kuha tume
Kosaladhipati kalingadhipati
Utkala aau gadajati
Odisha rahu odisha hoi
Nilachakra sanketadhari
Gangathu godabai
Manabikatara nua mantra gai gai.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Jibaloka
Alaga alaga rasta achhi
Alaga alaga lokanka pain
Alaga alaga lokejaanti
Alaga laga udesyare.
Tumara udesya kana mu jani nain
Mora udesya thik kahibaku Thibi mu
sabubele amiti nain.
Panire jauchhi aau jauchhi pabanare
Hei disuchi dekhiba dekhi pariba balaku.
Kie kahila e a prarthana
Kie kahila e a karuna
Kie kahila yathu bahariba aau kana kana
kie kahila e ye jou kahila gala
ya rasta kemiti kana
jaichi kuaade pachariba.
Rasta jae ni re kahila jane
Aau uthila aau puni kahila
Rastare jae jiba loka a ka.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Bridging The Gap
[Nas talking]
"The light is there."
[Intro: Olu Dara singing]
See I come from Mississippi
I was young and runnin' wild
Ended up in New York City, where I had my first child
I named the boy Nasir, all the boys call him Nas
I told him as a youngster, he'll be the greatest man alive
[Verse 1: Nas]
Let's go!... Hey-Hey-Hey-Hey --
Tribrary of these rap skits, styles I mastered
Many brothers snatched it up and tried to match it
But I'm still number one, everyday real
Speak what I want, I don't care what y'all feel
'Cause I'm my own master, my Pop told me be your own boss
Keep integrity at every cost, and his home was Natchez Mississippi
Did it like Miles and Dizzy, now we gettin' busy
Bridging The Gap from the blues, to jazz, to rap
The history of music on this track
Born in the game, discovered my father's music
Like Prince searchin' through boxes of Purple Rain
But my Minneapolis was The Bridge, home of the Superkids
Some are well-known, some doin' bids
I mighta ended up on the wrong side of the tracks
If Pops wouldn't've pulled me back an said yo
[Olu Dara singing]
Greatest man alive (Nas: Yeah, turn it up!)
Gre-Gre-Gre-Gre-Greatest man alive!
[Verse 2: Nas]
The blues came from gospel, gospel from blues
Slaves are harmonizin' them ah's and ooh's
Old school, new school, know school rules
All these years I been voicin' my blues
I'm a artist from the start, Hip-Hop guided my heart
Graffiti on the wall, coulda ended in Spoffard, juvenile delinquent
But Pops gave me the right type'a tools to think with
Books to read, like X and stuff
'Cause the schools said the kids had dyslexia
In art class I was a compulsive sketcher of
Teachers in my homeroom, I drew pix to mess them up
'Cause none'a them would like my style
Read more books than the curriculum profile
Said, "Mr. Jones please come get your child
'Cause he's writin' mad poems and his verses are wild"
[Olu Dara singing]
Greatest man ? The great-greatest man alive
[Verse 3: Nas]
Hey-Hey-Hey -- My Poppa was not a Rollin' Stone
He been around the world blowin' his horn, still he came home
Then he got grown, changed his name to Olu
[...] Read more
song performed by Nas
Added by Lucian Velea
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Surpanaka
Tumaku kie mora karichhi
tume mora uhanta.
mora sabu chalabaji
dhara padigala tumathi
naka kana katidei
lakhya kala mora gatibidhi.
Anya adhyaya aarambha hela aethu
jetejie thile jouthi matile
agnire jhasa dela pari patanga.
Tume kendrare thai
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Bhida bhitare
Kahaku chinhe na athi
Chhinhe kebala a bhia bhitare Maa ku
Aau kebala sun ta katha
Mo maa drusti rakhichhi mo upare
Aau mu achhi nirbhayare.
Ajathare mo maa uchharena sabdatie
Maa pakhare mu thain purna asirbada pai
Aai hasi hasi thaen dukha kemiti aase
Aau jae parena jani mu maa pakhare.
Daya prema karunara
pratimurty mo maa
Purna kumbha basae mo maa
Tara dekhae janha dekhae
Aakasha dekhae mo maa
Muka patiki bhasa die mo maa
Andha aakhiki drusti die mo maa
De debata kete kouthi jane na
Jane mo maa sabu debadebi upare
Jane jie mote dhari rakhichhi sie maa
Sabu sabu satya santira samrajyare.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Temora - Book III
ARGUMENT.
Morning coming on, Fingal, after a speech to his people, devolved the command on Gaul, the son of Morni; it being the custom of the times, that the king should not engage, till the necessity of affairs required his superior valor and conduct. The king and Ossian retire to the hill of Cormul, which overlooked the field of battle. The bards sing the war-song. The general conflict is described. Gaul, the son of Morni, distinguishes himself; kills Tur-lathon, chief of Moruth, and other chiefs of lesser name. On the other hand, Foldath, who commanded the Irish army (for Cathmor, after the example of Fingal, kept himself from battle,) fights gallantly; kills Connal, chief of Dun-lora, and advances to engage Gaul himself. Gaul, in the mean time, being wounded in the hand, by a random arrow, is covered by Fillan the son of Fingal, who performs prodigies of valor. Night comes on. The horn of Fingal recalls his army. The bards meet them with a congratulatory song, in which the praises of Gaul and Fillan are particularly celebrated. The chiefs sit down at a feast; Fingal misses Connal. The episode of Connal and Duth-caron is introduced; which throws further light on the ancient history of Ireland. Carril is despatched to raise the tomb of Connal. The action of this book takes up the second day from the opening of the poem.
"Who is that at blue-streaming Lubar? Who, by the bending hill of roes? Tall he leans on an oak torn from high, by nightly winds. Who but Comhal's son, brightening in the last of his fields? His gray hair is on the breeze. He half unsheathes the sword of Luno. His eyes are turned to Moi-lena, to the dark moving of foes. Dost thou hear the voice of the king? it is like the bursting of a stream in the desert, when it comes, between its echoing rocks, to the blasted field of the sun!
Wide-skirted comes down the foe! Sons of woody Selma, arise! Be ye like the rocks of our land, in whose brown sides are the rolling of streams. A beam of joy comes on my soul. I see the foe mighty before me. It is when he is feeble, that the sighs of Fingal are heard: lest death should come without renown, and darkness dwell on his tomb. Who shall lead the war, against the host of Alnecma? It is only when danger grows, that my sword shalt shine. Such was the custom, heretofore, of Trenmor the ruler of winds! and thus descended to battle the blue-shielded Trathal!"
The chiefs bend towards the king. Each darkly seems to claim the war. They tell, by halves, their mighty deeds. They turn their eyes on Erin. But far before the rest the son of Morni stands. Silent he stands, for who had not heard of the battles of Gaul They rose within his soul. His hand, in secret, seized the sword. The sword which he brought from Strumon, when the strength of Morni failed. On his spear leans Fillan of Selma, in the wandering of his locks. Thrice he raises his eyes to Fingal: his voice thrice fails him as he speaks. My brother could not boast of battles: at once he strides away. Bent over a distant stream he stands: the tear hangs in his eye. He strikes, at times, the thistle's head, with his inverted spear. Nor is he unseen of Fingal. Sidelong he beholds his son. He beholds him with bursting joy; and turns, amid his crowded soul. In silence turns the king towards Mora of woods. He hides the big tear with his locks. At length his voice is heard.
"First of the sons of Morni! Thou rock that defiest the storm! Lead thou my battle for the race of low-laid Cormac. No boy's staff is thy spear: no harmless beam of light thy sword. Son of Morni of steeds, behold the foe! Destroy! Fillan, observe the chief! He is not calm in strife: nor burns he, heedless in battle. My son, observe the chief! He is strong as Lubar's stream, but never foams and roars. High on cloudy Mora, Fingal shall behold the war. Stand, Ossian, near thy father, by the falling stream. Raise the voice, O bards! Selma, move beneath the sound. It is my latter field. Clothe it over with light."
As the sudden rising of winds; or distant rolling of troubled seas, when some dark ghost in wrath heaves the billows over an isle: an isle the seat of mist on the deep, for many dark-brown years! So terrible is the sound of the host, wide moving over the field. Gaul is tall before them. The streams glitter within his strides. The bards raise the song by his side. He strikes his shield between. On the skirts of the blast the tuneful voices rise.
"On Crona," said the bards, "there bursts a stream by night. It swells in its own dark course, till morning's early beam. Then comes it white from the hill, with the rocks and their hundred groves. Far be my steps from Crona. Death is tumbling there. Be ye a stream from Mora, sons of cloudy Morven!
"Who rises, from his car, on Clutha? The hills are troubled before the king! The dark woods echo round, and lighten at his steel. See him amidst the foe, like Colgach's sportful ghost: when he scatters the clouds and rides the eddying winds! It is Morni of bounding steeds! Be like thy father, O Gaul!
"Selma is opened wide. Bards take the trembling harps. Ten youths bear the oak of the feast. A distant sunbeam marks the hill. The dusky waves of the blast fly over the fields of grass. Why art thou silent, O Selma? The king returns with all his fame. Did not the battle roar? yet peaceful is his brow! It roared, and Fingal overcame. Be like thy father, O Fillan!"
They move beneath the song. High wave their arms, as rushy fields beneath autumnal winds. On Mora stands the king in arms. Mist flies round his buckler abroad; as aloft it hung on a bough, on Cormul's mossy rock. In silence I stood by Fingal, and turned my eyes on Cromla's wood: lest I should behold the host, and rush amid my swelling soul. My foot is forward on the heath. I glittered, tall in steel: like the falling stream of Tromo, which nightly winds bind over with ice. The boy sees it on high gleaming to the early beam: towards it he turns his ear, wonders why it is so silent.
Nor bent over a stream is Cathmor, like a youth in a peaceful field. Wide he drew forward the war, a dark and troubled wave. But when he beheld Fingal on Mora, his generous pride arose. "Shall the chief of Atha fight, and no king in the field? Foldath, lead my people forth, thou art a beam of fire."
Forth issues Foldath of Moma, like a cloud, the robe of ghosts. He drew his sword, a flame from his side. He bade the battle move. The tribes, like ridgy waves, dark pour their strength around. Haughty is his stride before them. His red eye rolls in wrath. He calls Cormul, chief of Dun-ratho; and his words were heard.
"Cormul, thou beholdest that path. It winds green behind the foe. Place thy people there; lest Selma should escape from my sword. Bards of green-valleyed Erin, let no voice of yours arise. The sons of Morven must fall without song. They are the foes of Cairbar. Hereafter shall the traveller meet their dark, thick mist, on Lena, where it wanders with their ghosts, beside the reedy lake. Never shall they rise, without song, to the dwelling of winds."
Cormul darkened as he went. Behind him rushed his tribe. They sunk beyond the rock. Gaul spoke to Fillan of Selma; as his eye pursued the course of the dark-eyed chief of Dun-ratho. "Thou beholdest the steps of Cormul! Let thine arm be strong! When he is low, son of Fingal, remember Gaul in war. Here I fall forward into baffle, amid the ridge of shields!"
The sign of death ascends: the dreadful sound of Morni's shield. Gaul pours his voice between. Fingal rises on Mora. He saw them from wing to wing, bending at once in strife. Gleaming on his own dark hill, stood Cathmor, of streamy Atha. The kings were like two spirits of heaven, standing each on his gloomy cloud: when they pour abroad the winds, and lift the roaring seas. The blue tumbling of waves is before them, marked with the paths of whales. They themselves are calm and bright. The gale lifts slowly their locks of mist.
What beam of light hangs high in air? What beam but Morni's dreadful sword? Death is strewed on thy paths, O Gaul! Thou foldest them together in thy rage. Like a young oak falls Tur-lathon, with his branches round him. His high-bosomed spouse stretches her white arms, in dreams, to the returning chief, as she sleeps by gurgling Moruth, in her disordered locks. It is his ghost, Oichoma. The chief is lowly laid. Hearken not to the winds for Tur-lathon's echoing shield. It is pierced, by his streams. Its sound is passed away.
Not peaceful is the hand of Foldath. He winds his course in blood. Connal met him in fight. They mixed their clanging steel. Why should mine eyes behold them? Connal, thy locks are gray! Thou wert the friend of strangers, at the moss-covered rock of Dun-Ion. When the skies were rolled together: then thy feast was spread. The stranger heard the winds without; and rejoiced at thy burning oak. Why, son of Duth-caron, art thou laid in blood? the blasted tree bends above thee. Thy shield lies broken near. Thy blood mixes with the stream, thou breaker of the shields!
Ossian took the spear, in his wrath. But Gaul rushed forward on Foldath. The feeble pass by his side: his rage is turned on Moma's chief. Now they had raised their deathful spears: unseen an arrow came. it pierced the hand of Gaul. His steel fell sounding to earth. Young Fillan came, with Cormul's shield! lie stretched it large before the chief. Foldath sent his shouts abroad, and kindled all the field: as a blast that lifts the wide-winged flame over Lumon's echoing groves.
"Son of blue-eyed Clatho," said Gaul, "O Fillan! thou art a beam from heaven; that, coming on the troubled deep, binds up the tempest's wing. Cormul is fallen before thee. Early art thou in the fame of thy fathers. Rush not too far, my hero. I cannot lift the spear to aid. I stand harmless in battle: but my voice shall be poured abroad. The sons of Selma shall hear, and remember my former deeds."
His terrible voice rose on the wind. The host bends forward in fight. Often had they heard him at Strumon, when he called them to the chase of the hinds. He stands tall amid the war, as an oak in the skins of a storm, which now is clothed on high, in mist: then shows its broad waving head. The musing hunter lifts his eye, from his own rushy field!
My soul pursues thee, O Fillan! through the path of thy fame. Thou rollest the foe before thee. Now Foldath, perhaps, may fly: but night comes down with its clouds. Cathmor's horn is heard on high. The sons of Selma hear the voice of Fingal, from Mora's gathered mist. The bards pour their song, like den, on the returning war.
"Who comes from Strumon," they said, "amid her wandering locks? She is mournful in her steps, and lifts her blue eyes towards Erin. Why art thou sad, Evir-choma? Who is like thy chief in renown? He descended dreadful to battle; he returns, like a light from a cloud. He raised the sword in wrath: they shrunk before blue-shielded Gaul!
"Joy, like the rustling gale, comes on the soul of the king. He remembers the battles of old; the days wherein his fathers fought. The days of old return on Fingal's mind, as he beholds the renown of his sons. As the sun rejoices, from his cloud, over the tree his beams have raised, as it shades its lonely head on the heath; so joyful is the king over Fillan!
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poem by James Macpherson
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Ratigala
Katahela golapgachha
Aau bhangila shanti.
Aaji dinaku kie kemiti
byabahara kala helani jani.
Kata hela golapgachha
Aau padha sarila
Kana lekhathila pakhudare.
Jie padhila nathila sie aau.
Aau jie kahila bjhapadilani kichhi
Golapgachha katahela
Rati bi nathila ratibhali.
Bhala hela ki hela ni
bujhibaku na thile kehi
Jie aasila sie gala
Kichhi na bujhi musa gatare
Rahla aakhi.
Rati ta amiti gala
Sakalaku na thila golapgachha
Golapgachha bisaya nathila
Golapgachha jagare Kana
Rahila kia kahaku
pachari chanihilani janibaku.
Golapgachha je golapgachha
Milu na thila uttara kahathu.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Ichhanusare
Badha deuchhi jouta
Kuaku dia
Kuara thanta sakta.
Gunduchi musara machare
Aasa pakhei pakhei
Dekhibaku swapna
Jouta tumara.
Tuma sathi surya
Aau tumathi aakasha.
Bandha upare dekha
Tume kete jogya.
Rari boliba kana Achi
Mu ujagara sadabele
Mandira mothi aahu
Mu hajibaku chenhen na
Drusyare.
Jie nachuchi ghurnijhadare
Tari pruthibi aau jite sie
Spasta bari niswas praswasa.
Khola dwara tume aasipara
Khelipara kahipara
Ichhanusare tumara.
Nain badha galani kuaa
Subhasamachara dei.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Janili
Andhar aasila
Dukhasukha hela
Kahila jauchhi
Kahili Na.
Andharaadaku pherai
parilini aakhi
Ki parilini kahi
Andhar bhitarara drusyaraji.
Mu hin acchhi kahibaku
Aau kahibi andharara mulya
Aau andharra bhitaru
Bahari aasuthiba sutra.
Sesajae mu rahili
Rahila andhara
Nija nija jaga madi
Kehi kahathu na ghunchi
Kehi kahaku na ghunchai.
Mora aau andhara bhitaraku
Tume aasila ketebele
Parilini jani
Janili phula phutibata
Janili basna chahatibata
Janili chaudiga mahakibata.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Conlath And Cuthona
ARGUMENT.
Conlath was the youngest of Morni's sons, and brother to the celebrated Gaul. He was in love with Cuthona, the daughter of Rumar, when Toscar, the son of Kenfena, accompanied by Fercuth his friend, arrived from Ireland, at Mora, where Conlath dwelt. He was hospitably received, and according to the custom of the times, feasted three days with Conlath. On the fourth he set sail, and coasting the island of waves, one of the Hebrides, be saw Cuthona hunting, fell in love with her, and carried her away, by force, in his ship. He was forced, by stress of weather, into I-thona, a desert isle. In the mean time Conlath hearing of the rape, sailed after him, and found him on the point of sailing for the coast of Ireland. They fought: and they and their followers fell by mutual wounds. Cuthona did not long survive: for she died of grief the third day after. Fingal hearing of their unfortunate death, sent Stormal the son of Moran to bury them, but forgot to send a bard to sing the funeral song over their tombs. The ghost of Conlath comes long after to Ossian, to entreat him to transmit to posterity, his and Cuthona's fame. For it was the opinion of the times, that the souls of the deceased were not happy, till their elegies were composed by a bard.
Did not Ossian hear a voice? or is it the sound of days that are no more? Often does the memory of former times come, like the evening sun, on my soul. The noise of the chase is renewed. In thought, I lift the spear. But Ossian did hear a voice! Who art thou, son of night? The children of the feeble are asleep. The midnight wind is in my hall. Perhaps it is the shield of Fingal that echoes to the blast. It hangs in Ossian's hall. He feels it sometimes with his hands. Yes, I hear thee, my friend! Long has thy voice been absent from mine ear! What brings thee, on thy cloud, to Ossian, son of generous Morni! Are the friends of the aged near thee? Where is Oscar, son of fame? He was often near thee, O Conlath, when the sound of battle arose.
Ghost of Conlath: Sleeps the sweet voice of Cona, in the midst of his rustling hall? Sleeps Ossian in his hall, and his friends without their fame? The sea rolls round dark I-thona. Our tombs are not seen in our isle. How long shall our fame be unheard, son of resounding Selma?
Ossian: O that mine eyes could behold thee! Thou sittest, dim on thy cloud! Art thou like the mist of Lano? An half-extinguished meteor of fire? Of what are the skirts of thy robe? Of what is thine airy bow? He is gone on his blast like the shade of a wandering cloud. Come from thy wall, O harp! Let me hear thy sound. Let the light of memory rise on I-thona! Let me behold again my, friends! And Ossian does behold his friends, on the dark-blue isle. The cave of Thona appears, with its mossy rocks and bending trees. A stream roars at its mouth. Toscar bends over its course. Fercuth is sad by his side. Cuthona sits at a distance and weeps. Does the wind of the waves deceive me? Or do I hear them speak?
Toscar: The night was stormy. From their hills the groaning oaks came down. The sea darkly tumbled beneath the blast. The roaring waves climbed against our rocks. The lightning came often and showed the blasted fern. Fercuth! I saw the ghost who embroiled the night. Silent he stood, on that bank. His robe of mist flew on the wind. I could behold his tears. An aged man he seemed, and full of thought!
Fercuth: It was thy father, O Toscar. He foresees some death among his race. Such was his appearance on Cromla before the great Maronnan fell. Erin of hills of grass! how pleasant are thy vales! Silence is near thy blue streams. The sun is on thy fields. Soft is the sound of the harp in Seláma. Lovely the cry of th hunter on Cromla. But we are in dark I-thona, surrounded by the storm. The billows lift their white heads above our rocks. We tremble amidst the night.
Toscar: Whither is the soul of battle fled, Fercuth, with locks of age? I have seen thee undaunted in danger: thine eyes burning with joy in the light. Whither is the soul of battle fled? Our fathers never feared. Go; view the settling sea: the stormy wind is laid. The billows still tremble on the deep. They seem to fear the blast. Go; view the settling sea. Morning is gray on our rocks. The sun will look soon from his east; in all his pride of light! I lifted up my sails with joy before the halls of generous Conlath. My course was by a desert isle: where Cuthona pursued the deer. I saw her, like that beam of the sun that issues from the cloud. Her hair was on her heaving breast. She, bending forward, drew the bow. Her white arm seemed, behind her, like the snow of Cromla. Come to my soul, I said, huntress of the desert isle! But she wastes her time in tears. She thinks of the generous Conlath. Where can I find thy peace, Cuthona, lovely maid?
Cuthona: A distant steep bends over the sea, with aged trees and mossy rocks. The billow rolls at its feet. On its side is the dwelling of roes. The people call it Mora. There the towers of my love arise. There Conlath looks over the sea for his only love. The daughters of the chase returned. He beheld their downcast eyes. "Where is the daughter of Rumar?" But they answered not. My peace dwells on Mora, son of the distant land!
Toscar: Cuthona shall return to her peace: to the towers of generous Conlath. He is the friend of Toscar! I have feasted in his halls! Rise, ye gentle breezes of Erin. Stretch my sails towards Mora's shores. Cuthona shall rest on Mora; but the days of Toscar must be sad. I shall sit in my cave in the field of the sun. The blast will rustle in my trees, I shall think it is Cuthona's voice. But she is distant far, in the halls of the mighty Conlath!
Cuthona: Ha! what cloud is that? It carries the ghost of my fathers. I see the skirts of their robes, like gray and watery mist. When shall I fall, O Rumar? Sad Cuthona foresees her death. Will not Conlath behold me, before I enter the narrow house?
Ossian: He shall behold thee, O maid! He comes along the heaving sea. The death of Toscar is dark on his spear. A wound is in his side! He is pale at the cave of Thona. He shows his ghastly wound. Where art thou with thy tears, Cuthona? The chief of Mora dies. The vision grows dim on my mind. I behold the chiefs no more! But, O ye bards of future times, remember the fall of Conlath with tears. He fell before his day. Sadness darkened in his hall. His mother looked to his shield on the wall, and it was bloody. She knew that her hero fell. Her sorrow was heard on Mora. Art thou pale on thy rock, Cuthona, beside the fallen chiefs? Night comes, and day returns, but none appears to raise their tomb. Thou frightenest the screaming fowls away. Thy tears for ever flow. Thou art pale as a watery cloud, that rises from a lake.
The sons of green Selma came. They found Cuthona cold. They raised a tomb over the heroes. She rests at the side of Conlath! Come not to my dreams, O Conlath! Thou hast received thy fame. Be thy voice far distant from my hail; that sleep may descend at night. O that I could forget my friends; till my footsteps should cease to be seen; till I come among them with joy! and lay my aged limbs in the narrow house!
poem by James Macpherson
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