It is

his ghost, Oichoma; the chief is lowly laid. Heärken not to the winds for Turlathon's echoing shield. pierced, by his streams, and 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 grey. Thou wert the

friend of strangers, at the moss-covered rock of Dunlora. 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 !

I took the spear, in my wrath; but Gaul rushed forward on the foe. 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 he hand of Gaul; his steel fell sounding to earth. Young Fillan came', with Cormul's shield, and stretched it large before the king. Foldath sent his shout abroad, and kindled all the field: as a blast that lifts the broad-winged flame, over Lumon's" echoing groves.

"Son of blue-eyed Clatho," said Gaul," 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 Morven shall hear, and remember my former deeds."

His terrible voice rose on the wind, the host bend forward in the fight. Often had they heard him at Strumon, when he called them to the chase of the hinds. Himself stood tall, amidst the war, as an oak

Fillan had been dispatched by Gaul to oppose Cormul, who had been sent by Fol dath to lie in ambush behind the Caledonian army. It appears that Fillan had killed Cormul, otherwise he could not be supposed to have possessed himself of the shield of 1.at chief.

Lumon, bending hill; a mountain in Inis-huna, or that part of South Britain, hich lies over against the Irish coast.

in the skirts 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, would fly; but night came down with its clouds; and Cathmor's horn was heard. The sons of Morven heard the voice of Fingal, from Mora's gathered mist. The bards poured their song, like dew, on the returning war.

Who comes from Strumon," they said, "amidst 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 lifted 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 son. As the sun rejoices from his cloud, over the tree his beams have raised, as it shakes his lonely head on the heath; so joyful is the king over Fillan.

"As the rolling of thunder on hills, when Lara's fields are still and dark, such are the steps of Morven, pleasant and dreadful to the ear. They return with their sound, like eagles to their dark-browed rock, after the prey is torn on the field, the dun sons of the bounding hind. Your fathers rejoice from their clouds, sons of streamy Cona."

Such was the nightly voice of bards, on Mora of the hinds. A flame rose, from an hundred oaks, which winds had torn from Cormul's steep. The feast is spread in the midst: around sat the gleaming chiefs. Fingal is there in his strength; the eagle-wing of his

Evir-choama, mild and stately maid,' the wife of Gaul. She was the daughter of Casdu-conglas, chief of I-dronlo, one of the Hebrides.

w The kings of Morven and Ireland had a plume of eagle's feathers, by way of c nament, in their helmets. It was from this distinguishing mark that Ossian kný Cathmor, in the second book.

helmet sounds: the rustling blasts of the west, unequal rushed through night: Long looked the king in silence, round at length his words were heard.

"My soul feels a want in our joy. I behold a breach among my friends. The head of one tree is low: the squally wind pours in on Selma. Where is the chief of Dun-lora? Ought he to be forgot at the feast? When did he forget the stranger, in the midst of his echoing hall? Ye are silent in my presence! Connal is then no more. Joy meet thee, O warrior, like a stream of light. Swift be thy course to thy fathers, in the folds of the mountain-winds. Ossian, thy soul is fire; kindle the memory of the king. Awake the battles of

The locks of

Connal, when first he shone in war. Connal were grey; his days of youth were mixed with mine. In one day Duth-caron first strung our bows against the roes of Dun-lora."

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Many," I said, are our paths to battle, in greenhilled Inis-fail. Often did our sails arise, over the blue-tumbling waters; when we came, in other days, to aid the race of Conar. The strife roared once in Alnecma, at the foam-covered streams of Duth-ula". With Cormac descended to battle Duth-caron from cloudy Morven. Nor descended Duth-caron alone; his son was by his side, the long-haired youth of Connal lifting the first of his spears. Thou didst command them, O Fingal, to aid the king of Erin.

"Like the bursting strength of a stream, the sons of Bolga rushed to war: Colc-ulla was before them, the chief of blue-streaming Atha. The battle was mixed on the plain, like the meeting of two stormy seas. Cormac shone in his own strife, bright as the

After the death of Comhal, and during the usurpation of the tribe of Morni, Fin. gal was educated in private by Duth-caron, which occassions his regretting so much his fall. When Fingal was grown up, he soon reduced the tribe of Morni; and, as it ap pears from the subsequent episode, sent Duth-caron and his son Connal to the aid of Cormac, the son of Conar, king of Ireland, who was driven to the last extremity, by the insurrections of the Firbolg. This episode throws further light on the contests be tween the Cael and Firbolg; and is the more valuable upon that account.

y Duth-ula, a river in Connaught; it signifies, dark rushing water.'

z Colc-ulla, firm look in readiness; he was the brother of Borbar-duthul, the father of Cairbar and Cathmor, who, after the death of Cormac the son of Artho, suc cessively mounted the Irish throne.

a Cormac, the son of Conar, the second king of Ireland, of the race of the Caledoni ans. This insurrection of the Firbolg happened towards the latter end of the long reign

forms of his fathers. But far before the rest, Duthcaron hewed down the foe. Nor slept the arm of Connal, by his father's side. Atha prevailed on the plain like scattered mist fled the people of Ullin'. "Then rose the sword of Duth-caron, and the steel of broad-shielded Connal. They shaded their flying friends, like two rocks with their heads of pine. Night came down on Duth-ula; silent strode the chiefs over the field. A mountain stream roared across the path, nor could Duth-caron bound over its course. "Why stands my father?" said Connal, "I hear the rushing foe."

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Fly Connal," he said; "thy father's strength begins to fail. I come wounded from battle; here let me rest in night." "But thou shall not remain alone," said Connal's bursting sigh. "My shield is an eagle's wing to cover the king of Dun-lora." He bends dark above the chief: the mighty Duth-caron dies.

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Day rose, and night returned. No lonely bard appeared, deep musing on the heath: and could Con. nal leave the tomb of his father, till he should receive his fame? He bent the bow against the roes of Duthula; he spread the lonely feast. Seven nights he laid his head on the tomb, and saw his father in his dreams. He saw him rolled dark, in a blast, like the vapour of reedy Lego. At length, the steps of Colgan came,

of Cormac. From several episodes and poems it appears, that he never possessed the Irish throne peaceably. The party of the family of Atha, had made several attempts to overturn the succession in the race of Conar, before they effected it in the minority of Cormac, the son of Artho. Ireland, from the most ancient accounts concerning it seems to have been always so disturbed by domestic commotions, that it is difficult to say, whether it ever was, for any length of time, subject to one monarch. It is certain, that every province, if not every small district, had its own king. One of those petty princes assumed, at times, the title of king of Ireland, and, on account of his superior force, or in case of public danger, was acknowledged by the rest as such; but the succession from father to son, does not appear to have been established. It was the division amongst themselves, arising from the bad constitution of their government, that, at last, subjected the Irish to a foreign yoke.

bThe inhabitants of Ullin, or Ulster, who were of the race of the Caledonians, seem, alone to have been the firm friends to the succession in the family of Conar. The Firbolg were only subject to them by constraint, and embraced every opportunity to their yoke.

c Colgan, the son of Cathmul, was the principal bard of Cormac Mac-Conar, king of Ireland. Part of an old poem, on the loves of Fingal and Ros-crana, is still preserved, and goes under the name of this Colgan; but whether it is of his composition, or the production of a later age, I shall not pretend to determine. Be that as it will, it appears, from the obsolete phrases which it contains, to be very ancient: and its poetical merit may perhaps excuse me for laying a translation of it before the reader. What

Book III. the bard of high Temora. Duth-caron received his fame, and brightened, as he rose on the wind."

"Pleasant to the ear," said Fingal," is the praise of the kings of men; when their bows are strong in battle; when they soften at the sight of the sad. Thus let my name be renowned, when bards shall lighten my rising soul. Carril, son of Kin-fena; take the bards and raise a tomb. To-night let Connal dwell within his narrow house: let not the soul of the va liant wander on the winds. Faint glimmers the moon on Moi-lena, through the broad-headed groves of the hill; raise stones, beneath its beams, to all the fallen in war. Though no chiefs were they, yet their hands were strong in fight. They were my rock in danger; the mountain from which I spread my eagle wing: thence am I renowned: Carril forget not the low."

Loud at once, from the hundred bards, rose the song of the tomb. Carril strode before them; they are the murmur of streams behind him. Silence dwells in the vales of Moi-lena, where each, with its own dark stream, is winding between the hills. I heard the voice of the bards, lessening as they moved along. I leaned forward from my shield; and felt the kindling of my soul. Half-formed, the words of my song, burst forth upon the wind. So hears a tree, on the vale, the voice of spring around; it pours its green leaves to the

remains of this poem is a dialogue in a lyric measure, between Fingal and Ros-crana, the daughter of Cormac. She begins with a soliloquy, which is overheard by Fingal. Ros-crana. "By night came a dream to Ros-crana! I feel my beating soul. Na vision of the forms of the dead, came to the blue eyes of Erin. But, rising from the wave of the north, I beheld him bright in his locks. I beheld the son of the king. My beating soul is high. I laid my head down in night: again ascended the form. Why delayest thou thy coming, young rider of the streamy waves?

But, there, far distant he comes; where seas roll their green ridges in mist! Young dweller of my soul, why dost thou delay?

Fingal. It was the soft voice of Moi-lena! the pleasant breeze of the valley of roes! But why dost thou hide thee in shades? Young love of heroes, rise. Are not thy steps covered with light? In thy groves thou appearest, Ros-crana, like the sun in the ga thering of clouds. Why dost thou hide thee in shades? Young love of heroes, rise. Ros-crana. My fluttering soul is high! Let me turn from the steps of the king. He has heard my secret voice, and shall my blue eyes roll, in his presence! Roe of the hill of moss, toward thy dwelling I move. Meet me, ye breezes of Mora, as I move through the valley of winds. But why should he ascend his ocean? Son of heroes, my soul is thine! My steps shall not move to the desart: the light of Ros-crana is here. Fingal. It was the fight tread of a ghost, the fair dweller of eddying-winds. Why deceivest thou me, with thy voice? Here let me rest in shades. Shouldst thou stretch thy white arm, from thy grove, thou sun-beam of Cormac of Erin?

Ros-crana. He is gone! and my blue eyes are dim: faint-rolling, in all my tears. But, there, I behold him, alone; king of Morven, my soul is thine. Ah me! what clanging armour! Culc-ulla of Atha is near!"