grief. At length I stood beneath an oak. No voice of mine was heard. What could I say to Fingal in his hour of woe? His words rose, at length, in the midst: the people shrunk backward as he spoke "

"Where is the son of Selma, he who led in war? I behold not his steps, among my people, returning from the field. Fell the young bounding roe, who was so stately on my hills? He fell; for ye are silent. The shield of war is broke. Let his armour be near to Fingal; and the sword of dark-brown Luno. I am waked on my hills: with morning I descend to war.”

x

High on Cormul's rock, an oak flamed to the wind. The grey skirts of mist are rolled around: thither strode the king in his wrath. Distant from the host he always lay, when battle burned within his soul.

w The abashed behaviour of the army of Fingal, proceeds rather from shame than fear. The king was not of a tyrannical disposition: he, as he professes himself in the fifth book, "never was a dreadful form, in their presence, darkened into wrath. His voice was no thunder to their ears: his eye sent forth no death." The first ages of society are not the times of arbitrary power. As the wants of mankind are few, they retain their independence. It is an advanced state of civilization that moulds the mind to that submission to government, of which ambitious magistrates take advan tage, and raise themselves into absolute power.

It is a vulgar error, that the common Highlanders lived in abject slavery, under their chiefs. Their high idea of, and attachment to the heads of their families, probably led the unintelligent into this mistake. When the honour of the tribe was concerned, the commands of the chiefs were obeyed without restriction: but if individuals were oppressed, they threw themselves into the arms of a neighbouring clan, assumed a new name, and were encouraged and protected. The fear of this desertion, no doubt, made the chiefs cautious in their government. As their consequence, in the eyes of others, was in proportion to the number of their people, they took care to avoid every thing that tended to diminish it.

It was but very lately that the authority of laws extended to the Highlands. Before that time the clans were governed, in civil affairs, not by the verbal commands of the chief, but by what they called Clechda, or the traditional precedents of their ancestors. When differences happened between individuals, some of the oldest men in the tribe were chosen umpires between the parties, to decide according to the Clechda. The chief interposed his authority, and invariably enforced the decision. In their wars, which were frequent on account of family feuds, the chief was less reserved in the execution of his authority; and even then he seldom extended it to the taking the life of any of his tribe. No crime was capital except murder; and that was very unfrequent in the Highlands. No corporal punishment, of any kind, was inflicted. The memory of an affrent of this sort would remain, for ages, in a family, and they would seize every opportunity to be revenged, unless it came immediately from the hands of the chief himself; in that case it was taken, rather as a fatherly correction, than a legal punishment for offences.

This rock of Cormul is often mentioned in the preceding part of the poem. It was on it Fingal and Ossian stood to view the battle. The custom of retiring from the army, on the night prior to their engaging in battle, was universal among the kings of the Caledonians. Tremnor, the most renowned of the ancestors of Fingal, is mentioned as the first who instituted this custom. Succeding bards attributed it to a hero of a latter period. In an old poem, which begins with " Mac-Arcath nan ceud srol," this custom of retiring from the army, before an engagement, is numbered among the wise institu tions of Fergus, the son of Arc or Arcath, the first king of Scots. I shall here tran slate the passage; in some other note I may probably give all that remains of the poc Fergus of the hundred streams, son of Arcath who fought of old: thou didst first retre at night when the foe rolled before thee, in echoing fields. Nor bending in rest the king he gathers battle in his soul. Fly, son of the stranger; with morn he shal keb abroad.” When, or by whem, this peein was writ is uncertain,

On two spears hung his shield on high; the gleaming sign of death; that shield, which he was wont to strike, by night, before he rushed to war. It was then his warriors knew, when the king was to lead in strife; for never was his buckler heard, till Fingal's wrath arose. Unequal were his steps on high, as he shone in the beam of the oak; he was dreadful as the form of the spirit of night, when he clothes, on hills, his wild gestures with mist, and, issuing forth, on the troubled ocean, mounts the car of winds.

Nor settled, from the storm, is Erin's sea of war; they glittered beneath the moon, and, low-humming, still rolled on the field. Alone are the steps of Cathmor, before them on the heath; he hung forward, with all his arms, on Morven's flying host. Now had he come to the mossy cave, where Fillan lay in night. One tree was bent above the stream, which glittered over the rock. There shone to the moon the broken shield of Clatho's son; and near it, on grass, lay hairey-footed Bran". He had missed the chief on Mora, and searched him along the wind. He thought that the blue-eyed hunter slept; he lay upon his shield. No blast came over the heath, unknown to bounding Bran.

Cathmor saw the white-breasted dog; he saw the broken shield. Darkness is blown back on his soul; he remembers the falling away of the people. "They come, a stream: are rolled away; another race succeeds. But some mark the fields, as they pass, with their own mighty names. The heath, through dark

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This circumstance, concerning Bran, the favourite dog of Fingal, is, perhaps, one the most affecting passages in the poem. I remember to have met with an old poem, composed long after the time of Ossian, wherein a story of this sort is very happily introduced. In one of the invasions of the Danes, Uilin-Clunda, a considerable chief, on the western coast of Scotland, was killed in a rencounter with a flying party of the enemy, who had landed, at no great distance from the place of his residence. The few followers who attended him were also slain. The young wife of Ullin-Clunda, who had not heard of his fall, fearing the worst, on account of his long delay, alarmed the rest of the tribe, who went in search of him along the shore. They did not find him; and the beautiful widow became disconsolate. At length he was discovered, by means of his dog, who sat on a rock beside the body, for some days. The poem is not just now my hands, otherwise its poetical merit might induce me to present the reader with a translation of it. The stanza concerning the dog, whose name was Du-chos, or Blackfoot, is very descriptive.

"Dark-sided Du-chos! feet of wind! cold is thy seat on rocks. He (the dog sees the roes; his ears are high; and half he bounds away. He looks around; but Ullin sleeps: he droops again his head. The winds come past; dark Du-chos thinks that Ul lin's voice is there. But still he beholds him silent, laid amidst the waying heath. Darla sided Du-chos, his voice shall no more send thee over the heatb!”!

VOL. II.

brown years is theirs; some blue stream, winds to their fame. Of these be the chief of Atha, when he lays him down on earth. Often may the voice of future times meet Cathmor in the air; when he strides from wind to wind, or folds himself in the wing of a storm."

Green Erin gathered round the king, to hear the voice of his power. The joyful faces bend, unequal, forward in the light of the oak. They who were terrible were removed: Lubar winds again in their host. Cathmor was that beam from heaven which shone when his people were dark. He was honoured in the midst. Their souls rose trembling around. The king alone no gladness showed: no stranger he to war!

66

His rage

Why is the king so sad?" said Malthos eagle-eyed, "Remains there a foe at Lubar? Lives there among them who can lift the spear? Not so peaceful was thy father, Borbar-duthul ", sovereign of spears. was a fire that always burned: his joy over fallen foes was great. Three days feasted the grey-haired hero, when he heard that Calmar fell: Calmar, who aided the race of Ullin, from Lara of the streams. Of ten did he feel, with his hands, the steel, which, they said, had pierced his foe. He felt it with his hands, for Borbar-duthul's eyes had failed. Yet was the king a sun to his friends; a gale to lift their branches round. Joy was around him in his halls: he loved the sons of Bolga. His name remains in Atha, like the awful me

In order to illustrate this passage, it is proper to lay before the reader the scene of the two preceding battles. Between the hills of Mora and Lona lay the plain of Moi lena, through which ran the river Lubar. The first battle, wherein Gaul the son of Morni commanded on the Caledonian side, was fought on the banks of Lubar. As there was little advantage obtained, on either side, the armies, after the battle, retain ed their former positions.

In the second battle, wherein Fillan commanded, the Irish, after the fall of Foldath, were driven up the hill of Lona; but upon the coming of Cathmor to their aid, they regained their former situation, and drove back the Caledonians in their turn: so that Lubar winded again in their host.

a Borbar-duthul, the father of Cathmor, was the brother of that Colc-ulla, who is said, in the beginning of the fourth book, to have rebelled against Cormac king of leland. Borbar-duthui seems to have retained all the prejudice of his family against the succession of the posterity of Conar, on the Irish throne. From this short episode we learn some facts, which tend to throw light on the history of the times. It appears, that when Swaran invaded Ireland, he was only opposed by the Cael, who pessoased Ulster, and the north of that island. Calmar, the son of Matha, whose gallant behavi our and death are related in the third book of Fingal, was the only chief of the race of the Firbolg that joined the Cael, or Irish Caledonians, during the invasion of Swaran. The indecent joy which Borbar-duthul expressed, upon the death of Calmar, is well Sted with that spirit of revenge, which subsisted, universally, in every country where feudal system was established. It would appear that some person had carried obar-duthul that weapon with which, it was pretended, Calmar had been killed.

1

mory of ghosts, whose presence was terrible, but they blew the storm away. Now let the voices of Erin raise the soul of the king; he that shone when war was dark, and laid the mighty low. Fonar, from that grey-browed rock, pour the tale of other times: pour it on wide-skirted Erin, as it settles round."

I re

"To me," said Cathmor, "no song shall rise: nor Fonar sit on the rock of Lubar, The mighty there are laid low. Disturb not their rushing ghosts. Far, Malthos, far remove the sound of Erin's song. joice not over the foe, when he ceases to lift tl spear. With morning we pour our strength abroad. Figal is wakened on his echoing hill."

Like waves blown back by sudden winds, Erin retired at the voice of the king. Deep rolled into the field of night, they spread their humming tribes: beneath his own tree, at intervals, each bard sat down with his harp. They raised the song, and touched the string each to the chief he loved. Before a burning oak Sul-malla touched at times the harp. She touched the harp, and heard between, the breezes in her hair. In darkness, near, lay the king of Atha, beneath an aged tree. The beam of the oak was turned from him he saw the maid, but was not seen. His soul poured forth, in secret, when he beheld her tearful eye. "But battle is before thee, son of Borbar-duthul."

The voices of Erin,' a poetical expression for the bards of Ireland.

;

Not only the kings, but every petty chief, had their bards attending them, in the field, in the days of Ossian; and these bards, in proportion to the power of the chiefs who retained them, had a number of inferior bards in their train. Upon solemn occasions, all the bards is the array would join in one chorus, either when they celebrated their victories, or lamented the death of a person, worthy and renowned, slain in the war. The words were of the composition of the arch-bard, retained by the king himself, who generally attained to that high office, on account of his superior genius for poetry. As the persons of the bards were sacred, and the emoluments of their office considerable, the order, in succeeding times, became very numerous, and insolent. It would appear, that after the introduction of Christianity, some served in the double capacity of bards and clergymen. It was, from this circumstance, that they had the name of Chiere, which is, probably, derived from the Latin Clericus. The Chlere, be their name derived from what it will, became at last a public nuisance; for, taking advantage of their sacred character, they went about in great bodies, and lived at discretion in the houses of the chiefs; till another party of the same order, drove them away by mere dint of satire. Some of the indelicate disputes of these worthy poetical combatants are handed down by tradition, and show how much the bards at last abused the privileges, which the admiration of their countrymen had conferred on the order. It was this insolent behaviour that induced the chiefs to retrench their number, and to take away those privileges which they were no longer worthy to enjoy. Their indolence, and disposition to lampoon, extinguished all the poetical fervour which distinguished their predecessors, and makes us the less regret the extinction of the order.

Amidst the harp, at intervals, she listened whether the warriors slept. Her soul was up; she longed, in secret, to pour her own sad song. The field is silent. On their wings the blasts of night retire. The bards had ceased; and meteors came, red winding with their ghosts. The sky grew dark: the forms of the dead were blended with the clouds. But heedless bends the daughter of Con-mor over the decaying flame. wert alone in her soul, car-borne chief of Atha. She raised the voice of the song, and touched the harp between.

d

Thou

Clun-galo came; she missed the maid. Where art thou, beam of light? Hunters from the mossy rock, saw you the blue-eyed fair? Are her steps on grassy Lumon; near the bed of roes? Ah me! I behold her bow in the hall. Where art thou, beam of light?" "Cease, love of Con-mor, cease; I hear thee not on the ridgy heath. My eye is turned to the king, whose path is terrible in war. He for whom my soul is up, in the season of my rest. Deep-bosomed in war he stands, he beholds me not from his cloud. Why, sun of Sul-malla, dost thou not look forth? I dwell in darkness here: wide over me fiies the shadowy mist. Filled with dew are my locks: look thou from thy cloud, O sun of Sul-malla's soul!"

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*

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米 d Clun-galo, white knee, the wife of Con-mor, king of Inis-huna, and the mo ther of Sul-malla. She is here represented, as missing her daughter, after she had fed

with Catliner.

e Sul-malla replies to the supposed questions of her mother. Towards the middle of this paragraph she calls Cathmor the sun of her soul, and continues the metaphor throughout. This book ends, we may suppose, about the middle of the third night, from the opening of the poem.