when the roar of battle rose; when host was rolled on host; when Son-mor burnt like the fire of heaven in clouds, with her spreading hair came Sul-allin; for she trembled for her king. He stopt the rushing strife, to save the love of heroes. The foe fled by night; Clunar slept without his blood; the blood which ought to be poured upon the warrior's tomb.

"Nor rose the rage of Son-mor, but his days were dark and slow. Sul-allin wandered, by her grey streams, with her tearful eyes. Often did she look, on the hero, when he was folded in his thoughts. But she shrunk from his eyes, and turned her lone steps away. Battles rose like a tempest, and drove the mist from his soul. He beheld, with joy, her steps in the hall, and the white-rising of her hands on the harp.”

In his arms strode the chief of Atha, to where his shield hung, high, in night: high on a mossy bough, over Lubar's streamy roar. Seven bosses rose on the shield; the seven voices of the king, which his warriors received, from the wind, and marked over all their tribes.

On each boss is placed a star of night; Can-mathon with beams unshorn: Col-derna rising from a cloud: Uloicho robed in mist; and the soft beam of Cathlin glittering on a rock. Fair-gleaming, on its own blue wave, Reldurath half sinks its western light. The red eye of Berthin looks, through a grove, on the slowmoving hunter, as he returns through showery night, with the spoils of the bounding roe. Wide in the midst, arose the cloudless bearns of Ton-thena; Tonthena, which looked, by night, on the course of the sea-tossed Larthon: Larthon, the first of Bolga's race, who travelled on the winds". White-bosomed spread the sails of the king, towards streamy Inis-fail; dun night was rolled before him, with its skirts of mist.

m To avoid multiplying notes, I shall give here the signification of the names of the stars engraved on the shield. Cean-mathon, head of the bear. Col-derna, slant and sharp beam. Ul-oicho, ruler of night. Cathlin, beam of the wave. Reu-furat, star of the twilight. Berthin, fire of the hill. Ton-thena, meteor of the waves." These etymologies, excepting that of Cean-mathen, are pretty exact. Of it I am not so certain; for it is not very probable that the Firbolg had distinguished a constellation so very early as the days of Larthon, by the name of the Bear.

To travel on the winds, a poetical expression for sailing.

The winds were changeful in heaven, and rolled him from wave to wave. Then rose the fiery-haired Tonthena, and laughed from her parted cloud. Larthon rejoiced at the guiding beam, as it faint-gleamed on the tumbling waters.

Beneath the spear of Cathmor, awaked that voice which awakes the bards. They came, dark-winding, from every side; each with the sound of his harp. Before them rejoiced the king, as the traveller, in the day of the sun, when he hears, far rolling around, the murmur of mossy streams; streams that burst in the desart, from the rock of roes.

"Why," said Fonar, "hear we the voice of the king, in the season of his rest? Were the dim forms of thy fathers bending in thy dreams? Perhaps they stand on that cloud, and wait for Fonar's song; often they come to the fields where their sons are to lift the spear. Or shall our voice arise for him who lifts the spear no more; he that consumed the field, from Moma of the groves?"

"Not forgot is that cloud in war, bard of other times. High shall his tomb rise on Moi-lena, the dwelling of renown. But now, roll back my soul to the times of my fathers: to the years when first they rose on Inis-huna's waves. Nor alone pleasant to Cathmor is the remembrance of wood-covered Lumon. Lumon the land of streams, the dwelling of whitebosomed maids."

6

Larthon is compounded of Lear, 'sea,' and thon, wave. This name was given to the chief of the first colony of the Firbolg, who settled in Ireland, on account of his knowledge in navigation. A part of an old poem is still extant, concerning this hero. The author of it, probably, took the hint from the episode in this book, relating to the first discovery of Ireland by Larthon. It abounds with those romantic, fables of giants and magicians, which distinguish the compositions of the less ancient bards. The descriptions contained in it, are ingenious and proportionable to the magnitude of the persons introduced; but, being unnatural, they are insipid and tedious. Had the bard kept within the bounds of probability, his genius was far from being contemptible. The exordium of his poem is not destitute of merit; but it is the only part of it that I think worthy of being presented to the reader.

"Who first sent the black ship through the ocean, like a whale through the bursting of foam? Look, from thy darkness, on Cronath, Ossian of the harps of old! send thy fight on the blue-rolling waters, that I may behold the king. I see him dark in his own shell of oak! sea-tossed Larthon, thy soul is fire. It is careless as the wind of thy sails; as the wave that rolls by thy side. But the silent green isle is before thee, with its sons, who are tall as woody Lumon; Lumon, which sends from its top a thousand streams, white wandering down its sides."

It may, perhaps, be for the credit of this bard, to translate no more of this poem, for the continuation of his description of the Irish giants betrays his want of judgment,

"Lumon of foamy streams, thou risest on Fonar's soul! Thy son is on thy side, on the rocks of thy bending trees. The dun roe is seen from thy furze: the deer lifts his branchy head; for he sees, at times, the hound, on the half-covered heath. Slow, on the vale, are the steps of maids; the white-armed daughters of the bow: they lift their blue eyes to the hill, from amidst their wandering locks. Not there is the stride of Larthon, chief of Inis-huna. He mounts the wave on his own dark oak, in Cluba's ridgy bay that oak which he cut from Lumon, to bound along the sea. The maids turn their eyes away, lest the king should be lowly laid; for never had they seen a ship, dark rider of the wave!

"Now he dares to call the winds, and to mix with the mist of ocean. Blue Inis-fail rose, in smoke: but dark-skirted night came down. The sons of Bolga feared. The fiery-haired Ton-thena rose. Culbin's bay received the ship, in the bosom of its echoing woods. There, issued a stream, from Duthuma's horrid cave; where spirits gleamed, at times, with their half-finished forms.

"Dreams descended on Larthon: he saw seven spirits of his fathers. He heard their half-formed words; and dimly beheld the times to come. He beheld the kings of Atha, the sons of future days. They led their hosts along the field, like ridges of mist, which winds pour, in Autumn, over Atha of the groves.

"Larthon raised the hall of Samla, to the soft sound of the harp. He went forth to the roes of Erin, to their wonted streams. Nor did he forget greenheaded Lumon; he often bounded over his seas, to where white-handed Flathal, looked from the hill of roes. Lumon of the foamy streams, thou risest on Fonar's soul."

The beam awaked in the east. The misty heads of the mountains rose. Valleys show, on every side, the

Lumon, as I have remarked in a preceding note, was a hill in Inis-huna, near the residence of Sul-malla. This episode has an immediate connection with what is said Larthon, in the description of Cathmor's shield.

Samla.apparitions,' so called from the vision of Larthon, concerning his posterity. Flathal,heavenly, exquisitely beautiful.' She was the wife of Larthon.

grey winding of their streams. His host heard the shield of Cathmor: at once they rose around; like a crowded sea, when first it feels the wings of the wind. The waves know not whither to roll; they lift their troubled heads.

Sad and slow retired Sul-malla to Lona of the streams. She went and often turned: her blue eyes. rolled in tears. But when she came to the rock that darkly covered Lona's vale, she looked from her bursting soul, on the king; and sunk, at once, behind.

Son of Alpin strike the string. Is there aught of joy in the harp? Pour it then, on the soul of Ossian; it is folded in mist. I hear thee, O bard! in my night. But cease the lightly trembling sound. The joy of grief belongs to Ossian, amidst his dark-brown years.

Green thorn of the hill of ghosts, that shakest thy head to nightly winds! I hear no sound in ti.ee; is there no spirit's windy skirt now rustling in thy leaves? Often are the steps of the dead in the dark-eddying blasts; when the moon, a dun shield from the east, is rolled along the sky.

Ullin, Carril, and Ryno, voices of the days of old! Let me hear you, in the darkness of Selma, and awake the soul of songs. I hear you not, ye children of music; in what hall of the clouds is your rest? Do you touch the shadowy harp, robed with morning mist, where the sun comes sounding forth from his greenheaded waves?

The original of this lyric ode is one of the most beautiful passages of the poem. The harmony and variety of its versification prove, that the knowledge of music was con siderably advanced in the days of Ossian. See the specimen of the original.

The Argument.

The fourth morning from the opening of the poem comes on. Fingal, still continuing in the place to which he had retired on the preceding night, is seen at intervals through the mist which covered the rock of Cormul. The descent of the king is described. He orders Gaul, Dermid, and Carril the bard, to go to the valley of Cluna, and conduct, from thence, to the Caledonian army, Ferad-artho, the son of Cairbar, the only person remaining of the family of Conar, the first king of Ireland. The king takes the command of the army, and prepares for battle. Marching towards the enemy, he comes to the cave of Lubar, where the body of Fillan lay. Upon seeing his dog Bran, who lay at the entrance of the cave, his grief returns. Cathmor arranges the army of the Firbolg in order of battle. The appearance of that hero. The general conflict is described. The actions of Fingal and Cathmor. A storm. The total rout of the Firbolg. The two kings engage in a column of mist, on the banks of Lubar. Their attitude and conference after the combat. The death of Cathmor. Fingal resigns the spear of Trenmor to Ossian. The ceremonies observed on that occasion. The spirit of Cathmor appears to Sul-malla in the valley of Lona. Her sorrow. Evening comes on. A feast is prepared. The coming of Ferad-artbo is announced by the songs of a hundred bards. The poem closes with a speech of Fingal.

BOOK VIII.

As when the wintry winds have seized the waves of the mountain-lake, have seized them, in stormy night, and clothed them over with ice; white to the hunter's early eye, the billows still seem to roll. He turns his ear to the sound of each unequal ridge. But each is silent, gleaming, strewn with boughs and tufts of grass, which shake and whistle to the wind, over their grey seats of frost. So silent shone to the morning the ridges of Morven's host, as each warrior looked up from his helmet towards the hill of the king; the cloud-covered hill of Fingal, where he strode, in the rolling of mist. At times is the hero seen, greatly dim in all his arms. From thought to thought rolled the war, along his mighty soul.

Now is the coming forth of the king. First appeared the sword of Luno; the spear half-issuing from a cloud, the shield still dim in mist. But when the stride the king came abroad, with all his grey, dewy locks in