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Ossian, after some general reflections, describes the situation of Fingal, and the posi tion of the army of Lochiin. The conversation of Starno and Swaran. The episode of Cromar-trunar and Fornar-bragal. Starno, from his own example, recommends to Swaran, to surprise Fingal, who had retired alone to a neighbouring hill. Upon Swaran's refusal, Starno undertakes the enterprise himself; is overcome, and taken prisoner, by Fingal. He is dismissed, after a severe reprimand for his cruelty.

DUAN THIRD.

WHENCE is the stream of years? Whither do they roll along? Where have they hid, in mist, their many coloured sides? I look into the times of old, but they seem dim to Ossian's eyes, like reflected moonbeams, on a distant lake. Here rise the red beams of war! There, silent, dwells a feeble race! They mark no years with their deeds, as slow they pass along. Dweller between the shields; thou that awakest the failing soul, descend from thy wall, harp of Cona, with thy voices three! Come with that which kindles the past rear the forms of old, on their dark-brown years!

U-thorna a, hill of storms, I behold thy race on thy

a The bards, who were always ready to supply what they thought deficient in the poems of Ossian, have inserted a great many incidents between the second and third Duan of Cath-loda. Their interpolations are so easily distinguished from the genuine remains of Ossian, that it took me very little time to mark them out, and totally to reject them. If the modern Scots and Irish bards, have shown any judgment, it is in ascrib ing their own compositions to names of antiquity; for, by that means, they them selves have escaped that contempt, which the authors of such futile performances must necessarily have met with, from people of a true taste. I was led into this observation, by an Irish poem just now before me. It concerns a descent made by Swaran, king of Lochlin, and is the work, says the traditional preface prefixed to it, of Ossian MacFion. It however appears, from several pious ejaculations, that it was rather the com position of some good priest in the fifteenth or sixteenth century, for he speaks, with great devotion, of pilgrimage, and, more particularly, of the blue-eyed daughters of the convent. Religious, however, as this poet was, he was not altogether decent, in the scenes he introduces between Swaran and the wife of Congcullion, both of whom he represents as giants. It happening, unfortunately, that Congcullion was only of a mode rate stature, his wife, without hesitation, preferred Swaran, as a more adequate matc

side. Fingal is bending, in night, over Duth-maruno's tomb. Near him are the steps of his heroes, hunters of the boar. By Turthor's stream the host of Lochlin is deep in shades. The wrathful kings stood on two hills; they looked forward from their bossy shields. They looked forward on the stars of night, red-wandering in the west. Cruth-loda bends from high, like a formless meteor in clouds. He sends abroad the winds, and marks them, with his signs. Starno foresaw, that Morven's king was never to yield in war.

He twice struck the tree in wrath. He rushed before his son. He hummed a surly song; and heard his hair in the wind. Turned from one another, they stood, like two oaks which different trees had bent; each hangs over its own loud rill, and shakes its boughs, in the course of blasts.

"Annir," said Starno of lakes," was a fire that consumed of old. He poured death from his eyes, along the striving fields. His joy was in the fall of men. Blood to him was a summer stream, that brings joy to withered vales, from its own mossy rock. He came forth to the lake Luth-cormo, to meet the tall Corman-trunar, he from Urlor of streams, dweller of battle's wing."

She

The chief of Urior had come to Cormul with his dark-bosomed ships; he saw the daughter of Annir, white-armed Foinar-bragal. He saw her: nor careless rolled her eyes, on the rider of stormy waves. fled to his ship in darkness, like a moon-beam through a nightly vale. Annir pursued along the deep; he called the winds of heaven. Nor alone was the king; Starno was by his side. Like U-thorno's young eagle, I turned my eyes on my father.

We came to roaring Urlor. With his people came tall Corman-trunar. We fought; but the foe prevailed. In his wrath stood Annir of lakes. He lopped the young trees with his sword. His eyes rolled red in his rage. I marked the soul of the king, and I retired

for her own gigantic size. From the fatal preference proceeded so much mischief, that the good poet altogether lost sight of his principal action, and he ends the piece, with an advice to men, in the choice of their wives, which, however good it may be, I shall leave concealed in the obscurity of the original.

in night. From the field I took a broken helmet: a shield that was pierced with steel: pointless was the spear in my hand, I went to find the foe.

On a rock sat tal! Corman-trunar, beside his burning oak, and near him, beneath a tree, sat deep-bosomed Fionar-bragal. I threw my broken shield before her; and spoke the words of peace. Beside his rolling sea, lies Annir of many lakes. The king was pierced in battle; and Starno is to raise his tomb. Me, a son of Loda, he sends to white-handed Foinar-bragal, to bid her send a lock from her hair, to rest with her father, in earth. And thou king of roaring Urlor, let the battle cease, till Annir receive the shell, from fiery-eyed Cruth-loda.

Bursting into tears, she rose, and tore a lock from her hair; a lock, which wandered in the blast, along her heaving breast; Corman-trunar gave the shell; and bade me rejoice before him. I rested in the shade of night; and hid my face in my helmet deep. Sleep descended on the foe. I rose, like a stalking_ghost. I pierced the side of Corman-trunar. Nor did Foinar bragal escape. She rolled her white bosom in blood. Why then daughter of heroes, didst thou wake my rage? Morning rose. The foe were fled, like the departure of mist. Annir struck his bossy shield. He called his dark-haired son. I came, streaked with wan dering blood: thrice rose the shout of the king, like the bursting forth of a squal of wind, from a cloud, by night. We rejoiced three days above the dead, and called the hawks of heaven. They came, from all their winds, to feast on Annir's foes. Swaran! Fingal is a lone, on his hill of night. Let thy spear pierce the king in secret; like Annir, my soul shall rejoice.

"Son of Annir of Gormal, Swaran shall not slay in shades. I move forth in light: the hawks rush from all their winds. They are wont to trace my course: it is not harmless through war."

Burning rose the rage of the king. He thrice raised his gleaming spear. But, starting, he spared his son; and rushed into the night. By Turthur's stream a cave

is dark, the dwelling of Conban-carglas. There he laid the helmet of kings, and called the maid of Lulan, but she was distant far, in Loda's resounding hall.

Swelling with rage, he strode to where Fingal lay a lone. The king was laid on his shield, on his own secret hill. Stern hunter of shaggy boars, no feeble maid is laid before thee: no boy, on his ferny bed, by Turthor's murmuring stream. Here is spread the couch of the mighty, from which they rise to deeds of death. Hunter of shaggy boars, awaken the terrible.

Starno came murmuring on. Fingal arose in arms. "Who art thou, son of night?" Silent he threw the spear. They mixed their gloomy strife. The shield of Starno fell, cleft in twain. He is bound to an oak. The early beam arose. Then Fingal beheld the king of Gormal. He rolled awhile his silent eyes. He thought of other days when white-bosomed Agandecca moved like the music of songs. He loosed the thong from his hands. Son of Annir, he said, retire. Retire to Gor, mal of shells: a beam that was set returns. I remember thy white-bosomed daughter; dreadful king, away! Go to thy troubled dwelling, cloudy foe of the lovely! Let the stranger shun thee, thou gloomy in the hall! A tale of the times of old!

3

А РОЕМ.

The Argument.

After an address to Malvina, the daughter of Toscar, Ossian proceeds to relate his own expedition to Fuarfed, an island of Scandinavia. Mal-orchol, king of Fuarfed, being hard pressed in war, by Ton-thormod, chief of Sar-dronla, (who had demanded in vain, the daughter of Mal-orchol in marriage, Fingal sent Ossian to his aid. Ossian, on the day after his arrival, came to battle with Ton-thormod, and took him prisoner. Mal-orchol offers his daughter Gina-morul to Ossian; but he, discovering her passion for Ton-thormod, generously surrenders her to her lover, and brings about a reconciliation between the two kings.

As flies the inconstant sun over Larmon's grassy hill; so pass the tales of old, along my soul, by night. When bards are removed to their place; when harps are hung in Selma's hall; then comes a voice to Ossian, and awakes his soul. It is the voice of years that are gone: they roll before me, with all their deeds. I seize the tales, as they pass, and pour them forth in song. Nor a troubled stream is the soul of the king, it is like the rising of music from Lutha of the strings. Lutha of many strings, not silent are thy streamy rocks, when the white hands of Malvina move upon the harp. Light of the shadowy thoughts, that fly across my soul, daughter of Toscar of helmets, wilt thou not hear the song? We call back, maid of Lutha, the years that have rolled away!

It was in the days of the king ", while yet my locks were young, that I marked Con-cathlin, on high

a Fingal.

b Con-cathlin, mild beam of the wave. What star was so called of old is not easily ascertained. Some now distinguish the pole star by that name. A song, which is still in repute among the seafaring part of the Highlanders, alludes to this passage of Ossian. The author commends the knowledge of Ossian in sea affairs, a merit which, perhaps, few of us moderns will allow him, or any in the age in which he lived. One thing is certain, that the Caledonians often made their way through the dangerous and tem pestuous seas of Scandinavia, which is more, perhaps, than the more polished nations, subsisting in those times, dared to venture. In estimating the degree of knowledge of arts among the ancients, we ought not to bring it into comparison with the improvements of modern time. Our advantages over them proceed more from accident, thay any merit of ours.

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