"Who comes like the stag of the mountain, with all his herd behind him? Frothal, it is a foe; I see his forward spear. Perhaps it is the king of Morven, Fingal, the first of men. His actions are well known on Gormal; the blood of his foes is in Sarno's halls. Shall I ask the peace of kings? He is like the thunder of heaven."

"Son of the feeble hand," said Frothal," shall my days begin in darkness? Shall I yield before I have conquered in battle, chief of streamy Tora? The people would say in Sora, Frothal flew forth like a meteor; but the dark cloud met it, and it is no more. Thubar, I will never yield; my fame shall surround me like light. No: I will never yield, king of streamy

Tora."

No:

He went forth with the stream of his people, but they met a rock: Fingal stood unmoved, broken they rolled back from his side. Nor did they roll in safety; the spear of the king pursued their flight. The field is covered with heroes. A rising hill preserved the flying host.

Frothal saw their flight. The rage of his bosom rose. He bent his eyes to the ground, and called the noble Thubar. "Thubar! my people fled. My fame has ceased to rise. I will fight the king; I feel my burning soul. Send a bard to demand the combat. Speak not against Frothal's words. But, Thubar! I love a maid; she dwells by Thano's stream, the white-bosomed daughter of Herman, Utha with the softly-rolling eyes. She feared the daughter of Inistore, and her soft sighs rose at my departure. Tell to Utha that I am low; but that my soul delighted in her.”

Such were his words, resolved to fight. But the soft sigh of Utha was near. She had followed her hero over the sea, in the armour of a man. She rolled her eye on the youth, in secret, from beneath a glittering helmet. But now she saw the bard as he went, and

Honourable terms of peace.

By the daughter of Inistore, Frothal means Comala, of whose death Utha protably had not heard, consequently she feared that the former passion of Frothal for Com might return.

the spear fell thrice from her hand. Her loose hair flew on the wind. Her white breast rose, with sighs. She lifted up her eyes to the king; she would speak, but thrice she failed.

Fingal heard the words of the bard; he came in the strength of steel. They mixed their deathful spears, and raise the gleam of their swords. But the steel of Fingal descended and cut Frothal's shield in twain. His fair side is exposed; half-bent he foresees his death.

Darkness gathered on Utha's soul. The tear rolled down her cheek. She rushed to cover the chief with her shield; but a fallen oak met her steps. She fell on her arm of snow; her shield, her helmet flew wide. Her white-bosom heaved to the sight; her dark-brown hair is spread on earth.

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Fingal pitied the white-armed maid: he stayed the uplifted sword. The tear was in the eye of the king, as, bending forward, he spoke. King of streamy Sora! fear not the sword of Fingal. It was never stained with the blood of the vanquished; it never pierced a fallen foe. Let thy people rejoice along the blue waters of Tora: let the maids of thy love be glad. Why shouldst thou fall in thy youth, king of streamy Sora?"

Frothal heard the words of Fingal, and saw the ris. ing maid they stood in silence, in their beauty; like two young trees of the plain, when the shower of spring is on their leaves, and the loud winds are laid.

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Daughter of Herman," said Frothal," didst thou come from Tora's streams; didst thou come, in thy beauty, to behold thy warrior low? But he was low before the mighty, maid of the slow-rolling eye! The feeble did not overcome the son of car-borne Annir. Terrible art thou, O king of Morven! in battles of the spear. But, in peace, thou art like the sun, when he looks through a silent shower: the flowers lift their fair heads before him; and the gales shake their rusthg wings. O that thou wert in Sora! that my feast were spread! The future kings of Sora would see thy

9 Frothal and Utha.

arms and rejoice. They would rejoice at the fame of their fathers, who beheld the mighty Fingal."

"Son of Annir," replied the king, "the fame of Sora's race shall be heard. When chiefs are strong in battle, then does the song arise! But if their swords are stretched over the feeble: if the blood of the weak has stained their arms; the bard shall forget them in the song, and their tomb shall not be known. The stranger shall come and build there, and remove the heaped-up earth. An half-worn sword shall rise before him; and bending above it he will say, are the arms of chiefs of old, but their names are not in song. Come thou, O Frothal, to the feast of Inistore; let the maid of thy love be there: and our faces will brighten with joy."

"These

Utha re

Fingal took his spear, moving in the steps of his might. The gates of Carric-thura are opened. The feast of shells is spread. The voice of music arose. Gladness brightened in the hall. The voice of Ullin was heard; the harp of Selma was strung. joiced in his presence, and demanded the song of grief; the big tear hung in her eye, when the soft Crimora spoke; Crimora the daughter of Rinval, who dwelt at Lotha's' mighty stream. The tale was long, but lovely; and pleased the blushing maid of Tora.

CRIMORA. Who cometh from the hill, like a cloud tinged with the beam of the west! Whose voice is that, loud as the wind, but pleasant as the harp of Carril"? It is my love in the light of steel; but sad is his darkened brow. Live the mighty race of Fingal? or what disturbs my Connal?

There is a propriety in introducing this episode, as the situation of Crimora and Utha were so similar.

Lotha was the ancient name of one of the great rivers in the north of Scotland. The only one of them that still retains a name of a like sound is Lochy, in Invernessshire; but whether it is the river mentioned here, the translator will not pretend to

say.

1 Crimora, a woman of great soul.'

Perhaps the Carril mentioned here is the same with Carril the son of Kinfena, Cuthullin's bard. The name itself is proper to any bard, as it signifies a sprightly and harmonious sound.

Connal, the son of Diaran, was one of the most famous heroes of Fingal; he was slain in a battle against Dargo, a Briton; but whether by the hand of the enemy, that of his mistress, tradition does not determine.

CONNAL. They live. I saw them return from the chase, like a stream of light. The sun was on their shields. Like a ridge of fire they descended the hill. Loud is the voice of my youth: the war, my love, is near. To-morrow the terrible Dargo comes to try the force of our race. The race of Fingal he defies; the

race of battle and wounds.

Connal,

CRIMORA. Connal, I saw his sails, like grey mist on the sable wave. They slowly came to land. many are the warriors of Dargo!

CONNAL Bring me thy father's shield: the bossy, iron shield of Rinval; that shield like the full moon when it moves darkened through heaven.

CRIMORA. That shield I bring, O Connal; but it did not defend my father. By the spear of Gormar he fell. Thou mayest fall, O Connal!

CONNAL. Fall indeed I may: but raise my tomb, Crimora. Grey stones, a mound of earth, shall keep my memory. Bend thy red eye over my tomb, and beat thy mournful heaving breast. Though fair thou art, my love, as the light; more pleasant than the gale of the hill; yet I will not stay. Raise my tomb, Cri

mora.

CRIMORA. Then give me those arms of light; that sword, and that spear of steel. I shall meet Dargo with thee, and aid my lovely Connal. Farewel, ye rocks of Ardven! ye deer! and ye streams of the hill! We shall return no more. Our tombs are distant far.

"And did they return no more?" said Utha's bursting sigh. "Fell the mighty in battle, and did Crimora live? Her steps were lonely, and her soul was sad for Connal. Was he not young and lovely; like the beam of the setting sun? Ullin saw the virgin's tear, and took the softly trembling harp: the song was lovely, but sad; and silence was in Carric-thura.

Autumn is dark on the mountains; grey mist rests on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. A tree stands alone on the hill, and marks the slumbering Connal. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and

strew the grave of the dead. At times are seen here the ghosts of the deceased, when the musing hunter alone stalks slowly over the heath.

Who can reach the source of thy race, O Connal ? and who recount thy fathers? Thy family grew like an oak on the mountain, which meeteth the wind with its lofty head. But now it is torn from the earth. Who shall supply the place of Connal? Here was the din of arms! and here the groans of the dying. Bloody are the wars of Fingal! O Connal! it was here thou didst fall. Thine arm was like a storm; thy sword a beam of the sky; thy height, a rock on the plain; thine eyes, a furnace of fire. Louder than a storm was thy voice, in the battles of thy steel. Warriors fell by thy sword, as the thistle by the staff of a boy. Dargo the mighty came on, like a cloud of thunder. His brows were contracted and dark. His eyes like two caves in a rock. Bright rose their swords on each side; dire was the clang of their steel.

The daughter of Rinval was near; Crimora bright in the armour of man; her yellow hair is loose behind, her bow in her hand. She followed the youth to the war, Connal, her much beloved. She drew the string on Dargo; but erring, pierced her Connal. He falls like an oak on the plain: like a rock from the shaggy hill. What shall she do, hapless maid? He bleeds; her Connal dies. All the night long she cries, and all the day, "O Connal, my love, and my friend!" With grief the sad mourner dies. Earth here incloses the loveliest pair on the hill. The grass grows between the stones of the tomb; I often sit in the mournful shade. The wind sighs through the grass; their memory rushes on my mind. Undisturbed you now sleep together; in the tomb of the mountain you rest alone.

"And soft be your rest," said Utha, “children of streamy Lotha. I will remember you with tears, and my secret song shall rise; when the wind is in the groves of Tora, and the stream is roaring near. Then shall ye come on my soul, with all your lovely grief." Three days feasted the kings: on the fourth, their