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On the fourth day we raised our sails to the roar of the northern wind. Larthmor came to the coast, and his bards raised the song. The joy of the king was great ; he looked to Rothma's gloomy heath; he saw the tomb of his son: and the memory of Uthal rose. “ Who of my heroes," he said, “ lies there? He seems to have been the king of spears. Was he renowned in my halls, before the pride of Uthal rose? Ye are silent, sons of Berrathon! Is the king of heroes low? My heart melts for thee, O Uthal! though thy hand was against thy father ! O that I had remained in the cave! that my son had dwelt in Finthormo! I might have heard the tread of his feet, when he went to the chase of the boar. I might have heard his voice on the blast of my cave. Then would my soul be glad: but now darkness dwells in my halls."
Such were my deeds, son of Alpin, 'when the arm of my youth was strong ; such were the actions of Toscar, the car-borne son of Conloch. But Toscar is on his flying cloud; and I am alone at Lutha : my voice is like the last sound of the wind, when it forsakes the woods. But Ossian shall not be long alone, he sees the mist that shall receive his ghost. He beholds the mist that shall form his robe, when he appears on his hills. The sons of little men shall behold me, and admire the stature of the chiefs of old. They shall creep to their caves, and look to the sky with fear: for my steps shall be in the clouds, and darkness shall roll on my side.
Lead, son of Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. The winds begin to rise. The dark wave of the lake resounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora with its branches bare? It bends, son of Alpin, in the rustling blast. My harp hangs on a blasted branch. The sound of its strings is mournful. Does the wind touch thee, O harp, or is it some passing ghost ! It is the hand of Malvina! but bring me the harp, son of Alpin ; another song shall arise. My soul shall depart in the sound; my fathers shall hear it in their airy hall. Their
dim faces shall hang with joy from their clouds; and their hands receive their son. The aged oak bends over the stream. It sighs with all its moss. The wi. thered fern whistles near, and mixes, as it waves, with Ossian's hair.
Strike the harp and raise the song : be near with all your wings, ye winds. Bear the mournful sound away to Fingal's airy hall. Bear it to Fingal's hall, that he may hear the voice of his son ; the voice of him that praised the mighty.
The blast of the north opens thy gates, o king, and I behold thee sitting on mist, dimly gleaming in all thine arms. Thy form now is not the terror of the valiant : but like a watery cloud; when we see the stars behind it with their weeping eyes. Thy shield is like the 2ged moon: thy sword a vapour half kindled with fire : Dim and feeble is the chief who travelled in brightness before. But thy steps' are on the winds of the desart, and the storms darken in thy hand. Thou takest the sun in thy wrath, and hidest him in thy clouds. The sons of little men are afraid ; and a thousand showers descend. But when thou comest forth in thy mildness; the gale of the morning is near thy course. The sun laughs in his blue fields; and the grey stream winds in its valley. The bushes shake their green heads in the wind. The roes bound towards the desart,
But there is a murmur on the heath! the stormy winds abate! I hear the voice of Fingal. Long has it been absent from mine ear! “ Come, Ossian, come away,” he says: “ Fingal has received his fame. We passed away, like flames that had shone for a season; our departure was in renown. Though the plains of our battles are dark and silent, our fame is in the four grey stones. The voice of Ossian has been heard ; and ihe harp was strung in Selma. Come, Ossian, come away,” he says, “ and fly with thy fathers on clouds."
This magnificent description of the power of Fingal over the winds and storms, and the image of his taking the sun, and hiding him in the clouds, do not correspond with the preceding paragraph, where he is represented as a feebie ghost, and no more the terror of the valiant;" but it agrees with the notions of the times concerning the deceased. who it was supposed had the coronand of ewinds and storas, but took concern in the 2airs of men.
And come I will, thou king of men! the life of Oso sian fails. I begin to vanish on Cona ; and my steps are not seen in Selma. Beside the stone of Mora I shall fall asleep. The winds whistling in my grey hair shall not waken me. Depart on thy wings, O wind: thou canst not disturb the rest of the bard. The night is long, but his eyes are heavy ; depart thou rustling blast.
But why art thou sad, son of Fingal! Why grows the cloud of thy soul? The chiefs of other times are departed; they have gone without their fame. The sons of future years shall pass away; and another race arise. The people are like the waves of ocean : like the leaves of woody Morven, they pass away in the rustling blast, and other leaves lift their green heads. Did thy beauty last, O Ryno'? Stood the strength of car-borne Oscar: Fingal himself passed away; and the halls of his fathers forgot his steps. And shalt thou remain, aged bard: when the mighty have failed? But my fame shall remain, and grow like the oak of Morven ; which lifts its broad head to the storm, and rejoices in the course of the wind.
Ryno the son of Fingal, who was killed in Ireland, in the war against Swaran, (Fin. 1, B. V.) was remarkable for the beauty of his person, his swiftness, and great ex. ploita, Minvane, the daughter of Morni, and sister to Gaui, was in love with Ryno, The following is her lamentation over her lover.
SHE, blushing sad, from Morven's rocks, bends over the darkly-rolling sea. She say the youths in all their arms. Where, Ryno, where art thou
Our dark looks told that he was low! That, pale, the hero flew on clouds! That in the grass of Morven's hills, bis feeble voice was heard in wind.
And is the son of Fingal fallen, on Ullin's mossy plains? Strong is the arm that con quered him! Ah me! I am alone.
Alone I will not be, ye winds! that lift my dark brown hair. My sighs will not long mix with your stream; for I must sleep with Ryno.
I see thee not with beauty's steps returning from the chase. The night is round Min. Vane's love, and silence dwells with Ryno.
Where are thy dogs, and where thy bow? Thy shield that was so strong? Thy sword like heaven's descending fire? The bloody spear of Ryno!
I see them mixed in thy ship; I see them stained with blood. No arms are in thy Darrow hall, o darkly-dwelling Ryno!
When will the morning come, and say, Arise thou king of spears! arise, the hunters are abroad. The hinds are near thee, Ryno!
Away, thou fair-haired morning, away! the slumbering king hears thee not! The kinds bound over bis narrow tomb; for death dwells round young Ryno.
But I will tread softly, my king! and steal to the bed of thy repose. Minyane will lie in silence near her slumbering Ryno.
The maids shall seek me ; but they shall not find me; they shall follow my departura with songs. Bat I will not hear you, o maias! I sleep with fair-haired Ryng
AN EPIC POEM.
IN EIGHT BOOKS.
Cairbar, the son of Borbar-duthul, lord of Atha, in Connaught, the most potent chief of
the race of the Firboig, having murdered, at Teirura the royal palace, Cormac the son of Artho, the young king of Ireland, usurped the throne. Cormac was lineally descended from Conar the son of Trenmor, the great grandiather of Fingal, king of those Caledonians who inhabited the western coast of Scotland. Fingal resented the behaviour of Cairbar, and resolved to pass over into Ireland, with an army, to reestablish the royal family on the Irish throne. Early inteiligence of his designs coming to Cairbar, he assembled some of his tribes in Ulster, and at the same time ordered his brother Cathmor to follow him speedily with an army, from Tenora, Such was the situation of affairs when the Caledonian fleet appeared on the coast of Ulster. The poem opens in the morning. Cairbar is represented as retired from the rest of the army, when one of his scouts brought him news of the landing of Fincal. He assembles a council of his chiefs. Foldath, the chief of Moma, haughtily deapises the enemy; and is reprimanded warmly by Malthos. Cairbar, aiter hearing their debate, orders a feast to be prepared, to which, by his bard Olla, he invites Oscar the son of Ossian, resolving to pick a quarrel with that hero, and to have some pretext for kill. ing him, Oscar came to the feast; the quarrel happened: the followers of both fought, and Cairbar and Oscar fell by mutual wounds. The noise of the battle reached Fina gal's army. The king came on, to the relief of Oscar, and the Irish feil back to the army of Cathmor, who was advanced to the banks of the river Lubar, on the heath of Moi-lena. Fingal, after mourning over his grandson, ordered vllin the chief of his bards to carry his body to Morven, to be there interred. Night coming on, Althan, the son of Conachar, relates to the king the particulars of the murder of Cormac. Fillan the son of Fingal, is sent to observe the motions of Catamor by night, which concludes the action of the first day. The scene of this book is a plain, sear the bill of Mora, which rose on the borders of the heath of Mol.lena in Ulster.
The blue waves of Ullin roll in light. The green hills are covered with day. Trees shake their dusky heads in the breeze. Grey torrents pour their noisy streams. Two green hills, with aged oaks, surround a narrow plain. The blue course of a stream is there : on its banks stood Cairbare of Atha. His spear supports the king: the red eyes of the king are sad. Cormac rises
a Cairbar, the son of Borbar-duthul, was descended lineally from Larthon the chief of the Firbolg, the first colony who settled in the south of Ireland. The Cael were ba possession of the northern coast of that kingdom, and the first monarchs of Ireland were of their race. Hence arose those differences between the two nations, which ter. aninated, at last, in the inurder of Cormac, and the usurpation of Cairbar, lord of Alha; who is mentioned in this place,
in his soul, with all his ghastly wounds. The grey form of the youth appears in darkness ; blood pours from his airy sides. Cairbar thrice threw his spear on carth; and thrice he stroked his beard. His steps are short; he often stops, and tosses his sinewy arms. He is like a cloud in the desart, that varies its form to every blast : the valleys are sad around, and fear, by turns, the shower.
The king, at length, resumed his soul, and took his pointed spear. He turned his eyes to Moi-lena. The scouts of blue ocean came. They came with steps of fear, and often looked behind. Cairbar knew that the mighty were near, and called his gloomy chiefs.
The sounding steps of his warriors came. They drew, at once, their swords. There Morlatho stood with darkened face. Hidalla's long hair sighs in wind. Red. haired Cormar bends on his spear, and rolls his sidelong-looking eyes, Wild is the look of Malthos from beneath two shaggy brows. Foldath stands, like an oozy rock that covers his dark sides with foam. His spear is like Slimora's fir, that meets the wind of hea. ven. His shield is marked with the strokes of battle; and his red eye despises danger. These and a thousand other chiefs surrounded car-borne Cairbar, when the scout of ocean came, Mor-annal from streamy Moi-lena. His eyes hang forward from his face, his lips are trembling pale.
“Do the chiefs of Erin stand," he said, “ silent as the grove of evening? Stand they, like a silent wood, and Fingal on the coast, Fingal, the terrible in battle, the king of streamy Morven!” “ Hast thou seen the warrior?” said Cairbar with a sigh. “ Are his heroes many on the coast? Lifts he the spear 'of battle? or
6 Morlath, great in the day of battle.' Hidalla, mildly-looking hero.' Cormar ' expert at sea. Malth-os, slow to speak, Foldath, generous.'
Foldath, who is here strongly marked, makes a great figure in the sequel of the poem. His herce, uncomplying character is sustained throughout. He seems, from a passage in the second book, to have been Cairbar's greatest confident, and to have had a principal Land in the conspiracy against Cormac king of Ireland. His tribe was one of the most considerable of the race of the Firholg.
(Mor-annal here alludes to the particular appearance of Fingal's spear. If a man upon his landing in a strange country kept the point of his spear forward, it denoted, in those days, that he came in a hostile manner, and accordingly he was treated as an enemy; if he kept the point behind him, it was a token of friendship, and he was imme.
lely invited to the feast, according to the hospitality of the times.