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the combat. The land of Lochlin had no hero, that yielded not to Trenmor. The shell of joy went round with songs, in praise of the king of Morven. He that came over the waves, the first of mighty men!"

Now when the fourth grey morn arose, the hero launched his ship. He walked along the silent shore, and called for the rushing wind : For loud and distant he heard the blast murmuring behind the groves. Covered over with arms of steel, a son of the woody Gormal appeared. Red was his cheek and fair his air. His skin like the snow of Morven. Mild rolled is blue and smiling eye, when he spoke to the king

swords. “Stay, Trenmor, stay thou first of men, thou st not conquered Lonval's son. My sword has Een met the brave. The wise shun the strength of

bow." Thou fair-haired youth,” Trenmor lied, I will not fight with Lonval's son. Thine i is feeble, sun-beam of youth! Retire to Gor's dark-brown hinds.But I will retire,” rethe youth, “with the sword of Trenmor; and

in the sound of my fame. The virgins shall er with smiles, around him who conquered mighty nor. They shall sigh with the sighs of love, Imire the length of thy spear; when I shall Et among thousands ; when I lift the glittering o the sun." hou shalt never carry my spear,said the angry Morven. Thy mother shall find thee pale

on the shore; and, looking over the dark-blue deep, see the sails of him that slew her son !” “ I will not lift the spear,” replied the youth, “ my arm is not strong with years. But, with the feathered dart, I have learned to pierce a distant foe. Throw down that heavy mail of steel. Trenmor is covered from death. I first, will lay my mail on earth. Throw now thy dart, thou king of Morven !” He saw the heaving of her breast. It was the sister of the king. She had seen him in the hall: and loved his face of youth. The spear dropt from the hand of Trenmor : he bent his red cheek to the ground. She was to him a beam of light that meets the sons of the cave; when they revisit the fields of the sun, and bend their aching eyes !

“ Chief of the windy Morven," begun the maid of the arms of snow, “let me rest in thy bounding ship, far from the love of Corlo. For he, like the thunder of the desert, is terrible to Inibaca. He loves me in the gloom of pride. He shakes ten thousand spears !" " Rest thou in peace,” said the mighty Trenmor, “ rest behind the shield of my fathers. I will not fly from the chief, though he shakes ten thousand spears !” Three days he waited on the shore. He sent his horn abroad. He called Corlo to battle, from all his echoing hills. But Corlo came not to battle. The king of Lochlin descends from his hall. He feasted on the roaring shore. He gave the maid to Trennor!

“ King of Lochlin,” said Fingal, “ thy blood flows in the veins of thy foe. Our fathers met in battle, because they loved the strife of spears. But often did they feast in the hall: and send round the joy of the shell. Let thy face brighten with gladness, and thine ear delight in the harp. Dreadful as the storm of thine ocean, thou hast poured thy valour forth; thy voice has been like the voice of thousands when they engage in war. Raise, to-morrow, raise thy white sails to the wind, thou brother of Agandecca! Bright as the beam of noon, she comes on my mournful soul. I have seen thy tears for the fair one. I spared thee in the halls of Starno; when my sword was red with slaughter; when my eye was full of tears for the maid. Or dost thou chuse the fight? The combat which thy fathers gave to Trenmor is thine! that thou mayest depart renowned, like the sun setting in the west !"

“ King of the race of Morven,” said the chief of resounding Lochlin! “never will Swaran fight with thee, first of a thousand heroes! I have seen thee in the halls of Starno: few were thy years beyond my own. When shall I, I said to my soul, lift the spear like the noble Fingal ? We have fought heretofore, O warrior, on the side of the shaggy Malmor; after my waves had carried me to thy halls, and the feast of a thousand shells was spread. Let the bards send his name who overcame to future years, for noble was the strife of Malmor! But many of the ships of Loch

“King of Lochlin,” said Fingal, “ thy blood flows in the veins of thy foe. Our fathers met in battle, because they loved the strife of spears. But often did they feast in the hall: and send round the joy of the shell. Let thy face brighten with gladness, and thine ear delight in the harp. Dreadful as the storm of thine ocean, thou hast poured thy valour forth; thy voice has been like the voice of thousands when they engage in war. Raise, to-morrow, raise thy white ails to the wind, thou brother of Agandecca! Bright s the beam of noon, she comes on my mournful soul. have seen thy tears for the fair one. I spared thee

the halls of Starno; when my sword was red with aughter; when my eye was full of tears for the aid. Or dost thou chuse the fight? The combat hich thy fathers gave to Trenmor is thine! that bu mayest depart renowned, like the sun setting in : west !" * King of the race of Morven," said the chief of unding Lochlin ! never will Swaran fight with , first of a thousand heroes! I have seen thee in valls of Starno: few were thy years beyond my | When shall I, I said to my soul, lift the spear he noble Fingal ? We have fought heretofore, rrior, on the side of the shaggy Malmor; after aves had carried me to thy halls, and the feast housand shells was spread. Let the bards send ne who overcame to future years, for noble was fe of Malmor! But many of the ships of Loch

lin have lost their youths on Lena. Take these, thou king of Morven, and be the friend of Swaran! When thy sons shall come to Gormal, the feast of shells shall be spread, and the combat offered on the vale.”

“ Nor ship,” replied the king, “ shall Fingal take, nor land of many hills. The desert is enough to me, with all its deer and woods. Rise on thy waves again, thou noble friend of Agandecca! Spread thy white sails to the beam of the morning; return to the echoing hills of Gormal.” “Blest be thy soul, thou king of shells,” said Swaran of the dark-brown shield. “ In peace thou art the gale of spring. In war the mountain-storm. Take now my hand in friendship, king of echoing Selma ! Let thy bards mourn those who fell. Let Erin give the soils of Lochlin to earth. Raise high the mossy stones of their fame : that the children of the north hereafter may behold the place where their fathers fought. The hunter may say, when he leans on a mossy tomb, here Fingal and Swaran fought, the heroes of other years. Thus hereafter shall he say, and our fame shall last for ever!”

“ Swaran,” said the king of hills, “ to-day our fame is greatest. We shall pass away like a dream. No sound will remain in our fields of war. Our tombs will be lost in the heath. The hunter shall not know the place of our rest. Our names may be heard in song. What avails it, when our strength hath ceased ? 0 Ossian, Carril, and Ullin! you know of

heroes that are no more. Give us the song of other years. Let the night pass away on the sound, and morning return with joy."

We gave the song to the kings. An hundred harps mixed their sound with our voice. The face of Swaran brightened, like the full moon of heaven; when the clouds vanish away, and leave her calm and broad, in the midst of the sky!

“Where, Carril,” said the great Fingal, “ Carril of other times! Where is the son of Semo, the king of the isle of mist? has he retired, like the meteor of death, to the dreary cave of Tura ?” “ Cuthullin," said Carril of other times, “ lies in the dreary cave of Tura. His hand is on the sword of his strength. His thoughts on the battles he lost. Mournful is the king of spears ; till now unconquered in war. He sends his sword to rest on the side of Fingal: For, like the storm of the desert, thou hast scattered all his foes. Take, O Fingal ! the sword of the hero. His fame is departed like mist, when it flies, before the rustling wind, along the brightening vale.”

“ No:” replied the king, “ Fingal shall never take his sword. His arm is mighty in war: his fame shall never fail. Many have been overcome in battle; whose renown arose from their fall. O Swaran! king of resounding woods, give all thy grief away. The vanquished, if brave, are renowned. They are like the sun in a cloud, when he hides his face in the south, but looks again on the hills of grass !

heroes that are no more. Give us the song of other years. Let the night pass away on the sound, and morning return with joy."

We gave the song to the kings. An hundred harps mixed their sound with our voice. The face of Swaran brightened, like the full moon of heaven ; when the clouds vanish away, and leave her calm and broad, in the midst of the sky!

“Where, Carril,” said the great Fingal, “ Carril of other times ! Where is the son of Semo, the king of the isle of mist? has he retired, like the meteor of leath, to the dreary cave of Tura ?” “ Cuthullin," uid Carril of other times, “ lies in the dreary cave of ura. His hand is on the sword of his strength. is thoughts on the battles he lost. Mournful is the ng of spears ; till now unconquered in war. He ads his sword to rest on the side of Fingal: For,

the storm of the desert, thou hast scattered all foes. Take, O Fingal ! the sword of the hero. fame is departed like mist, when it flies, before ustling wind, along the brightening vale.” No:” replied the king, Fingal shall never take ford. His arm is mighty in war: his fame shall fail. Many have been overcome in battle ; renown arose from their fall. O Swaran ! king unding woods, give all thy grief away. The hed, if brave, are renowned. They are like in a cloud, when he hides his face in the south, 's again on the hills of grass!

« Grumal was a chief of Cona. He sought the battle on every coast. His soul rejoiced in blood. His ear in the din of arms. He poured his warriors on Craca; Craca's king met him from his grove: for then, within the circle of Brumo,* he spoke to the stone of power. Fierce was the battle of the heroes, for the maid of the breast of snow. The fame of the daughter of Craca had reached Grumal at the streams of Cona: he vowed to have the white-bosomed maid, or die on echoing Craca. Three days they strove together, and Grumal on the fourth was bound. Far from his friends they placed him, in the horrid circle of Brumo; where often, they said, the ghosts of the dead howled round the stone of their fear. But he afterwards shone, like a pillar of the light of heaven. They fell by his mighty hand. Grumal had all his fame!!!

“Raise, ye bards of other times,” continued the great Fingal, “ raise high the praise of heroes : that my soul may settle on their fame; that the mind of Swaran may cease to be sad.” They lay in the heath of Mora. The dark winds rustled over the chiefs. A hundred voices, at once, arose : a hundred harps were strung. They sung of other times; the mighty chiefs of former years! When now shall I hear the bard ? When rejoice at the fame of my fathers ? The harp is not strung on Morven. The voice of music ascends

* This passage alludes to the religion of the king of Craca.

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