ocean came. They came with steps of fear, and often looked behind. Cairbar knew that the mighty were near! He called his gloomy chiefs.

The sounding steps of his warriors came. They drew, at once, their swords. There Mor-lath* stood with darkened face. Hidalla's long hair sighs in wind. Red-haired Cormar bends on his spear, and rolls his side-long-looking eyes. Wild is the look of Malthos from beneath too shaggy brows. Foldath stands, like an oozy rock, that covers its dark sides with foam. His spear is like Slimora's fir, that meets the wind of heaven. His shield is marked with the strokes of battle. His red eye despises danger. These and a thousand other chiefs surrounded the king of Erin, 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, who is terrible in battle, the king of streamy Morven !" "Hast

* Mór-lath, great in the day of battle. looking hero. Cor-mar, expert at sea. speak. Foldath, generous.

Hidalla', mildly Mál-thos, slow to

Foldath, who is here strongly marked, makes a great figure in the sequel of the poem. His fierce, uncomplying character is sustained throughout. He seems, from a passage in the second book, to have been Cairbar's greatest confidant, and to have had a principal hand in the conspiracy against Cormac king of Ireland. His tribe was one of the most considerable of the race of the Fir-bolg.

+ Mór-annal, strong breath; a very proper name for a scout,

thou seen the warrior?" said Cairbar with a sigh. "Are his heroes many on the coast? Lifts he the spear of battle? Or comes the king in peace?" "In peace he comes not, king of Erin! I have seen his forward spear. * It is a meteor of death. The blood

of thousands is on its steel. He came first to the shore, strong in the grey hair of age. Full rose his sinewy limbs, as he strode in his might. That sword is by his side, which gives no second † wound. His shield is terrible, like the bloody moon, ascending thro' a storm. Then came Ossian king of songs. Then Morni's son, the first of men. Connal leaps forward on his spear. Dermid spreads his dark-brown locks. Fillan bends his bow, the young hunter of streamy Moruth. But who is that before them, like the terrible course of a stream! It is the son of Ossian, bright between his locks! His long hair falls on his back. His dark brows are half-inclosed in steel. His sword hangs loose on his side. His spear glitters as he moves. I filed from his terrible eyes, king of high Temora !"

*Mór-annal here alludes to the particular appearance of Fingal's spear. If a man, upon his first 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 immediately invited to the feast, according to the hospitality of the times.

This was the famous sword of Fingal, made by Luno, a smith of Lochlin, and after him poetically called the son of Luno: it is said of this sword, that it killed a man at every stroke; and that Fingal never used it but in times of the greatest danger.

"Then fly, thou feeble man," said Foldath's gloomy wrath. Fly to the grey streams of thy

66

land, son of the little soul! Have not I seen that Oscar? I beheld the chief in war. He is of the mighty in danger: but there are others who lift the spear. Erin has many sons as brave, king of Temora of Groves! Let Foldath meet him in his strength. Let me stop this mighty stream. My spear is covered with blood. My shield is like the wall of Tura!”

"Shall Foldath* alone meet the foe?" replied the dark-browed Malthos. "Are they not on our coast, like the waters of many streams? Are not these the chiefs, who vanquished Swaran, when the sons of green Erin fled ? Shall Foldath meet their bravest hero? Foldath of the heart of pride! take the strength of the people! and let Malthos come. My sword is red with slaughter, but who has heard my words?"t

"Sons of green Erin," said Hidalla,‡ "let not Fingal hear your words. The foe might rejoice, and his arm be strong in the land. Ye are brave, O war

* The opposite characters of Foldath and Malthos are strongly marked in subsequent parts of the poem. They appear always in opposition. The feuds between their families, which were the source of their hatred to one another, are mentioned in other poems.

That is, who has heard my vaunting? He intended the expression as a rebuke to the self-praise of Foldath.

Hidalla was the chief of Clonra, a small district on the banks of the lake of Lego. The beauty of his person, his eloquence and genius for poetry, are afterwards mentioned.

riors! Ye are tempests in war. Ye are, like storms, which meet the rocks without fear, and overturn the woods. But let us move in our strength, slow as a gathered cloud! Then shall the mighty tremble; the spear shall fall from the hand of the valiant. We see the cloud of death, they will say, while shadows fly over their face. Fingal will mourn in his age. He shall behold his flying fame. The steps of his chiefs will cease in Morven. The moss of years shall grow in Selma.”

Cairbar heard their words, in silence, like the cloud of a shower it stands dark on Cromla, till the lightning bursts its side. The valley gleams with heaven's flame; the spirits of the storm rejoice. So stood the silent king of Temora; at length his words broke forth. 66 Spread the feast on Moi-lena. Let my hundred bards attend. Thou, red-haired Olla,

take the harp of the king.

swords. Bid Oscar to our joy.

Go to Oscar, chief of

To-day we feast and

hear the song to-morrow break the spears! Tell him that I have raised the tomb of Cathol;* that bards gave his friend to the winds. Tell him that Cairbar has heard of his fame, at the stream of re

* Cathol, the son of Maronnan, or Moran, was murdered by Cairbar, for his attachment to the family of Cormac. He had attended Oscar to the war of Inis-thona, where they contracted a great friendship for one another. Oscar, immediately after the death of Cathol, had sent a formal challenge to Cairbar, which he prudently declined, but conceived a secret hatred against Oscar, and had beforehand contrived to kill him at the feast, to which he here invites him.

But Cairbar

sounding Carun. * Cathmor† my brother is not here. He is not here with his thousands, and our arms are weak. Cathmor is a foe to strife at the feast! His soul is bright as that sun! must fight with Oscar, chiefs of woody Temora ! His words for Cathol were many: the wrath of Cairbar burns. He shall fall on Moi-lena. My fame shall rise in blood."

Their faces brightened round with joy. They spread over Moi-lena. The feast of shells is prepared. The songs of bards arise. The chiefs of Selma heard their joy. We thought that mighty

*He alludes to the battle of Oscar against Caros, king of ships; who is supposed to be the same with Carausius the

usurper.

+ Cathmor, great in battle, the son of Borbar-duthul, and brother of Cairbar, king of Ireland, had, before the insurrection of the Firbolg, passed over into Inis-huna, supposed to be a part of South Britain, to assist Conmor, king of that place, against his enemies. Cathmor was successful in the war, but, in the course of it, Conmor was either killed, or died a natu ral death. Cairbar, upon intelligence of the designs of Fingal to dethrone him, had dispatched a messenger for Cathmor, who returned into Ireland a few days before the opening of the poem.

Cairbar here takes advantage of his brother's absence, to perpetrate his ungenerous designs against Oscar; for the noble spirit of Cathmor, had he been present, would not have permitted the laws of that hospitality, for which he was so renowned himself, to be violated. The brothers form a contrast: we do not detest the mean soul of Cairbar more, than we admire the disinterested and generous mind of Cathmor.

Fingal's army heard the joy that was in Cairbar's camp. The character given of Cathmor is agreeable to the times. Some, through ostentation, were hospitable; and others fell naturally into a custom handed down from their ancestors. But what marks strongly the character of Cathmor, is his aversion