by fits, over Lego's reedy lake; when sleep halfdescends on the hunter, within his mossy cave. Why bends the bard of Cona," said Fingal, 66 over his secret stream? Is this a time for sorrow, father of low-laid Oscar? Be the warriors? 9 Oscar and Fillan are here emphatically called the warriors. Ossian was not forgetful of them, when, to use his own expression, peace returned to the land. His plaintive poems, concerning the death of these young heroes, were very numerous. I had occasion, in a preceding note, to give a translation of one of them, (a dialogue between Clatho and Bos-mina) in this I shall lay before the reader a fragment of another. The greatest, and perhaps the most interesting part of the poem, is lost. What remains, is a soliloquy of Malvina, the daughter of Toscar, so often mentioned in Ossian's compositions. She, sitting alone in the vale of Moi-lutha, is represented as descrying, at a distance, the ship which carried the body of Oscar to Morven. (Malvina is supposed to speak the following soliloquy. Edit, 1773.) "Malvina is like the bow of the shower, in the secret valley of streams; it is bright, but the drops of heaven are rolling on its blended light. They say that I am fair within my locks, but, on my brightness, is the wandering of tears. Darkness flies over my soul, as the dusky wave of the breeze along the grass of Lutha. Yet have not the roes failed me, when I moved between the hills. Pleasant, beneath my white hand, arose the sound of harps. What then, daughter of Lutha, travels over thy soul, like the dreary path of a ghost along the nightly beam? Should the young warrior fall, in the roar of his troubled fields! Young virgins of Lutha, arise, call back the wandering thoughts of Malvina. Awake the voice of the harp, along my remembered in peace; when echoing shields are heard no more. Bend, then, in grief, over the flood, where blows the mountain breeze. Let them pass on thy soul, the blue-eyed dwellers of the tomb. But Erin rolls to war; wide-tumbling, rough, and dark. Lift, Ossian, lift the shield. I am alone, my son!" As comes the sudden voice of winds to the becalmed ship of Inis-huna, and drives it large, along the deep 10, dark rider of the wave; so echoing vale. Then shall my soul come forth, like a light from the gates of the morn, when clouds are rolled around them, with their broken sideş, "Dweller of my thoughts, by night, whose form ascends in troubled fields, why dost thou stir up my soul, thou far-distant son of the king? Is that the ship of my love, its dark course through the ridges of ocean? How art thou so sudden, Oscar, from the heath of shields?" The rest of this poem, it is said, consisted of a dialogue between Ullin and Malvina, wherein the distress of the latter is carried to the highest pitch. MACPHERSON. 10 As comes the sudden voice of winds to the becalmed ship of Inis-huna, and drives it large along the deep.] ναύτησιν εελδομένοισιν ἔδωκεν ΟΥΡΟΝ. Iliad, vii. 4. As when to sailors labouring through the main, the voice of Fingal sent Ossian, tall, along the heath. He lifted high his shining shield, in the dusky wing of war: like the broad, blank moon, in the skirt of a cloud, before the storms arise. Loud, from moss-covered Mora, poured down at once the broad-winged war. Fingal led his people forth, king of Morven of streams. On high spreads the eagle's wing. His grey hair is poured on his shoulders broad. In thunder are his mighty strides ". He often stood, and saw "So the voice of Fingal sent Ossian, tall, along the heath." Or, "As when some god awakes the gales, to longing sailors becalmed on the main: When fatigued with the polished oar, they rouse the deep." MACPHERSON's Homer, i. 194. 11 On high spreads the eagle's wing.-In thunder are his mighty strides.] From MASON's Caractacus. Hark! heard ye not yon footstep dread! That shook the earth with thundering tread? High tower'd his helmed head. Such verses may pass uncensured, though scarcely entitled to the commendation bestowed upon them by Gray; but had he proceeded to quote. I spied the sparkling of his spear. Wide waved the bickering blade, and fired the angry air. even friendship itself must have hesitated to pronounce these puerile alliterations the true chords of the English ode. See GRAY'S Progress of Poesy, note. behind, the wide-gleaming rolling of armour. A rock he seemed, grey over with ice, whose woods are high in wind. Bright streams leap from its head, and spread their foam on blasts. Now he came to Lubar's cave, where Fillan darkly slept. Bran still lay on the broken shield: the eagle-wing is strewed by the winds. Bright, from withered furze, looked forth the hero's spear. Then grief stirred the soul of the king, like whirlwinds blackening on a lake". He turned his sudden step, and leaned on his bending spear. White-breasted Bran came bounding with joy to the known path of Fingal. He came, and looked towards the cave, where the blue-eyed hunter lay, for he was wont to stride, with morning, to the dewy bed of the roe. It was then the tears of the king came down, and all his soul was dark. But as the rising wind rolls away the storm of rain, and leaves the white streams to the sun, and high hills' with their 12 Lake whirlwinds blackening on a lake.] MACPHERSON'S Night-piece. Dark roll the billows on the lake, The whirlwind sweeps, descends the rain, &c. 13 As the rising wind rolls away the storm of rain, and leaves VOL. II. heads of grass so the returning war brightened the mind of Fingal. He bounded", on his the white streams to the sun, and high hills.] Iliad, xvi. 297. See Battle of Lora. Ως δ ̓ ὅτ' ἀφ ̓ ὑψηλῆς κορυφῆς ὄριος μεγάλοιο ΚΙΝΗΣΕΙ ΠΥΚΙΝΗΝ ΝΕΦΕΛΗΝ στεροπηγερέτα ΖΕΥΣ, POPE. 14 The poetical hyperboles of Ossian were afterwards taken in the literal sense by the ignorant vulgar; and they firmly believed, that Fingal and his heroes were of a gigantic stature. There are many extravagant fictions, founded upon the circumstance of Fingal leaping at once over the river Lubar. Many of them are handed down in tradition. The Irish compositions concerning Fingal, invariably speak of him as a giant. Of these Hibernian poems there are now many in my hands. From the language, and allusions to the times in which they were writ, I should fix the date of their composition in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. In some passages, the poetry is far from wanting merit, but the fable is unnatural, and the whole conduct of the pieces injudicious. I shall give one instance of the extravagant fictions of the Irish bards, in a poem which they, most unjustly, ascribe to Ossian. The story of it is this: Ireland being threatened with an invasion from some part of Scandinavia, Fingal sent Ossian, Oscar, and Ca-olt, to watch the bay, in which, it was expected, the enemy was to land. Oscar, unluckily, fell asleep before the Scandinavians appeared; and, |