alone, in the battles of the fpear. Night came down on the ocean; the winds departed on their wings. Cold and pale is the moon. The red ftars lift their heads. Our courfe is flow along the coaft of Berrathon; the white waves tumble on the rocks. What voice is that, faid Tofcar, which comes between the founds of the waves? It is foft, but mournful, like the voice of departed bards. But I behold the maid *), fhe fits on the rock alone. Her head bends on her arm of fnow her dark hair is in the wind. Hear, fon of Fingal, her fong, it is fmooth as the gliding waters of Lavath. We came to the filent bay, and heard the maid of night. How long will ye roll around me, bluetumbling waters of ocean? My dwelling was not always in caves, nor beneath the whiftling tree. The feaft was fpread in Torthóma's hall; my father delighted in my voice. The youths beheld me in the fteps of my loveliness, and they bleffed the dark-haired Nina-thoma. It was then thou didst come, o Uthal! like the fun of heaven. *) Nina thoma the daughter of Torthóma, who had been confined to a defart ifland by her lover Uthal. heaven. The fouls of the virgins are thine, fon of generous Larthmor! But why doft thou leave me alone in the midst of roaring waters? Was my foul dark with thy death? Did my white hand lift the fword? Why then haft thou left me alone, king of high Finthormo! *) ce. The tear started from my eye, when I heard the voice of the maid. I ftood before her in my arms, and fpoke the words of pea Lovely dweller of the cave, what figh is in that breaft? Shall Offian lift his fword in thy prefence, the deftruction of thy foes? Daughter of Torthóma, rife, I have heard the words of thy grief. The race of Morven are around thee, who never injured the weak. Come to our dark-bofomed fhip, thou brighter than that fetting moon. Our courfe is to the rocky Berrathon, to the ecchoing walls of Finthorio. She came in her beauty, fhe came with all her lovely steps. Silent joy brightened in her face, as when the fhadows fly from the field of fpring; the blueftream is rolling in *) Finthormo, the palace of Uthal. The names in this epifode are not of a Celtic original; which makes it probable that Offian founds his poem on a true story. in brightness, and the green bush bends over its courfe. The morning rofe with its beams. We came to Rothma's bay. A boar rufhed from the wood; my fpear pierced his fide. I rejoiced over the blood *), and forefaw my growing fame. But now the found of Uthal's train came from the high Finthormo; they fpread over the heath to the chace of the boar. Himfelf comes flowly on, in the pride of his ftrength. He lifts two pointed fpears. On his fide is the hero's fword. Three youths carry his polifhed bows: the bounding of five dogs is before him. His warriors move on, at à distance, admiring the fteps of the king. Stately was the fon of Larthmor! but his foul was dark. Dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it foretels the ftorms. We rofe on the heath before the king; he ftopt in the midft of his courfe. His warriors gathered *) Offian thought, that his killing the boar, on his first landing in Berrathon, was a good omen of his future fuccefs in that ifland. The prefent highlanders look, with a degree of fuperftition, upon the fuccefs of their first action, after they have engaged in any defperate undertaking. も gathered around, and a gray-haired bard advanced. Whence are the fons of the ftrangers? begun the bard. The children of the unhappy come to Berrathon; to the fword of car-borne Uthal. He spreads no feaft in his hall: the blood of ftrangers is on his ftreams. If from Selma's walls ye come, from the inoffy walls of Fingal, chufe three youths to go to your king, to tell of the falls of his people. Perhaps the hero his blood on may come and pour Uthal's fword; fo fhall the fame of Finthormo arife, like the growing tree of the vale. Never will it rife, o bard, I faid in the pride of my wrath. He would fhrink in the prefence of Fingal, whofe eyes are the flames. of death. The fon of Comhal comes, and the kings vanish in his prefence; they are rolled together, like mift, by the breath of his rage. Shall three tell to Fingal, that his people fell?, Yes! they may tell it, bard! but his people fhall fall with fame. I ftood in the darkness of my ftrength; Tofcar drew his fword at my fide. The foe came on like a fream: the mingled found of death arofe. Man took man, fhield met fhield; teel mixed its beams with steel. Darts hifs But hifs through air; fpears ring on mails; and Nina *) To mourn over the fall of their enemies, was a |