Thou takeft the fun in thy wrath, and hideft him in thy clouds. The fons of little men are afraid; and a thousand showers defcend. But when thou comeft forth in thy mildnefs; the gale of the morning is near thy courfe. The fun laughs in his blue fields; and the gray ftream winds in its valley. The bushes fhake their green heads in the wind. The roes bound towards the defart. But there is a murmur in the heath! the ftormy winds abate! I hear the voice of Fingal. Long has it been absent from mine ear! Come, It was the immoderate praise bestowed by the poets on their departed friends, that gave the first hint to fuperftition to deify the deceased heroes; and those new divinities owed all their attributes to the fancy of the bard who fung their elegies. We do not find, that the praises of Fingal had this effect upon his countrymen; but that is to be imputed to the idea they had of power, which they always connected with bodily ftrength and perfonal valour, both which were disfolved by death. F 1 Come, Offian, come away, he fays: Fingal has received his fame. We paffed away, like flames that had fhone for a feafon; our departure was in renown. Though the plains of our battles are dark and filent; our fame is in the four gray ftones. The voice of Offian has been heard; and the harp was ftrung in Selma. Come, Offian, come away, he says, and fly with thy fathers on clouds. Be The And come I will, thou king of men! the life of Offian fails. I begin to vanish on Cona; and my fteps are not feen in Selma. fide the ftone of Mora I fhall fall asleep. winds whistling in my grey hair fhall 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 fad, fon of Fingal? Why grows the cloud of thy foul? The chiefs of other times are departed; they have gone without their fame. The fons of future years fhall pass away; and another race arife. The people are like the waves of ocean: like the leaves *) of woody Morven; they pass away in the rustling blaft, and other leaves lift their green heads. Did thy beauty laft, o Ryno **)? Stood the strength of car-borne Ofcar? Fingal himself paffed *) The fame thought may be found almoft in the fame words, in Homer, vi. 46. Όη περ φύλλων γενεή, τοι δε καὶ ἄνδρων. Φύλλα ταμέν τ' ἄνεμος χαμάδις χέει, ἄλε λα δε θ' ὕψη Τυλεθόωσα φύει ἔαρος δ ̓ ἐπιγίγνεται ώρη. Mr. Pope falls short of his original; in particular he has omitted altogether the beautiful image of the wind ftrewing the withered leaves on the ground. Like leaves on trees the race of men are found, Now green in youth, now with ring on the ground; Another race the following fpring supplies; POPE, **) Ryno, the son of Fingal, who was killed in İreland, in the war againft Swaran, [Fing. b. 5.1 paffed away; and the halls of his fathers forgot his steps. And fhalt thou remain, aged bard! was remarkable for the beauty of his perfon, his swiftness and great exploits. Minvane, the daughter of Morni, and fifter to Gaul fo mentioned in Offian's compofitions, was in love with Ryno. Her lamentation over her lover is introduced as an epifode in one of Offian's great poems. The lamentation is the only part of the poem now exftant, and as it has fome poetical merit, I have fubjoined it to this note. The poet reprefents Minvane as feeing, from one of the rocks of Morven, the fleet of Fingal returning from Ireland. he blufhing, fad, from Morven's rocks, bends She over the darkly - rolling fea. She faw 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 grafs of Morven's hills, his feeble voice was heard in wind! And is the fon of Fingal fallen, on Ullin's moffy plains? Strong was the arm that conquered him! Ah me! I am alone. Alone bard! when the mighty have failed? But my fame fhall remain, and grow like the oak of Alone I will not be, ye winds! that lift my dark brown hair. My fighs will not long mix with your stream; for I must fleep with Ryno. I fee thee not, with beauty's steps returning from the chace. The night is round Minvane's love; and filefice dwells with Ryno. Where are thy dogs, and where thy bow? Thy shield that was fo ftrong? Thy fword like heaven's defcending fire? The bloody spear of Ryno? I fee them mixed in thy fhip; I fee them tained with blood. No arms are in thy narrow hall, o darkly-dwelling Ryno! When will the morning come, and fay, arise, thou king of fpears! arife, the hunters are abroad, The hinds are near thee, Ryno! Away, thou fair - haired morning, away! the flumbering king hears thee not! The hinds bound over his narrow tomb; for death dwells round young Ryno. |