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hills! Raife the ftones of my fame. Place the horn of the deer, and my fword within my narrow dwelling. The torrent hereafter may wash away the earth of my tomb: the hunter may find the fteel and fay, « This « has been Ofcar's fword. >>

And falleft thou, fon of my fame! And shall I never see thee, Ofcar! When others hear of their fons, I shall not hear of thee. The mofs is on the ftones of his tomb, and the mournful wind is there. The battle shall be fought without him : he shall not pursue the dark-brown hinds. When the warrior returns from battles, and tells of other lands, he will fay, I have feen a tomb, by the roaring ftream, where a warrior darkly dwells: he was flain by car-borne Ofcar, the first of mortal men.-1, perhaps, shall hear him, and a beam of joy will rife in my foul.

The night would have defcended in forrow, and morning returned in the shadow of grief: our chiefs would have ftood like cold dropping rocks on Lena, and have forgot the war, had not the king difperfed his grief, and raised his mighty voice. The chiefs as new-wakened from dreams, lift their heads around.

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How long shall we weep on Lena ; or pour our tears in Ullin? The mighty will

not return. Ofcar shall not rife in his strength. The valiant muft fall one day, and be no more known on his hills.-Where are our fathers, O warriors! the chiefs of the times of old? They have fet like ftars that have shone, we only hear the found of their praife. But they were renowned in their day, and the terror of other times. Thus shall we pass, O warriors, in the day of our fall. Then let us be renowned when we may; and leave our fame behind us, like the last beams of the fun, when he hides his red head in the weft.

Ullin, my aged bard! take the ship of the king. Carry Ofcar to Selma, and let the daughters of Morven weep. We shall fight in Erin for the race of fallen Cormac. The days of my years begin to fail: Ifeel the weaknefs of my arm. My fathers bend from their clouds, to receive their gray-haired fon. But, Trenmor! before I go hence, one beam of my fame shall rife: fo shall my days end, as my years begun, in fame : my life shall be one ftream of light to other times.

Ullin raif'd his white fails: the wind of the fouth came forth. He bounded on the waves towards Selma's walls. I remained in my grief, but my words were not heard.

The feaft is fpread on Lena: an hundred heroes reared the tomb of Cairbar: but no fong is raised over the chief; for his foul

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had been dark and bloody. We remembered the fall of Cormac ! and what could we say in Cairbar's praise ?

The night came rolling down. The light of an hundred oaks arofe. Fingal fat beneath a tree. The chief of Etha fat near the king, the gray-hair'd ftrength of Usnoth.

Old Althan (1) ftood in the midft, and told the tale of fallen Cormac. Althan the fon of Conachar, the friend of car-borne Cuchullin: he dwelt with Cormac in windy Temora, when Semo's fon fought with generous Torlath. The tale of Althan was mournful, and the tear was in his eye.

(2) The fetting fun was yellow on Do+ ra (3). Gray evening began to defcend. Temora's woods shook with the blaft of the unconftant wind. A cloud, at length, ga

(1) Althan, the fon of Conachar, was the chief bard of Arth king of Ireland. After the death of Arth, Althan attended his fon Cormac, and was prefent at his death. He had made his efcape from Cairbar, by the means of Cathmor coming to Fingal, related, as here, the death of his mafter Cormac.

and

(2) Althan speaks.

(3) Doira, the woody fide of a mountain; it is here a hill in the neighbourhood of Temora.

thered in the weft, and a red ftar looked from behind its edge.-I ftood in the wood alone, and faw a ghoft on the darkening air. His ftride extended from hill to hill: his shield was dim on his. fide. It was the fon of Semo: I knew the fadness of his face. But he paffed away in his blaft; and all was dark around. My foul was fad. I went to the hall of shells. A thousand lights arofe; the hundred bards had ftrung the harp. Cormac stood in the midft, like the morning ftar (1), when it rejoices on the eastern hill, and its young beams are bathed in showers. -The fword of Artho (2) was in the hand of the king; and he looked with joy on its polished ftuds: thrice he attempted to draw it, and thrice he failed his yellow locks are spread on his shoulders: his cheeks

(1) Qualis, ubi oceani perfufus Lucifer unda, Quem Venus ante alios aftrorum diligit ignes, Extulit os facrum cœlo, tenebrasque refolvit.

VIRG.

So from the feas exerts his radiant head,
The flar, by whom the lights of heav'n are led;
Shakes from his rofy locks the pearly dews;

Difpels the darkness, and the day renews.

DRYDEN.

(1) Arth, or Artho, the father of Cormac king of Ireland.

of youth are red.-I mourned over the beam of youth, for he was foon to fet.

Althan! he faid, with a finile, haft thou beheld my father Heavy is the fword of the king, furely his arm was ftrong. O that I were like him in battle, when the rage of his wrath arofe! then would I have met ร like Cuchullin, the car-borne fon of Cantéla! But years may come on O Althan! and my arm be strong.-Haft thou heard of Semo's fon, the chief of high Temora? He might have returned with his fame; for he promised to return to-night. My bards wait him with their fongs, and my feast is fpread.

,

I heard the king in filence. My tears began to flow. I hid them with my gray locks; but he perceived my grief.

Son of Conachar! he faid, is the king of Tura low? Why burfts thy figh in fecret? • And why_defcends the tear? Comes the car-borne Torlath? Or the found of the redhaired Cairbar?-They come !-for I fee thy grief; and Tura's king is low! Shall I not rush to battle-But I cannot lift the arms of my fathers!-O had mine arm the strength of Cuchullin, foon would Cairbar fly; the fame of my fathers would be renewed, and the actions of other times!

He took his bow of yew. Tears flow from

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