his fparkling eyes. —Grief faddens around; the bards bend forward from their harps. The blaft touches their ftrings, and the found of woe afcends.

A voice is heard at a distance, as of one in grief; it was Carril of other times, who came from the dark Slimora (1).-He told of the death of Cuchullin, and of his mighty deeds. The people were scattered around his tomb: their arms lay on the ground. They had forgot the battle, for the found of his shield had ceased.

But who, faid the foft-voiced Carril, come like the bounding roes? their ftature is like the young trees of the plain, growing in a shower-Soft and ruddy are their cheeks: but fearless fouls look forth from their eyes. -Who but the fons of Ufnoth the carborne chiefs of Etha? The people rife on every fide like the ftrength of an halfextinguished fire, when the winds come fuddenly from the defart, on their ruftling wings. -The found of Caithbat's shield was heard. The heroes faw Cuchullin (2), in the form

(1) Slimora, a hill in Connaught, near which Cuchullin was killed.

(2) That is, they faw a manifeft likeness be tween the person of Nathos and Cuchullin.

of lovely Nathos. So rolled his fparkling eyes, and fuch were his steps on his heath.-Battles are fought at Lego: the fword of Nathos prevails. Soon shalt thou behold him in thy halls, king of woody Temora !

And foon may I behold him, O Carril ! replied the returning joy of Cormac. But my foul is fad for Cuchullin : his voice was pleasant in mine ear.-Often have we moved on Dora, at the chace of the dark-brown hinds his bow was unerring on the moun tains. He spoke of mighty men. He told of the deeds of my fathers; and I felt the joy of my breaft.-But fit thou, at the feast, O Carril; I have often heard thy voice. Sing in the praise of Cuchullin; and of that mighty. ftranger.

Day rofe on Temora, with all the beams of the eaft. Trathin came to the hall, the fon of old Gellama (1).—I behold, he said a dark cloud in the defart, king of Innisfail! a cloud it seemed at firft, but now a crowd of men. One ftrides before them in his ftrength; and his red hair flies in the wind. His shield glitters to the beam of the caft. His spear is in his hand.

Call him to the feaft of Temora, replied

(1) Geal-lamha, white-handed.

the king of Erin. My hall is the house of ftrangers, fon of the generous Gellama! Perhaps it is the chief of Etha, coming in the found of his renown.-Hail, mighty ftranger, art thou of the friends of Cormac?But Carril, he is dark, and unlovely; and he draws his fword. Is that the son of Úsnoth, bard of the times of old?

It is not the fon of Ufnoth, faid Carril, but the chief of Atha.-Why comeft thou in thy arms to Temora, Cairbar of the gloomy brow Let not thy fword rife againft Cormac ! Whither doft thou turn thy speed?

Hé paffed on in his darkness, and feized the hand of the king. Cormac forefaw his death, and the rage of his eyes arose. Retire, thou gloomy chief of Atha: Nathos comes with battle. Thou art bold in Cormac's hall, for his arm is weak.-The fword entered Cormac's fide: he fell in the halls of his fathers. His fair hair is in the dust. His blood is fmoaking round.

And art thou fallen in thy halls, I faid (1), O fon of noble Artho? The shield of Cuchullin was not near. Nor the fpear of thy father. Mournful are the mountains of Erin, for the chief of the people is low !-Bleft be

[ (1) Althan speaks.

thy foul, O Cormac ! thou art fnatched from the midft of thy course.

My words came to the ears of Cairbar and he closed us (1) in the midst of darkness. He feared to stretch his fword to the bards (1): though his foul was dark. Three days we pined alone on the fourth, the noble Cathmor came. He heard our voice from the cave; he turned the eye of his wrath on Cairbar.

Chief of Atha! he said,how long wilt thou pain my foul? Thy heart is like the rock of the defart; and thy thoughts are dark.-But thou art the brother of Cathmor, and he will fight thy battles.-But Cathmor's foul is not like thine, thou feeble hand of war! The light of my bofom is ftained with thy deeds: the bards will not fing of my renown. They may fay, « Cathmor was brave, but he fought « for gloomy Cairbar. » They will pass over my tomb in filence, and my fame shall not be heard.-Cairbar! loose the bards: they are the fons of other times. Their voice shall be heard in other ages, when the kings of Temora have failed.

(1) That is, himself and Carril, as it after wards appears.

(2) The perfons of the bards were fo facred that even he who had juft murdered his fove reign, feared to kill them.

We came forth at the words of the chief. We faw him in his ftrength. He was like thy youth, O Fingal, when thou firft didft lift the fpear. His face was like the funny field when it is bright: no darkness moved over his brow. But he came with his thousands to Ullin, to aid the red-haired Cairbar : and now he comes to revenge his death O king of woody Morven.

And let him come, replied the king; I love a foe like Cathmor. His foul is great: his arm is ftrong, and his battles are full of fame. But the little foul is like a vapour that hovers round the marshy lake: it never rifes on the green hill, left the winds meet it there its dwelling is in the cave and it fends forth the dart of death.

Ufnoth! thou haft heard the fame of Etha's car-borne chiefs. Our young heroes, O warrior, are like the renown of our fathers. -They fight in youth, and they fall : their names are in the fong.-But we are old O Ufnoth, let us not fall like aged oaks; which the blaft overturns in fecret. The bun

ter came paft and faw them lying gray across a ftream. How have thefe fallen? he faid, and whiftling paffed along.

Raife the fong of joy, ye bards of Mor→ ven, that our fouls may forget the 'paft.