Yes, my fair, I return; but I alone of my race. Thou shalt fee them no more: their graves I raised on the plain. But why art thou on the defert hill Why on the heath, alone?

Alone I am, O Shilric! alone in the winter-houfe. With grief for thee I expired. Shilric, I am pale in the tomb.

She fleets, she fails away; as gray mist before the wind! and, wilt thou not ftay, my love? Stay, and behold my tears! fair thou appeareft, Vinvela? fair thou waft, when alive!

By the moffy fountain I will fit; on the top of the hill of winds. When mid-day is filent around, converse, my love with me! come on the wings of the gale! on the blaft of the mountain come! Let me hear thy voice, as thou paffeft, when mid-day is filent around.

Such was the fong of Cronnan, on the night of Selma's joy. But morning rofe in the eaft; the blue waters rolled in light. Fingal bade his fails ro rife, and the winds come ruftling from their hills. Inis-tore rose to fight, and Carric-thura's moffy towers. But the fign of diftrefs was on their top the green flame edged with fmoke. The king of

Morven ftruck bis breaft: he affumed, at once, his fpear. His darkened brow bends forward to the coaft: he looks back to the lagging winds. His hair is difordered on his back. The filence of the king is terrible.

Night came down on the fea ; Rotha's bay received the ship. A rock bends along the coaft with all its echoing wood. On the top is the circle (1) of Loda, and the moffy stone of power. A narrow plain fpreads beneath, covered with grafs and aged trees, which the mid-night winds, in their wrath, had torn from the shaggy rock. The blue courfe of a ftream is there and the lonely blast of ocean purfues the thiftle's beard.

The flame of three oaks arofe: the feaft is fpread around but the foul of the king is fad, for Carric - thura's battling chief. The wan, cold moon rofe, in the eaft. Sleep defcended on the youths their blue helmets glitter to the beam; the fading fire decays. But fleep did not reft on the king: he rose in the midst of his arms, and flowly afcended the hill to behold the flame of Sarno's tower.

The flame was dim and diftant; the moon

(1) The circle of Loda is fuppofed to be a place of worship among the Scandinavians, as the fpirit of Loda is thought to be the same with their God Odin.

hid her red face in the east. A blast came from the mountain, and bore, on its wings, the fpirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrors (1), and he shook his dusky spear.His eyes appear like flames in his dark face; and his woice is like diftant thunder. Fingal advanced with the fpear of his ftrength, and raised his voice on high.

Son of night, retire: call thy winds and fly! Why doft thou come to my presence, with thy shadowy arms? Do I fear thy gloomy form, difmal spirit of Loda? Weak is thy shield of clouds: feeble is that meteor, thy fword. The blaft rolls them together; and thou thyfelf doft vanish. Fly from my prefence, fon of night! call thy winds and Ay !

Doft thou force me from my place, replied the hollow voice? The people bend before me. I turn the battle in the field of the valiant. I look on the nations, and they vanish my noftrils pour the blaft of death. I come (2) abroad on the winds: the tem

(1) He is defcribed, in a fimile, in the poem concerning the death of Cuchullin.

(2) There is a great refemblance between the terrors of this mock divinity, and thofe of the true God as they are defcribed in the 18th Pfalo

pefts are before my face. But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my reft are pleasant.

Dwell then in thy calm field, faid Fingal, and let Comhal's fon be forgot. Do my fteps afcend, from my hills, into thy peaceful plains: Do I meet thee, with a fpear, on thy cloud, fpirit of difinal Loda! Why then doft thou frown on Fingal or shake thine airy spear? But thou frownest in vain: I never fled from mighty men. And shall the fons of the wind frighten the king of Morven No: he knows the weakness of their

arms.

he

Fly to thy land, replied the form : receive the wind and fly. The blafts are in the hollow of my hand the courfe of the ftorm is mine. The king of Sora is my fon, bends at the stone of my power. His battle is around Carric-thura; and he will prevail. Fly to thy land, fon of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath.

He lifted high his shadowy fpear; and bent forward his terrible height. But the king, advancing, drew his fword; the blade of dark brown Luno (1). The gleaming path of the

(1) The famous fword of Fingal, made by Lun, or Luno fmith of Lochlin.

fteel winds through the gloomy ghoft. The form fell shapeless into air, like a column of smoke, which the ftaff of the boy difturbs, as it rifes from the half-extinguished furnace.

The fpirit of Loda shrieked, as, rolled into himself, he rose on the wind. Iniftore shook at the found. The waves heard it on the deep they ftopped, in their course, with fear the companions of Fingal started, at once; and took their heavy spears. They miffed the king: they rose with rage; all their arms refound.

:

The moon came forth in the east. The king returned in the gleam of his arms. The joy of his youths was great; their fouls fet tled, as a fea from a ftorm. Ullin raised the fong of gladness. The hills of Iniftore rejoiced. The flame of the oak arofe; and the tales of heroes are told.

But Frothal, Sora's battling king, fits in fadness beneath a tree. The host spreads around Carric-thura. He looks towards the walls with rage. He longs for the blood of Cathulla, who who, once overcame the king in war. When Annir reigned (1) in Sora,

(1) Annir was alfo the father of Erragon, who was killed after the death of his brother Frothal