rush, fon of Nuath, with a thousand of thy heroes? Why doft thou not defcend with thy hoft, before the warriors fly? Their blue arms are beaming to the rifing light, and their steps are before us on the heath.

Son of the feeble hand, faid Lathmon, shall my. hoft defcend! They (1) are but two, fon of Dutha, and shall `a thousand lift their fteel! Nuath would mourn, in his hall, for the departure of his fame. His eyes would turn from Lathmon, when the tread

at Banff, ftill retains the name of Duvtan. If that is meant, by Offian in this paffage Lathmon must have been a prince of the Pictish nation, or thofe Caledonians who inhabited of old the eastern coaft of Scotland.

(1) Offian feldom fails to give his heroes though enemies, that generofity of temper which it appears from his poems was a confpicuous part of his own character. Those who too much despise their enemies do not reflect that the more they take from the valour of their foes, the lefs merit they have themselves in conquering them. The cuftom of depreciating enemies is not altogether one of the refinements of modern heroifm. This railing difpofition is one of the capital faults in Homer's characters, which, by the bye, cannot be imputed to the poet who kept to the manners

of the times of which he wrote. Milton has folLowed Homer in this refpe&; but railing is lefs shocking in infernal fpirits, who are the obje&s of horror, than in heroes, who are set up as pat terns of imitation,

of his feet approached. Go thou to the heroes, chief of Dutha, for I behold the ftately fteps of Offian. His fame is worthy of my fteel; let him fight with Lathmon.

The noble Sulmath came. I rejoiced in the words of the king. I raised the shield on my arm; and Gaul placed in my hand the sword of Morni. We returned to the murmuring ftream; Lathmon came in his ftrength. His dark hoft rolled, like the clouds, behind him: but the son of Nuath was bright in his steel.

Son of Fingal, faid the hero, thy fame has grown on our fall. How many lie there of my people by thy hand, thou king of men! Lift now thy fpear againft Lathmon; and lay the fon of Nuath low. Lay him low among his people, or thou thyfelf must fall. It shall never be told in my halls that my warriors fell in my prefence; that they fell in the prefence of Lathmon when his fword refted by his fide: the blue eyes of Cutha (1) would roll in tears, and her fteps be lonely in the vales of Dunlathion.

Neither shall it be told, I replied, that the fon of Fingal fled. Were his fteps covered with darkness, yet would not Offian fly; his foul would meet him and fay, « Does the

(1) Cutha appears to have been Lathmon's wife or mistress.

bard of Selma fear the foe? » No: he does not fear the foe. His joy is in the midft of battle.

Lathmon came on with his fpear, and pierced the shield of Offian. I felt the cold fteel at my fide; and drew the fword of Morni: I cut the fpear in twain; the bright point fell glittering on the ground. The fon of Nuath burnt in his wrath, and lifted high his founding shield. His dark eyes rolled above it, as bending forward, it shone like a gate of brafs. But Offian's fpear pierced the brightness of its boffes, and funk in a tree that rofe behind. The shield hung on the quivering lance; but Lathmon ftill advanced. Gaul forefaw the fall of the chief, and stretched his buckler before my fword; when it defcended, in a stream of light over the king of Dunlathmon.

Lathmon beheld the fon of Morni, and the tear ftarted from his eye. He threw the fword of his fathers on the ground, and spoke the words of the valiant. Why should Lathmon fight against the firft of mortal men? Your fouls are beams from heaven; your swords the flames of death. Who can equal the renown of the heroes, whose actions are so great in youth! O that ye were in the halls of Nuath, in the green dwelling of Lathmon! then would my father fay, that his fon did

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not yield to the feeble. - But who comes, a mighty ftream, along the echoing heath? The little hills are troubled before him, and a thousand fpirits are on the beams of his fteel; the fpirits (1) of thofe who are to fall by the arm of the king of refounding Morven. Happy art thou, Ŏ Fingal, thy fons shall fight thy battles; they go forth before thee; and they return with the steps of renown.

Fingal came, in his mildness, rejoicing in fecret over the actions of his fon. Morni's face brightened with gladness, and his aged eyes looked faintly through the tears of joy. We came to the halls of Selma, and fat round the feaft of shells. The maids of the fong came into our prefence, and the mildly blushing Evirallin. Her dark hair fpread on her neck of fnow, her eye rolled in fecret on Offian; she touched the harp of music and we blessed the daughter of Branno.

Fingal rofe in his place, and spoke to Dunlathmon's battling king. The fword of Trenmor trembled by his fide, as he lifted up his mighty arm. Son of Nuath, he faid, why doft thou fearch for fame in Morven? We are not of the race of the feeble; nor do our fwords

(1) It was thought, in Offian's time, that each perfon had his attending fpirit. The traditions concerning this opinion are dark and unfatisfactory.

gleam over the weak. When did we come to Duntlathmon, with the found of war? Fingal does not delight in battle, though his arm is ftrong. My renown grows on the fall of the haughty. The lightning of my fteel pours on the proud in arms. The battle comes; and the tombs of the valiant rife; the tombs of my people rise, O my fathers! and I at laft must remain alone. But I will remain renowned, and the departure of my foul shall be one ftream of light. Lathmon! retire to thy place. Turn thy battles to other lands. The race of Morven are renowned, and their foes are the fons of the unhappy.