a staff, on which the warrior leaned. He hummed the fong of other times, when the found of our arms reached his ears. Crothar rofe, ftretched his aged hand, and blessed the fon of Fingal.

Offian! faid the hero, the ftrength of Crothar's arm has failed. O could I lift the fword, as on the day that Fingal fought at Strutha! He was the firft of mortal men; but Crothar had alfo his fame. The king of Morven praised me, and he placed on my arm the boffy shield of Calthar, whom the hero had flain in war. Doft thou not behold it on the wall, for Crothar's eyes have failed? Is thy ftrength, like thy fathers, Offian: let the aged feel thine arm.

I gave my arm to the king; he feels it with his aged hands. The figh rofe in his breaft, and his tears defcended. Thou art ftrong, my fon, he faid, but not like the king of Morven. But who is like that hero among the mighty in war! Let the feaft of my halls be fpread; and let my bards raise the fong. Great is he that is within my walls, fons of echoing Croma!

The feaft is fpread. The harp is heard; and joy is in the hall. But it was joy covering a figh, that darkly dwelt in every breast. It was like the faint beam of the moon spread

on a cloud in heaven. At length the mufic ceafed, and the aged king of Croma spoke ; he fpoke without a tear, but the figh swelled in the midft of his voice.

but

Son of Fingal! doft thou not behold the darkness of Crothar's hall of shells? My foul was not dark at the feaft, when my people lived. I rejoiced in the prefence of ftrangers, when my fon shone in the hall. But, Offian he is a beam that is departed, and left no streak of light behind. He is fallen, fon of Fingal, in the battles of his father.-Rothmar the chief of graffy Tromlo heard that my eyes had failed; he heard that my arms were fixed in the hall, and the pride of his foul arose. He came towards Croma; my people fell before him. I took my arms in the hall, what could fightless Crothar do? My steps were unequal; my grief was great. I wished for the days that were paft. Days! wherein I fought; and conquered in the field of blood. My fon returned from the chace; the fairhaired Fovar-gormo (1). He had not lifted his fword in battle, for his arm was young. But the foul of the youth was great; the fire of valour burnt in his eyes. He saw the difordered fteps of his father, and his figh arose. King of Croma, he said, is it because thou haft no fon; is it for the weakness of Fovar

(1) Faobhar-gorm, the blue point of steel.

gormo's arm that thy fighs arife I begin, my father, to feel the firength of my arm ; have drawn the fword of my youth; and I have bent the bow. Let me meet this Rothmar, with the youths of Croma : let me meet him, O my father; for I feel my burn ing foul.

And thou shalt meet him, I said, son of the fightlefs Crothar! But let others advance before thee, that I may hear the tread of thy feet at thy return; for my eyes behold thee not, fair-haired Fovar-gormo!He went, he met the foe; he fell. The foe advances towards Croma. He who flew my fon is near, with all his pointed fpears.

It is not time to fill the shell, I replied, and took my fpear. My people faw the fire of my eyes, and they rofe around. All night we ftrode along the heath. Gray morn ing rofe in the east. A green narrow vale appeared before us; nor did it want its blue ftream. The dark hoft of Rothmar are on its banks, with all their glittering arms. We fought along the vale; they fled; Rothmar funk beneath my fword. Day had not defcended in the weit, when I brought his arms to Crothar. The aged hero felt them with his hands; and joy brightened in his foul.

The people gather to the hall; the found

of the shells is heard. Ten harps are ftrung; five bards advance, and fing, by turns (1),

(2) Those extempore compofitions were in great repute among fucceeding bards. The pieces extant of that kind shew more of the good ear than of the poetical genius of their authors. The tranf lator has only met with one poem of this fort • which he thinks worthy of being preferved. It is a thousand years later than Offian, but the authors feem to have obferved his manner and adopted fome of his expreffions. The ftory of it is this. Five bards, paffing the night in the house of a chief, who was a poet himself, went feverally to make their obfervations on and returned with an extempore defcription of, night. The night happened to be one in October, as appears from the poem; and in the north of Scotland it has all that variety which the bards afcribe to it, in their defcriptions.

FIRST BARD.

NIGHT is dull and dark. The clouds rest on

the hills. No ftar with green trembling beam; no moon looks from the sky. I hear the blast in the wood; but I hear it diftant far. The ftream of the valley murmurs; but its inurmur is fullen and fad. From the tree at the grave of the dead the long-howling owl is heard. I fee a dim form on the plain !- It is a ghoft!

Alies. Some funeral shall pass this marks the path.

it fades

it

way : the meteor

The distant dog is howling from the hut of the

Kiv

།

the praife of Offian; they poured forth their burning fouls, and the harp anfwered to their

hill. The ftag lies on the mountain-mofs: the hind is at his fide. She hears the wind in his branchy horns. She starts, but lies again.

The roe is in the cleft of the rock; the heath cock's head is beneath his wing. No beast, no bird is abroad but the owl and the howling fox. She on a leaflefs tree: he in a cloud on the hill.

Dark, panting, trembling, fad the traveller has loft his way. Through shrubs, through thorns, he goes, along the gurgling rill. He fears the rock and the fen. He fears the ghost of night. The old tree groans to the blaft ; the falling branch resounds. The wind drives the withered burs, clung together, along the grafs. It is the light tread of a ghost !—H¢ trembles amidft the night.

Dark, dusky, howling is night, cloudy, windy, and full of ghofts! The dead are abroad! my friends, receive me from the night.

SECOND

The wind

BARD.

up. The shower defcends. The fpirit of the mountain shrieks. Woods fall from high. Windows flap. The growing tiver roars. The tra Weller attempts the ford. Hark that shriek! he dies: