thy youthful days. Sorrow, like a cloud on the fun, shades the foul of Clefsammor. Mournful are thy thoughts, alone, on the banks of the roaring Lora. Let us hear the forrow of thy youth, and the darkness of thy days. I was in the days of peace, replied the great Clefsammor, I came, in my bounding ship, to Balclutha's (1) walls of towers. The winds had roared behind my fails, and Clutha's (z) ftreams received my dark-bofomed veffel. Three days I remained in Reuthamir's halls, and faw that beam of light, his daughter. The joy of the shell went round, and the aged hero gave the fair. Her breafts were like foam on the wave, and her hair was dark as the raven's wing: her foul was generous and mild. My love for Moina was great: and iny heart poured forth in joy. The fon of a stranger came; a chief who loved the white-bofomed Moina. His words were mighty in the hall and he often halfunsheathed his fword.-Where, he faid, is (1) Balclutha, . e. the town of Clyde, probably the Alcluth of Bede. (2) Clutha or Cluath, the Galic name of the river Clyde, the fignification of the word is bending, in allufion to the winding course of that ti ver. From Clutha is derived its Latin name Glotta. the mighty Comhal, the reftlefs wanderer (1) of the heath? Comes he, with his hoft, to Balclutha, fince Clefsammor is fo bold? My foul, I replied, O warrior! burns in a light of its own. I ftand without fear in the midft of thousands, though the valiant are diftant far. Stranger! thy words are mighty, for Clefsammor is alone. But my fword trembles by my fide, and longs to glitter in my hand. Speak no more of Comhal, fon of the winding Clutha ! The ftrength of his pride arofe. We fought; he fell beneath my fword. The banks of Clutha heard his fall, and a thousand spears glittered around.1 fought: the ftrangers prevailed: I plunged into the ftream of Clutha. My white fails rofe over the waves,and I bounded on the dark-blue fea.-Moina came to the shore, and rolled the red eye of her tears: her dark hair flew on the wind; and I heard her cries. Often did I turn my ship; but the winds of the Eaft prevailed. Nor Clutha ever fince have'l feen:nor Moina of the dark brown hair.She fell in Balclutha : for I have seen her ghost. (1) The word in the original here rendered by reftless wanderer, is Scuta, which is the true origin of the Scori of the Romans; an opprobrious name impofed by the Britons, on the Caledonians, account of the continual incurfions into their country. on I knew her as she came through the dusky night, along the murmur of Lora: she was like the new moon (1) feen through the gathered mift: when the sky pours down its flaky fnow, and the world is filent and dark. Raife (2), ye bards, faid the mighty Fingal, the praife of unhappy Moina. Call her ghoft, with your fongs, to our hills; that she may reft with the fair of Morven, the funbeams of other days, and the delight of he (1) Inter quas Phænissa reçens a vulnere Dido VIRG. Not far from these Phoenician Dido ftood, (2) The title of this poem, in the original, is Duan naonlaoi, i. e. The Poem of the Hymns: probably on account of its many digreffions from the fub. ject, all which are in lyric measure as this fong of Fingal. Fingal is celebrated by the Irish hifto rians for his wisdom in making laws, his poetical toes of old. I have feen the walls (1) of Balclutha, but they were defolate. The fire had refounded in the halls and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of Clucha was removed from its place, by the fall of the walls.-The thiftle shook, there, its lonely head: the moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out, from the windows; the tank grass of the wall waved round his head. -Defolate is the dwelling of Moina, filence is in the house of her fathers.-Raife the fong of mourning, O bards, over the land of strangers. They have but fallen before us: for, one day, we must fall.-Why doft thou build the hall, fon of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy towers to-day; yet a few years, and the blaft of the defart comes; it howls in thy empty court, and whistles round thy half-worn shield. And let the blaft of the defart come! we shall be renowned in our day. The mark of my arm shall be in the battle, and my name in the fong of bards.-Raife the fong; fend round the shell: and let joybe heard in hall. When thou, fun of heaven, shalt fail! if thou shalt fail, thou mighty light!ifthy bright my genius, and his foreknowledge of events.O'Flaherty goes fo far as to fay, that Fingal's laws were extant in his own time. (1) The reader may compare this paffage with the three laft verfes of the 23th chapter of Ifaiah, where the prophet foretells the destruction of Babylon, nefs is for a season, like Fingal; our fame shall furvive thy beams, Such was the fong of Fingal, in the day of his joy. His thoufand bards leaned forward from their seats, to hear the voice of the king. It was like the music of the harp on the gale of the fpring. Lovely were thy thoughts, O Fingal ! why had not Offian the ftrength of thy foul? But thou standest alone, my father; and who can equal the king of Morven ? in The night paffed away in fong, and morning returned in joy;-the mountains shewed their gray heads; and the blue face of ocean fmiled.-The white wave is seen tumbling round the diftant rock; the gray mift rifes, flowly, from the lake. It came, the figure of an aged man, along the filent plain. Its large limbs did not move in steps; for a ghoft fupported it in mid air. It came towards Selma's hall, and diffolved in a shower of blood. The king alone beheld the terrible fight, and he forefaw the death of the people. He came, in filence, to his hall; and took his father's fpear. The mail rattled on his breast. The heroes rofe around. They looked, in filence, on each other, marking the eyes of Fingal. They faw the battle in his face: the death |