defart, and the ftorms darken in thy hand. Thou takeft the fun in thy wrath, and hideft him in thy clouds. The fons of little men are afraid, and a thousand showers descend.— But when thou comeft forth in thy mildnefs; the gale of the morning is near thy courfe. The fun laughs in his blue fields; and the gray ftream winds in its valley.The bushes shake their green heads in the wind. The roes bound towards the desart. But there is a murmur in the heath! the ftormy winds abate! I hear the voice of Fingal. Long has it been abfent from mine ear!-Come, Offian, come away, he fays: Fingal has received his fame. We paffed away, like flames that had shone for a feason, our departure was in renown. Though the plains of our battles are dark and filent; our fame is in the four gray ftones. The voice of Offian has been heard; and the harp was ftrung in It was the immoderate praise bestowed by the poets on their departed friends, that gave the first hint to fuperftition to deify the deceased heroes; and thofe new divinities owed all their attributes to the fancy of the bard who fung their elegies. We do not find, that the praifes of Fingal had this effect upon his countrymen; but that is to be imputed to the idea they had of power, which they always connected with bodily ftrength and perfonal valour, both which were diffolved by death Selma.-Come Offian, come away, he says, and fly with thy fathers on clouds. And come I will, thou king of men! the life of Offian fails. I begin to vanish on Cona; and my steps are not feen in Selma. Befide the ftone of Mora I shall fall asleep. The winds whistling in my grey hair shall not waken me.-Depart on thy wings, O wind: thou canst not difturb the rest of the bard. The night is long, but his eyes are heavy;depart, thou rustling blast. But why art thou fad, fon of Fingal! Why grows the cloud of thy foul? The chiefs of other times are departed; they have gone without their fame. The fons of future years. shall pass away; and another race arife. The people are like the waves of ocean: like the leaves (1) of woody Morven, they pass away (1) The fame thought may be found almost in the fame words, in Homer. Il. vi. 46. Οδη περφύλλων γενεή, τοιήδε καὶ ἀνδρων. Mr. Pope falls short of his original; in particu lar he has omitted altogether the beautiful image of the wind ftrewing the withered leaves on the ground. Like leaves on trees the race of men are found, in the ruftling blaft, and other leaves lift their green heads.— Did thy beauty laft, O Ryno (1)? Stood Now green in youth, now with'ring on the ground; Another race the following fpring fupplies; They fall fucceffive, and fucceffive rife. POPE. (1) Ryno, the fon of Fingal, who was killed in Ireland, in the war against Swaran, ( Fing. b. 5.) was remarkable for the beauty of his perfon, his fwiftness and great exploits. Minvane, the daughter of Morni, and fifter to Gaul fo often mentioned in Offian's compofitions, was in love with Ryno.Her lamentation over her lover is introduced as an episode in one of Offian's great poems. The lamentation is the only part of the poem now extant, and as it has fome poetical merit, I have fubjoin ed it to this note. The poet reprefents Minvane as feeing, from one of the rocks of Morven, the fleet of Fingal returning from Ireland. SHE blushing fad, from Morven's rocks, bends over the darkly-rolling fea. She faw the youths in all their arms. Where, Ryno, where art thou? -That Our dark looks told that he was lowpale the hero flew on clouds; That in the grafs of Morven's hills, his feeble voice was heard in wind. And is the fon of Fingal fallen on Ullin's moffy plains? Strong was the arm that conquered him? -Ah me! I am alone. the ftrength of car-borne Ofcar? Fingal himfelf paffed away; and the halls of his fa Alone I will not be, ye winds that lift my dark-brown hair. My fighs will not long mix with your ftream; for I must fleep with Ryno. I fee thee not with beauty's steps returning from the chace. The night is round Minvane's love, and filence dwells with Ryno. Where are thy dogs, and where thy bow? Thy shield that was fo ftrong? Thy fword like heaven's defcending fire? The bloody fpear of Ryno? I see them mixed in thy ship; I see them stain ed with blood.- -No arms are in thy narrow hall, O darkly-dwelling Ryno! When will the morning come, and fay, arife, thou king of fpears! arife, the hunters are abroad. The hinds are near thee, Ryno! Away, thou fair-haired morning, away the flumbering king hears thee not! The hinds bound over his narrow tomb; for death dwells round young Ryno. But I will tread foftly, my king! and steal to the bed of thy repofe. Minyane will lie in filence, near her flumbering Ryno. thers forgot his fteps.- And shalt thou remain, aged bard ! when the mighty have failed? But fame shall remain, my and grow like the oak of Morven ; which lifts its broad head to the ftorm, and rejoices in the course of the wind. The maids shall feek me; but they shall not find me they shall fellow my departure with fongs. But I will not hear you, O maids! I fleep with fair-haired Ryno. The end of the Second Volume |