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attend the chief, the race (r) of his native ftreams. Feeble was his arm against Carthon, he fell; and his heroes fled.

Connal (z) refumed the battle, but he broke his heavy fpear: he lay bound on the field: and Carthon purfued his people.

Cleffammor! faid the king (3) of Morven, where is the fpear of thy ftrength? Wilt thou, behold Connal bound; thy friend, at the ftream of Lora? Rife, in the light of thy fteel, thou friend of Comhal. Let the youth of Balclutha feel the ftrength of Morven's race.

He rofe in the ftrength of his fteel, shaking his grizly locks. He fitted the shield to his fide; and rushed, in the pride of valour.

Carthon ftood, on that heathy rock, and faw the heroes approach. He loved the tertible joy of his face : and his strength, in the

(1) It appears, from this paffage, that clanship was eftablished, in the days of Fingal, though not on the fame footing with the prefent tribes in the north of Scotland.

(2) This Connal is very much celebrated in ancient poetry, for his wifdom and valour : there is a small tribe ftill fubfifting, in the North, who pretend they are defcended from him.

(3) Fingal did not then know that Carthon was the fon of Clefsammor.

locks of age.Shall I lift that spear, he faid, that never ftrikes, but once, a foe? Or shall I, with the words of peace, preferve the warrior's life Stately are his fteps of age! lovely the remnant of his years. Perhaps it is the love of Moina; the father of car-borne Carthon. Often have I heard, that he dwelt at the echoing ftream of Lora.

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Such were his words, when Clefsammor came, and lifted high his fpear. The youth received it on his shield, and spoke the words of peace. Warrior of the aged locks! Is there no youth to lift the fpear? Haft thou no fon, to raise the shield before his father, and to meet the arm of youth? Is the spouse of thy love no more? or weeps she over the tombs of thy fons? Art thou of the kings of men What will be the fame of my fword if thou shalt fall?

It will be great, thou fon of pride! begun the tall Clefsammor, I have been renowned in battle; but I never told my name (1) to a foe. Yield to me, fon of the wave, and then

(1) To tell one's name to an enemy was reckoned, in those days of heroifm, a manifest evasion of fighting him; for, if it was once known, that friendship fubfifted, of old, between the ancestors of the combatants, the battle immediately ceased; and the ancient amity of their forefathers was renewed. A man who tells is name to his enemy was of old an ignominious term for a coward.

thou shalt know, that the mark of my sword many a field.

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I never yielded, king of fpears! replied the noble pride of Carthon: I have alfo fought in battles; and I behold my future fame. Defpife me not, thou chief of men; my arm, my fpear is ftrong. Retire among thy friends, and let young heroes fight.

Why doft thou wound my foul, replied Clefsammor with a tear Age does not tremble on my hand? I ftill can lift the fword. Shall I fly in Fingal's fight; in the fight of 'him I loved? Son of the fea! I never fled: exalt thy pointed fpear.

They fought, like two contending winds, that ftrive to roll the wave. Carthon bade his fpear to err; for he ftill thought that the foe was the spouse of Moina.-He broke Clefsammor's beamy fpear in twain and feized his shining fword. But as Carthon was binding the chief; the chief drew the dagger of his fathers. He faw the foe's uncovered fide; and opened, there, a wound.

Fingal faw Clefsammor low he moved in the found of his fteel. The hoft ftood filent, in his prefence; they turned their eyes towards the hero. He came, like the fullen noife of a ftorm, before the winds arife the hunter hears it in the vale, retires to the cave of the rock.

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Carthon ftood in his place: the blood is rushing down his fide: he faw the coming down of the king; and his hopes of fame arofe (1); but pale was his cheek: his hair flew loofe, his helmet shook on high: the force of Carthon failed; but his foul was strong.

Fingal beheld the heroes blood; he ftopt the uplifted fpear. Yield, king of fwords! faid Comhal's fon; I behold thy blood. Thou haft been mighty in battle; and thy fame shall never fade.

Art thou the king fo far renowned, replied the car-borne Carthon? Art thou that light of death, that frightens the kings of the world-But why should Carthon ask? for he is like the ftream of his defart; ftrong as a river, in his courfe; fwift as the eagle of the sky. O that I had fought with the king; that my fame might be great in the fong! that the hunter, beholding my tomb, might fay, he fought with the mighty Fingal. But Carthon dies unknown; he has poured out his force on the feeble.

(1) This expreffion admits of a double meaning, either that Carthon hoped to acquire glory by killing Fingal; or to be rendered famous by falling by his hand. The laft is the most probable, as Carthon is already wounded.

But thou shalt not die unknown, replied the king of woody Morven : my bards are many, Ŏ Carthon, and their fongs defcend to future times. The children of the years to come shall hear the fame of Carthon when they fit round the burning oak (1), and the night is spent in the fongs of old. The hunter fitting in the heath, shall hear the ruftling blaft; and, railing his eyes, behold the rock where Carthon fell. He shall turn to his fon, and shew the place where the mighty fought; « There the king of Balclutha fought, like the ftrength of a thousand ftreams. »

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Joy rofe in Carthon's face: he lifted his heavy eyes. He gave his fword to Fingal, to lie within his hall, that the memory of Balclutha's king might remain on Morven. -The battle ceafed along the field for the bard had fung the fong of peace. The chiefs gathered round the falling Carthon, and heard his words, with fighs. Silent they leaned on their fpears, while Balclutha's hero fpoke. His hair fighed in the wind, and his words were feeble.

King of Morven, Carthon faid, I fall in:

(1) In the north of Scotland', till very lately.. they burnt a large trunk of an oak at their feftivals; it was, called the trunk of the feaft. Time had fo much confecrated the custom, that the, vulgar: thought it a kind of facrilege to disuse it.

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