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The face of age brightened with joy and the crouded tears of his eyes poured down. The lips of Colla trembled. His gray beard whiftled in the blaft. Thou art the fifter of Truthil, he faid, and thou burneft in the fire of his foul. Take, Dar-thula, take that spear, that brazen shield, that burnished helmet: they are the fpoils of a warrior: a fon (1) of early youth. When the light rifes on Selama, we go to meet the car-borne Cairbar.-But keep thou near the arm of Colla; beneath the shadow of my shield. Thy father, Darthula, could once defend thee; but age is trembling on his hand.-The ftrength of his arm has failed, and his foul is darkened with grief.

We paffed the night in forrow. The light of morning rofe. I shone in the arm of battle. The gray-haired hero moved before. The fons of Selama convened around the founding shield of Colla. But few were they in the plain, and their locks were gray. The youths had fallen with Truthil, in the battle of car-borne Cormac.

Companions of my youth! faid Colla,

(1) The poet, to make the ftory of Dar-thula's arming herself for battle, more probable, makes her armour to be that of a very young man otherwise it would shock all belief, that she, who was very young, should be able to carry it.

you

it was not thus have feen me in arms. It was not thus Í ftrode to battle, when the great Confadan fell. But ye are laden with grief. The darkness of age comes like the mift of the defart. My shield is worn with years; my fword is fixed (1) in its place. I faid to my foul, thy evening shall be calm, and thy departure like a fading light. But the ftorm has returned; I bend like an aged oak. My boughs are fallen on Selama, and I tremble in my place.-Where art thou, with thy fallen heroes, O my car-borne Truthil! Thou anfwereft not from thy rushing blaft; and the foul of thy father is fad. But I will be fad no more; Cairbar or Colla muft fall. I feel the returning ftrength of my arm. My heart leaps at the found of battle.

The hero drew his fword. The gleaming blades of his people rofe. They moved along the plain. Their gray hair ftreamed in the wind.-Cairbar fat, at the feast, in the filent plain of Lona (2). He saw the coming of

(1) It was the custom of those times, that every warrior, at a certain age, or when he became un. fit for the field, fixed his arms, in the great hali ? where the tribe feafted, upon joyful occafions. He was afterwards never to appear in battle; and this ftage of life was called the time of fixing of the

arms.

(2) Lona, a marshy plain. It was the cutom,in

the heroes, and he called his chiefs to battle.

Why (1) should I tell to Nathos, how the ftrife of battle grew! I have feen thee, in the midft of thousands, like the beam of heaven's fire; it is beautiful, but terrible; the people fall in its red courfe.-The spear of Colla flew, for he remembered the battles of his youth. An arrow came with its found, and pierced the hero's fide. He fell on his echoing shield. My foul ftarted with fear; I ftretched my buckler over him;but my heaving breaft was feen. Cairbar came with his fpear, and he beheld Selama's maid joy rofe on his dark-brown face; he ftayed the lifted fteel. He raised the tomb of Colla; and brought me weeping to Selama. He fpoke the words of love, but my foul was fad. I faw the shields of my fathers, and

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the days of Offian, to feast after victory. Cairbar had juft provided an entertainment for his army, upon the defeat of Truthil the fon of Colla, and the reft of the party of Cormac, when Colla and his aged warriors arrived to give him battle.

(1) The poet avoids the defcription of the battle of Lona, as it would be improper in the mouth of a woman, and could have nothing new, after the numerous defcriptions, of that kind, in his other poems. He, at the fame time, gives an opportunity to Dar-thula to pass a fine compliment on her lover.

the

the fword of car-borne Truthil. I faw the arms of the dead, and the tear was on my cheek.

Then thou didst come, O Nathos: and gloomy Cairbar fled. He fled like the ghoft of the defart before the morning's beam. His hofts were not near and feeble was his arm against thy fteel.

Why (1) art thou fad, O Nathos? faid the lovely maid of Colla.

I have met, replied the hero, the battle in my youth. My arm could not lift the fpear, when firft the danger rofe; but my foul brightened before the war, as the green narrow vale, when the fun pours his ftreamy beams, before he hides his head in a storm. My foul brightened in danger before I faw Seláma's fair; before I faw thee, like a star that shines on the hill, at night; the cloud flowly comes, and threatens the lovely light.

We are in the land of the foe, and the winds have deceived us Dar-thula the ftrength of our friends is not near, nor the mountains of Etha. Where shall I find thy

(1) It is ufual with Offian, to repeat, at the end of the episodes, the fentence wich introduced them. It brings back the mind of the reader to the main ftory of the poem.

VOL. II.

D

peace, daughter of mighty Colla! The bro thers of Nathos are brave and his own fword has shone in war. But what are the fons of Ufnoth to the hoft of car-borne Cairbar! O that the winds had brought thy fails, Ofcar (1) king of men! thou didst promise to come to the battles of fallen Cormac. Then would my hand be ftrong as the flaming arm of death. Cairbar would tremble in his halls, and peace dwell round the lovely Dar-thula. But why doft thou fall, my foul! the fons of Ufnoth may prevail.

And they will prevail, O Nathos ! faid the. rifing foul of the maid never shall Darthula behold the halls of gloomy Cairbar. Give me those arms of brafs, that glitter to that paffing meteor; I fee them in the dark-bofomed ship. Dar-thula will enter the battle of fteel. Ghost of the noble Colla! do I behold thee on that cloud? Who is that dim befide thee? It is the car-borne Truthil. Shall I behold the halls of him that flew Seláma's chief? No: I will not behold them, fpirits of my love!

Joy rofe in the face of Nathos, when he

(1) Ofcar, the fon of Offian, had long refolved on the expedition, into Ireland, against Cairbar, who had affaffinated his friend Cathol, the fon of Moran, an Irishman of noble extraction and in the intereft of the family of Cormac.