Tell to the chief (1), that his son fell with fame; that my fword did not shun the battle. Tell him I fell in the midft of thousands, and let the joy of his grief be great. Daughter of Colla! call the maids to Etha's echoing hall. Let their fongs arife from Nathos, when shadowy autumn returns. O that the voice of Cona (2) might be heard in my praife! then would my fpirit rejoice in the midst of my mountain winds.

And my voice shall praife thee, Nathos, chief of the woody Etha! The voice of Of fian shall rife in thy praife, fon of the ge nerous Ufnoth! Why was I not on Lena when the battle rofe? Then would the fword of Offian have defended thee, or himself have fallen low.

We fat, that night, in Selma round the ftrength of the shell. The wind was abroad in the oaks; the fpirit of the mountain (3) shrieked. The blaft came ruftling through the hall, and gently touched my harp. The

(1) Ufnoth.

(2) Offian, the fon of Fingal, is, often, poetically called the voice of Cona.

(3) By the fpirit of the mountain is meant that deep and melancholy found which precedes a ftorm; well known to thofe who live in a high country.

found was mournful and low, like the fong of the tomb. Fingal heard it first, and the crowded fighs of his bofom rose.

Some of my heroes are low, faid the gray-haired king of Morven. I hear the found of death on the harp of my fon. Offian, touch the founding ftring; bid the forrow rife; that their fpirits may fly with joy to Morven's woody hills.

I touched the harp before the king, the found was mournful and low. Bend forward from your clouds, I faid, ghofts of my fathers bend; lay by the red terror of your courfe, and receive the falling chief; whether he comes from a diftant land, or rifes from the rolling fea. Let his robe of mist be near; his fpear that is formed of a cloud. Place an half-extinguished meteor by his fide, in the form of the hero's fword. And, oh! let his countenance be lovely, that his friends may delight in his prefence. Bend from your clouds, I faid, ghofts of my fa thers! bend.

Such was my fong, in Selma, to the lightly-trembling harp. But Nathos was on Ullin's shore, furrounded by the night; he heard the voice of the foe amidst the roar of tumbling waves. Silent he heard their voice, and refted on his fpear.

Morning rofe, with its beams; the fons
Dy

of Erin appear; like gray rocks, with all their trees, they spread along the coaft. Cairbar ftood, in the midft, and grimly smiled when he saw the foe.

Nathos rushed forward, in his ftrength; nor could Dar-thula ftay behind. She came with the hero, lifting her shining fpear. And who are thefe, in their armour in the pride of youth? Who but the fons of Ufnoth, thos and dark-haired Ardan ?

Al

Come, faid Nathos, come! chief of the high Temora Let our battle be on the coaft for the white-bofomed maid. His people are not with Nathos; they are behind that rolling fea. Why doft thou bring thy thoufands against the chief of Etha? Thou didst fly (1) from him, in battle, when his friends were around him.

Youth of the heart of pride, shall Erin's king fight with thee Thy fathers were not among the renowned, nor of the kings of men. Åre the arms of foes in their halls? Or the shields of other times Cairbar is renowned in Temora, nor does he fight with little men.

The tear ftarts from car-borne Nathos;

(1) He alludes to the flight of Cairbar from Seláma.

he turned his eyes to his brothers. Their Spears flew at once and three heroes lay on earth. Then the light of their swords gleamed on high; the ranks of Erin yield; as a ridge of dark clouds before a blast of wind.

Then Cairbar ordered his people, and they drew a thousand bows. A thousand arrows flew; the fons of Ufnoth fell. They fell like three young oaks which stood alone on the hill; the traveller faw the lovely trees, and wondered how they grew fo lonely; the blaft of the defart came, by night, and laid their green heads low; next day he returned, but they were withered, and the heath was bare.

Dar-thula ftood in filent grief, and beheld their fall no tear is in her eye: but her look is wildly fad. Pale was her cheek; her trembling lips broke short an half-formed word. Her dark hair flew on the wind.But gloomy Cairbar came. Where is thy lover now, the car-borne chief of Etha? Haft thou beheld the halls of Ufnoth? Or the dark brown hills of Fingal ? My battle had roared on Morven, did not the winds meet Dar thula. Fingal himself would have been low, and forrow dwelling in Selma.

Her shield fell from Dar-thula's arm, her

breaft of fnow appeared. It appeared, but it was ftained with blood, for an arrow was fixed in her fide. She fell on the fallen Nathos, like a wreath of fnow. Her dark hair fpreads on his face, and their blood is mixing round.

Daughter of Colla! thou art low! faid Cairbar's hundred bards; filence is at the blue ftreams of Seláma, for Truthil's (1) race have failed. When wilt thou rife in thy beauty, firft of Erin's maids? Thy fleep is long in the tomb, and the morning diftant far. The fun shall not come to thy bed, and fay, Awake (2),"Dar-thula! awake thou firft of women! the wind of spring is abroad. The flowers shake their heads on the green hills, the woods wave their growing leaves. Retire, O fun, the daughter of Colla is afleep. She will not come forth in her beauty she will not move, in the steps of

her loveliness.

(1) Truthil was the founder of Dar-thula's fa mily.

over,

(2) Rife up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For lo › the winter is past, the rain is and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of finging is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig-tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines, with the tender grape, give a good fmell. Arife, my love, my fair one and come away. · SOLOMON'S Song.