youth of the ftream of Loda. Not unequalled fhall Ryno lie in earth, when Orla is by his fide. Weep, ye daughters of Morven; and ye maids of the ftreamy i oda. Like a tree they grew on the hills; and they have fallen like the oak [8] of the defart; when it lies across a ftream and withers in the wind of the mountain.

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Ofcar! chief of every youth! thou feeft how they have fallen. Be thou, like them on earth renowned. Like them the fong of bards. Terrible were their forms in battle but calm was Ryno in the days of peace. He was like the bow of the fhower, feen far diftant on the ftream; when the fun is fetting on Mora, and filence on the hill of deer. Reft, youngest of my fons, reft, o Ryno, on Lena. We too fhall be no more; for the warrior one day must fall.

Such was thy grief, thou king of hills, when Ryno lay on earth. What must the

Nods to the ax, till with a groaning found
It finks and fpreads its honours on the ground;

grief of Offian be, for thou thyself art gone. I hear not thy diftant voice on Cona.

eyes perceive thee not. I fit at thy tomb; and When I think I hear blaft of the defart.

My

Often forlorn and dark feel it with my hands. thy voice; it is but the

Fingal has long fince

fallen afleep, the ruler of the war.

Then Gaul and Offian fat with Swaran on the foft green banks of Lubar. I touched the harp to pleafe the king. But gloomy was his brow. He rolled his red eyes towards Lena. The hero mourned his people.

I lifted my eyes to Cromla, and I faw the fon of generous Semo. Sad and flow he retired from his hill towards the lonely cave of Tura. He faw Fingal victorious, and mixed his joy with grief. The fun is bright on his armour, and Connal flowly followed. They funk behind the hill, like two pillars of the fire of night; when winds pursue them over the mountain, and the flaming heath refounds. Befide a ftream of roaring foam his cave is in a rock. One tree bends above it; and the ruthing winds eccho againft its fides. Here refts the chief of Dunscaich, the fon of generous Semo. His thoughts are on the batt

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le he loft; and the tear is on his cheek. He mourned the departure of his fame, that fled like the mist of Cona. O Bragela, thou art too far remote to cheer the foul of the hero. But let him fee thy bright form in his foul; that his thoughts may return to the lonely fun-beam of Dunscaich.

Who comes with the locks of age? It is the fon of fongs. Hail, Carril of other times, thy voice is like the harp in the halls of Tura." Thy words are pleasant, as the fhower that falls on the fields of the fun. Carril of the times of old, why comeft thou from the fon of the generous Semo?

Offian king of fwords, replied the bard, thou beft raiseft the fong. Long haft thou been known to Carril, thou ruler of battles. Often have I touched the harp to lovely Evirallin. Thou too haft often accompanied my voice in Branno's hall of generous fhells. And often, amidft our voices, was heard the mildeft Evirallin. One day fhe fung of Cormac's fall, the youth that died for her love. I faw the tears on her cheek, and on thine, thou chief of men. Her foul was touched for the unhappy, though

The loved him not. How fair among a thoufand maids was the daughter of the generous Branno!

tears.

Bring not, Carril, I replied, bring not her memory to my mind. My foul must melt at the remembrance. My eyes muft have their Pale in the earth is fhe, the foftly - blushing fair of my love. But fit thou on the heath, o Bard, and let us hear thy voice. It is pleafant, as the gale of fpring, that fighs on the hunter's ear; when he wakens from dreams of joy, and has heard the mufic of the fpirits of the hill.

FINGAL,