heath. The hunter fhall not know the place of our reft. Our naines may be heard in fong, but the ftrength of our arms will cease. 0 Offian, Carril, and Ullin, you know of heroes that are no inore. Give us the fong of other years. Let the night pafs away on the found, and morning return with joy.

We gave the fong to the kings, and a hundred harps accompanied our voice. The face of Swaran brightened like the full moon of heaven, when the clouds vanifh away, and leave her calm and broad in the midst of the sky.

It was then that Fingal spoke to Carril the chief of other times. Where is the fon of Semo; the king of the ifle of mift? has he retired, like the meteor of death, to the dreary cave of Tura?

Cuchullin, faid Carril of other times, lies in the dreary cave of Tura.. His hand is on the fword of his ftrength. His thoughts on the battle which he loft. Mournful is the king of fpears; for he has often been victorious. He fends the fword of his war to reft on the fide of Fingal. For, like the ftorm of the defart, thou haft fcattered all his foes. Take,

for his

o Fingal, the fword of the hero ; fame is departed like mift, when it flies before the rustling wind of the vale.

No: replied the king, Fingal fhall never take his fword. His arm is mighty in war; and tell him, his fame fhall never fail. Many have been overcome in battle, that have fhone afterwards like the fun of heaven.

O Swaran, king of the refounding woods, give all thy grief away. The vanquished, if brave, are renowned; they are like the fun in a cloud, when he hides his face in the fouth, but looks again on the hills of grafs.

Grumal was a chief of Cona. He fought the battle on every coaft. His foul rejoiced in blood; his ear in the din of arms. He poured his warriors on the founding Craca; and Craca's king met him from his grove; for then within the circle of Brumo [*] he spoke to the ftone of power.

Fierce

[*] This paffage alludes to the religion of the king of Craca. See a note on a fimilar fubject in the third book, p. 59.

Fierce was the battle of the heroes, for the maid of the breaft of fnow. The fame of the daughter of Craca had reached Grumal at the ftreams of Cona; he vowed to have the white bofomed maid, or die on the ecchoing Craca. Three days they ftrove together, and Grumal on the fourth was bound.

Far from his friends they placed him in the horrid circle of Brumo; where often, they faid, the ghofts of the dead howled round the ftone of their fear. But afterwards he fhone like a pillar of the light of heaven. They fell by his mighty hand, and Grumal had his fame.

Raife, ye bards of other times, raise high the praise of heroes; that my foul may fettle on their fame; and the mind of Swaran cease to be fad.

1

They lay in the heath of Mora; the dark winds ruftled over the heroes. A hundred voices at once arofe, a hundred harps were ftrung; they fung of other times, and the mighty chiefs of former years.

When now fhall I hear the bard; or rejoi ee at the fame of my fathers? The harp is not

ftrung

ftrung on Morven; nor the voice of mufic raifed on Cona. Dead with the mighty is the bard; and fame is in the defart no more.

Morning trembles with the beam of the eaft, and glimmers on gray-headed Cromla, Over Lena is heard the horn of Swaran, and the fons of the ocean gather around. Silent

and fad they mount the wave, and the blaft of Ullin is behind their fails. White, as the mist of Morven, they float along the fea.

Call, faid Fingal, call my dogs, the longbounding fons of the chace. Call white - breasted Bran; and the furly ftrength of Luath. Fillan, and Ryno but he is not here; my fon refts on the bed of death. Fillan and Fergus, blow my horn, that the joy of the chace may arife; that the deer of Cromla may hear and ftart at the lake of roes.

The fhrill found fpreads along the wood. The fons of heathy Cromla arife. A thoufand dogs fly off at once, gray-bounding through the heath. A deer fell by every dog, and three by the white-breafted Bran. He brought them,

in their flight, to Fingal, that the joy of the

king might be great.

One deer fell at the tomb of Ryno; and the grief of Fingal returned. He faw how peaceful lay the ftone of him who was the firft at the chace. No more fhalt thou rife, o my fon, to partake of the feat of Cromla. Soon will thy tomb be hid, and the grafs grow rank on thy grave. The fons of the feeble fhall pass over it, and not know that the mighty lie there.

and

Are

Offian and Fillan, fons of my ftrength, and Gaul king of the blue fwords of war, let us afcend the hill to the cave of Tura, find the chief of the battles of Erin. thefe the walls of Tura? gray and lonely they rife on the heath. The king of fhells is fad, and the halls are defolate. Come let us find the king of fwords, and give him all our joy. But is that Cuchullin, o Fillan, or a pillar of finoke on the heath? The wind of Cromla is on my eyes, and I distinguish friend.

not my

Fingal! replied the youth, it is the fon of Semo. Gloomy and fad is the hero; his hand