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voice of night: At diftance from the heroes
he lay, for the fon of the fword feared no foe.
when lo! the fhade, before his clofing eyes, Of fad Patroclus rofe or feein’d to rife,
În the fame robe he living wore, he came
And fleeps Achilles thus ? the phantoin faid. il)
My hero faw in his rest a dark-red stream
of fire coming down from the hill. Crugal lat . upon the beam, a chief that lately fell. He fell by the hand of Swaran ; striving in the battle of heroes. His face is like the beam of the fetting moon; his robes are of the clouds of the hill; his eyes are like two decaying flames. Dark is the wound of his breaft.
Crugal, faid the mighty Connal, fon of Dedgal famed on the hill of deer. Why fo pale and fad, thou breaker of the shields? Thou haft never been pale for fear. – What disturbs the fon of the hill ?
Dim, and in tears, he ftood and ftretched his pale hand over the hero. – Faintly he raised his feeble voice, like the gale of the reedy Lego.
My ghost, o Connal , is on my native hills; but my corfe is on the fands of Ullin. Thou fhalt never talk with Crugal, or find his lone fteps in the heath. I am light as the blast of Cromla, and I move like the shadow
Or hìm, who made the fainting Greeks retire,
* * * * * * |
of mift. Connal, fon of Colgar , I fee the park cloud of death: it hovers over the plains of Lena. The fons of green Erin fhall fall. Remove from the field of ghofts. Like the darkened moon  he retired, in the midft of the whistling blaft.
Stay, faid the mighty Connal, stay, my dark - red friend. Lay by that beam of heaven, fon of the windy Cromla. What cave of the hill is thy lonely houfe? What green-headed hill is the place of thy rest? Shall we not hear thee in the storm? in the noife of the mountain - stream? When the feeble fons of the wind come forth, and ride on the blast of the defart.
The foft -voiced Connal rofe in the midft of his founding arms. He struck his fhield above Cuchullin. The fon of battle waked. , - Why,  Connal the fon of Caithbat, the friend of Cuchullin, is fometimes, as here, called the fon of Colgar; from one of that name who was the founder of his family.
And hears a feeble, lainentable cry. P O P E
** Why, faid the ruler of the car, comes Connal through the night? My spear might turn against the found?, and Cuchullin mourn the death of his friend. Speak, , Connal, fon of Colgar, fpeak, thy counsel is like the fon of heaven. - y
Son of Semo, replied the chief; the ghost of Crugal came from the cave of his hill. The stars din - twinkled through his form; and his voice was like the found of a distant stream. — He is a mestenger of death. – He speaks of the dark and narrow houfe. Sue for peace, o Chief of Dunscaich; or fly over the heath of Lena.
He spoke to Connal, replied the hero, though stars dim - twinkled through his form. Son of Colgar, it was the wind that murmured in the caves of Lena. Or if it was the form  of Crugal, why didit thou not force - , - “ - him,  The poet teaches us the opinions that prevailed in his tiine concerning the state of feparate fouls.
From Conual's exprefsion , “That the stars dimtwinkled through the form of Crugal,” and Cuchullin's reply, we may gather, that they both thought the foul was material; foinething iike the ɛiðavÅov of the ancient Greeks.
hîm to my fight. Haft thou enquired where is his cave? the houfe of the fon of the wind? My fword might find that voice, and force his knowledge from him. And small is his knowledge, Connal, for he was here to day. He could not have gone beyond our hills, and who could tell him there of our death ?
Ghosts fly on clouds and rîde on winds, faid Connal's voice of wisdom. They reft together in their caves, and talk of mortal men.
Then let them talk of mortal men; of every man bụt Erin's chief. Let me be forgot in their cave; for I will not fly from Swaran. – If I muft fall, my tomb fhall rife amidft the fame of future times. The hunter íhall shed a tear on my stone; and forrow dwell round the high - bofomed Bragéla. I fear not death, but I fear to fly, for Fingal faw me often victorious. Thou dim phantom of the hill,
fhew thyfelf to me! come on thy beam of
heaven, and fhew me my death in thine hand; yet will I not fly, thou feeble fon of the wind. Go, fon of Colgar, strike the shield of Caithbat, it hangs between the fpears. Let my heroes rife to the found in the midft of the battles of Erin. Though Fingal delays his coming