1 King of Morven, Carthon faid, I fall in the midft of my courfe. A foreign tomb receives, in youth, the laft of Reuthamir's race. Darkness dwells in Balclutha; and the fhadows of grief in Crathmo. →→→→ But raise my remembrance on the banks of Lora; where my fathers dwelt. Perhaps the husband of Moina will mourn over his fallen Carthon, His words reached the heart of Clefsẩmmor; he fell, in filence, on his fon. The hoft ftood darkened around: no voice is on the plains of Lora. Night came, and the moon, from the eaft, looked on the mournful field: but ftill they food, like a filent grove, that lifts its head on Gorinal, when the loud winds are laid, and dark autumn is on the plain. Three days they mourned over Carthon; on the fourth his father. died. In the narrow plain of the rock they lie; and a dim ghaft defends their tomb. There lovely Moina is often feen; when the fun- beam darts on the rock, and all around is dark. There fhe is feen, Malvina, but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the ftrangers land; and fhe is ftill alone. Fingal Fingal was fad for Carthon; he défired his bards to mark the day, when fhadowy au tumn returned. And often did they mark the day, and fing the hero's praife. Who coines fo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's fhadowy cloud? Death is trembling in his hand! his eyes are flames of fire! Who roars along dark Lora's heath? Who but Car thon king of fwords? The people fall! how he ftrides, like the fullen ghost of Morven! But there he lies, a goodly oak, which fudden blafts overturned! When fhalt thou rife, Balclutha's joy! lovely car-borne Carthon? Who comes fo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's fhadowy cloud? Such were the words of the bards, in the day, of their mourning: I have accompanied their voice; and added to their fong. My foul has been mournful for Carthon; he fell in the days of his valour: and thou, o Clefsámmor! where is thy dwelling in the air? the youth forgot his wound? the clouds, with thee? Has And flics he, on I feel the fun, o Malvina, leave me to my reft. Perhaps they may come to my dreams; I think, I hear a feeble voice. The beam of heaven delights ⚫ to fhine on the grave of Carthon; I feel it warm around. O thou that rolleft above *), round as the fhield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams, o fun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth, in thy awful beauty, and the stars hide themselves in the fky; the moon, cold and pa le, finks in the western wave. But thou thyfelf moveft alone: who can be a companion of thy courfe! The oaks of the mountains fall: the mountains themfelves decay with years; the ocean fhrinks and grows again; the moon herfelf is loft in heaven: but thou art for ever the fame; rejoicing in the brightness of thy courfe. When the world is dark with tempefts; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies: thou lookeft in thy beauty, from the clouds, and laugheft at the ftorm. But to Offian, thou lookeft in vain; for he beholds thy beams no more: *) This paffage is fomething fimilar to Satan's address O thou that with furpaffing glory crown'd, more: whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou trembleft at the gates of the weft. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a season, and thy years will have an end. Thou shalt fleep in thy clouds, carelefs of the voice of the morning. Exfult then, o fun, in the strength of thy youth! Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it fhines through broken clouds, and the mift is on the hills; the blast of the north is on the plain, the traveller fhrinks in the midft of his journey. THE THE DEATH OF CUCHULLIN: A POEM *). I s the wind on Fingal's fhield? Or is the voice of paft times in my hall? Sing on, fweet voice, for thou art pleasant, and carrieft away my night with joy. Sing on, o Bragéla, daughter of car-borne Sorglan! It *) Tradition throws confiderable light on the history of Ireland, during the long reign of Fingal, the fon of Comhaf, in Morven. Arth, the fon of Cairbre, fupreme king of Ireland, dying, was fucceeded by his fon Cormac, a minor. The petty kings and chiefs of the tribes met at Temora, the royal palace, in order to chufe, out of their own number, a guardian to the young king. Disputes, concerning the choice of a proper perfon, run high, and it was refolved to end all differences by giving the tuition of the young king to Cuchullin, the fon of Semo; who had rendered himself fainous by his great actions, and who |