ARGUMENT to BOOK V. Cuthullin and Connal ftill remain on the hill. Fingal and Swaran meet the combat is described. Swaran is overcome, bound and delivered over as a prisoner to the care of Offian and Gaul the son of Morni; Fingal, his younger fons, and Ofcar, ftill purfue the enemy. The episode of Orla a chief of Lochlin, who was mortally wounded in the battle, is introduced. Fingal, touched with the death of Orla, orders the purfuit to be discontinued; and calling his fons together, he is informed that Ryno, the youngest of them, was flain. He laments his death, hears the story of Lamdarg and Gelchoffa, and returns towards the place where he had left Swaran. Carril, who had been sent by Cuthullin to congratulate Fingal on his victory, comes in the mean time to Offian. The conversation of the two poets closes the action of the fourth day. AN ANCIENT EPIC POE M: IN SIX BOOK S. BOOK V. ON Cromla's refounding fide, Connal spoke to the chief of the noble car. Why that gloom, fon of Semo? Our friends are the mighty in fight. Renowned art thou, O warrior! many were the deaths of thy fteel. Often has Bragela met, with blue-rolling eyes of joy: often has the met her hero, returning in the midst of the valiant; when his fword was red with flaughter; when his foes were filent in the fields of the tomb. Pleasant to her ears were thy bards, when thy deeds arofe in fong. But behold the king of Morven! He moves, below, like a pillar of fire. His ftrength is like the ftream of Lubar, or the wind of the echoing Cromla; when the branchy forefts of night are torn from all their rocks! Happy are thy people, O Fingal! thine arm shall finish their wars. Thou art the first in their dangers: the wifeft in the days of their peace. Thou fpeakeft, and thy thousands obey: armies tremble at the found of thy fteel. Happy are thy people, O Fingal! king of refounding Selma! Who is that fo dark and terrible coming in the thunder of his course? who but Starno's fon to meet the king of Mor ven? Their dark Their steel They fling ven? Behold the battle of the chiefs! it is the ftorm of the ocean, when two spirits meet far diftant, and contend for the rolling of waves. The hunter hears the noise on his hill. He fees the high billows advancing to Ardven's fhore! Such were the words of Connal, when the heroes met in fight. There was the clang of arms! there every blow, like the hundred hammers of the furnace! Terrible is the battle of the kings; dreadful the look of their eyes. brown fhields are cleft in twain. flies, broken, from their helms. their weapons down. Each rushes to his hero's grafp: Their finewy arms bend round each other they turn from fide to fide, and ftrain and stretch their large fpreading limbs below. But when the pride of their strength arose, they fhook the hill with their heels. Rocks tumble, from their places on high; the green-headed bushes are overturned. At length the ftrength of Swaran fell: the king of the groves is bound. Thus have I feen on Cona; but Cona I behold no more! thus have I feen two dark hills, removed from their place, by the ftrength of the bursting stream. They turn from fide to fide in their fall; their tall oaks meet one another on high. Then they tumble together with all their rocks and trees. The streams are turned by their fide. The red ruin is feen afar. "Sons of diftant Morven," faid Fingal: "guard the king of Lochlin! He is strong as his thoufand waves. His hand is taught to war. His race is of the times of old. Gaul, thou first of my heroes; Offian king of songs attend. He is the friend of Agandecca; raife to joy his grief. But, Ofcar, Fillan, and Ryno, ye children of the race! purfue Lochlin over Lena; that no veffel may may hereafter bound, on the dark-rolling waves of Iniftore !" They flew fudden across the heath. He flowly moved, like a cloud of thunder, when the fultry plain of fummer is filent and dark! His fword is before him as a fun-beam; terrible as the streaming meteor of night. He came toward a chief of Lochlin. He spoke to the fon of the wave. "Who is that fo dark and fad, at the rock of the roaring ftream? He cannot bound over its courfe: How ftately is the chief! His boffy fhield is on his fide; his fpear, like the tree of the defart! Youth of the dark-red hair, art thou of the foes of Fingal ?" "I am a fon of Lochlin," he cries, "strong is my arm in war. My fpoufe is weeping at home. Orla fhall never return!" "Or fights or yields the hero," said Fingal of the noble. deeds?" foes do not conquer in my prefence: my friends are renowned in the hall. Son of the wave, follow me, partake the feast of my fhells: pursue the deer of my defart: be thou the friend of Fingal." "No:" faid the hero, I affift the feeble. My ftrength is with the weak in arms. My fword has been always unmatched, warrior! let the king of Morven yield !" I never yielded, Orla! Fingal never yielded to man. Draw thy fword and chuse thy foe. Many are my heroes!" "Does then the king refuse the fight?" faid Orla of the dark-brown fhield. "Fingal is a match for Orla: and he alone of all his rage! But, king of Morven, if I fhall fall, as one time the warrior muft die; raise my tomb in the midft: let it be the greateft on Lena. Send, over the dark-blue wave, the sword of Orla to the fpoufe of his love; that he may fhew it to her |