ARGUMENT. After an addrefs to Malvina, the daughter of Tofcar, Off proceeds to relate his own expedition to Fuärfed, an island of Scandinavia. Mal-orchol, king of Fuärfed, being hard preffed in war, by Ton-thormod, chief of Sar-dronlo, (who had demanded, in vain, the daughter of Mal-orchol in marriage) Fingal fent Offian to his aid. Offian, on the day after his arrival, came to battle with Ton-thormod, and took him prisoner. Mal-orchol offers his daughter Oinamorul to Offian; but he, difcovering her passion for Tonthormod, generously furrenders her to her lover, and brings about a reconciliation between the two kings, INA - MORUL: P O E M.. As flies the unconftant fun, over Larmon's graffy hill; fo pass the tales of old, along my foul, by night! When bards are removed to their place; when harps are hung in Selma's hall; then comes a voice to Offian, and awakes his foul! It is the voice of years that are gone! they roll before me, with all their deeds! I feize the tales, as they pafs, and pour them forth in fong. Nor a troubled ftream is the fong of the king, it is like the rifing of mufic from Lutha of the ftrings. Lutha of many strings, not filent are thy ftreamy rocks, when the white hands of Malvina move upon the harp! Light of the fhadowy thoughts, that fly across my foul, daughter of Tofcar of helmets, wilt thou not hear the fong! We call back, maid of Lutha, years that have rolled away! the * It was in the days of the king, while yet my locks were young, that I marked Con-cathlin *, on Con-cathlin, mild beam of the wave. What ftar was fo called of old is not easily ascertained. Some now distinguish the pole-star by that name. A fong, which is ftill in repute, among the fea-faring part of the Highlanders, alludes to this paffage of Offian. The author commends the knowledge of Offian in fea affairs, a merit, which, perhaps, few of us moderns will allow him, or any in the age in which he lived. One on high, from ocean's nightly wave. My courfe was towards the ifle of Fuärfed, woody dweller of feas! Fingal had fent me to the aid of Malorchol, king of Fuärfed wild: for war was around him, and our fathers had met, at the feast. In Col-coiled, I bound my fails; I fent my fword to Mal-orchol of fhells. He knew the fignal of Albion, and his joy arofe. He came from his own high hall, and seized my hand in grief. "Why comes the race of heroes to a falling king? Ton-thormod of many spears is the chief of wavy Sar-dronlo. He faw and loved my daughter, white-bofomed Oinamorul. He fought; I denied the maid; for our fathers had been foes. He came, with battle, to Fuärfed; my people are rolled away. Why comes the race of heroes to a falling king?" I come not, I faid, to look, like a boy, on the ftrife. Fingal remembers Mal-orchol, and his hall for strangers. From his waves, the warrior defcended, on thy woody ifle. Thou wert no cloud before him. Thy feaft was fpread with fongs. For this my fword fhall rife; and thy foes perhaps may fail. Our friends are not forgot in their danger, tho' diftant is our land. "Defcendant of the daring Trenmor, thy words are like the voice of Cruth-loda, when he fpeaks, from his parting cloud, ftrong dweller of the sky! Many have rejoiced at my feaft; but they all have forgot Mal-orchol. I have looked One thing is certain, that the Caledonians often made their way through the dangerous and tempeftuous feas of Scandinavia; which is more, perhaps, than the more polished nations, fubfifting in thofe times, dared to venture. In eftimating the degree of knowledge of arts among the ancients, we ought not to bring it into comparison with the improvements of modern times. Our advantages over them proceed more from accident, than any merit of ours. looked towards all the winds; but no white fails were seen. But steel * refounds in my ball; and not the joyful fhells. Come to my dwelling, race of heroes! dark-fkirted night is near. Hear the voice of fongs, from the maid of Fuärfed wild. We went. On the harp arofe the white hands of Oina-morul. She waked her own fad tale, from every trembling string. I stood in filence; for bright in her locks was the daughter of many ifles! Her eyes were two stars, looking forward thro' a rushing fhower. The mariner marks them on high, and bleffes the lovely beams. With morning we rufhed to battle, to Tormul's refounding ftream: the foe moved to the found of Ton-thormod's boffy fhield. From wing to wing the ftrife was mixed. I met Tonthormod in fight. Wide flew his broken steel. I feized the king in war. I gave his hand, bound faft with thongs, to Mal-orchol,. the giver of hells. Joy rofe at the feaft of Fuärfed, for the E 5 foe There is a fevere fatire couched in this expreffion, against the guests of Mal-orchol. Had his feast been still spread, had joy continued in his hall, his former parafites would not have failed to refort to him. But as the time of feftivity was past, their attendance alfo ceased. The fentiments of a certain old bard are agreeable to this obfervation. He, poetically, compares a great man to a fire kindled in a defart place. "Thofe that pay court to him, fays he, are rolling large around him, like the fmoke about the fire. This fmoke gives the fire a great appearance at a distance, but it is but an empty vapour itfelf, and varying its form at every breeze. When the trunk which fed the fire, is confumed, the fmoke departs on all the winds. So the flatterers forfake their chief, when his power declines." I have chofen to give a paraphrase, rather than a tranflation, of this paffage, as the original is verbose and frothy, notwithstanding the fentimental merit of the author. He was one of the less ancient bards, and their compofitions are not nervous enough to bear a literal translation. |