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of the day, in the valley of his breeze, the humming of the mountain bee comes to Ossian's ear: the gale drowns it in its course: but the pleasant sound returns again Slant looks the sun on the field' gradual growr the shade of the hill ! “Raise,” said Cuthullin to his hundred bards, “the song of the noble Fingal; that song which he hears at night, when the dreams of his rest descend; when the bards strike the distant harp, and the faint light gleams on Selma's walls. Or let the grief of Lara rise : the sighs of the mother of Calmar, when he was sought, in vain, on his hills; when she beheld his bow in the hall. Carril, place the shield of Caithbat on that branch. Let the spear of Cuthullin be near ; that the sound of my battle may rise, with the gray beam of the east.” The hero leaned on his father's shield: the song of Lara rose ! The hundred bards were distant far: Car. ril alone is near the chief. The words of the song were his: the sound of his harp was mournful. “Alcletha with the aged locks! mother of car-borne Calmar ! why dost thou look towards the desert, to be. hold the return of thy son 2 These are not his heroes, dark on the heath : nor is that the voice of Calmar. It is but the distant grove, Alcletha but the roar of the mountain-wind!—* Who bounds over Lara's stream, sister of the noble Calmar 2 Does not Alcletha behold his spear ! But her eyes are dim Is it not the scn pf M. daughter of my love?” “‘It is but an aged oak, Alcletha P replied the lovely weeping Alona. “It is but an oak, Alcletha, bent over Lara's stream. But who comes along the plain sorrow is in his speed. He lifts high the spear of Calmar. Alcletha, it is covered with blood!’—

* Alcletha speaks.

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“**But it is covered with the blood of foes, sister of tar-borne Calmar ! His spear never returned unstained with blood: nor his bow from the strife of the mighty. The oattle is consumed in his presence: he is a flame of death, Alona!—Youth of the mournful speed! where is the son of Alclethal Does he return with his fame, in the midst of his echoing shields 2 Thou art dark and silent Calmar is then no more Tell me not, warrior, how he fell. I must not hear of his wound !’ Why dost thou look towards the desert, mother of low. laid Calmar 7”

Such was the song of Carril, when Cuthullin lay or his shield. The bards rested on their harps. Sleep fell softly around. The son of Semo was awake alone. His soul fixed on war. The burning oaks began to decay. Faint red light is spread around. A feeble voice is heard ' The ghost of Calmar came ! He stalked dimly along the beam. Dark is the wound in his side. His hair is disordered and loose. Joy sits pale on his face. He seems to invite Cuthullin to his cave.

“Son of the cloudy night !” said the rising chief of Erin; “why dost thou bend thy dark eyes on me, ghost of the noble Calmar ! Wouldst thou frighten me, O Matha's sons from the battles of Cormac Thy hand was not feeble in war: neither was thy voice for peace. How art thou changed, chief of Lara! if thou now dost advise to fly! But, Calmar, I never fled. I never feared the ghosts of night. Small is their knowledge, weak their hands; their dwelling is in the wind. But my soul grows in danger, and rejoices in the noise of steel. Retire thou to thy cave. Thou art not Cal. nar's ghost. He delighted in battle. His arm was like the thunder of heaven He retired in his blast with joy, for he had heard the voice of his praise.”

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The faint beam of the morning rose. The sound of Caithbat’s buckler spread. Green Erin's warriors convened, like the roar of many streams. The horn of war is heard over Lego. The mighty Torlath came ! “Why dost thou come with thy thousands, Cu. thullin,” said the chief of Lego. “I know the strength of thy arm. Thy soul is an unextinguished fire. Why fight we not on the plain, and let our hosts behold our deeds 2 Let them behold us like roaring waves, that tumble round a rock; the mariners hasten away, and look on their strife with fear.”

“Thou risest like the sun, on my soul, replied the son of Semo. Thine arm is mighty, O Torlath ! and worthy of my wrath. Retire, ye men of Ullin, to Slimora's shady side. Behold the chief of Erin, in the day of his fame. Carril, tell to mighty Connal, if Cuthullin must fall, tell him I accused the winds, which roar on Togorma's waves. Never was he absent in battle, when the strife of my fame arose. Let his sword be before Cormac, like the beam of heaven. Let his counsel sound in Temora, in the day of danger!”

He rushed, in the sound of his arms, like the terrible spirit of Loda, when he comes, in the roar of a thousand storms, and scatters' battles from his eyes. He sits on a cloud over Lochlin's seas. His mighty hand is on his sword. Winds lift his flaming locks! The waning moon half lights his dreadful face. His fentures blended in darkness arise to view. So terrible was Cuthullin in the day of his fame. Torlath fell by his hand Lego's heroes mourned. They gather around the chief, like the clouds of the desert. A thousand swords rose at once; a thousand arrows flew; but he stood like a rock in the midst of a roaring seaThey fell around. He strode in blood. Dark Slimora echoed wide. The sons of Ullin came The battle

spread over Lego. The chief of Erin overcame. He
returned over the field with his fame. But pale he
returned The joy of his face was dark. He rolled
his eyes in silence. The sword hung, unsheathed, in
his hand. His spear bent at every step !

“Carril,” said the chief in secret, “the strength of
Cuthullin fails. My days are with the years that are
past. No morning of mine shall arise. They shall
seek me at Temora, but I shall not be found. Cormac
will weep in his hall, and say, Where is Erin's chief?
But my name is renowned my fame in the song of
bards. The youth will say, in secret, O let me die as
Cuthullin died Renown clothed him like a robe. The
light of his fame is great.—Draw the arrow from my
side. Lay Cuthullin beneath that oak. Place the
shield of Caithbat near, that they may behold me amidst
the arms of my fathers!”

“And is the son of Semo fallen o’” said Carril with a sigh. “Mournful are Tura's walls. Sorrow dwells at Dunscăi. Thy spouse is left alone in her youth. The son of thy love is alone! He shall come to Bragéla and ask her why she weeps' He shall lift his eyes to the wall, and see his father's sword. Whose sword is that ? he will say. The soul of his mother is sad. Who is that, like the hart of the desert, in the murmur of his course His eyes look wildly round in search of his friend. Connal, son of Colgar, where nast thou been, when the mighty fell ? Did the seas of Togorma roll around thee ? Was the wind of the south in thy sails? The mighty have fallen in battle, and ‘hou wast not there. #. none tell it in Selma, nor in Morven's woody land. Fingal will be sad, and the sons of the desert mourn l’’

By the dark-rolling waves of Lego they raised the vero's tomb. Luath, at a distance, lies. The song e bards rose over the dead.

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“* Blest be thy soul, son of Semo! Thou wert mighty in battle. Thy strength was like the strength of a stream; thy speed like the eagle's wing. Thy path in battle was terrible: the steps of death were behind thy sword. Blest be thy soul, son of Semo, carborne chief of Dunscăi! Thou hast not fallen by the sword of the mighty, neither was thy blood on the spear of the brave. The arrow came, like the sting of death in a blast: nor did the feeble hand, which drew the bow, perceive it. Peace to thy soul, in thy cave, chief of the isle of mist!

“The mighty are dispersed at Temora; there is none in Cormac's hall. The king mourns in his youth. He does not behold thy return. The sound of thy shield is ceased: his foes are gathering round. Soft be thy rest in thy cave, chief .#. wars' Bragéla will not hope for thy return, or see thy sails in ocean’s foam. Her steps are not on the shore: nor her ear open to the voice of thy rowers. She sits in the hall of shells. She sees the arms of him that is no more. Thine eyes are full of tears, daughter of car-borne ###! Blest be thy soul in death, O chief of shady

'ura !”

* This is the song of the bards over Cuthullin's tomb.


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