narrow house where no morning comes with her half-opened eyes. -Away, thou shade to fight is mine, all further thought away! I rush forth, on eagle wings, to feize my beam of fame.-In the lonely vale of ftreams, abides the little (1) foul.-Years

(1) From this paffage we learn in what extreme contempt an indolent and unwatlike life was held. in thofe days of heroifm. Whatever a philofopher may fay, in praise of quiet and retirement, I am far from thinking, but they weaken and debase the human mind. When the faculties of the foul are not exerted, they lofe their vigour, and low and circumfcribed notions take the place of noble and enlarged ideas. Action, on the contrary, and the viciffitudes of fortune which attend it, call forth, by turns, all the powers of the mind, and, by exercifing, ftrengthen them. Hence it is, that in great and opulent ftates, when property and indolence are fecured to individuals, we feldom meet with that ftrength of mind, which is fo common in a nation, not far advanced in civilization. It is a curious, but juft obfervation; that great kingdoms feldom produce great characters, which must be altogether attributed to that indolence and diffipation, which are the infeparable companions of too much property and fecurity. Rome, it is certain, had more real great men within it, when its power was confined within the narrow bounds of Latium than when its dominion extended over all the known world; and one petty state of the Saxon heptarchy had, perhaps, as much genuinefpirit in it as the two British kingdoms united. As a ftate, we are much more powerful than our anceftors but we would lose by comparing indivi duals with them.

roll on,

on the

feafons return, but he is still unknown. In a blaft comes cloudy death, and lays his grey head low. His ghoft is rolled vapour of the fenny field. Its course is never on hills, or moffy vales of wind.— So shall not Cathmor depart, no boy in the field was he, who only marks the bed of roes, upon the echoing hills. My iffuing forth was with kings, and my joy in dreadful plains where broken hofts are rolled away, like feas before the wind.

So fpoke the king of Alnecma, brightening in his rifing foul: valour, like a pleasant flame, is gleaming within his breast. Stately is his ftride on the heath: the beam of east

is poured around. He faw his hoft on grey the field, wide-fpreading their ridges in light. He rejoiced, like a fpirit of heaven, whofe fteps come forth on his feas, when he beholds them peaceful round, and all the winds are laid. But foon he awakes the wayes, and rolls them large to fome echoing coaft.

On the rushy bank of a stream, flept the daughter of Inis-huna. The helmet (1) had

(1) The difcovery which fucceeds this circumftance is well imagined, and naturally conducted. The filence of Cathmor upon this occafion is more expreffive of the emotions of his foul, than any fpeech which the poet could put into his mouth.

'fallen from her head. Her dreams were in the lands of her fathers. There morning was on the field: grey ftreams leapt down from the rocks; the breezes, in shadowy waves, fly o'er the rushy fields. There is the found that prepares for the chace; and the moving of warriors from the hall. But tall above the reft is the hero of ftreamy Atha: he bends his eye of love on Sul-malla from his ftately fteps. She turns, with pride, her face away, and careless bends the bow.

Such were the dreams of the maid when Atha's warrior came. He faw her fair face before him, in the midst of her wandering locks. He knew the maid of Lumon. What should Cathmor do?-His figh arofe: his tears came down. But straight he turned away. This is no time, king of Atha, to wake thy fecret foul. The battle is rolled before thee, like a troubled ftream.

He ftruck that warning boss (1), wherein

(1) In order to understand this paffage, it is neceffary to look to the defcription of Cathmor's shield, which the poet has given us in the seventh book. This shield had feven principal boffes the found of each of which when ftruck with a fpear, conveyed a particular order from the king to his tribes. The found of one of them, as here 2 was the signal for the army to affemble.

dwelt the voice of war. Erin rofe around him like the found of eagle-wings.-Sulmalla started from fleep, in her diforderedlocks. She feized the helmet from earth, and trembled in her place. Why should they know in Erin of the daughter of Inis-huna? for she remembered the race of kings, and the pride of her foul arofe.

Her fteps are behind a rock, by the blue-winding ftream (1) of a vale: where dwelt the dark-brown hind ere yet the war arofe. Thither came the voice of Cathmor, at times, to Sul-malla's ear. Her foul is darkly fad; she pours her words on wind.

(2) The dreams of Inis-huna departed: they are rolled away from my foul. 1 hear

(1) This was not the valley of Lona to which Sul-malla afterwards retired.

(2) Of all paffages in the works of Offian thefe lyric pieces lofe moft by a literal profe tranflation as the beauty of them does not fo much depend on the ftrength of thought, as on the elegance of expreffion and harmony of numbers. It has been obferved, that an author is put to the fevereft teft, when he is ftript of the ornaments of verfification, and delivered down in another language in profe. Thofe, therefore, who have feen how awkward a figure even Homer and Virgil make, in a verfion of this fort, will think the better of the compofitions of Offian,

.

not the chace in my land. I am concealed in the skirts of war. I look forth from my cloud, but no beam appears to light my path. I behold my warrior low; for the broad-shielded king is near ; he that overcomes in danger; Fingal of the fpears. -Spirit of departed Conmor, are thy steps on the bofom of winds? Comeft thou, at times, to other lands, father of fad Sulmalla Thou doft come, for I have heard thy voice at night; while yet I rose on the wave to ftreamy Inis-fail. The ghost of fathers, they fay (1), can feize the fouls of

(1) Con-mor, the father of Sul-malla, was killed in that war from which Cathmor delivered Inis-huna. Lormar his fon fucceeded Conmòr. It was the opinion of the times, when a perfon was reduced to a pitch of mifery, which could admit of no alleviation, that the ghosts of his ancestors called his foul away. This fupernatural kind of death was called the voice of the dead; and is believed by the fuperftitious vulgar to this day.

There is no people in the world, perhaps, who gave more univerfal credit to apparitions, and the vifits of the ghofts of the deceased to their friends, than the common highlanders. This is to be attributed as much, at least, to the fituation of the country they poffefs as to that credulous difpofition which diftinguishes an unenlightened people. As their bufinefs was feeding of cattle, in dark and extensive defarts fo their journeys lay over wide and unfrequented heaths where, often, they were obliged to fleep in the open air, amidst the whiftling of winds, aud roar of water-falls. The