on

Malthos (1) faw Foldath low. He darkly ftood above the king. Hatred was rolled from his foul. He seemed a rock in the defart, whose dark fide are the trickling of waters, when the flow-failing mift has left it, and its trees are blafted with winds. He spoke to the dying hero, about the narrow house. Whether shall thy grey ftone rife in Ullin? or in Moma's (2) woody land, where the fun looks, in fecret, on the blue ftreams of Dalrutho (3) There are the fteps of thy daugh ter, blue-eyed Dardu-lena.

(1) The characters of Foldath and Malthos are well fuftained. They were both dark and furly, but each in a different way. Foldath was impetuous and cruel: Malthos ftubborn and incredulous. Their attachment to the family of Atha was equal; their bravery in battle the fame. Foldath was vain and oftentatious: Malthos unindulgent but generous. His behaviour here, towards his enemy Foldath, shews, that a good heart often lies concealed under a gloomy and fullen character.

(2) Moma was the name of a country in the fouth of Connaught, once famous for being the refidence of an Archdruid. The cave of Moma was thought to be inhabited by the fpirits of the Firbolg, and their pofterity fent to enquire there, as to an oracle, concerning the iffue of their wars.

(3) Dal-ruath, parched or fandy field. The etymology of Dardu-lena is uncertain. The daughter of Foldath was, probably, fo called from a place in Ulfter, where her father had defeated part of

Remembereft thou her, said Foldath, becaufe no fon is mine; no youth to roll the battle before him, in revenge of me? Malthos, I am revenged. I was not peaceful in the field. Raife the tombs of those I have fain, around my narrow house. Often shall I forfake the blaft to rejoice above their graves; when I behold them spread around, with their long-whistling grafs.

,

His foul rushed to the vales of Moma, and came to Dardu-lena's dreams, where she flept, by Dalrutho's ftream, returning from the chace of the hinds. Her bow is near the maid, unftrung; the breezes fold her long hair on her breafts. Cloathed in the beauty of youth, the love of heroes lay. Dark bending, from the skirts of the wood, her wounded father came. He appeared, at times, then feemed as hid in mift.-Bursting into tears she rofe she knew that the chief was low. To her came a beam from his foul when folded in its forms. Thou wert the laft of his race, blue-eyed Dardu-lena!

:

Wide-fpreading over echoing Lubar, the flight of Bolga is rolled along. Fillan hung

the adherents of Artho, king of Ireland. Dar-dulena; the dark wood of Moi-lena. As Foldath was proud and oftentatious, it would appear, that he transferred the name of a place, where he himself had been victorious, to his daughter.

forward on their fteps; and ftrewed, with dead, the heath. Fingal rejoiced over his fon.-Blue-shielded Cathmor rose.—(1) Son of Alpin, bring the harp give Fillan's praise to the wind: raife high his praise, in my hall, while yet he shines in war.

Leave, blue-eyed Clatho, leave thy hall. Behold that early beam of thine. The host is withered in its course. No further look

(1) These sudden tranfitions from the subject are not uncommon in the compofitions of Offian. That in this place has a peculiar beauty and propriety. The fufpence, in which the mind of the reader is left, conveys the idea of Fillan's danger more forcibly home, than any defcription the poet could introduce. There is a fort of eloquence, in filence with propriety. A minute detail of the circumftances of an important fcene is generally cold and infipid. The human mind, free and fond of thinking for itself, is difgufted to find every thing done by the poet. It is, therefore, his bufinefs only to mark the moft ftriking out-lines, and to allow the imaginations of his readers to finish the figure for themselves.

The addrefs to Clatho, the mother of Fillan 9 which concludes this book, if we regard the verfification of the original, is one of the moft beautiful paffages in the poem. The wild fimplicity and harmony of its cadences are inimitably beautiful. It is fung ftill by many in the north, and is diftinguished by the name of Laoi chaon Chlatho : i. c. The harmonious hymn of Clatho. The book ends in the afternoon of the third day, from the opening of the poem.

it is dark.-Light-trembling from the harp, ftrike, virgins, ftrike the found.-No hunter he defcends, from the dewy haunt of the bounding roe. He bends not his bow on the wind; or fends his grey arrow abroad.

Deep-folded in red war, the battle rolls againft his fide. Or, ftriding midft the ridgy ftrife, he pours the deaths of thousands forth. Fillan is like a spirit of heaven, that defcends from the skirt of his blaft. The troubled ocean feels his fteps, as he ftrides from wave to wave. His path kindles behind him; iflands shake their heads on the heaving feas.