of war!

Ghosts fled on every fide, and rolled their gathered forms on the wind. Thrice from the winding vale arofe the voices of death. The harps (1) of the bards, untouched, found mournful over the hill.

He ftruck again the shield: battles rofe in the dreams of his hoft. The wide-tumbling ftrife is gleaming over their fouls. Blueshielded kings defcend to war. Backwardlooking armies fly; and mighty deeds are half-hid, in the bright gleams of steel.

after a chace of ten days, came up with him, in the ifle of Sky, and obliged him to erect a furnace, and make him this shield, and his famous fword, poetically called, the fon of Luno. Such are the Strange fictions which the modern Scotch and Irish bards have formed on the original of Offian.

(1) It was the opinion of the times, that, on the night preceding the death of a perfon worthy and renowned, the harps of thofe bards, who were retained by his family, emitted melancholy founds. This was attributed, to ufe Oflian's expreflion, to the light touch of ghofts; who were fuppofed to have a fore-knowledge of events. The fame opinion prevailed long in the north, and the particular found was called, the warning voice of the dead. The voice of deaths, mentioned in the preceding fentence, was of a different kind. Each perfon was fuppofed to have an attendant fpirit, who affumed his form and voice, on the night preceding his death, and appeared, to fome, in the attitude, in which the perfon was to die. The VOICES OF DEATH Were the foreboding shrieks of thofe fpirits.

But when the third found arofe; deer ftarted from the clefts of their rocks. The fcreams of fowl are heard, in the defart, as each flew, frighted, on his blaft.-The fons of Albion half-rofe, and half-affumed their fpears. But filence rolled back on the host: they knew the shield of the king. Sleep returned to their eyes: the field was dark and ftill.

(1) No fleep was thine in darkness, blueeyed daughter of Conmor! Sul-malla heard

(1) A bard, feveral ages more modern than Offian, was fo fenfible of the beauty of this paffage, as to give a close imitation of it, in a poem, concerning the great actions of Keneth Mac-Alpin, king of Scotland, against the Picts. As the poem is long, I shall only give here the ftory of it, with a tranflation of that paragraph, which bears the nearest resemblance to the paffage of Temora juft now before meWhen Keneth was making preparations for that war, which terminated in the fubverfion of the Pictish kingdom, Flathal, his fifter, had demanded permiflion from him, of attending him in the expe dition; in order to have a share in revenging the death of her father Alpin, who had been barbaroufly murdered by the Picts. The king, tho' he, perhaps, approved of the gallant disposition of his fifter, refufed, on account of her fex, to grant her request. The heroine, however, dreffed herfelf in the habit of a young warrior; and, in that difguife, attended the army, and performed many gallant exploits. On the night preceding the final overthrow of the Picts, Keneth, as was the custom among the kings of Scots, retired to a hill, without the verge of the

the dreadful shield, and rofe, amidst the night. Her fteps are towards the king of Atha.-Can danger shake his daring foul! In doubt, she ftands, with bending eyes. Heaven burns with all its ftars.

She rushed.

Again the shield refounds! -She stopt. — Her voice half-rofe. It failed.

camp, to meditate on the difpofitions he was to make in the approaching battle. Flathal, who was anxious about the fafety of her brother, went, privately, to the top of an adjoining rock, and kept watch there to prevent his being furprized by the enemy. Keneth fell asleep, in his arms; and Flathal obferved a body of the Pics furrounding the hill, whereon the king lay.. The fequel of the story may be gathered from the words of the bard.

» Her eyes, like ftars, roll over the plain. She trembled for Alpin's race. She faw the gleaming foe. Her steps arofe: she ftopt.Why should he know of Flathal? he the king of men! But hark! the found is high. - It is but the wind of night, lone-whistling in my locks. - I hear the echoing shields!»- Her fpear fell from her hand. The lofty rock refounds. He rofe, a gathered cloud.

» Who wakes Conad of Albion, in the midst of his fecret hill? I heard the foft voice of Flathal. Why, maid, doft thou shine in war? The daughters roll their blue eyes, by the ftreams. No field of blood is theirs.

» Alpin of Albion was mine, the father of Flathal of harps, He is low, mighty Conad, and my

She faw him, amidst his arms, that gleamed to heaven's fire. She faw him dim in his locks, that rose to nightly wind.-Away for fear, she turned her fteps. -«Why should the king of Erin awake? Thou art not a dream to his reft, daughter of Inis-huna. »

More dreadful rung the shield. Sul-malla ftarts. Her helmet falls. Loud-echoed Lubar's rock, as over it rolled the steel. Bursting from the dreams of night, Cathmor half-rofe, beneath his tree. He faw the form of the maid, above him, on the rock. A red star with twinkling beam, looked down thro her floating hair.

(1) Who comes thro' night to Cathmor, in

foul is fire. Could Flathal, by the fecret ftream, behold the blood of her foes? I am a young eagle, on Dura, king of Drumalbin of winds. » -

In the fequel of the piece, the bard does not imitate Offian, and his poem is fo much the worfe for it.. Keneth, with his fifter's affiftance, forced his way thro' the advanced parties of the enemy, and rejoined his own army. The bard has given a catalogue of the Scotch tribes, as they marched to battle; but, as he did not live near the time of Keneth, his accounts are to be little depended on

(1) The rapid manner of Offian does not often allow him to mark the fpeeches with the names of the perfons who fpeak them. To prevent the obfcurity, which this might occafion, I have, fometimes, ufed the freedom to do it in the tranflation. In the

the dark feafon of his dreams? Bring'st thou ought of war? Who art thou, son of night? -Stand'st thou before me, a form of the times of old? A voice from the fold of a cloud, to warn me of Erin's danger?

Nor traveller of night am I, nor voice from folded cloud but I warn thee of the danger of Erin. Doft thou hear that sound? It is not the feeble, king of Atha, that rolls his figns on night.

Let the warrior roll his figns; to Cathmor they are the found of harps. My joy is great, voice of night, and burns over all my thoughts. This is the mufic of kings, on lone ly hills, by night; when they light their daring fouls, the fons of mighty deeds! The feeble dwell alone in the valley of the breeze; where mists lift their morning skirts, from the blue-winding ftreams.

Not feeble, thou leader of heroes, were they, the fathers of my race. They dwelt in the darkness of battle; in their distant lands. Yet delights not my foul, in the signs of death! He, (1) who never yields, comes forth: Awake the bard of peace!

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prefent dialogue between Cathmor and Sul-malla, the fpeeches are fo much marked with the characters of the fpeakers, that no interpolation is neceffary to diftinguish them from one another.

(1) Fingal is faid to have never been overcome in