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Like a rock with its trickling waters, ftood Cathmor in his tears. Her voice came , a breeze, on his soul , and waked the memory of her land; where she dwelt by her Peaceful streams, before he came to the war of Conmor.

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battle. From this proceeded that title of honour which is always bestowed on him in tradition, Fion-ghal na budi', FINGal of victor IEs. In a poem , just now in my hands, which celebrates some of the great adions of Arthur the famous British hero, that appellation is often bestowed on him. – The poem , from the phraseology, appears to be ancient; and is, perhaps, tho’ that is not mentioned, a translation from the Welsh language.

(1) Claon-mal, crooked eye-brow. From the retired life of this person, it appears, that he was

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A light fell on the soul of the maid ; it rose kindled before the king. She turned her face to Cathmor; her locks are struggling with winds. Sooner (2) shall the eagle of heaven

of the order of the Druids; which supposition is not, at all, invalidated by the appellation of king of harps, here bestowed on him ; for all agree that the bards were of the number of the Druids originally.

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their compositions are little more than a group of epithets reduced into measure. Only their poems, upon martial subjećts, fall under this censure. Their love sonnets, and pastoral verses, are far from wanting their beauties; but a great deal of these depend upon a certain curiosa felicitas of expression in the original so that they would appear greatly to their disadvantage in another language. What the modern

bards are most insupportable in, are their nauseous.

panegyrics upon their patrons. We see, in them, a petty tyrant , whose name was never heard , beyond the contraćted limits of his own valley, stalking forth in all the trappings of a finished hero. From their frequent allusions, however, to the entertainments which he gave , and the strength of his cups, we may easily guess from whence proceeded the praise of an indolent and effeminate race of men: for the bards, from the great court paid, originally, to their order, became , at last, the most flagitious and dispirited of all mortals. Their compositions, therefore, on this side of a certain period, are dull and trivial to the highest degree. By lavishing their praises upon unworthy objećts, their panegyricks became common and little regarded ; they were thrust out of the houses of the chiefs, and wandered about , from tribe to tribe, in the double capacity of poet and harper. Galled with this usage, they betook themselves to satire and lampoon, so that the compositions of the bards, for more than a century back, are almost altogether of the sarcastical kind. In this they succeeded well ; for as there is no language more copious than the Galic, so there is scarcely any equally adapted_to those quaint turns of expression which belongs

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Young branch of green-headed Lumon; why dost thou shake in the storm Often has Cathmor returned, from darkly-rolling wars. The darts of death are but hail to me; they

to satire. — Tho' the chiefs disregarded the lampoons of the bards, the vulgar, out of mere fear, received then into their habitations, entertained them , as well as their circumstances would allow, and kept existing, for some years, an order, which, by their own mismanagement, had deservedly fallen into contempt.

To return to the old poem, which gave occasion to this note. It is an address to the .# of a chief, upon the departure of her husband to war. The passage, which alludes to Sul-malla, is this:

* Why art thou mournful on rocks; or lifting thine eyes on waves? His ship has bounded towards battle. His joy is in the murmur of fields. Look to the beams of old, to the virgins of Ossian of harps. Sul-malla keeps not her eagle, from the field of blood. She would not tear her cagle, from the sounding course of renown. * -

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have often bounded from my shield. I have risen brightned from battle, like a meteor from a stormy cloud. Return not, fair beam, from thy vale, when the roar of battle grows.

Then might the foe escape, as from my fathers of old.

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