feen from thy furze; the deer lifts his branchy head; for he fees, at times, the hound, on the half-covered heath. Slow, on the vale, are the fteps of maids, the white-armed daughters of the bow they lift their blue eyes to the hill, from amidst their wandering locks. Not there is the ftride of Larthon, chief of Inishuna. He mounts the wave on his own dark oak, in Cluba's ridgy bay. That oak which he cut from Lumon, to bound along the sea. The maids turn their eyes away, left the king should be lowly laid; for never had they seen a ship, dark rider of the wave! Now he dares to call the winds, and to mix with the mist of ocean. Blue Inis-fail rose, in smoak; but dark-skirted night came down. The fons of Bolga feared. The fiery haired Ton-théna rofe. Culbin's bay received the ship, in the bofom of its echoing woods. There, iffued a ftream, from Duthuma's horrid cave; where fpirits gleamed, at times with their half finished forms. Dreams defcended on Larthon: he faw feven fpirits of his fathers. He heard their halfformed words, and dimly beheld the times to come. He beheld the kings of Atha, the sons of future days. They led their hofts, along the field, like ridges of mift, which winds pour, in autumn, over Atha of the groves. VOL. III. L Larthon raifed the hall of Samla (1),to the foft found of the harp. He went forth to the roes of Erin, to their wonted ftreams. Nor did he forget green-headed Lumon; he often bounded over his feas, to where white-handed Flathal (2) looked from the hill of roes. Lumon of the foamy ftreams, thou rifeft on Fonar's foul. The beam awaked in the eaft. The mifty heads of the mountains rofe. Valleys shew, on every fide, the grey-winding of their ftreams. His hoft heard the shield of Cathmor: at once they rofe around; like a crowded sea, when firft it feels the wings of the wind. The waves know not whither to roll; they lift their troubled heads. Sad and flow retired Sul-malla to Lona of the streams. She went and often turned; her blue eyes rolled in tears. But when she came to the rock that darkly-covered Lona's vale she looked, from her burfting foul, on the king; and funk, at once, behind. (3) Son of Alpin, strike the ftring. Is there (1) Samla, apparitions, fo called from the vision of Larthon, concerning his pofterity. (2) Flathal, heavenly, exquifitely beautiful. She was the wife of Larthon. (3) The original of this lyric ode is one of the most ought of joy in the harp ? Pour it then, on the foul of Offian: it is folded in mift. - I hear thee, O bard, in my night. But cease the lightly-trembling found. The joy of grief belongs to Offian, amidft his dark-brown years. Green thorn of the hill of ghofts, that shakeft thy head to nightly winds! I hear no found in thee; is there no fpirit's windy skirt now ruftling in thy leaves? Often are the fteps of the dead, in the dark-eddying blasts; when the moon, a dun shield, from the east, is rolled along the sky. Ullin, Carril and Ryno, voices of the days of old! Let me hear you, in the darknefs of Selma, and awake the foul of fongs. I hear you not, ye children of music, in what hall of the clouds is your reft? Do you touch the shadowy harp, robed with morning mist where the fun comes founding forth from his green-headed waves? beautiful paffages of the poem. The harmony and variety of its verfification prove, that the knowledge of mufic was confiderably advanced in the days of Offian. See the fpecimen of the original. |