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to the dusky field of ghofts; for there I fall' forward, in battle, in the folds of war. Before dun night defcends, come to high Dunmora's top. Look, from the grey rolling of mist on Lena of the ftreams. If there my ftandard shall float on wind, over Lubar's gleaming courfe, then has not Fingal failed in the laft of his fields.

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Such were his words: nor aught replied the filent, ftriding kings. They looked fide-long, on Erin's hoft, and darkened, as they went. Never before had they left the king, in the midst of the stormy field. Behind them touching at times his harp, the grey-haired Carril moved. He forefaw the fall of the people, and mournful was the found! - It was like a breeze that comes, by fits, over Lego's reedy lake; when fleep half-defcends on the hunter, within his moffy cave.

Why bends the bard of Cona, faid Fingal, over his fecret stream? Is this a time for forrow, father of low-laid Ofcar? Be the warriors (1) remembered in peace; when

(1) Ofcar and Fillan are here, emphatically called the warriors. Offian was not forgetful of them, when, to use his own expreffion, peace returned to the land. His plaintive poems, concerning the death of these young heroes, were very numerous. I had occafion, in a preceding note, to give a tranflation of one of them, ( a dialogue between Clathe

echoing shields are heard no more. Bend, then, in grief, over the flood, where blows the mountain breeze. Let them pass on thy

and Bos-mina) in this I shall lay before the reader a fragment of another. The greatest, and, perhaps, the most interesting part of the poem, is loft. What remains, is a foliloquy of Malvina, the daughter of Tofcar, so often mentioned in Offian's compofitions. She fitting alone, in the vale of Moi-lutha, is reprefented as defcrying, at a diftance, the ship which carried the body of Ofcar to Morven.

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«Malvina is like the bow of the shower, in the fecret valley of ftreams; it is bright, but the drops of heaven roll on its blended light. They fay that I am fair within my locks, but, on my brightnefs, is the wandering of tears. Darkness flies over my foul as the dusky wave of the breeze, along the grafs of Lutha, Yet have not the roes failed me, when I moved between the hills. Pleasant, beneath my white hand, arose the found of harps. What then, daughter of Lutha, travels over thy foul, like the dreary path of a ghoft, along the nightly beam? Should the young warrior fall, in the roar of his troubled fields! Young virgins of Lutha arife, call back the wandering thoughts of Malvina. Awake the voice of the harp, along my echoing vale. Then shall my foul come forth, like a light from the gates of the morn, when clouds are rolled around them, with their broken fides.

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«Dweller of my thoughts, by night, whofe form afcends in troubled fields, why doft thou ftir up my foul, thou fat-diftant fon of the king? - Is

foul, the blue-eyed dwellers of Lena. -But Erin rolls to war, wide-tumbling, rough, and dark. Lift, Offian, lift the shield. — I am alone, my fon!

As comes the fudden voice of winds to the becalmed ship of Inis-huna, and drives it large, along the deep, dark rider of the wave fo the voice of Fingal fent Offian, tall, along the heath. He lifted high his shining shield, in the dusky wing of war: like the broad, blank moon, in the skirt of a cloud, before the ftorms arife.

Loud, from mofs-covered Mora, poured down, at once, the broad-winged war. Fingal led his people forth, king of Morven of ftreams. On high fpreads the eagle's wing. His grey hair is poured on his shoulders broad. In thunder are his mighty ftrides. He often ftood, and faw behind', the widegleaming rolling of armour. A rock he feemed, grey over with ice, whofe woods are high in wind. Bright ftreams leap from its head, and spread their foam on blasts.

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that the ship of my love, its dak courfe thro' the ridges of ocean? How art thou fo fudden, Ofcar, from the heath of shields?»-

The reft of this poem, it is faid, confifted, of a dialogue between Ullin and Malvina, wherein the diftrefs of the latter is carried to the highest pitch

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Now he came to Lubar's cave, where Fillan darkly flept. Bran ftill lay on the broken shield the eagle-wing is ftrewed on winds. Bright, from withered furze, looked forth the hero's fpear. Then grief ftirred the foul of the king, like whirlwinds blackening on a lake. He turned his sudden step, and leaned on his bending (pear.

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White-breafted Bran came bounding with joy to the known path of Fingal. He came, and looked towards the cave, where the blueeyed hunter lay, for he was wont to ftride, with morning, to the dewy bed of the roe.It was then the tears of the king came down, and all his foul was dark. But as the rifing wind rolls away the storm of rain, and leaves the white ftreams to the fun, and high hills with their heads of grafs; fo the returning war brightened the mind of Fingal. He bounded (1), on his fpear, over Lubar, and

(1) The poetical hyperboles of Offian were; afterwards, taken in the literal fenfe, by the ignorant vulgar and they firmly believed, that Fingal, and his heroes, were of a gigantic ftature. There are many extravagant fictions founded upon the circumftance of Fingal leaping at once over the river Lubar. Many of them are handed down in tradition. The Irish compofitions concerning Fingal invariably speak of him as a giant. Of these Hibernian poems there are now many in my hands. From the language, and allufions to the times in which they were writ, I should fix the date of

ftruck his echoing shield. His ridgy hoft bend forward, at once, with all their pointed fteel.

Nor Erin heard, with fear, the found:

their compofition in the fifteenth and fixteenth centuries. In fome paffages, the poetry is far from wanting merit, but the fable is unnatural, and the whole conduct of the pieces injudicious. I shall give one inftance of the extravagant fictions of the Irish bards, in a poem which they, most unjustly, afcribe to Offian. The ftory of it is this. Ireland being threatened with an invafion from fome part of Scandinavia, Fingal fent Offian Ofcar and Ca-olt, to watch the bay, in which it was expected, the enemy was to land. Ofcar, unluckily, fell afleep, before the Scandinavians appeared; and, great as he was, fays the Irish bard, he had one bad property, that no lefs could waken him, before his time, than cutting off one of his fingers, or throwing a great ftone against his head; and it was dangerous to come near him on thofe occafions, till he had recovered himself, and was fully awake. Ca-olt, who was employed by Offian to waken his fon, made choice of throwing the stone against his head, as the leaft dangerous expedient. The stone, rebounding from the hero's head, shook as it rolled along, the hill for three miles round. Ofcar rose in rage, fought bravely, and, fingly, vanquished a wing of the enemy's army. Thus the bard goes on till Fingal put an end to the war, by the total rout of the Scandinavians. Puerile, and even defpicable, as thefe fictions are, yet Keating and O'Flaherty have no better authority than the poems which contain them, for all that they write concerning Fion Mac-comnal, and the pretended militia of Ireland.

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