but he fell, and the figh of his people rofe.

Silent and tall, across the ftream, came the darkening ftrength of Crothar: he rolled the foe from Alnecma, and returned, midft the joy of Con-lama.

Battle on battle comes. Blood is poured on blood. The tombs of the valiant rise. Erin's clouds are hung round with ghofts. The chiefs of the fouth gathered round the echoing shield of Crothar. He came, with death, to the paths of the foe. The virgins wept, by the ftreams of Ullin. They looked to the mift of the hill, no hunter defcended from its folds. Silence darkened in the land : blasts fighed lonely on graffy tombs.

Defcending like the eagle of heaven, with all his ruftling wings, when he forfakes the blaft with joy, the fon of Trenmor came; Conar, arm of death, from Morven of the groves. He poured his might along green Erin. Death dimly ftrode behind his fword. The fons of Bolga fled, from his course, as from a ftream, that burfting from the ftormy defart, rolls the fields together, with all their echoing woods.-Crothar (1) met

(1) The delicacy of the bard, with regard to Crothar, is remarkable. As he was the ancestor of Cathmor, to whom the epifode is addreffed, the bard foftens his defeat, by only mentioning that

him in battle : but Alnecma's warriors filed. The king of Atha flowly retired, in the grief of his foul. He, afterwards, shone in the fouth; but dim as the fun of Autumn; when he vifits, in his robes of mist, Lara of dark ftreams. The withered grafs is covered with dew: the field, tho' bright, is fad.

Why wakes the bard before me, faid Cathmor, the memory of those who fled ? Has fome ghoft, from his dusky cloud, bent forward to thine ear, to frighten Cathmor from the field with the tales of old? Dwellers of the folds of night, your voice is but a blast to me; which takes the grey thistle's head, and ftrews its beard on ftreams. Within my bofom is a voice; others hear it not. His foul forbids the king of Erin to shrink back from war.

his people fled.- -Cathmor took the fong of Fonarim an unfavourable light. The bards, being of the order of the Druids, who pretended to a foreknowledge of events, were fuppofed to have some supernatural prefcience of futurity. The king, thought, that the choice of Fonar's fong proceeded, from his forefeeing the unfortunate iffue of the war, and that his own fate was shadowed out, in that of his ancestor Crothar. The attitude of the bard, after the reprimand of his patron, is picturefque and affecting. We admire the fpeech of Cathmor, but lament the effect it has on the feeling foul of the good old poet

Abashed the bard finks back in night: retired, he bends above a stream. His thoughts are on the days of Atha, when Cathmor heard his fong with joy. His tears come rolling down the winds are in his beard.

:

Erin fleeps around. No fleep comes down on Cathmor's eyes. Dark, in his foul, he faw the fpirit of low-laid Cairbar. He faw him, without his fong, rolled in a blast of night. He rofe. His steps were round the hoft. He ftruck, at times, his echoing shield. The found reached Offian's ear, on Mora of the hinds.

Fillan, I faid, the foes advance. I hear the shield of war. Stand thou in the narrow path. Offian shall mark their courfe. If over my fall the hoft shall pour; then be thy buckler heard. Awake the king on his heath, left his fame should cease.

I ftrode, in all my rattling arms; widebounding over a ftream that darkly-winded, in the field, before the king of Atha. Green Atha's king, with lifted spear, came forward on my courfe.-Now would we have mixed in horrid fray, like two contending ghofts, that bending forward, from two clouds, fend forth the roaring winds; did not Offian behold, on high, the helmet of Erin's kings. The Eagle's wing fpread above it, rufting.

in the breeze. A red ftar looked thro' the ho plumes. I ftopt the lifted fpear.

The helmet of kings is before me! Who art thou, fon of night? Shall Offian's fpear be renowned, when thou art lowly-laid? -At once he dropt the gleaming lance. Growing before me feemed the form. He ftretched his hand in night; and spoke the words of kings.

Friend of the fpirit of heroes, do I meet thee thus in shades? I have wished for thy ftately steps in Atha, in the days of feafts.

-Why should my spear now arife? The fun muft behold us, Offian; when we bend, gleaming, in the ftrife. Future warriors shall mark the place: and, shuddering, think of other years. They shall mark it, like the haunt of ghofts, pleafant and dreadful to the foul.

And shall it be forgot, I faid, where we meet in peace? Is the remembrance of battles always pleasant to the foul? Do not we behold, with joy, the place where our fathers feafted? But our eyes are full of tears, on the field of their wars.-This ftone shall rife, with all its mofs, and speak to other years. « Here Cathmor and Offian met! the warriors met in peace!»-When thou, O ftone, shalt fail: and Lubar's ftream roll quite

away! then shall the traveller come, and bend here, perhaps, in reft. When the darkened moon is rolled over his head, our shadowy forms may come, and, mixing with his dreams, remind him of this place. But why turneft thou fo dark away, fon of Borbar-duthul (1)

Not forgot, fon of Fingal, shall we afcend thefe winds. Our deeds are ftreams of light, before the eyes of bards. But darkness is rolled on Atha: the king is low, without his fong: ftill there was a beam towards Cathmor from his ftormy foul; like the moon, in a cloud, amidst the dark-red course of thunder.

Son of Erin, I replied, my wrath dwells not in his houfe (2). My hatred flies, on

(1) Borbar-duthul, the furly warrior of the dark-brown eyes. That his name fuited well with his character, we may easily conceive, from the ftory delivered concerning him , by Malthos toward the end of the fixth book. He was the brother of that Colculla, who is mentioned in the episode which begins the fourth book.

(2) The grave, often poetically called a house. This reply of Offian abounds with the most exalted fentiments of a noble mind. Tho', of all men living, he was the moft injured by Cairbar, yet he lays afide his rage as the foe was low. How different is this from the behaviour of the heroes of other ancient poems Cynthius aurem vellit