fportful ghoft; when he scatters the clouds, and rides the eddying winds! It is Morni (1) of the bounding fteeds! Be like thy father, Gaul!

(2) Selma is opened wide. Bards take the trembling harps. Ten youths carry the oak of the feaft. A diftant fun-beam marks the hill. The dusky waves of the blast fly over the fields of grafs.-Why art thou fo filent, Morven -The king returns with all his fame. Did not the battle roar; yet peaceful is his brow? It roared, and Fingal overcame.Be like thy father, Fillan!

believe it a matter of mere conjecture, that the Colgach here mentioned was the fame with that hero. I cannot help obferving, with how much propriety the fong of the bards is conducted. Gaul, whofe experience might have rendered his conduct cautious in war, has the example of his father, juft rushing to battle, fet before his eyes. Fillan on the other hand, whofe youth might make him impetuous, and unguarded in action is put in mind of the fedate and ferene behaviour of Fingal upon like occafions.

(1) The expedition of Morni to Clutha, alluded to here, is handed down in tradition. The poem, on which the tradition was founded, is now loft.

(2) Offian is peculiarly happy, in his defcriptions of still life; and thefe acquire double force, by his placing them near bufy and tumultuous fcenes. This antithefis ferves to animate and heighten the features of poetry.

They moved beneath the fong.-High waved their arms, as rushy fields, beneath autumnal winds. On Mora ftood the king in arms. Mift flies round his buckler broad; as, aloft, it hung on a bough, on Cormul's moffy rock. In filence I ftood by Fingal, and turned my eyes on Cromla's (1) wood: left I should behold the hoft, and rush amidst my fwelling foul. My foot is forward on the heath. I glittered, tall, in fteel: like the falling ftream of Tromo, which nightly winds bind over with ice. The boy fees it, on high, gleaming to the early beam: towards it he turns his ear, and wonders why it is fo filent.

Nor bent over a ftream is Cathmor, like a youth in a peaceful field: wide he drew forward the war, a dark and troubled wave. -But when he beheld Fingal on Mora; his generous pride arofe. « Shall the chief of «Atha fight, and no king in the field? « Foldath lead my people forth. Thou art « a beam of fire ».

Forth-iffued the chief of Moma, like a cloud, the robe of ghofts. He drew his fword, a flame, from his fide; and bade the battle

(1) The mountain Cromla was in the neighbourhood of the fcene of this poem; which was nearly the fame with that of Fingal.

move. The tribes, like ridgy waves, dark pour their ftrength around. Haughty is his ftride before them: his red eye rolls in wrath. -He called the chief of Dunratho ( 1); and his words were heard.

Cormul, thou beholdeft that path. It winds green behind the foe. Place thy people there; left Morven should escape from my fword.-Bards of green valleyed Erin, let no voice of yours arife. The fons of Morven muft fall without fong. They are the foes of Cairbar. Hereafter shall the traveller meet their dark, thick mift on Lena, where it wanders, with their ghofts, befide the reedy lake. Never shall they rife, without fong, to the dwelling of winds.

Cormul darkened, as he went

behind him rushed his tribe. They funk beyond the rock: Gaul spoke to Fillan of Moruth ;

(1) Dun-ratho a hill, with a plain on its top. Corm-uil, blue eye. Foldath dispatches here Cormul to lie in ambush behind the army of the Caledonians. This fpeech fuits well with the character of Foldath, which is, throughout, haughty and prefumptuous. Towards the latter end of this fpeech, we find the opinion of the times, concerning the unhappiness of the fouls of thofe who were buried without the funeral fong. This doctrine, no doubt, was inculcated by the bards, to make their order refpectable, and neceflary.

as his eye pursued the course of the darkeyed king of Dunratho.

Thou beholdeft the fteps of Cormul; let thine arm be ftrong. When he is low, fon of Fingal, remember Gaul in war. Here I fall forward into battle, amidst the ridge of shields.

The fign of death arofe: the dreadful found of Morni's shield. Gaul poured his voice between. Fingal rose, high on Mora. He faw them, from wing to wing, bending in the ftrife. Gleaming, on his own dark hill, the ftrength (1) of Atha ftood.-They (2) were like two fpirits of heaven, ftanding each on his gloomy cloud; when they pour abroad the winds, and lift the roaring feas. The bluetumbling of waves is before them, marked with the paths of whales. Themselves are calm and bright; and the gale lifts their locks of mift.

What beam of light hangs high in air It is Morni's dreadful fword.-Death is ftrewed on thy paths, O Gaul; thou foldeft them toge

(1) By the ftrenght of Atha, is meant Cathmor. The expreffion is common in Homer and other

ancient poets.

(2) The two kings.

F

ther in thy rage.--Like a young oak falls Turlathon (1), with his branches round him His high-bofomed fpoufe ftretches her white arms, in dreams, to the returning king, as she fleeps by gurgling Moruth, in her difordered locks. It is his ghoft, Oichoma; the chief is lowly laid. Hearken not to the winds for Turlathon's echoing shield. It is pierced, by his ftreams, and its found is paft away.

Not peaceful is the hand of Foldath: he winds his courfe in blood. Connal met him in fight; they mixed their clanging fteel.Why should mine eyes behold them! Connal, thy locks are grey.-Thou wert the friend of ftrangers, at the mofs-covered rock of Dunlora. When the skies were rolled together; then thy feaft was fpread. The stranger heard the winds without; and rejoiced at thy. burning oak.-Why, fon of Duth-caron, art thou laid in blood! The blafted tree bends above thee thy shield lies broken near. Thy blood mixes with the ftream; thou breaker of the shields!

(2) I took the fpear, in my wrath; but

(1) Tur-lathon, broad trunk of a tree. Móruth great ftream. Oichaoma mild maid. Dun-lora, the hill of the noify fiream. Duth-caron, dark

brown man.

(2) The poet fpeaks in his own perfon.