it was to them, a wind from heaven to roll the mift away.

I bade my white fails to rife, before the roar of Cona's wind. Three hundred youths looked, from their waves, on Fingal's boffy shield. High on the maft it hung, and marked the dark-blue sea.-But when the night came down, I ftruck, at times, the warning boss: I ftruck, and looked on high, for fiery-haired Ul-erin (1).

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Nor wanting was the ftar of heaven it travelled red between the clouds: I pursued the lovely beam, on the faint-gleaming deep. -With morning, Erin rofe in mist. We came into the bay of Moi-lena, where its blue waters tumbled, in the bofom of echoing woods. Here Cormac, in his fecret hall, avoided the ftrength of Colc-ulla. Nor he alone avoids the foe: the blue eye of Roscrana is there: Ros-crana ( 2 ), white-handed maid, the daughter of the king.

from the

(1) Ul-erin, the guide to Ireland, a star known by that name in the days of Fingal, and very ufeful to those who failed, by night Hebrides, or Caledonia, to the coaft of Ulfter. We find, from this paffage, that navigation was confiderably advanced, at this time, among the Caledonians.

(2) Ros-crána, the beam of the rifing fun; she was the mother of Offian. The Itish bards relate

Grey, on his pointless fpear, came forth the aged fteps of Cormac. He fmiled, from his waving locks, but grief was in his foul. He faw us few before him, and his figh arofe. -I see the arms of Trenmor, he faid, and these are the steps of the king! Fingal! thou art a beam of light to Cormac's darkened foul.-Early is thy fame, my fon : but strong are the foes of Erin. They are like the roar of ftreams in the land, fon of car-borne Comhal.

Yet they may be rolled (1) away, I faid in my rifing foul. We are not of the race of the feeble, king of blue-shielded hofts. Why should fear come amongst us, like a ghost of night: The foul of the valiant grows, as foes increase in the field. Roll no darkness, king of Erin, on the young in war.

ftrange fictions concerning this princefs. The cha、 racter given of her here, and in other poems of Offian, does not tally with their accounts. Their ftories, however, concerning Fingal, if they mean him by Fion Mac-Comnal, are fo inconfiftent and notorioufly fabulous, that they do not deferve to be mentioned; for they evidently bear, along with them, the marks of late invention.

(1) Cormac had faid that his foes were like the roar of ftreams, and Fingal continues the metaphor. The speech of the young hero is fpirited, and confiftent with that fedate intrepidity, which eminently diftinguishes his character throughout,

The bursting tears of the king came down. He feized my hand in filence.-« Race of the daring Trenmor, I roll no cloud before thee. Thou burneft in the fire of thy fathers. I behold thy fame. It marks thy courfe in battles, like a ftream of light. But wait the coming of Cairbar (1): my fon must join thy fword. He calls the fons of Ullin, from all their diftant streams ».

We came to the hall of the king, where it rofe in the midst of rocks : rocks, on whofe dark fides, were the marks of streams of old. Broad oaks bend around with their mofs: the thick birch waves its green head. Half-hid, in her shady grove, Ros-crana raised the fong. Her white hands rofe on the harp. I beheld her blue-rolling eyes. She was like a fpirit (2) of heaven half-folded in the skirt of a cloud.

(1) Cairbar, the fon of Cormac, was afterwards king of Ireland. His reign was short. He was fucceeded by his fon Artho, the father of that Cormac who was murdered by Cairbar the fon of Borbar-duthul.- -Cairbar, the fon of Cormac long after his fon Artho was grown to man's estate had, by his wife Beltanno another fon, whose name was Ferad-artho.- He was the only one remaining of the race of Conar, the first king of Ireland, when Fingal's expedition against Cairbar the fon of Borbar-duthul happened. See more of Ferad-artho in the eighth book.

(2) The attitude of Ros-crana is aptly illuftrated

Three days we feafted at Moi-lena : she rofe bright amidft my troubled foul.-Cor

by this fimile; for the ideas of those times, concerning the fpirits of the deceafed, were not fo gloomy and difagreeable as thofe of fucceeding ages. The fpirits of women, it was fuppofed, retained that beauty, which they poffeffed while living, and tranfported themselves, from place to place, with that gliding motion, which Homer alcribes to the gods. The defcriptions which poets, lefs antient than Offian, have left us of those beautiful figures that appeared fometimes on the hills, are elegant and picturefque. They compare them to the rain-bow on ftreams: or, the gliding of fun-beams on the hills. I shall here tranflate a paffage of an old fong, where both thefe beautiful images are mentioned together.

A chief vho lived three centuries ago, returning from the war, understood that his wife or mistress was dead. The bard introduces him speaking the following foliloquy, when he came within fight of the place, where he had left her, at his departure.

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My foul darkens in forrow. I behold not the fmoak of my hall. No grey dog bounds at my ftreams. Silence dwells in the valley of trees.

«Is that a rain-bow on Crunath It flies: -and the sky is dark. Again thou movest, bright on the heath, thou fun-beam cloathed in a shower! Hah! it is she, my love: her gliding course

on the bofom of winds!

In fucceeding times the beauty of Ros-crana paffed

mac beheld me dark. He gave the whitebofomed maid. She came with bending eye, amidft the wandering of her heavy locks. She came.-Straight the battle roared.Colc-ulla rushed;-I feized my fpear. My fword rofe, with my people, against the ridgy foe. Alnecma fled. Colc-ulla fell. Fingal returned with fame.

He is renowned, O Fillan, who fights, in the ftrength of his people. The bard purfues his fteps, thro' the land of the foe.— But he who fights alone; few are his deeds to other times. He shines, to-day, a mighty light. To-morrow, he is low. One fong contains his fame. His name is on one dark field. He is forgot, but where his tomb fends forth the tufts of grass.

Such were the words of Fingal, on Mora of the roes. Three bards, from the rock of Cormul, poured down the pleafant fong. Sleep defcended, in the found, on the broadskirted hoft. Carril returned, with the bards, from the tomb of Dun-lora's king. The voice

into a proverbe; and the highest compliment, that could be paid to a woman 2 was to compare her perfon with the daughter of Cormac.

'S tu fein an Ros-crána.

Siol Chormaec na n'ioma lán.