He broke Clefsárnmor's beamy fpear in twain, and feized his fhining fword. But as Carthon was binding the chief; the chief drew the dagger of his fathers. He faw the foe's uncovered fide; and opened, there, a wound.

Fingal faw Clefsámmor low: he moved in the found of his fteel. The hoft ftood filent, in his prefence; they turned their eyes towards the hero. He came, like the fullen noife of a ftorm, before the winds arife: the hunter hears it in the vale, and retires to the cave of the rock. Carthon flood in his place: the blood is rushing down his fide: he faw the coming down of the king; and his hopes of fame arofef; but pale was his cheek : his hair flew loofe, his helmet fhook on high: the force of Carthon failed! but his foul was firong.

Fingal beheld the hero's blood; he ftopt the uplifted fpear. "Yield, king of fwords!" faid Comhal's fon; "I behold thy blood. Thou haft been mighty in battle; and thy fame fhall never fade" "Art thou the king fo far renowned?" replied the car-borne Carthon. "Art thou that light of death, that frightens the kings of the world? But why fhould Carthon afk? for he is like the ftream of his defert; ftrong as a river, in his courfe: fwift as the eagle of the sky. O that I had fought with the king; that my fame might be great in the fong! that the hunter beholding my tomb, might fay, he fought with the mighty Fingal. But Carthon dies unknown! he has poured out his force on the feeble."

"But thou shalt not die unknown," replied the king of woody Morven: "my bards are many, O Carthon! and their fongs defcend to future times. The children of the years to come shall hear the fame of Carthon; when they fit round the burning oak ||, and the night

This expreffion admits of a double meaning, either that Carthon hoped to acquire glory by killing Fingal, or to be rendered famous by falling by his hand, the laft is the moft probable, as Carthon is already wounded.

In the north of Scotland, till very lately, they burnt a large trunk of an oak at their feftivals; it was called the trunk of the feaft. Time had fo much conic

orated the cuftom, that the vulgar thought it a kind of facrilege to difufe it.

is fpent in the fongs of old. The hunter, fitting in the heath, fhall hear the ruftling blaft; and, raifing his eyes, behold the rock where Carthon fell. He fhall turn to his fon, and fhew the place where the mighty fought; There the king of Balclutha fought, like the strength of a thoufand freams!

the

"

Joy rofe in Carthon's face: he lifted his heavy eyes. He gave his fword to Fingal, to lie within his hall, that memory of Balclutha's king might remain on Morven. The battle ceafed along the field, for the bard had fung the fong of peace. The chiefs gathered round the falling Carthon, and heard his words, with fighs. Silent they leaned on their fpears, while Balclutha's hero fpoke, His hair fighed in the wind, and his words were feeble.

"King of Morven," Carthon faid, "I fall in the midft of my courfe. A foreign tomb receives, in youth, the laft of Reuthámir's race. Darknefs dwells in Bal

clutha: and the fhadows of grief in Crathmo. But raife my remembrance on the banks of Lora: where my fathers dwelt. Perhaps the husband of Moina will mourn over his fallen Carthon." His words reached the heart of Clefsammor: he fell, in filence, on his fon. The hoft ftood darkened around: no voice is on the plains of Lora. Night came, and the moon, from the eaft, looked on the mournful field: but ftill they stood, like a filent grove that lifts its head on Gormal, when the loud winds are laid, and dark autumn is on the plain.

Three days they mourned over Carthon: on the fourth his father died. In the narrow plain of the rock they lie; and a dim ghost defends their tomb. There lovely Moina is often feen; when the fun-beam darts on the rock, and all around is dark. There she is feen, Malvina, but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the strangers land; and the is still alone.

Fingal was fad for Carthon; he defired his bards to mark the day, when shadowy autumn returned. And

often did they mark the day, and fing the hero's praife. "Who comes fo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's fhadowy cloud? Death is trembling in his hand! his eyes are flames of fire! Who roars along dark Lora's heath? Who but Carthon king of fwords? The people fall! fee! how he ftrides, like the fullen ghoft of Morven! But there he lies a goodly oak, which fudden blafts overturned! When fhalt thou rife, Balciutha's joy! lovely car-borne Carthon? Who comes fo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's fhadowy cloud?” Such were the words of the bards, in the day of their mourning: I have accompanied their voice; and added to their fong. My foul has been mournful for Carthon, he fell in the days of his valour: and thou, O Clefsámmor! where is thy dwelling in the air? Has the youth forgot his wound? And flies he, on the clouds, with thee? I feel the fun, O Malvina, leave me to my reft. Perhaps they may come to my dreams; I think I hear a feeble voice. The beam of heaven delights to shine on the grave of Carthon: I feel it warm around.

O thou that rolleft above, round as the fhield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams, O fun! thy everlasting light? Thou comeft forth, in thy awful beauty, and the ftars hide themfelves in the fky, the moon, cold and pale, finks in the weflern wave. But thou thyfelf moveft alone: who can be a companion of thy courfe? The oaks of the mountains fall: the mountains themfelves decay with years; the ocean fhrinks and grows again: the moon herfelf is loft in heaven; but thou art for ever the fame; rejoicing in the brightness of thy courfe. When the world is dark with tempefts; when thunder rolls, and lightning fiics; thou lookeft in thy beauty, from the clouds, and laugheft at the form. But to Offian, thou look it in vain; fer he beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremble at the gates of the weft. But thou art perhaps, like me for a feafon, and thy years will have an end. Thou fhalt fleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult

then, O fun, in the ftrength of thy youth! Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it fhines through broken clouds, and the mift is on the hills; the blaft of the north is on the plain, the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey.

THE

DEATH OF CUCHULLIN:

A POEM.

THE ARGUMENT.

Arth the fon of Cairbre, fupreme king of Ireland, dying, was fucceeded by his fon Cormac, a minor. Cuchullin, the fon of Semo, who had rendered himself famous by his great actions, and who refided, at the time, with Connal, the fon of Caithbat, in Ulfter, was elected regent. In the twenty-feventh year of Cuchullin's age, and the third of his adminiftration, Torlath, the fon of Cantela, one of the chiefs of that colony of Belga, who were in poffeffion of the south of Ireland, rebelled in Connaught, and advanced towards Temora, in order to dethrone Cormac, who, excepting Feradath, afterwards king of Ireland, was the only one of the Scottish race of kings exifting in that country. Cuchullin marched againft him, came up with him at the lake of Lego, and totally defeated his forces. Torlath fell in the battle by Cuchullin's hand; but as he himself pressed too eagerly on the flying enemy, he was mortally wounded by an arrow, and died the fecond day after. The good fortune of Cormac fell with Cuchullin: many fet up for themselves, and anarchy and confufion reigned. At laft Cormac was taken off; and Cairbar, lord of Atha, one of the competitors for the throne, having defeated all his rivals, became fole momarch of Ireland. The family of Fingal, who were in the intereft of Cormac's family, were refolved to deprive Cairbar of the throne he had ufurped. Fingal arrived from Scotland with an army, defeated the friends of Cairbar, and re-established the family of Cormac in the poffeffion of the kingdom. The prefent poein, concerns the death of Cuchullin. It is, in the original, called Duan loch Leigo, i. e. The Poem of Lego's Lake,' and is an epifode introduced in a great poem, which celebrated the laft cxpedition of Fingal into Ireland. The greatest part of the poem is left, and nothing remains but fome episodes, which a few old people in the north of Scotland retain on memory.

Is the wind on Fingal's fhield? Or is the voice of paft. times in my hall? Sing on, fweet voice, for thou art pleafant, and carrieft away my night with joy. Sing on, O Bragela, daughter of car-borne Sorglan!

It is the white wave of the rock, and not Cuchullin's fails. Often do the mifts deceive me for the fhip of my love! when they rife round fome ghoft, and fpread their gray fkirts on the wind. Why doft thou delay thy coming, fon of the generous Semo! Four times has autumn returned with its winds, and raised the feas of Togormat, fince thou haft been in the roar

Togorma, i. e. the ifland of blue waves, one of the Hebrides, was fubject to Connal, the fon of Caithbat, Cuchullin's friend. He is fometimes called the fon of Colgar, from one of that name who was the founder of the family. Connal, a