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 THE DEATH of CUCHULLIN: A POEM*. S the wind on Fingal's fhield? Or is the Is voice of past times in my hall? Sing on, fweet voice, for thou art pleasant, and carrieft away my night with joy. Sing on, O Bragéla, daughter of car-borne Songlan! IT Tradition throws confiderable light on the hiftory of Ireland, during the long reign of Fingal, the fon of Comhal, in Morven.-Arth, the fon of Cairbre, fupreme king of Ireland, dying, was fucceeded by his fon Cormac, a minor.- -The petty kings and chiefs of the tribes met at Temora, the royal palace, in order to chufe, out of their own number, a guardian to the young king. Difputes, concerning the choice of a proper perfon, run high, and it was resolved to end all differences by giving the tuition of the young king to Cúchullin, the son 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. Cuchullin was but three and twenty years old, when he af fumed the management of affairs in Ireland: and the invafion of Swaran happened two years after. In the twenty-feventh year of Cuchullin's age, and the third of his administration, Torlath, the son of Cantéla, one of the chiefs of that colony of Belge, 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 Belga, who were in poffeffion of the south of Ireland, fet up for himself in Connaught, and advanced towards Temora, in order to dethrone Cormac, who, excepting Feradath, afterwards king of Ireland, was the only one of the Scotch race of kings existing in that country, Cuchullin marched against 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 himfelf preffed 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 last Cormac was taken off; and Cairbar, lord of Atha, one of the competitors for the throne, having defeated all his rivals, became fole monarch 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; in particular, Ofcar the fon of Offian had determined to revenge the death of Cathol, his friend, who had been affaffinated by Cairbar. The threats of Ofcar reached Cairbar's ears: he invited him in a friendly manner to a feast which he had prepared at the royal palace of Temora, refolving to pick a quarrel, and have fome pretext for killing him. - The quarrel happened; the followers of both fought, and and Cairbar and Oscar fell by mutual wounds: in the mean time 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 present poem concerns the death of Cuchullin. It is, in the original, called Duản loch Leigo, i. e. The Poem of Lega's Lake, and is an epifode introduced in a great poem, which celebrated the last expedition of Fingal into Ireland, The greatest part of the poem is loft, and nothing remains but fome episodes, which a few old people in the north of Scotland retain on memory.-Cuchullin is the most famous champion fome ghoft, and spread 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 Togorma, fince thou haft been in the roar of battles, and Bragéla diftant far.---Hills of the ifle of mift! when will ye answer to his hounds? -But ye are dark in your clouds, and fad Bragéla calls in vain. Night comes rolling down the face of ocean fails. The heathcock's head is beneath his wing: the hind fleeps with the hart of the defart. They shall rife with the morning's light, and feed on the moffy ftream. But my tears return with the fun, my champion in the Irish traditions and poems; in them he is always called the redoubtable Cuɛhullin; and the fables concerning his ftrength and valour are innumerable. Offian thought his expedition against the Fir-bolg, or Belge of Britain, a subject fit for an epic poem; which was extant till of late, and was called Tora-na-tana, or a Difpute about Poffeffions, as the war which was the foundation of it, was commenced by the British Belgæ, who inhabited Ireland, in order to extend their territories.The fragments that remain of this poem are animated with the genuine spirit of Offian; fo that there can be no doubt that it was of his compofition. Togorma, i. e. The island of blue waves, one of the Hebrides, was fubject to Connal, the son of Caithbat, Cuchullin's friend.—He is sometimes called the son of Colgar, from one of that name who was the founder of the familyConnal, a few days before the news of Torlath's revolt came to Temora, had failed to Togorma, his native isle; where he was detained by contrary winds during the war in which Cuchullin was killed. fighs come on with the night. When wilt thou come in thine arms, O chief of moffy Tura? PLEASANT is thy voice in Offian's ear, daughter of car-borne Sorglan! But retire to the hall of thells; to the beam of the burning oak.Attend to the murmur of the fea it rolls at Dunfcaich's walls: let fleep defcend on thy blue eyes, and the hero come to thy dreams. CUCHULLIN fits at Lego's lake, at the dark rolling of waters. Night is around the hero'; and his thousands fpread on the heath: a hundred oaks burn in the midft, the feast of shells is fmoaking wide.---Carril strikes the harp, beneath a tree; his gray locks glitter in the beam; the rustling blaft of night is near, and lifts his aged hair.---His fong is of the blue Togorma, and of its chief, Cuchullin's friend. WHY art thou abfent, Connal, in the day of the gloomy ftorm? The chiefs of the fouth have convened against the car-borne Cormac: the winds detain thy fails, and thy blue waters roll around thee. But Cormac is not alone: the fon of Semo fights his battles. Semo's fon his battles fights! the terror of the ftranger! he that is |