1 of Offian; they poured forth their burning fouls, and the harp anfwered to their voice.. The joy of Croma was great for peace returned to the land. The night came on with filence, rill. He fears the rock and the fen. He fears the ghost of night. The old tree groans to the blaft; the falling branch refounds. The wind drives the withered burs, clung together, along the grafs. It is the light tread of a ghoft!-He trembles amidst the night. Dark, dufky, howling is night, cloudy, windy, and full of ghofts! The dead are abroad! my friends, receive me from the night. SECOND BARD. The wind is up. The fhower defcends. The fpirit of the mountain fhrieks. Woods fall from high. Windows flap. The growing river roars. The traveller attempts the ford. Hark that fhriek! he dies:-The ftorm drives the horse from the hill, the goat, the lowing cow. They tremble as drives the shower, befide the mouldering bank. The hunter ftarts from fleep, in his lonely hut; he wakes the fire decayed. His wet dogs fmoke around him. He fills the chinks with heath. Loud roar two mountain ftreams which meet befide his booth. Sad on the fide of a hill the wandering fhepherd fits. The tree refounds above him. The ftream roars down the rock. He waits for the rifing moon to guide him to his home. Ghofts ride on the ftorm to-night. Sweet is their voice between the fqualls of wind. Their fongs are of other worlds. The rain is fast. The dry wind blows. Streams roar, and windows flap. Cold drops fall from the roof. I fee the starry fky. But the fhower gathers again. The weft is gloomy and dark. Night is ftormy and difinal; receive me, my friends, from night. THIRD filence, and the morning returned with joy. No foe came in darkness, with his glittering fpear. The joy of Croma was great; for the gloomy Rothmar was fallen. I RAISED THIRD BARD. The wind ftill founds between the hills and whistles through the grafs of the rock. The firs fall from their place. The turfy hut is torn. The clouds, divided, fly over the sky, and fhew the burning flars. The meteor, token of death! flies fparkling through the gloom. It refts on the hill. I fee the withered fern, the dark-browed rock, the fallen oak. Who is that in his hrowd beneath the tree, by the stream? The waves dark-tumble on the lake, and lash its rocky fides. The boat is brimful in the cove; the oars on the rocking tide. A maid fits fad beside the rock, and eyes the rolling stream. Her lover promised to come. She faw his boat, when yet it was light, on the lake. Is this his broken boat on the fhore? Are thefe his groans on the wind? Hark! the hail rattles around. The flaky fnow defcends. The tops of the hills are white. The ftormy winds abate. Various is the night and cold; receive me, my friends, from night. FOURTH BARD. . Night is calm and fair; blue, ftarry, fettled is night. The winds, with the clouds, are gone. They fink behind the hill. Trees glitter: fireams shine The moon is up on the mountain. on the rock. Bright rolls the fettled lake; bright the ftream of the vale. I fee the trees overturned; the fhocks of corn on the plain. The wakeful hind rebuilds the shocks, and whistles on the diftant field. Calm, fettled, fair is night!-Who comes from the place of the dead? That form with the robe of fnow; white arms and dark-brown hair! It is the daughter of the chief of the people; fhe I RAISED my voice for Fovar-gormo, when they laid the chief in earth. The aged Crothar was there, but his figh was not heard. He searched she that lately fell! Come, let us view thee, O maid! thou that haft been the delight of heroes! The blast drives the phantom away; white, without form, it afcends the hill. The breezes drive the blue mift, flowly over the narrow vale. It rifes on the hill, and joins its head to heaven.-Night is fettled, calm, blue, ftarry, bright with the moon. Receive mę not, my friends, for lovely is the night. FIFTH BARD. Night is calm, but dreary. The moon is in a cloud in thẹ west. Slow moves that pale beam along the fhaded hill. The diftant wave is heard. The torrent murmurs on the rock. The cock is heard from the booth. More than half the night is past. The house-wife, groping in the gloom, rekindles the fettled fire. The hunter thinks that day approaches, and calls his bounding dogs. He afcends the hill and whistles on his way. A blast removes the cloud. He fees the ftarry plough of the north, Much of the night is to pass. He nods by the moffy rock. Hark! the whirlwind is in the wood! A low murmur in the vale! It is the mighty army of the dead returning from the air. The moon refts behind the hill. The beam is ftill on that lofty rock. Long are the fhadows of the trees. Now it is dark over all. Night is dreary, filent, and dark; receive me, my friends, from night. The CHIEF. Let clouds reft on the hills: fpirits fly and travellers fear. Let the winds of the woods arife, the founding ftorms descend. Roar ftreams and windows flap, and green winged meteors fly; rife the pale moon from behind her hills, or inclose her head in clouds ; A a fearched for the wound of his fon, and found it in his breaft. Joy rofe in the face of the aged. He came and spoke to Offian. KING of fpears! he faid, my fon has not fallen without his fame. The young warrior did not fly; but met death, as he went forward in his ftrength. Happy are they who die in youth, when their renown is heard! The feeble will not behold them in the hall; or fmile at their trembling hands. Their memory fhall be honoured in the fong; the young tear of the virgin falls. But the aged wither away, by degrees, and the fame of their youth begins to be forgot. They fall in fecret; the figh of their clouds; night is alike to me, blue, ftormy, or gloomy the sky. Night flies before the beam, when it is poured on the hill. The young day returns from his clouds, but we return no more. Where are our chiefs of old? Where our kings of mighty name? The fields of their battles are filent. Scarce their mossy tombs remain. We fhall alfo be forgot. This lofty house shall fall. Our fons fhall not behold the ruins in grafs. They fhall afk of the aged, "Where flood the walls of our fathers ?" Raife the fong, and ftrike the harp; fend round the shells of joy. Sufpend a hundred tapers on high. Youths and maids be‐ gin the dance. Let fome gray bard be near me to tell the deeds of other times; of kings renowned in our land, of chiefs we behold no more. Thus let the night pafs until morning fhall appear in our halls. Then let the bow be at hand, the dogs, the youths of the chace. We fhall afcend the hill with day; and awake the deer. fon |