to battle, on my field, are their columns of mist. But mine arm rescued the feeble; the haughty found my rage was fire. Never over the fallen did mine eye rejoice. For this, my fathers shall meet me, at the gates of their airy halls, tall, with robes of light, with mildly-kindled eyes. But, to the proud in arms, they are darkened moons in heaven, which send the fire of night red-wandering over their face.

"Father of heroes, Trenmor, dweller of eddying winds! I give thy spear to Ossian, let thine eye rejoice. Thee have I seen, at times, bright from between thy clouds; so appear to my son, when he is to lift the spear: then shall he remember thy mighty deeds, though thou art now but a blast."

He gave the spear to my hand, and raised, at once, a stone on high, to speak to future times, with its grey head of moss. Beneath he placed a sword† in earth, and one bright boss from his shield. Dark

The Celtic nations had some idea of rewards, and perhaps of punishments, after death. Those who behaved, in life, with bravery and virtue, were received, with joy, to the airy halls of their fathers; but the dark in soul, to use the expression of the poet, were spurned away from the habitation of heroes, to wander on all the winds. Another opinion which pre vailed in those times, tended not a little to make individuals emulous to excel one another in martial atchievements. It was thought, that, in the hall of clouds, every one had a seat, raised above others, in proportion as he excelled them, in valour, when he lived.

+ There are some stones still to be seen in the north, which were erected as memorials of some remarkable transactions between the ancient chiefs. There are generally found, beneath them, some pieces of arms, and a bit of half-burnt wood. The cause of placing the last there is not mentioned in tradition.

in thought, a-while, he bends: his words, at length, came forth.

"When thou, O stone, shall moulder down, and lose thee, in the moss of years, then shall the traveller come, and whistling pass away. Thou know'st not, feeble man, that fame once shone on Moi-lena. Here Fingal resigned his spear, after the last of his fields. Pass away, thou empty shade! in thy voice there is no renown. Thou dwellest by some peaceful stream; yet a few years, and thou art gone. No one remembers thee, thou dweller of thick mist! But Fingal shall be clothed with fame, a beam of light to other times; for he went forth, in echoing steel, to save the weak in arms."

Brightening, in his fame, the king strode to Lubar's sounding oak, where it bent from its rock, over the bright tumbling stream. Beneath it is a narrow plain, and the sound of the fount of the rock. Here the standard of Morven poured its wreaths on the wind, to mark the way of Ferad-artho, from his secret vale. Bright, from his parted west, the sun of heaven looked abroad. The hero saw his people, and heard their shouts of joy. In broken ridges round, they glittered to the beam. The king re

*The erecting of his standard on the bank of Lubar, was the signal which Fingal, in the beginning of the book, promised to give to the chiefs, who went to conduct Ferad-artho to the army, should he himself prevail in battle. This standard here is called, the sun-beam. The reason of this ap pellation, I gave in my notes on the poem intitled Fingal.

Не

joiced, as a hunter in his own green vale, when, af ter the storm is rolled away, he sees the gleaming sides of the rocks. The green thorn shakes its head in their face; from their top look forward the rões. Grey,* at his mossy cave, is bent the aged form of Clonmal. The eyes of the bard had failed. leaned forward, on his staff. Bright in her locks, be fore him, Sul-malla listened to the tale; the tale of the kings of Atha, in the days of old. The noise of battle had ceased in his ear: he stopt, and raised the secret sigh. The spirits of the dead, they said, often lightened along his soul. He saw the king of Atha low, beneath his bending tree.

"Why art thou dark?" said the maid. "The

strife of arms is past.

cave, over thy winding

Soon + shall he come to thy

streams. The sun looks from

the rocks of the west. The mists of the lake arise.

Grey, they spread on that hill, the rushy dwelling of roes. From the mist shall my king appear! Be hold, he comes in his arms. Come to the cave of Clonmal, O my best beloved!"

It was the spirit of Cathmor, stalking, large, a gleaming form. He sunk by the hollow stream,

The scene is changed to the valley of Lona, whither Sul-malla had been sent, by Cathmor, before the battle. Clonmal, an aged bard, or rather druid, as he seems here to be endued with a prescience of events, had long dwelt there in a cave. This scene is calculated to throw a melancholy gloom over the mind.

+ Cathmor had promised, in the seventh book, to come to the cave of Clonmal, after the battle was over.