haft not fallen by the fword of the mighty, neither was thy blood on the fpear of the brave. The arrow came, like the fting of death in a blaft: nor did the feeble hand, which drew the bow, perceive it. Peace to thy foul, in thy cave, chief of the isle of mift!" "The mighty are difperfed at Temora : there is none in Cormac's hall. The king mourns in his youth. He does not behold thy return. The found of thy shield is ceased: his foes are gathering round. Soft be thy reft in thy cave, chief of Erin's wars! Bragéla will not hope for thy return, or fee thy fails in ocean's foam. Her fteps are not on the fhore: nor her ear open to the voice of thy rowers. She fits in the hall of fhells. She fees the arms of him that is no more. Thine eyes are full of tears, daughter of car-borne Sorglan! Bleft be thy foul in death, O chief of shady Tura!" ARGUMENT. Fingal, on his return from Ireland, after he had expelled Swaran from that kingdom, made a feast to all his heroes; he forgot to invite Ma-ronnan and Aldo, two chiefs, who had not been along with him in his expedition. They refented his neglect; and went over to Erragon king of Sora, a country of Scandinavia, the declared enemy of Fingal. The valour of Aldo foon gained him a great reputation in Sora and Lorma the beautiful wife of Erragon fell in love with him. He found means to escape with her and come to Fingal, who refided then in Selma on the western coaft. Erragon invaded Scotland, and was flain in battle by Gaul the fon of Morni, after he had rejected terms of peace offered him by Fingal. In this war Aldo fell, in a fingle combat, by the hands of his rival Erragon, and the unfortunate Lorma afterwards died of grief. THE BATTLE of LORA: A POE M. ON of the diftant land, who dwelleft in S the fecret cell! do I hear the found of thy grove or is it thy voice of fongs? The torrent was loud in my ear; but I heard a tuneful voice. Doft thou praife the chiefs of thy land: or the spirits * of the wind? But, lonely dweller of rocks! look thou on that heathy plain. feeft green tombs, with their rank, whiftling grafs with their ftones of moffy heads. Thou feeft them, fon of the rock, but Offian's eyes have failed. Thou A mountain-ftream comes roaring down, and fends its waters round a green hill. Four moffy ftones, in the midft of withered grafs, rear their heads on the top. Two * Alluding to the religious hymns of the Culdees. |