ftream! The tale was long, but lovely; and pleased the blushing Utha. CRIMORA *. Who cometh from the hill, like a cloud tinged with the beam of the weft? Whose voice is that, loud as the wind, but pleasant as the harp of Carril †? It is my love in the light of steel; but fad is his darkened brow! Live the mighty race of Fingal? or what darkens in Connal's foul ‡ ? CONNAL. They live. They return from the chafe, like a ftream of light. The fun is on their fhields. Like a ridge of fire they defcend the hill. Loud is the voice of the youth! the war, my love, is near! To-morrow the dreadful Dargo comes to try the force of our race. The race of Fingal he defies; the race of battle and wounds! * Cri-móra, a woman of a great foul. + Perhaps the Carril mentioned here is the fame with Carril the fon of Kinfena, Cuchullin's bard. The name itself is proper to any bard, as it fignifies a fprightly and harmonious found. Connal, the fon of Diaran, was one of the most famous heroes of Fingal; he was flain in a battle against Dargo a Briton; but whether by the hand of the enemy, or that of his mistress, tradition does not determine. CRIMORA. Connal, I faw his fails like grey mist on the dark-brown wave. They flowly came to land. Connal, many are the warriors of Dargo! CONNAL: Bring me thy father's fhield; the boffy, iron fhield of Rinval; that shield like the full-orbed moon, when fhe moves darkened through heaven. CRIMORA. That fhield I bring, O Connal! but it did not defend my father. By the fpear of Gormar he fell. Thou may'ft fall, O Connal! CONNAL. Fall I may! But raise my tomb, Crimora! Grey ftones, a mound of earth, shall fend my name to other times. Bend thy red eye over my grave, beat thy mournful heaving breaft. Though fair thou art, my love, as the light; more pleasant than the gale of the hill; yet I will not here remain. Raife my tomb, Crimora! CRIMORA. CRIMORA. Then give me thofe arms that gleam; that fword, and that spear of steel. I shall meet Dargo with Connal, and aid him in the fight. Farewel, ye rocks of Ardven! ye deer! and ye ftreams of the hill! We shall return no more. Our tombs are diftant far! "And did they return no more?" faid Utha's bursting figh. "Fell the mighty in battle, and did Crimora live? Her fteps were lonely; her foul was fad for Connal. Was he not young and lovely; like the beam of the setting fun?" Ullin faw the virgin's tear, he took the foftly-trembling. harp the fong was lovely, but fad, and filence was in Carric-thura. Autumn is dark on the mountains; grey mift refts on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. A tree ftands. alone on the hill, and marks the flumbering Connal. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and ftrew the grave of the dead. At times are seen here the ghofts of the departed, when the mufing hunter alone ftalks flowly over the heath. Who can reach the fource of thy race, O Connal! who recount thy fathers? Thy family grew like an oak on the mountain, F 4 which which meeteth the wind with its lofty head. But now it is torn from the earth. Who fhall fupply the place of Connal? Here was the din of arms; here the groans of the dying. Bloody are the wars of Fingal, O Connal! it was here thou didft fall, Thine arm was like a ftorm; thy fword a beam of the fky; thy height, a rock on the plain; thine eyes, a furnace of fire. Louder than a ftorm was thy voice, in the battles of thy fteel. Warriors fell by thy fword, as the thistle by the staff of a boy. Dargo the mighty came on, darkening in his rage. His brows were gathered into wrath. His eyes like two caves in a rock. Bright rofe their fwords on each fide; loud was the clang of their steel. The daughter of Rinval was near; Crimora bright in the armour of man; her yellow hair is loose behind, her bow is in her hand. She followed the youth to the war, Connal her much-beloved. She drew the firing on Dargo; but erring the pierced her Connal, He falls like an oak on the plain; like a rock from the fhaggy hill. What fhall fhe do, hapless maid! He bleeds; her Connal dies! All the night long the cries, and all the day, "O Connal, my love, and my friend!" With grief the fad mourner dies! Earth here inclofes the lovelieft pair on the hill. The grafs grows between between the ftones of the tomb; I often fit in the mournful fhade. The wind fighs through the grafs; their memory rushes on my mind. Undisturbed you now fleep together; in the tomb of the mountain you reft alone! And foft be their reft, faid Utha, hapless children of freamy Lotha! I will remember them with tears, and my fecret fong fhall rife; when the wind is in the groves of Tora, when the ftream is roaring near. Then fhall they come on my foul, with all their lovely grief! Three days feafted the kings: on the fourth their white fails arofe. The winds of the north drove Fingal to Morven's woody land. But the fpirit of Loda sat, in his cloud, behind the fhips of Frothal. He hung forward with all his blafts, and fpread the white-bofomed fails. The wounds of his form were not forgot; he ftill feared the hand of the king! *The ftory of Fingal and the spirit of Loda, suppofed to be the famous Odin, is the moft extravagant fiction in all Offian's poems. It is not, however, without precedents in the best poets; and it must be faid for Offian, that he fays nothing but what perfectly agreed with the notions of the times, concerning ghofts. They thought the fouls of the dead were material, and confequently fufceptible of pain. Whether a proof could be drawn from this paffage, that Offian had no notion of a divinity, I fhall leave to others to determine: it appears, however, that he was of opinion, that fuperior beings ought to take no notice of what paffed among men, |