"Calmar!" slow replied the chief, " I never fled, O son of Matha! I was swift with my friends in battle; but small is the fame of Connal! The battle was won in my presence; and the valiant overcame! But, son of Semo, hear my voice, regard the ancient throne of Cormac. Give wealth and half the land for peace, till Fingal come with battle. Or, if war be thy choice, I lift the sword and spear. My joy shall be in the midst of thousands; and my soul brighten in the gloom of the fight!"

I

"To me," Cuthullin replies, "pleasant is the noise of arms! pleasant as the thunder of heaven before the shower of spring! But gather all the shining tribes, that may view the sons of war! Let them move along the heath; bright as the sun-shine before a storm; when the west wind collects the clouds, and the oaks of Morven echo along the shore."

"But where are my friends in battle? The companions of my arm in danger? Where art thou, whitebosomed Cathbat? Where is that cloud in war Duchomar'? And hast thou left me, O Fergus"! in the day of the storm? Fergus, first in our joy at the feast! son of Rossa! arm of death! comest thou like a roe" from Malmor? like a hart from the echoing hills? Hail, thou son of Rossa! What shades the soul of war?"

"Four stones," replied the chief, "rise on the grave of Cathbat. These hands have laid in earth Duchomar, that cloud in war! Cathbat, son of Torman, thou wert a sun-beam on the hill. And thou, O valiant Duchomar, like the mist of the marshy Lano, when it sails over the plains of autumn, and brings death to the people. Morna, fairest of maids! calm is thy sleep in the cave of the rock. Thou hast fallen in darkness like a

Dubhcomar, a black well-shaped man.'

2 Fear-guth, the man of the word ;' or a commander of an army.

Be thou like a roe or young hart on the mountains of Bether. Solomon's Song. w This passage alludes to the manner of burial among the ancient Scots. They opened a grave six or eight feet deep: the bottom was lined with fine clay; and on this they laid the body of the deceased, and, if a warrior, his sword, and the heads of twelve arrows by his side. Above they laid another stratum of clay, in which they placed the horn of a deer, the symbol of hunting. The whole was covered with a fine mold, and four stones placed on end to mark the extent of the grave. These are the four stone s lluded to here,

star, that shoots across the desart, when the traveller is alone, and mourns the transient beam."

"Say," said Semo's blue-eyed son, 66 say, how fell the chiefs of Erin Fell they by the sons of Lochlin, striving in the battle of heroes? Or what confines the chiefs of Cromla to the dark and narrow house?",

"Cathbat," replied the hero," fell by the sword of Duchomar at the oak of the noisy streams. Duchomar came to Tura's cave, and spoke to the lovely Morna :" "Morna', fairest among women, lovely daughter of Cormac-cairbar, why in the circle of stones, in the cave of the rock alone? The stream murmurs hoarsely. The old trees groan in the wind. The lake is troubled before thee, and dark are the clouds of the sky. But thou art like snow on the heath; and thy hair like the mist of Cromla, when it curls on the rocks, and shines to the beam of the west. Thy breasts are like two smooth rocks seen from Brano of the streams; thy arms like two white pillars in the halls of the mighty Fingal."

"From whence," the white-armed maid replied, "from whence, Duchomar, the most gloomy of men? Dark are thy brows and terrible. Red are thy rolling eyes. Does Swaran appear on the sea? What of the foe, Duchomar?"

"From the hill I return, O Morna, from the hill of the dark-brown hinds. Three have I slain with my bended yew. Three with my long-bounding dogs of the chase. Lovely daughter of Cormac, I love thee as my soul. I have slain one stately deer for thee. High was his branchy head; and fleet his feet of wind."

"Duchomar!" calm the maid replied, "I love thee not, thou gloomy man; hard is thy heart of rock, and dark thy terrible brow. But Cathbat, son of Torman*, thou art the love of Morna. Thou art like a sun-beam on the hill in the day of the gloomy storm. Sawest thou the son of Torman, lovely on the hill of his hinds? Here the daughter of Cormac waits the coming of Cathbat."

The grave. The house appointed for all living.
Muirne, or Morna, a woman beloved by all.'

JOB.

Torman, 'thunder.' This is the true origin of the Jupiter Taramis of the anciente

"And long shall Morna wait," Duchomar said, "his blood is on my sword. Long shall Morna wait for him. He fell at Brano's stream. High on Cromla I will raise his tomb, daughter of Cormac-cairbar; but fix thy love on Duchomar, his arm is strong as a storm."

"And is the son of Torman fallen ?" said the maid of the tearful eye. "Is he fallen on his echoing heath; the youth with the breast of snow? he that was first in the chase of the hill? the foe of the strangers of the ocean? Duchomar, thou art dark indeed, and cruel is thy arm to Morna. But give me that sword, my foe! I love the blood of Cathbat."

a

He gave the sword to her tears. But she pierced his manly breast! He fell, like the bank of a mountainstream; and stretching out his arm he said

"Daughter of Cormac-cairbar, thou hast slain Duchomar. The sword is cold in my breast: Morna, I feel it cold. Give me to Moina the maid; Duchomar was the dream of her night. She will raise my tomb; and the hunter shall see it and praise me. draw the sword from my breast, Morna, the steel is cold."

But

She came, in all her tears, she came, and drew it from his breast. He pierced her white side with steel; and spread her fair locks on the ground. Her bursting blood sounds from her side: and her white arm is stained. with red. Rolling in death she-lay, and Tura's cave answered to her groans.

"Peace," said Cuthullin, " to the souls of the heroes; their deeds were great in danger. Let them ride around me on clouds, and show their features of war; that my soul may be strong in danger, my arm like the thunder of heaven.-But be thou on a moon-beam, O Morna, near the window of my rest; when my thoughts are of peace, and the din of arms is over.-Gather the strength of the tribes, and move to the wars of Erin-Attend the car of my battles; rejoice in the

a She alludes to his name, the dark man.

b Moina, soft in temper and person.'

It was the opinion then, as it is indeed to this day, of some of the Highlan. that the soul of the deceased hovered round their living friends; and sometimes peared to them when they were about to enter on any great undertaking.

noise of my course. Place three spears by my side; follow the bounding of my steeds; that my soul may be strong in my friends, when the battle darkens round the beams of my steel."

As rushes a stream of foam from the dark shady steep of Cromla, when the thunder is rolling above, and dark-brown night rests on half the hill; so fierce, so vast, so terrible, rushed on the sons of Erin. The chief, like a whale of ocean, whom all his billows follow, poured valour forth as a stream, rolling his might along the shore.

The sons of Lochlin heard the noise as the sound of a winter-stream. Swaran struck his bossy shield, and called the son of Arno. "What murmur rolls along the hill, like the gathered flies of evening? The sons of Inisfail descend, or rustling winds roar in the distant wood. Such is the noise of Gormal before the white tops of my waves arise. O son of Arno, ascend the hill and view the dark face of the heath."

He went, and trembling, swift returned. His eyes rolled wildly round. His heart beat high against his side. His words were faultering, broken, slow.

"Rise, son of ocean, rise, chief of the dark-brown shields; I see the dark, the mountain-stream of the battle, the deep-moving strength of the sons of Erin.The car, the car of battle comes, like the flame of death; the rapid car of Cuthullin, the noble son of Semo. It bends behind like a wave near a rock; like the golden mist of the heath. Its sides are embossed with stones, and sparkle like the sea round the boat of night. Of polished yew is its beam, and its seat of the smoothest bone. The sides are replenished with spears; and the bottom is the footstool of heroes. Before the right side of the car is seen the snorting horse. The high-maned, broad-breasted, proud, high-leaping, strong steed of the hill. Loud and resounding is his hoof; the spreading of his mane above is like that stream of smoke on the

d As torrents roll, increas'd by numerous rills,
With rage impetuous down their echoing hills;
Rush to the vales, and, pour'd along the plain,
Rear thro' a thousand channels to the main.

POPE

heath. Bright are the sides of the steed, and his name is Sulin-Sifadda.

"Before the left side of the car is seen the snorting horse. The dark-maned, high-headed, strong-hoofed, fleet, bounding son of the hill: his name is Dusronnal among the stormy sons of the sword. A thousand thongs bind the car on high. Hard polished bits shine in a wreath of foam. Thin thongs bright-studded with gems, bend on the stately necks of the steeds. The steeds that like wreaths of mist fly over the streamy vales. The wildness of deer is in their course, the strength of the eagle descending on her prey. Their noise is like the blast of winter on the sides of the snowheaded Gormal".

"Within the car is seen the chief; the strong stormy son of the sword; the hero's name is Cuthullin, son of Semo, king of shells. His red cheek is like my polished yew. The look of his blue-rolling eye is wide beneath the dark arch of his brow. His hair flies from his head like a flame, as bending forward he wields the spear. Fly, king of ocean, fly; he comes, like a storm along the streamy vale."

"When did I fly," replied the king," from the battle of many spears? When did I fly, son of Arno, chief of the little soul? I met the storm of Gormal when the foam of my waves was high; I met the storm of the clouds, and shall I fly from a hero? Were it Fingal himself, my soul should not darken before him.-Rise to the battle, my thousands; pour round me like the echoing main. Gather round the bright steel of your king; strong as the rocks of my land, that meet the storm with joy, and stretch their dark woods to the wind." As autumn's dark storms pour from two echoing

e A hill of Lochlin.

The reader may compare this passage with a similar one in Homer. Iliad 4. v. 446.
Now shield with shield, with helmet helmet clos'd,
To armour armour, lance to lance oppos'd.
Host against host with shadowy squadrons drew,
The sounding darts in iron tempests flew;

With streaming blood the slipp'ry fields are dy'd,
And slaughter'd heroes swell the dreadful tide.

Arms to armour crashing, bray'd
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels
Of brazen chariots rag'd, &e,

POPE.

MILTON.