d

"Son of the chief of generous steeds! high-bounding king of spears. Strong arm in every perilous toil. Hard heart that never yields. Chief of the pointed arms of death. Cut down the foe; let no white sail bound round dark Inistore. Be thine arm like thunder, thine eyes like fire, thy heart of solid rock. Whirl round thy sword as a meteor at night, and lift thy shield like the flame of death. Son of the chief of generous steeds, cut down the foe. Destroy." The hero's heart beat high. But Swaran came with battle. He cleft the shield of Gaul in twain; and the sons of the desart fled.

Now Fingal arose in his might, and thrice he reared his voice. Cromla answered around, and the sons of the desart stood still. They bent their red faces to earth, ashamed at the presence of Fingal. He came like a cloud of rain in the days of the sun, when slow it rolls on the hill, and fields expect the shower. Swaran beheld the terrible king of Morven, and stopped in the midst of his course. Dark he leaned on his spear, rolling his red eyes around. Silent and tall he seemed, as an oak on the banks of Lubar which had its branches blasted of old by the lightning of heaven. It bends over the stream, and the grey moss whistles in the wind: so stood the king. Then slowly he retired to the rising heath of Lena. His thousands pour around the hero, and the darkness of battle gathers on the hill.

Fingal, like a beam from heaven, shone in the midst of his people. His heroes gather around him, and he sends forth the voice of his power. "Raise my standards on high. Spread them on Lena's wind like the flames of an hundred hills. Let them sound on the winds of Erin, and remind us of the fight. Ye sons of the roaring streams that pour from a thousand hills, be near the king of Morven: attend to the words of his

d The war song of Ullin varies from the rest of the poem in the versification. It runs down like a torrent; and consists almost entirely of epithers. The custom of encouraging men in battle with extempore rhymes, has been carried down almost to our own times. Several of those war-songs are extant, but the most of them are only a group of epithets, without beauty or harmony, utterly destitute of poetical merit. e Th'imperial ensign, which full high advanc'd, Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind,

MILTON.

power. Gaul, strongest arm of death! O Oscar, of the future fights! Connal, son of the blue steel of Sora! Dermid of the dark-brown hair! and Ossian, king of many songs, be near your father's arm!"

We reared the sun-beain of battle, the standard of the king. Each hero's soul exulted with joy, as waving it flew on the wind. It was studded with gold above, as the blue wide shell of the nightly sky. Each hero had his standard too; and each his gloomy "how

men.

"Behold," said the king of generous shells, Lochlin divides on Lena. They stand like broken clouds on the hill, or an half consumed grove of oaks; when we see the sky through its branches, and the meteor passing behind. Let every chief among the friends of Fingal take a dark troop of those that frown so high; nor let a son of the echoing groves bound on the waves of Inistore."

σε το

"Mine," said Gaul," be the seven chiefs that came from Lano's lake." "Let Inistore's dark king," said Oscar, 66 come to the sword of Ossian's son.' mine the king of Iniscon," said Connal," heart of steel!" "Or Mudan's chief or I," said brown-haired Dermid, "shall sleep on clay-cold earth." My choice, though now so weak and dark, was Terman's battling king; I promised with my hand to win the hero's dark-brown shield. "Blest and victorious be my chiefs," said Fingal of the mildest look; “Swaran, king of roaring waves, thou art the choice of Fingal."

Now, like an hundred different winds that pour thro' many vales; divided, dark, the sons of the hill advanced, and Cromla echoed around.

How can I relate the deaths when we closed in the strife of our steel? O daughter of Toscar! bloody were our hands! The gloomy ranks of Lochlin fell like the banks of the roaring Cona. Our arms were victorious on Lena; each chief fulfilled his promise. Beside the murmur of Branno thou didst often sit, O maid; when

e Fingal's standard was distinguished by the name of sun-beam; probably on account of its bright colour, and its being studded with gold. To begin a battle, is expressed, old composition, by lifting of the sun-beam,

8

thy white bosom rose frequent, like the down of the swan when slow she sails the lake, and sidelong winds are blowing. Thou hast seen the sun, retire red and slow behind his cloud; night gathering round on the mountain, while the unfrequent blast roared in narrow vales. At length the rain beats hard: and thunder rolls in pales. Lightning glances on the rocks. Spirits ride on beams of fire. And the strength of the mountain-streams Such come roaring down the hills. was the noise of battle, maid of the arms of snow. Why, daughter of the hill, that tear? the maids of Lochlin have cause to weep. The people of their country fell, for bloody was the blue steel of the race of my heroes. But I am sad, forlorn, and blind; and no more the companion of heroes. Give, lovely maid, to me thy tears, for I have seen the tombs of all my friends.

b

It was then by Fingal's hand a hero fell, to his grief. Grey-haired he rolled in the dust, and lifted his faint eyes to the king. "And is it by me thou hast fallen," said the son of Comhal, "thou friend of Agandecca! I saw thy tears for the maid of my love in the halls of the bloody Starno. Thou hast been the foe of the foes, of my love, and hast thou fallen by my hand? Raise, Ullin, raise the grave of the son of Mathon, and give his name to the song of Agandecca; for dear to my soul hast thou been, thou darkly-dwelling maid of Ardven."

Cuthullin, from the cave of Cromla, heard the noise of the troubled war. He called to Connal chief of swords, and Carril of other times. The grey-haired heroes heard his voice, and took their aspen spears. They came, and saw the tide of battle, like the crowded waves of the ocean; when the dark wind blows

Above the rest the sun, who never lies,
Foretells the change of weather in the skies.
For if he rise, unwilling to his race,
Clouds on his brow, and spots upon his face,
Or if thro' mists he shoots his sullen beams,
Frugal of light, in loose and straggling streams,
Suspect a drisling day.

gFor ere the rising winds begin to roar,

DRYDEN.

The working seas advance to wash the shore;
Soft whispers run along the leafy wood,

And mountains whistle to the murm'ring flood.

DRYDEN.

b The rapid rains, descending from the hills,
Te rolfing torrents swed the creeping rills.

DRYDEN

from the deep, and rolls the billows through the sandy vale.

Cuthullin kindled at the sight, and darkness gathered on his brow. His hand is on the sword of his fathers: his red-rolling eyes on the foe. He thrice attempted to rush to battle, and thrice did Connal stop him. "Chief of the isle of mist," he said, Fingal subdues the foe. Seek not a part of the fame of the king; himself is like the storm."

66

"Then, Carril, go,” replied the chief, “ and greet the king of Morven. When Lochlin falls away like a stream after rain, and the noise of the battle is over, then be thy voice sweet in his ear to praise the king of swords. Give him the sword of Caithbat; for Cuthullin is worthy no more to lift the arms of his fathers.

"But, O ye ghosts of the lonely Cromla! ye souls of chiefs that are no more! be ye the companions of Cuthullin, and talk to him in the grave of his sorrow. For never more shall I be renowned among the mighty in the land. I am like a beam that has shone; like a mist that fled away when the blast of the morning came, and brightened the shaggy side of the hill. Connal, talk of arms no more: departed is my fame. My sighs shall be on Cromla's wind till my footsteps cease to be seen. And thou, white-bosom'd Bragela, mourn over the fall of my fame; for, vanquished, I will never return to thee, thou sun-beam of Dunscaich."

The Arqument.

Cathallin and Connal still remain on the hill. Fingal and Swaran meet; the combat is described. Swaran is overcome, bound, and delivered over a prisoner to the care of Ossian, and Gaul the son of Morni; Fingal, his younger sons, and Oscar, stili purse the enemy. The episode of Orfa, a chief of Lochlin, who was mortally wounded is the battle, is introduced. Fingal, touched with the death or Orla, orders the pursuit to be discontinued; and called his sons together; he is informed that Ryno, the youngest of them, was killed. He laments his death, hears the story of Landerg and Gelchossa, and returns towards the place where be had left Swaran. Carril, who had been sent by Cuthullin to congratulate Fingal on his victory, comes in the mean time to Ossian. The conversation of the two poets closes the action of the fourth day.

BOOK V.

Now Connal on Cromla's windy side spoke to the chief of the noble car. 66 Why that gloom, son of Semo? Our friends are the mighty in battle. And renowned art thou, O warrior! many were the deaths of thy steel. Often has Bragela met with blue-rolling eyes of joy, often has she met her hero, returning in the midst of the valiant; when his sword was red with slaughter, and his foes silent in the fields of the tomb. Pleasant to her ears were thy bards, when thine actions rose in the song.

like a

"But behold the king of Morven! He moves below pillar of fire. His strength is like the stream of Lubar, or the wind of the echoing Cromla, when the branches of night are overturned.

46

Happy are thy people, O Fingal; thine arm shall fight their battles! thou art the first in their dangers; the wisest in the days of their peace. Thou speakest and thy thousands obey; and armies tremble at the

The fourth day still continues. The poet by putting the narration in the mouth of Connal, who still remained with Cuthullin on the side of Cromla, gives propriety to praises of Fingal. The beginning of this book, in the original, is one of the most autiful parts of the poem. The versification is regular and full, and agrees very well with the sedate character of Connal. No poet has adapted the cadence of his verse Fre to the temper of the speaker than Ossian has done. It is more than probable, that whole poem was originally designed to be sung on the harp, as the versification is se various, and so much suited to the different passions of the human mind.

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