Book V. sound of thy steel. Happy are thy people, Fingal, chief of the lonely hills.

"Who is it that so dark and terrible, coming in the thunder of his course? who is it but Starno's son to meet the king of Morven! Behold the battle of the chiefs: it is like the storm of the ocean, when two spirits meet far distant and contend for the rolling of the wave. The hunter hears the noise on his hill; and sees the high billows advancing to Ardven's shore."

Such were the words of Connal, when the heroes met in the midst of their falling people. There was the clang of arms! there every blow, like the hundred hammers of the furnace! Terrible is the battle of the kings, and horrid the look of their eyes. Their darkbrown shields are cleft in twain; and their steel flies, broken, from their helmets. They fling their weapons down. Each rushes to the grasp of his foe. Their sinewy arms bend round each other: they turn from side to side, and strain and stretch their large spreading limbs below. But when the pride of their strength a rose, they shook the hill with their heels; rocks tumble from their places on high; the green-headed bushes are overturned. At length the strength of Swaran fell; and the king of groves is bound.

Thus have I seen on Cona; (but Cona I behold no more,) thus have I seen two dark hills removed from their place by the strength of the bursting stream. They turn from side to side, and their tall oaks meet one another on high. Then they fall together with all their rocks and trees. The streams are turned by their sides, and the red ruin is seen afar.

"Sons of the king of Morven," said the noble Fingal, "guard the king of Lochlin; for he is strong as his thousand waves. His hand is taught to the battle, and his race of the times of old. Gaul, thou first of my heroes, and Ossian king of songs, attend the friend

This passage resembles one in the twenty-third Iliad.

Close lock'd above, their heads and arms are mixt;
Below their planted feet at distance next;

Now to the grasp each manly body bends;

The humid sweat from ev'ry pore descends;

Their bones resound with blows; sides, shoulders, thighs,
Syell to each gripe, and bloody tumours rise.

POPE

of Agandecca, and raise to joy his grief. But, Oscar, Fillan, and Ryno, ye children of the race! pursue the rest of Lochlin over the heath of Lena; that no vessel may hereafter bound on the dark-rolling waves of Inistore."

They flew like lightning over the heath. He slowly moved as a cloud of thunder when the sultry plain of summer is silent. His sword is before him as a sunbeam, terrible as the streaming meteor of night. He came toward a chief of Lochlin, and spoke to the son of the wave.

"Who is that like a cloud at the rock of the roaring stream? He cannot bound over its course; yet stately is the chief! his bossy shield is on his side; and his spear like the tree of the desart. Youth of the darkbrown hair, art thou of Fingal's foes?"

"I am a son of Lochlin," he cries," and strong is my arm in war. My spouse is weeping at home, but Orla will never return."

"Or fights, or yields the hero?" said Fingal of the noble deeds; "foes do not conquer in my presence; but my friends are renowned in the hall. Son of the wave, follow me; partake the feast of my shells; pursue the deer of my desart; and be the friend of Fingal."

"No," said the hero, "I assist the feeble: my strength shall remain with the weak in arms. My sword has been always unmatched, O warrior: let the king of Morven yield."

"I never yielded, Orla! Fingal never yielded to man, Draw thy sword, and chuse thy foe. Many are my heroes."

"And does the king refuse the combat?" said Orla of the dark-brown hair. "Fingal is a match for Orla: and he alone of all his race. But, king of Morven, if I shall fall, (as one time the warrior must die ;) raise my tomb in the midst, and let it be the greatest on

The story of Orla is so beautiful and affecting in the original, that many are in posression of it in the north of Scotland, who never heard a syllable of the poem. It va ries the action, and awakes the attention of the reader, when he expected nothing b fangour in the conduct of the poem, as the great action was over in the conquest

Swaran.

Lena. And send, over the dark-blue wave, the sword of Orla to the spouse of his love, that she may show it to her son, with tears, to kindle his soul to war." "Son of the mournful tale," said Fingal, why dost thou awaken my tears? One day the warriors must die, and the children see their useless arms in the hall. But, Orla, thy tomb shall rise, and thy white-bosomed spouse weep over thy sword."

They fought on the heath of Lena, but feeble was the arm of Orla. The sword of Fingal descended, and cleft his shield in twain. It fell, and glittered on the ground as the moon on the stream of night.

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King of Morven," said the hero, "lift thy sword and pierce my breast. Wounded and faint from bettle, my friends have left me here. The mournful tale shall come to my love on the banks of the streamy Loda; when she is alone in the wood, and the rustling blast in the leaves."

"No," said the king of Morven; "I will never wound thee, Orla. On the banks of Loda let her see thee escaped from the hands of war. Let thy greyhaired father, who, perhaps, is blind with age, hear the sound of thy voice in his hall. With joy let the hero rise, and search for his son with his hands."

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But never will he find him, Fingal;" said the youth of the streamy Loda. " On Lena's heath I shall die; and foreign bards will talk of me. My broad belt covers my wound of death. And now I give it to the wind."

The dark blood poured from his side, he fell pale on the heath of Lena. Fingal bends over him as he dies, and calls his younger heroes.

"Oscar and Fillan, my sons, raise high the memory of Orla. Here let the dark-haired hero rest, far from the spouse of his love. Here let him rest in his narrow house, far from the sound of Loda. The sons of the feeLle will find his bow at home, but will not be able to bond it. His faithful dogs how on his hills, and his ars, which he used to pursue, rejoice. Fallen is the 1 of battle; the mighty among the valiant is low!

"Exalt the voice, and blow the horn, ye sons of the king of Morven ! let us go back to Swaran, and send the night away in song. Fillan, Oscar, and Ryno, fly over the heath of Lena. Where, Ryno, art thou, young son of fame? thou art not wont to be the last to answer thy father."

"Ryno," said Ullin, first of bards, “is with the awful forms of his fathers;, with Trathal king of shields, and Trenmor of the mighty deeds. The youth is low, the youth is pale; he lies on Lena's heath."

"And fell the swiftest in the race," said the king, "the first to bend the bow? Thou scarce hast been known to me: why did young Ryno fall? But sleep thou softly on Lena, Fingal shall soon behold thee. Soon shall my voice be heard no more, and my footsteps cease to be seen. The bards will tell of Fingal's name; the stones will talk of me. But, Ryno, thou art low indeed, thou hast not received thy fame. Ullin, strike the harp for Ryno, tell what the chief would have been. Farewel, thou first on every field. No more shall I direct thy dart. Thou that hast been so fair: I behold thee not. Farewel."

The tear is on the cheek of the king; for terrible was his son in war. His son that was like a beam of fire by night on the hill; when the forests sink down in its course, and the traveller trembles at the sound.

"Whose fame is in that dark green tomb?" begun the king of generous shells; "four stones with their heads of moss stand there, and mark the narrow house of death. Near it let my Ryno rest, and be the neighbour of the valiant. Perhaps some chief of fame is here to fly with my son on clouds. O Ullin, raise the songs of other times. Bring to memory the dark dwellers of the tomb. If in the field of the valiant they never fled from danger, my son shall rest with them, far from his friends, on the heath of Lena."

Here," said the mouth of the song, "here rest the first of heroes. Silent is Lamderg m in this tomb, and

Lamh-dhearg signifies bloody hand. Gelchessa, white legged.' Tuat uy.' Ulfarica, tong-beard.' Ferchios, the conqueror of men.'

Ullin king of swords. And who, soft smiling from her cloud, shews me her face of love? Why, daughter, why so pale art thou, first of the maids of Cromla? Dost thou sleep with the foes in battle, Gelchossa, white-bosomed daughter of Tuathal? Thou hast been the love of thousands, but Lamderg was thy love. He came to Selma's mossy towers, and, striking his dark buckler, spoke.

"Where is Gelchossa, my love, the daughter of the noble Tuathal? I left her in the hall of Selma, when I' fought with the gloomy Ulfadda. Return soon, O

Lamderg, she said, for here I am in the midst of sorrow. Her white breast rose with sighs. Her cheek was wet with tears. But I see her not coming so meet me; and to soothe my soul after battle. Silent is the hall of my joy; I hear not the voice of the bard.

Bran does not shake his chains at the gate, glad at the coming of Lamderg. Where is Gelchossa, my love, the mild daughter of the generous Tuathal?"

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Lamderg," says Ferchios the son of Aidon, "Gelchossa may be on Cromla; she and the maids of the bow pursuing the flying deer!"

no noise

"Ferchios!" replied the chief of Cromla, meets the ear of Lamderg. No sound is in the woods of Lena. No deer fly in my sight. No panting dog pursues. I see not Gelchossa my love, fair as the full moon setting on the hills of Cromla. Go, Ferchios, go to Allad the grey-haired son of the rock. His dwelling is in the circle of stones. He may know of Gel

chossa."

The son of Aidon went and spoke to the ear of age. "Allad: thou that dwellest in the rock, thou that tremblest alone, what saw thine eyes of age?"

"I saw," answered Allad the old, " Ullin the son of Cairbar. He came like a cloud from Cromla; and he

n Bran is a common name of grey-hounds to this day. It is a custom in the north of Scotland, to give the names of the heroes mentioned in this poem to their dogs; a proof that they are familiar to the ear, and their fame generally known.

Allad is plainly a druid; he is called the son of the rock, from his dwelling in a cave; and the circle of stones here mentioned is the pale of the druidicai temple. He is here consulted as one who had a supernatural knowledge of things: from the druids, no doubt, came the ridiculous notion of the second sight, which prevailed in the Highlands and islet,