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hummed a surly song like a blast in a leafless wood. He entered the hall of Selma. "Lamderg,” he said, most dreadful of men, fight or yield to Ullin." "Lamderg," replied Gelchossa, "the son of the battle is not here. He fights Ulfadda, mighty chief. He is not here, thou first of men. But Lamderg never yielded. He will fight the son of Cairbar."

"Lovely art thou," said terrible Ullin, " daughter of the generous Tuathal. I carry thee to Cairbar's halls. The valiant shall have Gelchossa. Three days I remain on Cromla, to wait the son of battle, Lamderg. On the fourth Gelchossa is mine, if the mighty Lamderg flies."

"Allad!" said the chief of Cromla, 66 peace to thy dreams in the cave. Ferchios, sound the horn of Lamderg, that Ullin may hear on Cromla. Lamderg, like a roaring storm, ascended the hill from Selma. He hummed a surly song as he went, like the noise of a falling stream. He stood like a cloud on the hill, that varies its form to the wind. He rolled a stone, the sign of war. Ullin heard in Cairbar's hall. The hero heard with joy his foe, and took his father's spear. A smile brightens his dark-brown cheek, as he places his sword by his side. The dagger glittered in his hand. He whistled as he went.

"Gelchossa saw the silent chief, as a wreath of mist ascending the hill. She struck her white and heaving breast; and silent, tearful, feared for Lamderg.

"Cairbar, hoary chief of shells," said the maid of the tender hand; "I must bend the bow on Cromla; for I see the dark-brown hinds."

She hasted up the hill. In vain! the gloomy heroes fought. Why should I tell the king of Morven how wrathful heroes fight! Fierce Ullin fell. Young Lamderg came all pale to the daughter of generous Tuathal.

"What blood, my love," the soft-haired woman said, "what blood runs down my warrior's side!" "It is Ullin's blood," the chief replied, "thou fairer than the

The reader will find this passage altered from what it was in the fragments of cient poetry. It is delivered down very differently by tradition, and the translator chogen that reading which sayours least of bombast,

snow of Cromla! Gelchossa, let me rest here a little while." The mighty Lamderg died.

"And sleepest thou so soon on earth, O chief of shady Cromla? Three days she mourned beside her love. The hunters found her dead. They raised this tomb above the three. Thy son, O king of Morven, may rest here with heroes."

"And here my son shall rest," said Fingal, "the noise of their fame has reached my ears. Fillan and Fergus! bring hither Orla; the pale youth of the streamy Loda. Not unequalled shall Ryno lie in earth, when Orla is by his side. Weep, ye daughters of Morven ;. and ye maids of the streamy Loda. Like a tree they grew on the hills; and they have fallen like the oak of the desart; when it lies across a stream, and withers in the wind of the mountain.

"Oscar! chief of every youth! thou seest how they have fallen. Be thou, like them, on earth renowned. Like them the song of bards. Terrible was their forms in battle; but calm was Ryno in the days of peace. He was like the bow of the shower seen far distant on the stream, when the sun is setting on Mora, and silence on the hill of deer. Rest, youngest of my sons, rest, O Ryno, on Lena. We too shall be no more; for the warrior one day must fall."

Such was thy grief, thou king of hills, when Ryno lay on earth. What must the grief of Ossian be, for thou thyself art gone. I hear not thy distant voice on Cona. My eyes perceive thee not. Often forlorn and dark I sit at thy tomb; and teel it with my hands. When I think I hear thy voice; it is but the blast of the desart. Fingal has long since fallen asleep, the ruler of the war.

Then Gaul and Ossian sat with Swaran on the soft green banks of Lubar. I touched the harp to please the king. But gloomy was his brow. He rolled his red eyes towards Lena. The hero mourned his people.

I lifted my eyes to Cromla, and I saw the son of generous Semo. Sad and slow he retired from his hill

towards the lonely cave of Tura. He saw Fingal victorious, and mixed his joy with grief. The sun is bright on his armour, and Connal slowly followed. They sunk behind the hill like two pillars of the fire of night; when winds pursue them over the mountain, and the flaming heath resounds. Beside a stream of roaring foam his cave is in a rock. One tree bends above it and the rushing winds echo against its sides. Here rests the chief of Dunscaich, the son of generous Semo. His thoughts are on the battle he lost; and the tear is on his cheek. He mourned the departure of his fame, that fled like the mist of Cona. O Bragela, thou art too far remote to cheer the soul of the hero. But let him see thy bright form in his soul; that his thoughts may return to the lonely sun-beam of Dunscaich.

Who comes with the locks of age? It is the son of song. Hail, Carril of other times! thy voice is like the harp in the halls of Tura. Thy words are pleasant as the shower that falls on the field of the sun. Carril of the times of old, why comest thou from the son of the generous Semo?

"Ossian, king of swords,” replied the bard, "thou best raisest the song. Long hast thou been known to Carril, thou ruler of battles. Often have I touched the harp to lovely Everallin. Thou too hast often accompanied my voice in Branno's hall of generous shells. And often, amidst our voices, was heard the mildest Everallin. One day she sung of Cormac's fall, the youth that died for her love. I saw the tears on her cheek, and on thine, thou chief of men. Her soul was touched for the unhappy, though she loved him not. How fair among a thousand maids was the daughter of the generous Branno!"

"Bring not, Carril," I replied, "bring not her memory to my mind. My soul must melt at the remembrance. My eyes must have their tears. Pale in the earth is she, the softly-blushing fair of my love. But sit thou on the heath, O bard, and let us hear thy voice. It is pleasant as the gale of spring that sighs on the hunter's ear; when he wakens from dreams of joy, an has heard the music of the spirits of the hill.”

The Argument.

Night comes on. Fingal gives a feast to his army, at which Swaran is present. The King commands Ullin his bard to give the song of peace; a custom always observed at the end of a war. Ullin relates the actions of Trenmor, great-grandfather to Fingal, in Scandinavia, and his marriage with Inibaca, the daughter of a king of Lochlin, who was ancestor to Swaran; which consideration, together with his being brother to Agandecca, with whom Fingal was in love in his youth, induced the king to release him, and permit him to return with the remains of his army into Lochlin, upon his promising never to return to Ireland in a hostile manner. The night is spent in settling Swaran's departure, in songs of bards, and in a conversation in which the story of Grumal is introduced by Fingal. Morning comes. Swaran departs; Fingal goes on a hunting party; and finding Cuthullin in the cave of Tura, comforts him, and sets sail the next day for Scotland; which concludes the poem.

BOOK VI'.

THE clouds of night come rolling down, and rest on Cromla's dark-brown steep. The stars of the north arise over the rolling of the waves of Ullin; they show their heads of fire through the flying mist of heaven. A distant wind roars in the wood; but silent and dark is the plain of death.

Still on the darkening Lena arose in my ears the tuneful voice of Carril. He sung of the companions of our youth, and the days of former years; when we met on the banks of Lego, and sent round the joy of the shell. Cromla with its cloudy steep answered to his voice. The ghosts of those he sung came in the rustling blasts. They were seen to bend with joy towards the sound of their praise.

Be thy soul blest, O Carril, in the midst of the eddying winds. O that thou wouldst come to my hall, when I am alone by night! And thou dost come, my friend, I hear often thy light hand on my harp: when it hangs on the distant wall, and the feeble sound touches my ear. Why dost thou not speak to me in my grief, and tell when I shall behold my friends? But

This book opens with the fourth night, and ends on the morning of the sixth day. The time of five days, five nights, and a part of the sixth day, is taken up in the poem. The scene lies in the heath of Lena, and the mountain Cromia on the coast of Ulster.

thou passest away in thy murmuring blast and thy wind whistles in the grey hair of Ossian.

Now on the side of Mora the heroes gathered to the feast. A thousand aged oaks are burning to the wind. The strength of the shells goes round, and the souls of warriors brighten with joy. But the king of Lochlin is silent, and sorrow reddens in the eye of his pride. He often turned toward Lena, and remembered that he fell.

Fingal leaned on the shield of his fathers. His grey locks slowly waved on the wind, and glittered to the beam of night. He saw the grief of Swaran, and spoke to the first of bards.

"Raise, Ullin, raise the song of peace, and soothe my soul after battle, that my ear may forget the noise of arms. And let a hundred harps be near to gladden the king of Lochlin. He must depart from us with joy. -None ever went sad from Fingal. Oscar! the lightning of my sword is against the strong in battle; but peaceful it lies by my side when warriors yield in war." "Trenmor"," said the mouth of the songs, "lived in the days of other years. He bounded over the waves of the north; companion of the storm. The high rocks of the land of Lochlin, and its groves of murmuring sounds appear to the hero through the mist; he bound his white-bosomed sails. Trenmor pursued the boar that roared along the woods of Gormal. Many had fled from its presence; but the spear of Trenmor slew it.

"Three chiefs, that beheld the deed, told of the mighty stranger. They told that he stood like a pillar of fire in the bright arms of his valour The king of Lochlin prepared the feast; and called the blooming

By the strength of the shell is meant the liquor the heroes drunk; of what kind it was, cannot be ascertained at this distance of time. The translator has met with several ancient poems, that mention wax-lights and wine as common in the halls of Fingal. The names of both are borrowed from the Latin, which plainly shows that our ancestors had them from the Romans, if they had them at all. The Caledonians, in their frequent incursions to the province, might become acquainted with those conveaiencies of life, and introduce them into their own country, among the booty which they carried from South Britain.

u Trenmor was great-grandfather to Fingal. The story is introduced to facilitate the dismission of Swaran,