1 " Why art thou dark, faid the maid? The ftrife of arms is paft. Soon(1) shall he come to thy cave, over thy winding ftreams. The fun looks from the rocks of the weft. The mists of the lake arife. Grey, they spread on that hill, the rushy dwelling of roes. From the mift shall my king appear! Behold, he comes in his arms. Come to the cave of Clonmal, O my best beloved! It was the fpirit of Cathmor, ftalking, large, a gleaming form. He funk by the hollow ftream, that roared between the hills. << It was but the hunter, she faid, who searches for the bed of the roe. His fteps are not forth to war; his spouse expects him with night. He shall, whiftling, return, with fpoils of the dark- brown hinds. » ——-Her eyes are turned to the hill; again the ftately form came down. She rofe, in the midst of joy. He retired in mift. Gradual vanish his limbs of fimoak, and mix with the mountain-wind. Then she knew that he fell!« King of Erin art thou low ! » Let Offian forget her grief; it waftes the foul of age (2). - (1) Cathmor had promifed, in the feventh book, to come to the cave of Clonmal, after the battle was over. (2) The abrupt manner, in which Offian quits the ftory of Sul-malla, is judicious. His fubject led him immediately to relate the refloration of Evening came down on Moi-lena. Grey rolled the ftreams of the land. Loud came forth the voice of Fingal : the beam of oaks the family of Conar, to the Irish throne; which we may confider effectually done, by the defeat and death of Cathmor, and the arrival of Ferad-artho in the Caledonian army. To purfue, here, the story of the maid of Inis-huna, which was foreign to the fubject, would be altogether inconfiftent with the rapid manner of Offian, and a breach on unity of time and action, one of the fundamental effentials of the epopaa, the rules of which our Celtic bard gathered from nature, not from the precepts of critics. Neither did the poet totally defert the beautiful Sul-malla, deprived of her lover, and a stranger, as she was, in a foreign land. Tradition relates, that Offian, the next day after the decifive battle between Fingal and Cathmor, went to find out Sul-malla, in the valley of Lona. His addrefs to her, which is ftill preserved, I here lay before the reader. - «Awake, thou daughter of Conmor, from the fern-skirted cavern of Lona. Awake, thou fun-beam in defarts; warriors one day muft fail. They move forth, like terrible lights; but, often, their cloud is near. Go to the valley of ftreams, to the wandering of herds, on Lumon; there dwells, in his lazy mift, the man of many days. But he is unknown, Sul-malla, like the thistle of the rocks of roes; it shakes its grey beard, in the wind, and falls, unseen of our eyes.- Not fuch are the kings of men, their departure is a meteor of fire, which pours its red courfe, from the defart, over the bofom of night. He is mixed with the warriors of old, those arofe. The people gathered round with gladnefs; with gladness blended with shades. They fidelong looked to the king, and beheld his unfinished joy. Pleasant, from the way of the defart, the voice of mufic came. It feemed, at firft, the noife of a ftream, fardiftant on its rocks. Slow it rolled along the hill like the ruffled wing of a breeze, when it takes the tufted beard of the rocks, in the ftill feason of night. It was the voice of Condan, mixed with Carril's trembling harp. They came with blue-eyed Ferad-artho, to Mora of the streams. Sudden burfts the fong from our bards, on Lena: the hoft ftruck their shields midst the found. Gladness rofe brightening on the king, like the beam of a cloudy day when it rifes, on the green hill, before the roar of fires that have hid their heads. At times shall they come forth in fong. Not forgot has the warrior failed. He has not feen, Sul-malla, the fall of a beam of his own no fair-haired fon, in his blood, young troubler of the field. I am lonely, young branch of Lumon, I may hear the voice of the feeble, when my ftrength shall have failed in years, for young Ofcar has ceafed, on his field.. *** The reft of the poem is loft; from the ftory of it, which is ftill preferved, we understand, that Sul-malla returned to her own country. Sul-malia makes a confiderable figure in the poem which immediately follows in the enfuing volume; her behaviour in that piece accounts for that partial regard with which the poet fpeaks of her throughout Temora. winds. He ftruck the boffy shield of kings; at once they ceafe around. The people lean forward, from their spears, towards the voice of their land (1). Sons of Morven, fpread the feaft; fend the night away on fong. Ye have shone around me, and the dark ftorm is paft. My people are the windy rocks, from which I spread my eagle wings, when I rush forth to renown, and feize it on its field. Offian, thou haft the fpear of Fingal: it is not the staff of a (1) Before I finish my notes, it may not be altogether improper to obviate an objection, which may be made to the credibility of the story of Temora, as related by Offian. It may be asked, whether it is probable, that Fingal could perform fuch actions as are afcribed to him in this book, at an age when his grandfon, Ofcar had acquired fo much reputation in arms. To this it may be answered, that Fingal was but very young [book 4th] when he took to wife Ros-crana, who foon after became the mother of Offian. Offian was alfo extremely young when he married Ever-allin, the mother of Ofcar. Tradition relates, that Fingal was but eighteen years old at the birth of his fon Offian; and that Offian was much about the fame age, when Ofcar, his fon, was born. Ofcar, perhaps, might be about twenty, when he was killed, in the battle of Gabhra; [book ift] fo the age of Fingal when the decifive battle was fought between him and Cathmor, was just fifty-six years. In those times of activity and health, the natural strength and vigour of a man was little abated, at such an age; fo that there is nothing improbable in the actions of Fingal, as related in this book. boy with which he ftrews the thiftle round, young wanderer of the field. No it is the lance of the mighty; with which they "ftretched forth their hands to death. Look to thy fathers, my fon; they are awful beams. With morning lead Ferad artho forth to the echoing halls of Temora. Remind him of the kings of Erin; the ftately forms of old. Let not the fallen be forgot, they were mighty in the field. Let Carril pour his fong, that the kings may rejoice in their mift. To-morrow Ifpread my fails to Selma's shaded walls; where ftreamy Duthula winds through the feats of roes. END of TEMORA, |