fall forward into battle, amid the ridge of fhields."

The fign of death afcends: the dreadful found of Morni's fhield. Gaul pours his voice between. Fingal rifes on Mora. He faw them, from wing to wing, bending at once in ftrife. Gleaming on his own dark hill, ftood Cathmor of ftreamy Atha. The kings were like two fpirits of heaven, standing each on his gloomy cloud; when they pour abroad the winds, and lift the roaring feas. 3 The blue-tumbling of waves is before them, marked with the paths of whales. They themselves are calm and bright. The gale lifts flowly their locks of mist!

What beam of light hangs high in air! What beam, but Morni's dreadful fword! Death is ftrewed on thy paths, O Gaul! Thou foldeft them together in thy rage. Like a young oak falls Tur-lathon *, with his branches round him. His high-bofomed spouse stretches her white arms, in dreams, to the returning chief, as fhe fleeps by gurgling Moruth, in her difordered locks. It is his ghoft, Oichoma. The chief is lowly laid. Hearken not to the winds for Turlathon's echoing fhield. It is pierced, by his ftreams. Its found is paft away.

P

Móruth,

* Tur-lathon, broad-trunk of a tree. great fream. Oichaoma, mild maid. Dun-lora, the bill of the noisy ftream. Duth-caron, dark-brown man.

Not

Not peaceful is the hand of Foldath. He winds his courfe in blood. Connal, met him in fight. They mixed their clanging fteel. Why should mine eyes behold them! Connal, thy locks are grey! Thou wert the friend of ftrangers, at the mofscovered rock of Dun-lora. When the fkies were rolled together: then thy feaft was fpread. The ftranger heard the winds without; and rejoiced at thy burning oak. Why, fon of Duth-caron, art thou laid in blood! The blafted tree bends above thee. Thy fhield lies broken near. Thy blood mixes with the ftream; thou breaker of the fhields!

Offian took the spear, in his wrath, But Gaul rufhed forward on Foldath. The feeble pass by his fide: his rage is turned on Moma's chief. Now they had raised their deathful fpears: unfeen an arrow came. It pierced the hand of Gaul. His fteel fell founding to earth. Young Fillan came*, with Cormul's fhield! He ftretched it large before the chief. Foldath fent his fhours abroad, and kindled all the field as a

Fillan had been dispatched by Gaul to oppofe Cormul, who had been fent by Foldath to lie in ambufh behind the Caledonian army. It appears that Fillan had killed Cormul, otherwise, he could not be fuppofed to have poffeffed himself of the fhield of that chief.

blaft that lifts the wide-winged flame over Lumon's echoing groves *.

"Son of blue-eyed Clatho," faid Gaul, "O Fillan! thou art a beam from heaven; that, coming on the troubled deep, binds up the tempeft's wing. Cormul is fallen before thee. Early art thou in the fame of thy fathers. Rufh not too far, my hero. I cannot lift the fpear to aid. I ftand harmlefs in battle: but my voice fhall be poured abroad. The fons of Selma shall hear, and remember my former deeds."

His terrible voice rofe on the wind. The hoft bends forward in fight. Often had they heard him, at Strumon, when he called them to the chafe of the hinds. He ftands tall, amid the war, as an oak in the fkirts of a ftorm, which now is clothed on high, in mift: then fhews its broad, waving head. The mufing hunter lifts his eye, from his own rufhy field!

My foul purfues thee, O Fillan! through the path of thy fame. Thou rolledft the foe before thee. Now Foldath, perhaps, may fly: but night comes down with its clouds. Cathmor's horn is heard on high. The fons of Selma hear the voice of Fin

Lumon, bending bill; a mountain in Inis-huna, or that part of South-Britain which is over-against the Irish coaft.

A VOL. II.

F

gal,

gal, from Mora's gathered mift. The bards pour their fong, like dew, on the returning

war.

"Who comes from Strumon," they faid, "amid her wandering locks? She is mournful in her steps, and lifts her blue eyes toward Erin. Why art thou fad, Evir-choma? Who is like thy chief in renown? He defcended dreadful to battle; he returns, like a light from a cloud. He raised the fword in wrath: they fhrunk before blue-fhielded Gaul!

Joy, like the ruftling gale, comes on the foul of the king. He remembers the battles of old; the days wherein his fathers fought. The days of old return on Fingal's mind, as he beholds the renown of his fon. As the fun rejoices, from his cloud, over the tree his beams have raised, as it (hakes its lonely head on the heath; fo joyful is the king over Fillan!

"As the rolling of thunder on hills, when Lara's fields are ftill and dark, fuch are the fteps of Selma pleasant and dreadful to the ear. They return with their found, like eagles to their dark-brown rock, after prey is torn on the field, the dun fons

the

* Evir-choama, mild and fiately maid, the wife of Gaul. She was the daughter of Cafdu-conglass, chief of I-dronlo, one of the Hebrides.

of

of the bounding hind. Your fathers rejoice from their clouds, fons of ftreamy Selma !"

Such was the nightly voice of bards, on Mora of the hinds. A flame rofe, from an hundred oaks, which winds had torn from Cormul's fteep. The feaft is fpread in the midft around fat the gleaming chiefs. Fingal is there in his ftrength. The eaglewing of his helmet founds. The ruftling blafts of the weft, unequal rufh through night. Long looks the king in filence round at length his words are heard.

My foul feels a want in our joy. I behold a breach among my friends. The head of one tree is low. The fqually wind pours in on Selma. Where is the chief of Dun-lora? Ought Connal to be forgot at the feaft? When did he forget the ftranger,

midft of his echoing hall? Ye are filent in my presence! Connal is then no more. Joy meet thee, O warrior! like a ftream of light. Swift be thy course to thy fathers, along the roaring winds! Offian, thy foul is fire: kindle the memory of the king. Awake the battles of Con

The kings of Caledonia and Ireland had a plume of eagle's feathers, by way of ornament, in their helmets. It was from this diftinguished mark that Offian knew Cathmor, in the fecond book.