somed spread the sails of the king towards streamy Inis-fail; dun-night was rolled before him, with its skirts of mist. Unconstant blew the winds, and rolled him from wave to wave. Then rose the fiery-haired Ton-théna, and smiled from her parted cloud. Larthon blessed the wellknown beam, as it faint-gleamed on the deep. Beneath the spear of Cathmor, rose that voice which awakes the bards. They came, darkwinding from every side: each with the sound of his harp. Before them rejoiced the king, as the traveller, in the day of the sun; when he hears, far-rolling around, the murmur of mossy streams: streams that burst, in the desert, from the rock of roes. *Larthon is compounded of Lear, sea: and thon, wave. This name was given to the chief of the first colony of Fir-bolg, who settled in Ireland, on account of his knowledge in navigation. A part of an old poem is still extant, concerning this hero. It abounds with those romantic fables of giants and magicians, which distinguished the compositions of the less ancient bards. The descriptions contained in it, are ingenious, and proportionable to the magnitude of the persons introduced; but, being unnatural, they are insipid and tedious. Had the bard kept within the bounds of probability, his genius was far from-being contemptible. The exordium of his poem is not destitute of merit; but it is the only part of it that I think worthy of being presented to the reader. "Who first sent the black ship, through ocean, like a whale through "the bursting of foam? Look, from thy darkness, on Cronath, Ossian "of the harps of old! Send thy light on the blue-rolling waters, that "I may behold the king. I see him dark in his own shell of oak! sea"tossed Larthon, thy soul is strong. It is careless as the wind of thy "sails; as the wave that rolls by thy side. But the silent green isle "is before thee, with its sons, who are tall as woody Lumon; Lumon "which sends from its tops a thousand streams, white-wandering "down its sides." It may, perhaps, be for the credit of this bard, to translate no more of this poem, for the continuation of his description of the Irish giants betrays his want of judgment. Why," said Fonar, "hear we the voice "of the king, in the season of his rest? Were "the dim forms of thy fathers bending in thy "dreams? Perhaps they stand on that cloud, and "wait for Fonar's song; often they come to the "fields where their sons are to lift the spear. Or "shall our voice arise for him who lifts the spear "no more; he that consumed the field, from "Moma of the groves? "Not forgot is that cloud in war, bard of "other times. High shall his tomb rise, on Moi"lena, the dwelling of renown. But, now, roll is back my soul to the times of my fathers: to the years when first they rose, on Inis-huna's waves. "Nor alone pleasant to Cathmor is the remem"brance of wood-covered Lumon. Lumon of "the streams, the dwelling of the white-bosomed "maids. "Lumon* of the streams, thou risest on Fo"nar's soul! Thy sun is on thy side, on the rocks "of thy bending trees. The dun roe is seen from thy furze; the deer lifts his branchy head; "for he sees at times, the hound on the half"covered heath. Slow, on the vale, are the steps "of maids; the white-armed daughters of the "bow: they lift their blue eyes to the hill, from "amidst their wandering locks. Not there is "the stride of Larthun, chief of Inis-huna. He * Lumon was a hill, in Inis-huna, near the residence of Sul-malla. This episode has an immediate connexion with what is said of Lar thon, in the description of Cathmor's shield. "mounts the wave on his own dark oak, in CluThat oak which he cut from "ba's ridgy bay. "Lumon, to bound along the sea. The maids "turn their eyes away, lest the king should be "lowly-laid; for never had they seen a ship, dark "rider of the wave! "Now he dares to call the winds, and to mix "with the mist of ocean. Blue Inis-fail rose, in "smoke; but dark-skirted night came down. "The sons of Bolga feared. The fiery-haired "Ton-thena rose. Culbin's bay received the ship, in the bosom of its echoing woods. There "issued a stream from Duthuma's horrid cave; "where spirits gleamed, at times, with their half"finished forms. "Dreams descended on Larthon.: he saw seven is spirits of his fathers. He heard their half"formed words, and dimly beheld the times to come. He beheld the kings of Atha, the sons "of future days. They led their hosts, along the "field, like ridges of mist, which winds pour, in autumn, over Atha of the groves. "Larthon raised the hall of Samla,* to the "music of the harp. He went forth to the roes "of Erin, to their wonted streams. Nor did he 22 forget green-headed Lumon; he often bounded over his seas, to where white-handed Flathal↑ * Samla, apparitions, so called from the vision of Larthon, concerting his posterity. +Flatbal, heavenly, exquisitely beautiful She was the wife of Lar thon. "looked from the bill of roes. 68 Lumon of the foamy streams, thou risest on Fonar's soul!" Morning pours from the east. The misty heads of the mountains rise. Valleys show, on every side, the grey winding of the streams. His host heard the shield of Cathmor: at once they rose around; like a crowded sea, when first it feels the wings of the wind. The waves know not whither to roll; they lift their troubled heads. Sad and slow retired Sul-malla to Lona of the streams. She went, and often turned; her blue eyes rolled in tears. But when she came to the rock, that darkly-covered Lona's vale, she looked from her bursting soul, on the king; and sunk, at once, behind. Son of Alpin, strike the string. Is there aught of joy in the harp? Pour it then on the soul of Ossian: it is folded in mist. I hear thee, O bard! in my night. But cease the lightly trembling sound. The joy of grief belongs to Ossian, amidst his dark-brown years. Green thorn of the hill of ghosts, that shakest thy head to nightly winds! I hear no sound in thee; is there no spirit's windy skirt now rustling in thy leaves? Often are the steps of the dead, in thy dark-eddying blasts; when the moon, a dun shield, from the east, is rolled along the sky. Ullin, Carril, and Ryno, voices of the days ❝ of old! Let me hear you, while yet it is dark, to "please and awake my soul. I hear you not, ye |