hast thou set on our hills! The steps of thy departure were stately, like the moon on the blue, trembling wave. But thou hast left us in darkness, first of the maids of Lutha! We sit, at the rock, and there is no voice; no light but the meteor of fire! Soon hast thou set, O Malvina, daughter of generous Toscar! But thou risest like the beam of the east, among the spirits of thy friends, where they sit, in their stormy halls, the chambers of the thunder! A cloud hovers over Cona. Its blue curling sides are high. The winds are beneath it, with their wings. Within it is the dwelling of Fingal. There the hero sits in darkHis airy spear is in his hand. His shield, half-covered with clouds, is like the darkened moon; when one half still remains in the wave, and the other looks sickly on the field!

ness.

His friends sit around the king, on mist! They hear the songs of Ullin: he strikes the half-viewless harp. He raises the feeble voice. The lesser heroes with a thousand meteors, light the airy hall. Malvina rises in the midst; a blush is on her cheek. She beholds the unknown faces of her fathers. She turns aside her humid eyes. "Art "thou come so soon," said Fingal, "daughter of generous Toscar? Sadness dwells in the halls

* The description of this ideal palace of Fingal is agreeable to the notions of those times, concerning the state of the deceased, who were supposed to pursue, after death, the pleasures and employments of their former life.. The situation of the Celtic heroes, in their separate state, if not entirely happy, is more agreeable than the notions of the ancient Greeks concerning their departed heroes.

" of Lutha. My aged son* is sad! I hear the "breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy "locks. It comes to the hall, but thou art not "there. Its voice is mournful among the arms of "thy fathers! Go, with thy rustling wing, O "breeze! sigh on Malvina's tomb. It rises yon"der beneath the rock, at the blue stream of "Lutha. The maids+ are departed to their place. "Thou alone, O breeze, mournest there!"

66

But who comes from the dusky west, supported on a cloud? A smile is on his grey, watry face. His locks of mist fly on wind. He bends forward on his airy spear. It is thy father, Malvina! Why shinest thou, so soon, on our clouds," he "says, "O lovely light of Lutha! But thou wert "sad my daughter. Thy friends had passed 56 away. The sons of little ment were in the "hall. None remained of the heroes, but Ossian

And dost thou remember Ossian, car-borne Toscar, son of Conloch? The battles of our youth were many. Our swords went together to the field. They saw us coming like two falling

* Ossian; who had a great friendship for Malvina, both on account of her love for his son Oscar, and her attention to himself.

That is, the young virgins who sung the funeral elegy over her tomb.

Tradition is entirely silent concerning what passed in the north immediately after the death Fingal and all his heroes; by which it would seem that the actions of their successors were not to be com. pared to those of the renowned Fingalians.

Toscar was the son of that Conloch, who was also father to the la dy whose unfortunate death is related in the last episode of the second book of Fingal.

rocks.

The sons of the stranger fled. "There

66 come the warriors of Cona!" they said. "Their steps are in the paths of the flying!" Draw near, son of Alpin, to the song of the aged. The deeds of other times are in my soul. My meniory beams on the days that are past: on the days of mighty Toscar, when our path was in the deep. Draw near, son of Alpin, to the last sound of the voice of Cona!

the

The king of Morven commanded. I raised my sails to the wind. Toscar, chief of Lutha, stood at my side; I rose on the dark-blue wave. Our course was to sea-surrounded Berrathon,* isle of many storms. There dwelt, with his locks of age, the stately strength of Larthmor: Larthmor, who spread the feast of shells to Fingal, when he went to Starno's halls, in the days of Agandecca. But when the chief was old, the pride of his son arose: the pride of fair-haired Uthal, the love of a thousand maids. He bound the aged Larthmor, and dwelt in his sounding halls!

Long pined the king in his cave, beside his rolling sea. Day did not come to his dwelling; nor the burning oak by night. But the wind of ocean was there, and the parting beam of the moon. The red star looked on the king, when it trembled on the western wave. Snitho came to Selma's hall; Snitho the friend of Larthmor's youth. He told

* Barrathon, a promontory in the midst of waves.