Book V11. There, iffued a ftream, from Duthuma's horrid cave; where fpirits gleamed, at times, with their half-finished forms.

“Dreams defcended on Larthon: he saw seven spirits of his fathers. He heard their half-formed words, and dimly beheld the times to come. He beheld the king of Atha, the fons of future days. They led their hofts, along the field, like ridges of mift, which winds pour, in autumn, over Atha of the groves.

"Larthon raised the hall of Samla‍†, to the soft sound of the harp. He went forth to the roes of Erin, to their wonted fireams. Nor did he forget green-headed Lumon; he often bounded over his feas, to where whitehanded Flathal looked from the hill of roes. of the foamy fireams, thou rifeft on Fonar's foul."

Lumon

The beam awaked in the caft. The mifty heads of the mountains rofe. Valleys fhew, on every fide, the gray winding of their ftreams. His hoft heard the fhield of Cathmor: at once they rofe around; like a crowded fea, when first it feels the wings of the wind. The waves know not whither to roll; they lift their troubled heads.

Sad and flow retired Sul-malla to Lona of the fireams. She went and often turned: her blue eyes rolled in tears. But when the came to the rock, that darkly covered Lona's vale: fhe looked, from her burfting foul, on the king; and funk, at once, behind.

Son of Alpin, ftrike the ftring. Is there aught of joy in the harp? Pour it then, on the foul of Offian; it is folded in mift. I hear thee, O bard! in my night. But ceafe the lightly trembling found. The joy of grief belongs to Öffian, amidst his dark-brown years.

Green thorn of the hill of ghofts, that shakeft thy head to nightly winds! I hear no found in thee; is there no fpirit's windy skirt now rustling in thy leaves? Of

+ Samla, 'apparitions,' fo called from the vision of Larthon, concerning his po Rerity.

Flathal, heavenly, exquifitely beautiful.' She was the wife of Larthon.

The original of this lyric ode is one of the most beautiful paffages of the poem. The harmony and variety of its verfification prove, that the knowledge of mufic was confiderably advanced in the days of Offian. See the specimen of the original.

ten are the steps of the dead, in the dark-eddying blasts; when the moon, a dun fhield, from the eaft, is rolled along the fky.

Ullin, Carril, and Ryno, voices of the days of old! Let me hear you, in the darkness of Selma, and awake the foul of fongs. I hear you not, ye children of mufic; in what hall of the clouds is your reft? Do you touch the fhadowy harp, robed with morning mist, where the fun comes founding forth from his greenheaded waves?

Q3

AN

EPIC POEM.

THE ARGUMENT.

The fourth morning from the opening of the poem, comes on. Fingal, ftill continuing in the place to which he had retired on the preceding night, is seen at intervals, through the mift, which covered the rock of Cormul. The defcent of the king is defcribed. He orders Gaul, Dermid, and Carril the bard, to go to the valley of Cluna, and conduct, from thence, to the Caledonian army, Ferad-artho, the son of Cairbar, the only perfon remaining of the family of Conar, the firft king of Ireland. The king takes the command of the army, and prepares for battle. Marching towards the enemy, he comes to the cave of Lubar, where the body of Fillan lay. Upon feeing his dog Bran, who lay at the entrance of the cave, his grief returns. Cathnior arranges the army of the Firbolg in order of battle. The appearance of that hero. The general conflict is defcribed. The actions of Fingal and Cathmor. A form. The total rout of the Firbolg. The two kings engage in a column of mift, on the banks of Lubar. Their attitude and conference after the combat. The death of Cathmor. Fingal refigns the fpear of Trenmor to Offian. The ceremonies obferved on that occafion. The fpirit of Cathmor appears to Sul-malla, in the valley of Luna. Her forrow. Evening comes on. A feaft is prepared. The coming of Ferad-artho is announced by the fongs of a hundred bards. The poem clofes with a speech of Fingai.

A

BOOK VIII.

s when the wintry winds have feized the waves of the mountain-lake, have feized them, in ftormy night, and clothed them over with ice; white to the hunter's early eye, the billows ftill feem to roll. He turns his ear to the found of each unequal ridge. But each is filent, gleaming, ftrewn with boughs and tufts of grafs, which thake and whistle to the wind, over their gray feats of froft. So filent fhone to the morning the ridges of Morven's hoft, as each warrior looked up from his helmet towards the hill of the king; the cloudcovered hill of Fingal, where he ftrode, in the rolling of mift. At times is the hero feen, greatly dim in all his arms. From thought to thought rolled the war, along his mighty foul.

Now is the coming forth of the king. Firft appeared the fword of Luno; the fpear half-ifluing from a cloud, the shield still dim in mist. But when the stride

of the king came abroad, with all his gray, dewy locks in the wind; then rose the fhouts of his hoft over every moving tribe. They gathered, gleaming, round, with all their echoing fhields. So rife the green feas round a fpirit, that comes down from the fqually wind. The traveller hears the found afar, and lifts his head over the rock. He looks on the troubled bay, and thinks he dimly fees the form. The waves fport, unwieldy, round, with all their backs of foam.

Far-diftant food the fon of Morni, Duthno's race, and Cona's bard. We stood far-diftant; each beneath his tree. We fhunned the eyes of the king; we had not conquered in the field. A little ftream rolled at my feet: I touched its light wave, with my fpear. I touched it with my fpear; nor there was the foul of Offian. It darkly rofe, from thought to thought, and sent abroad the figh.

"Son of Morni!" said the king, "Dermid, hunter of roes! why are ye dark, like two rocks, each with its trickling waters? No wrath gathers on the foul of Fingal against the chiefs of men. Ye are my ftrength in battle; the kindling of my joy in peace. My early voice was a pleafant gale to your ears, when Fillan prepared the bow. The fon of Fingal is not here, nor yet the chace of the bounding roes. But why fhould the breakers of fhields ftand, darkened, far away?"

Tall they firode towards the king; they faw him turned to Mora's wind. His tears came down, for his blueeyed fon, who flept in the cave of ftreams. But he brightened before them, and spoke to the broad-fielded kings.

"Crommal, with woody rocks, and mifty top, the field of winds, pours forth, to the fight, blue Lubar's ftreamy roar. Behind it rolls clear-winding Lavath, in the ftill vale of deer. A cave is dark in a rock; above it ftrong-winged cagles dwell, broad-headed oaks, before it, found in Cluna's wind. Within, in his locks of youth, is Ferad-arthof, blue-eyed king, the son of

+Ferad-artho was the fon of Cairbar Mac-Cormac king of Ireland. He was the only one remaining of the race of Conar, the fon of Trenmor, the firft Irish mo. march, according to Ofian. In order to make this paffage thoroughly understood, if

Book P111. broad-fhielded Cairbar, from Ullin of the roes. He liftens to the voice of Condan, as gray, he bends in feeble light. He liftens, for his foes dwell in the echo. ing halls of Temora. He comes, at times, abroad, in the skirts of mift, to pierce the bounding roes. When the fun looks on the field, nor by the rock, nor ftream, is he! He fhuns the race of Bolga, who dwell in his father's hall. Tell him, that Fingal lifts the fpear, and that his foes, perhaps, may fail.

"Lift up, O Gaul! the fhield before him. Stretch, Dermid, Temora's fpear. Be thy voice in his ear, O Carril, with the deeds of his fathers. Lead him to green Moi-lena, to the dufky fields of ghofts; for there I fall forward, in battle, in the folds of war. Before dun night descends, come to high Dunmora's top. Look, from the gray rolling of mist, on Lena of the streams.

may not be improper to recapitulate fome part of what has been faid in preceding notes. Upon the death of Conar the son of Trenmor, his fon Cormac fucceeded on the Irish throne. Cormac reigned long. His children were, Cairbar, who fucceeded him, and Ros-crana, the first wife of Fingal. Cairbar, long before the death of his father Cormac, had taken to wife Bos-gala, the daughter of Colgar, one of the most powerful chiefs in Connaught, and had, by her, Artho, afterwards king of Ireland. Soon after Artho arrived at man's eftate, his mother, Bos-gala died, and Cairbar took to wife Beltanno, the daughter of Conachar of Ullin, who brought him a fon, whom he called Ferad-artho, i. e. a man in the place of Artho. The occafion of the name was this. Artho, when his brother was born, was absent, on an expedition in the fouth of Ireland. A false report was brought to his father that he was killed. Cairbar, to use the words of the poem on the subject, darkened for his fair-haired fon. He turned to the young beam of light, the son of Beltanno of Conachar. Thou shalt be Ferad-artho, he said, a fire before thy race. Cairbar, foon after died, nor did Artho long furvive him. Artho was fucceeded, in the Irish throne, by his fon Cormac, who, in his minority, was murdered by Cairbar, the fon of Borbar-duthul. Ferad-artho, fays tradition, was very young, when the expedition of Fingal to fettle him on the throne of Ireland, happened. During the fhort reign of young Cormac, Ferad-artho lived at the royal palace of Temora. Upon the murder of the king, Condan, the bard, conveyed Ferad-artho, privately to the cave of Cluna, behind the mountain Crommal, in Ulfter, where they both lived concealed, during the ufurpation of the family of Atha. All thefe particulars, concerning Ferad-artho, may be gathered from the compofitions of Offian: A bard, lefs ancient, has delivered the whole hiftory, in a poem just now in my poffeffion. It has little merit, if we except the scene between Ferad-artho, and the messengers of Fingal, upon their arrival in the valley of Cluna. After hearing of the great actions of Fingal, the young prince propofes the following queftions concerning him, to Gaul and Dermid. "Is the king tall as the rock of my cave? Is his fpear a fir of Cluna? Is he a rough-winged blaft, on the mountain, which takes the green oak by the head, and tears it from its hill? Glitters Lubar within his flrides, when he fends his ftately fteps along? Nor is he tall, faid Gaul, as that rock: nor glitter streams within his ftrides, but his foul is a mighty flood, like the strength of Ullin's Ceas