Orla to the spouse of his love; that the may fhew it to her fon, with tears, to kindle his foul to war.

SON of the mournful tale, faid Fingal, why doft thou awaken my tears? One day the warriors muft die, and the children fee their useless arms in the hall. But, Orla, thy tomb fhall rife, and thy white-bofomed fpouse weep over thy fword.

THEY fought on the heath of Lena, but feeble was the arm of Orla. The fword of Fingal defcended, and cleft his fhield in twain. It fell and glittered on the ground, as the moon on the ftream of night.

KING of Morven, faid the hero, lift thy fword, and pierce my breaft. Wounded and faint from battle my friends have left me here. The mournful tale fhall come to my love on the banks of the streamy Loda; when the is alone in the wood; and the ruftling blaft in the leaves.

No; faid the king of Morven, I will never wound thee, Orla. On the banks of Loda let her fee thee escaped from the hands of war. Let thy gray-haired father, who, perhaps, is blind with age, hear the found of thy voice in his hall. With joy let the hero rise, and search for his fon with his hands.

BUT

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BUT never will he find him, Fingal; faid the youth of the streamy Loda.-On Lena's heath I fhall die; and foreign bards will talk of me. My broad belt covers my wound of death. And now I give it to the wind.

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THE dark blood poured from his fide, he fell pale on the heath of Lena. Fingal bends over him as he dies, and calls his younger heroes.

OSCAR and Fillan, my fons, raife high the memory of Orla. Here let the dark-haired hero reft far from the spouse of his love. Here let him reft in his narrow houfe far from the found of Loda. The fons of the feeble will find his bow at home, but will not be able to bend it. His faithful dogs howl on his hills, and his boars, which he used to pursue, rejoice, Fallen is the arm of battle; the mighty among the valiant is low!

EXALT the voice, and blow the horn, ye fons of the king of Morven : let us go back to Swaran, and fend the night away on fong. Fillan, Oscar, and Ryno, fly over the heath of Lena. Where, Ryno, art thou, young fon of fame? Thou art not wont to be the laft to anfwer thy father.

RYNO, faid Ullin firft of bards, is with the awful forms of his fathers. With Trathal king of fhields, and Trenmor of the mighty deeds.

'The youth is low,---the youth is pale,---he lies

on Lena's heath.

AND fell the swifteft in the race, said the king, the first to bend the bow? Thou fcarce haft been known to me: why did young Ryno fall? But fleep thou foftly on Lena, Fingal shall foon behold thee. Soon fhall my voice be heard no more, and my footsteps ceafe to be feen. The bards will tell of Fingal's name; the ftones will talk of me. But, Ryno, thou art low indeed,

-thou haft not received thy fame. Ullin, ftrike the harp for Ryno; tell what the chief would have been. Farewel, thou first in every field. No more fhall I direct thy dart. Thou that haft been fo fair; I behold thee not--Farewel.

THE tear is on the check of the king; for terrible was his fon in war. His fon! that was like a beam of fire by night on the hill; when the forefts fink down in its courfe, and the traveller trembles at the found.

WHOSE fame is in that dark-green tomb, begun the king of generous fhells? four ftones with their heads of mofs and there; and mark the narrow house of death. Near it let my Ryno reft, and be the neighbour of the valiant. Perhaps fome chief of fame is here to fly with my fon on clouds. O Ullin, raise the fongs of other

other times. Bring to memory the dark dwel-. lers of the tomb. If in the field of the valiant they never fled from danger, my fon fhall rest with them, far from his friends, on the heath of Lena.

HERE, faid the mouth of the fong, here reft the firft of heroes. Silent is Lamderg* in this tomb, and Ullin king of fwords. And who, foft fmiling from her cloud, fhews me her face of love? Why, daughter, why fo pale art thou, firft of the maids of Cromla? Doft thou fleep with the foes in battle, Gelchoffa, white-bofomed daughter of Tuathal?-Thou hast been the love of thousands, but Lamderg was thy love. He came to Selma's moffy towers, and, ftriking his dark buckler, spoke :

WHERE is Gelchoffa, my love, the daughter of the noble Tuathal? I left her in the hall of Selma, when I fought with the gloomy Ulfadda. Return foon, O Lamderg, she said, for here I am in the midft of forrow. Her white breast rofe with fighs. Her cheek was wet with tears. But I fee her not coming to meet me; and to footh my foul after battle. Silent is the hall of my joy; I hear not the voice of the bard.--

* Lamh-dhearg fignifies bloody hand. Gelchoffa, white legged. Tuathal, furly. Ulfadda, long-beard. Ferchios, the conqueror of men.

Bran* does not fhake his chains at the gate, glad at the coming of Lamderg. Where is Gelchoffa, my love, the mild daughter of the generous Tuathal?

LAMDERG! fays Ferchios the son of Aidon, Gelchoffa may be on Cromla; fhe and the maids of the bow pursuing the flying deer.

FERCHIOS! replied the chief of Cromla, no noise meets the ear of Lamderg. No found is in the woods of Lena. No deer fly in my fight. No panting dog purfues. I fee not Gelchoffa my love, fair as the full moon fetting on the hills of Cromla. Go, Ferchios, go to Allad † the gray-haired fon of the rock. His dwelling is in the circle of ftones. He may know of Gelchoffa.

THE fon of Aidon went ; and spoke to the ear of age. Allad! thou that dwelleft in the rock, thou that trembleft alone, what faw thine eyes of age?

* Bran is a common name of gray-hounds to this day. It is a custom in the north of Scotland, to give the names of the heroes mentioned in this poem, to their dogs; a proof that they are familiar to the ear, and their fame generally known.

Allad is plainly a druid: he is called the fon of the rock, from his dwelling in a cave; and the circle of ftones here mentioned is the pale of the druidical temple. He is here confulted as one who had a fupernatural knowledge of things; from the druids, no doubt, came the ridiculous notion of the second fight, which prevailed in the highlands and ifles,