placed, at intervals, three boffes from the fhields of foes, as rose or fell the found of Ullin's nightly fong. Tofcar laid a dagger in earth, a mail of founding fteel. We raised the mould around the ftone, and bade it speak to other years. Oozy daughter of ftreams, that now art reared on high, speak to the feeble, O ftone! after Selma's race have failed! Prone, from the stormy night, the traveller fhall lay him, by thy fide: thy whistling mofs fhall found in his dreams; the years that were paft fhall return. Battles rife before him, bluefhielded kings defcend to war: the darkened moon looks from heaven, on the troubled field. He shall burst, with morning, from dreams, and fee the tombs of warriors round. He fhall ask about the ftone, and the aged fhall reply, "This grey ftone was raised by Offian, a chief of other years years!" From Col-amon came a bard, from Car-ul, the friend of ftrangers. He bade us * The manners of the Britons and Caledonians were fo fimilar in the days of Offian, that there can be no doubt, that they were originally the fame people, and defcended from thofe Gauls who firft poffeffed themselves of South Britain, and gradually migrated to the North. This hypothefis is more rational than the idle fables of ill-formed fenachies, who bring the Caledonians from diftant countries. The bare opinion of Tacitus (which, by-the-bye, was only founded on a fimi 6 us to the feast of kings, to the dwelling of bright Colna-dona. We went to the hall of harps. There Car-ul brightened between his aged locks, when he beheld the fons of his friends, like two young branches before him. "Sons of the mighty," he faid, " ye bring back the days of old, when first I defcended from waves, on Selma's ftreamy vale! I purfued Duthmocarglos, dweller of ocean's wind. Our fathers had been foes, we met by Clutha's winding waters. He fled, along the fea, and my fails were fpread behind him. Night deceived me, on the deep. I came to the dwelling of kings, to Selma of high-bofomed maids. Fingal came forth with his bards, and Conloch, arm of death. I feafted three days in the hall, and saw the blue eyes of Erin, Roscrana, daughter of heroes, light of Cormac's race. Nor forgot did my steps de a fimilarity of the perfonal figure of the Caledonians to the Germans of his own time), though it has ftaggered fome learned men, is not fufficient to make us believe, that the ancient inhabitants of North Britain were a German colony. A difcuffion of a point like this might be curious, but could never be fatisfactory. Periods fo diftant are fo involved in obfcurity, that nothing certain can be now advanced concerning them. The light which the Roman writers hold forth is too feeble to guide us to the truth, through the darkness which has furrounded it. part: the kings gave their fhields to Car-ul: they hang, on high, in Col-amon, in memory of the past. Sons of the daring kings, ye bring back the days of old!" He He laid Car-ul kindled the oak of feafts. took two boffes from our fhields. them in earth, beneath a ftone, to 'peak to the hero's race. "When battle," said the king, "fhall roar, and our fons are to meet in wrath. My race shall look, perhaps, on this ftone, when they prepare the spear. Have not our fathers met in peace, they will fay, and lay afide the fhield?" Night came down. In her long locks moved the daughter of Car-ul. Mixed with the harp arofe the voice of whitearmed Colna-dona. Tofcar darkened in his place, before the love of heroes. She came on his troubled foul, like a beam to the dark heaving ocean: when it burfts from a cloud, and brightens the foamy fide of a wave t. With morning we awaked the woods; and hung forward on the path of the roes. They fell by their wonted ftreams. We returned through Crona's vale. From the + Here an episode is entirely loft; or, at leaft, is handed down fo imperfectly, that it does not deferve a place in the poem. wood wood a youth came forward, with a fhield and pointless spear. "Whence," faid Tofcar of Lutha, "is the flying beam? Dwells there peace at Col-amon, round bright Colna-dona of harps?" By Col-amon of ftreams," faid the youth, bright Colna-dona dwelt. She dwelt; but her courfe is now in deserts, with the son of the king; he that feized with love her foul as it wandered through the hall." Stranger of tales," faid Tofcar, "haft thou marked the warrior's courfe? He must fall, give thou that boffy fhield." In wrath he took the fhield. Fair behind it rose the breasts of a maid, white as the bofom of a swan, rising graceful on swift-rolling waves. It was Colna-dona of harps, the daughter of the king! Her blue eyes had rolled on Tofcar, and her love arose! 1 |