tal men! Fingal, who scatters the mighty, as stormy, winds the heath; when streams roar through echoing Cona: and night settles with all her clouds on the hill!

Fly, thou man of peace," said Calmar,* «fly,” said the son of Matha; " go, Connal, to thy silent hills, where the spear never brightens in war! Pursue the dark-brown deer of Cromla: stop with thine arrows the bounding roes of Lena. But, blueeyed son of Semo, Cuthullin, ruler of the field, scatter thou the sons of Lochlin; † roar through the ranks of their pride. Let no vessel of the kingdom of Snow bound on the dark-rolling waves of Inis-tore. Į Rise, ye dark winds of Erin rise! roar whirlwinds of Lara of hinds! Amid the tempest let me die, torn, in a cloud, by angry ghosts of men; amid the tempest let Calmar die, if ever chace was sport to him, so much as the battle of shields!"

"Calmar!" Connal slow replied, "I never fled, young son of Matha! I was swift with my friends in fight; but small is the fame of Connal! The battle was won in my presence; the valiant overcame! But, son of Semo, hear my voice, regard the ancient throne of Cormac. Give wealth and

* Calm-er, a strong man.

+ The Galic name of Scandinavia in general,

The Orkney islands,

half the land for peace, till Fingal shall arrive on our coast. Or, if war be thy choice, I lift the sword and spear. My joy shall be in the midst of thousands: my soul shall lighten through the gloom of the fight!"

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"To me," Cuthullin replies, pleasant is the noise of arms! pleasant as the thunder of heaven, before the shower of spring! But gather all the shining tribes that I may view the sons of war! Let them pass along the heath, bright as the sunshine before a storm; when the west wind collects the clouds and Morven echoes over all her oaks! But where are my friends in battle? The sup

porters of my arm in danger? Where art thou, white-bosomed Cathbar? Where is that cloud in war, Duchomar? * Hast thou left me, O Fergus !+ in the day of the

joy at the feast!

storm? Fergus, first in our son of Rossa! arm of death! comest thou like a roe from Malmor. Like a hart from thy echoing hills? Hail thou son of Rossa! what shades the soul of war?"

"Four stones," I replied the chief, ❝ rise on the

* Dubhchomar, a black well-made man.

+Fear-guth, the man of the word; or a commander of an army.

This passage alludes to the manner of burial among the ancient Scots. They opened a grave six or eight feet deep; the bottom was lined with fine clay: and on this they laid the body of the deceased, and, if a warrior, his sword, and the heads of twelve arrows by his side. Above they laid another stratum of clay, in which they placed the horn of a deer, the symbol of hunting. The whole was covered with a fine mould, and four stones placed on end to mark the extent of the grave. These are the four stones alluded to here.

grave of Cathba. These hands have laid in earth Duchomar, that cloud in war! Cathba, son of Torman! thou wert a sun-beam in Erin. And thou, O valiant Duchomar, a mist of the marshy Lano; when it moves on the plains of autumn, bearing the death of thousands along. Morna! fairest of maids! calm is thy sleep in the cave of the rock! Thou hast fallen in darkness, like a star, that shoots across the desert; when the traveller is alone, and mourns the transient beam!”

"Say," said Semo's blue-eyed son," say how fell the chiefs of Erin? Fell they by the sons of Lochlin, striving in the battle of heroes? Or what confines the strong in arms to the dark and narrow house?"

"Cathba,” replied the hero, " fell by the sword of Duchomar at the oak of the noisy streams. Duchomar came to Tura's cave; he spoke to the lovely Morna. Morna,* fairest among women, lovely daughter of strong-armed Cormac? Why in the circle of stones? in the cave of the rock alone? The stream murmurs along. The old tree groans in the wind. The lake is troubled before thee; dark are the clouds of the sky! But thou art snow on the heath; thy hair is the mist of Cromla; when it curls on the hill; when it shines to the beam of the west! Thy breasts are two smooth rocks seen from Branno

* Muirne, or Morna, a woman beloved by all.

of streams. Thy arms, like two white pillars, in the halls of the great Fingal."

"From whence," the fair-haired maid replied, "from whence, Duchomar, most gloomy of men? Dark are thy brows and terrible! Red are thy rolling eyes! Does Swaran appear on the sea? What of the foe, Duchomar?" "From the hill I return, O Morna, from the hill of the dark-brown hinds. Three have I slain with my bended yew. Three with my long bounding dogs of the chace. Lovely daughter of Cormac, I love thee as my soul! I have slain one stately deer for thee. High was his branchy head; and fleet his feet of wind." "Duchomar!" calm the maid replied, "I love thee not, thou gloomy man! hard is thy heart of rock; dark is thy terrible brow. But Cathba, young son of Torman,* thou art the love of Morna. Thou art a sun-beam, in the day of the gloomy storm. Sawest thou the son of Torman, lovely on the hill of his hinds? Here the daughter of Cormac waits the coming of Cathba!"

Long shall Morna wait," Duchomar said, long shall Morna wait for Cathba! Behold this sword unsheathed! Here wanders the blood of Cathba, Long shall Morna wait. He fell by the stream of Branno! On Cromla I will raise his tomb, daughter of blue-shielded Cormac! Turn on Duchomar thine

+ Torman, thunder. This is the true origin of the Jupiter Taramis of the ancients.

eyes; his arm is strong as a storm."

"Is the son of Torman fallen?" said the wildly bursting voice of the maid. "Is he fallen on his echoing hills, the youth with the breast of snow? The first in the chace of hinds? The foe of the strangers of ocean? Thou art dark to me, Duchomar, cruel is thine arm to Morna! Give me that sword, my foe! I love the wandering blood of Cathba!"

*

He gave the sword to her tears. She pierced his manly breast? He fell, like the bank of a mountainstream, and stretching forth his hand, he spoke : Daughter of blue-shielded Cormac! Thou hast slain me in youth! The sword is cold in my breast: Morna, I feel it cold. Give me to Moina + the maid. Duchomar was the dream of her night! She will raise my tomb; the hunter shall raise my fame. But draw the sword from my breast. Morna, the steel is cold!" She came, in all her tears, she came; she drew the sword from his breast. He pierced her white side! He spread her fair locks on the ground! Her bursting blood sounds from her side: her white arm is stained with red. Rolling in death she lay. The cave re-echoed to her sighs."

"Peace," said Cuthullin, "to the souls of the heroes! their deeds were great in fight. Let them ride around me on clouds. Let them shew their features

*She alludes to his name, the dark man.

+ Moina, soft in temper and person.

It was the opinion then, as indeed it is to this day, of some of the