chief. But ftill his fpear is in his hand.---See gloomy Cairbart falls! The fteel pierced his fore The Irish hiftorians place the death of Cairbar, in the latter end of the third century: they fay, he was killed in battle against Ofcar the fon of Offian, but deny that he fell by his hand. As they have nothing to go upon but the traditions of their bards, the tranflator thinks that the account of Offian is as probable: at the worst, it is bu oppofing one tradition to another. It is, however, certain, that the Irifh hiftorians difguife, in fome meafure, this part of their hiftory. An Irish poem on this fubject, which, undoubtedly, was the fource of their information, concerning the battle of Gabhra, where Cairbar fell, is just now in my hands. The circumstances are lefs to the disadvantage of the character of Cairbar, than thofe related by Offian. As a tranflation of the poem (which, tho' evidently no very. ancient compofition, does not want poetical merit) would extend this note to too great a length, I fhall only give the story of it, in brief, with some extracts from the original Irish. Ofcar, fays the Irish bard, was invited to a feaft, at Temora, by Cairbar king of Ireland. A difpute arofe between the two heroes, concerning the exchange of fpears, which was usually made, between the guests and their hoft, upon fuch occafions. In the courfe of their altercation, Cairbar faid, in a boaftful manner, that he would hunt on the hills of Albion, and carry the spoils of it into Ireland, in spite of all the efforts of its inhabitants. The original words are; Briathar buan fin; Briathar buan A bheireadh an Cairbre rua', Gu forehead, and divided his red hair behind. He lay, like a fhattered rock, which Cromla fhakes from its fhaggy fide. But never more fhall Ofcar rife! he leans on his boffy fhield. His fpear is in his terrible hand: Erin's fons flood diftant and dark. Their fhouts arofe, like crowded treanis; Moi-lena echoed wide. FINGAL heard the found; and took his father's fpear. His fteps are before us on the heath. He spoke the words of woe. I hear the noise of war. Young Ofcar is alone. Rife, fons of Morven; join the hero's fword. Gu tuga' fe fealg, agus creach A h'ALBIN an la'r na mhaireach. Ofcar replied, that, the next day, he himself would carry into Albion the spoils of the five provinces of Ireland; in fpite of the oppofition of Cairbar. Briathar eile an aghai' fin A bheirea' an t'Ofcar, og, calma Do dh'ALBIN an la'r na mhaireach, &c. Oscar, in consequence of his threats, begun to lay waste Ireland; but as he returned with the spoil into Ulfter, through the narrow pafs of Gabhra (Casil-ghlen-Ghabhra) he was met, by Cairbar, and a battle enfued, in which both the heroes fell by mutual wounds. The bard gives a very curious lift of the followers of Ofcar, as they marched to battle. They appear to have been five hundred in number, commanded, as the poet expreffes it, by five Beroes of the blood of kings. This poem mentions Fingal, as arriving from Scotland, before Ofcar died of his wounds. OSSIAN C 2 OSSIAN rushed along the heath. Fillan bounded over Moi-lena. Fingal ftrode in his ftrength, and the light of his fhield is terrible. The fons of Erin faw it far diftant; they trembled in their fouls. They knew that the wrath of the king arofe: and they forefaw their death. We first arrived; we fought; and Erin's chiefs withstood our rage. But when the king came, in the found of his course, what heart of steel could ftand! Erin fled over Moi-lena. Death purfued their flight. WE faw Ofcar on his fhield. We faw his blood around. Silence darkened every face. Each turned his back and wept. The king ftrove to hide his tears. His grey beard whiftled in the wind. He bent his head above his fon. His words were mixed with fighs. AND art thou fallen, Ofcar, in the midft of thy courfe? the heart of the aged beats over thee! He fees thy coming wars. The wars which ought to come he fees, but they are cut off from thy fame. When fhall joy dwell at Selma? When thall grief depart from Morven? My fons fall by degrees: Fingal fhall be the laft of his race. The fame which I have received fhall pafs away: my age will be without friends. I fhall fit a grey cloud in my hall: nor hall I hear the return of a fon, in the midst of his founding arms. Weep, ye heroes of Morven! never more fhall Ofcar rife! AND they did weep, O Fingal; dear was the hero to their fouls. He went out to battle, and the foes vanished; he returned, in peace,, amidst their joy. No father mourned his fon flain in youth; no brother his brother of love. They fell, without tears, for the chief of the people was low! Bran* is howling at his feet: gloomy Luäth is fad, for he had often led them to the chace; to the bounding roe of the defert. WHEN Oscar faw his friends around, his breast arose with fighs.---The groans, he said, of aged chiefs; the howling of my dogs: the fudden burfts of fongs of grief, have melted Ofcar's foul. My foul, that never melted before; it was like the fteel of my fword.---Offian, carry me to my hills! Raife the ftones of my renown. Place the horn of the deer, and my fword within my narrow dwelling.---The torrent hereafter may raise the earth: the hunter ;་ * Bran was one of Fingal's dogs. He was fo remarkable for his fleetness, that the poet, in a piece which is not just now in the tranflator's hands, has given him the fame properties with Virgil's Camilla. Bran fignifies a mountain-fream. "This has been may find the fteel and say, Ofcar's fword." The AND falleft thou, fon of my fame! And fhall I never fee thee, Ofcar! When others hear of their fons, I fhall not hear of thee. mofs is on thy four grey ftones; the mournful wind is there. The battle fhall be fought without him he fhall not pursue the dark-brown hinds. When the warrior returns from battles, and tells of other lands; I have feen a tomb, he will fay, by the roaring ftream, the dark dwelling of a chief. He fell by car-borne Ofcar, the firft of mortal inen.---I, perhaps, shall hear his voice; and a beam of joy will rife in my foul. THE night would have defcended in forrow, and morning returned in the fhadow of grief; our chiefs would have ftood like cold dropping rocks on Moi-lena, and have forgot the war, did not the king difperfe his grief, and raise his mighty voice. The chiefs, as new-wakened from dreams, lift up their heads around. How long on Moi-lena fhall we weep; or pour our tears in Ullin? The mighty will not return. Ofcar fhall not rife in his ftrength. The valiant muft fall one day, and be no more known on his hills.---Where are our fathers, O warriors! the chiefs of the times of old? They |