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have fet like ftars that have fhone, we only hear the found of their praife. But they were renowned in their day, the terror of other times. Thus fhall we pass, O warriors, in the day of our fall. Then let us be renowned when we may; and leave our fame behind us, like the laft beams of the fun, when he hides his red head in the weft.
ULLIN, my aged bard! take the fhip of the king, Carry Ofcar to Selma of harps. Let the daughters of Morven weep. We shall fight in Erin for the race of fallen Cormac. The days of my years begin to fail: I feel the weakness of my arm. My fathers bend from their clouds, to receive their grey-hair'd fon. But, before I go hence, one beam of fame fhall rife: fo thall my days end, as my years begun, in fame: my life fhall be one ftream of light to bards of other times.
ULLIN rais'd his white fails: the wind of the fouth came forth. He bounded on the waves towards Selma.--- I remained in my grief, but my words were not heard. -The
feaft is fpread on Moi-lena; an hundred heroes reared the tomb of Cairbar: but no fong is raised over the chief: for his foul had been
dark and bloody. The bards remembered the fall of Cormac! what could they fay in Cairbar's praise?
THE night came rolling down. The light of an hundred oaks arose. Fingal fat beneath a tree. Old Althan* ftood in the midft. He told the tale of fallen Cormac. Althan the fon of Conachar, the friend of car-borne Cuchullin: he dwelt with Cormac in windy 'Temora, when Semo's fon fought with generous Torlath.---The tale of Althan was mournful, and the tear was in his eye.
THE fetting fun was yellow on Dora ‡. Grey evening began to defcend. Temora's woods fhook with the blaft of the unconftant wind. A cloud, at length, gathered in the weft, and a red ftar looked from behind its edge.---I ftood in the wood alone, and faw a ghoft on the darkening air. His ftride extended from hill to hill his fhield was dim on his fide, It
* Althan, the fan of Conachar, was the chief bard of Arth king of Ireland. After the death of Arth, Althan attended his fon Cormac, and was prefent at his death. He had made his efcape from Cairbar, by the means of - Cathmor, and coming to Fingal, related, as here, the death of his master Cormac.
+ Althan fpeaks.
Doira, the woody fide of a mountain; it is here a hill in the neighbourhood of Temora.
was the fon of Semo: I knew the warrior's face. But he paffed away in his blast; and all was dark around.---My foul was fad. I went to the hall of fhells. A thousand lights arofe: the hundred bards had ftrung the harp. Cormac ftood in the midft, like the morning ftar, when it rejoices on the eaftern hill, and its young beams are bathed in fhowers. ---The fword of Artho was in the hand of the king; and he looked with joy on its polished ftuds: thrice he ftrove to draw it, and thrice he failed; his yellow locks are fpread on his fhoulders: his cheeks of youth are red.---I mourned over the beam of youth, for he was foon to fet.
ALTHAN! he faid, with a fmile, haft thou beheld my father? Heavy is the fword of the king, furely his arm was ftrong. O that I were like him in battle, when the rage of his wrath àrofe! then would I have met, like Cuchullin, the car-borne fon of Cantéla! But years may come on, O Althan! and my arm be ftrong. ---Haft thou heard of Semo's fon, the chief of high Temora? He might have returned with his fame; for he promised to return to-night. My bards wait him with fongs; my feaft is pread in Temora.
*Arth or Artho, the father of Cormac king of Ireland. I HEARD
I HEARD the king in filence. My tears began to flow. I hid them with my aged locks; but he perceived my grief.
SON of Conachar! he faid, is the king of Tura* low? Why burfts thy figh in fecret? And why defcends the tear ?---Comes the carborne Torlath? Or the found of the red-haired Cairbar?They come !---for I behold thy grief. Moffy Tura's king is low !---Shall I not rush to battle ?--- But I cannot lift the fpear!--- had mine arm the ftrength of Cuchullin, foon would Cairbar fly, the fame of my fathers would be renewed; and the deeds of other times!
He took his bow,. The tears flow down, from both his fparkling eyes.---Grief faddens round the bards bend forward, from their hundred harps. The lone blast touched their trembling ftrings. The found is fad and low,
A VOICE is heard at a distance, as of one in grief; it was Carril of other times, who
Cuchullin is called the king of Tura from à caftle of that name on the coaft of Ulfter, where he dwelt, before he undertook the management of the affairs of Ireland, in the minority of Cormac,
The prophetic found, mentioned in other poems, which the harps of the bards emitted before: the death of a perfon worthy and renowned. It is here an omen of the death of Cormac, which, foon after, followed.
came from dark Slimora .---He told of the death of Cuchullin, and of his mighty deeds. The people were fcattered round his tomb: their arms lay on the ground. They had forgot the war, for he, their fire, was feen no more. BUT who, faid the foft voiced Carril, come like the bounding roes? their ftature is like the young trees of the plain, growing in a fhower: ---Soft and ruddy are their cheeks; but fearless fouls look forth from their eyes?+Who but the fons of Ufnoth, the car-borne chiefs of Etha? The people rife on every fidé, like the ftrength of an half-extinguished fire, when the winds: come, fudden, from the defart, on their
*Slimora, a hill in Connaught, near which Cuchullin was killed.
+ Ufnoth chief of Etha, a diftrict on the western coaft of Scotland, had three fons, Nathos, Althos and Ardan, by Sliffama the fifter of Cuchullin. The three brothers, when very young, were fent over to Ireland by their father, to learn the ufe of arms under their uncle, whofe military fame was very great in that kingdom. They had juft arrived in Ulfter when the news of Cuchullin's death arrived. Nathos, the eldeft of the three brothers, took the command of Cuchullin's army, and made head against Cairbag the chief of Atha. Cairbar having, at laft, murdered young king. Cormac, at Temora, the army of Nathos fhifted fides, and the brothers were obliged to return into Ulfter, in order to pass over into Scotland, The fequel of their mournful story is related, at large, in the poem of Dar-thula.