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-Come to my dwelling, race of heroes; dark-
fkirted night is near.
WE went. On the harp arose the white hands of Oina-morul. She waked her own fad tale, from every trembling ftring. I ftood in filence; for bright in her locks was the daughter of many ifles. Her eyes were like two ftars, looking forward thro' a rushing fhower. The mariner marks them on high, and bleffes the lovely beams. With morning we rushed to battle, to Tormul's refounding ftream: the foe moved to the found of Ton-thormod's boffy fhield. From wing to wing the ftrife was mixed. I met the chief of Sar-dronlo. Wide flew his broken fteel. I feized the king in fight. I gave his hand, bound faft with thongs, to Mal-orchol, the giver of fhells. Joy rofe at the feaft of
fays he, are rolling large around him, like the smoke about the fire. This fmoke gives the fire a great appearance at a distance, but it is but an empty vapour itself, and varying its form at every breeze. When the trunk, which fed the fire, is confumed, the fmoke departs on all the winds. So the flatterers forfake their chief, when his power declines." I have chofen to give a paraphrase, tather than a tranflation, of this paffage, as the original is verbose and frothy, notwithstanding of the fentimental merit of the author.-He was one of the lefs antient bards, and their compofitions are not nervous enough to bear a literal tranflation.
Faärfed, for the foe had failed.-Ton-thormod turned his face away, from Oina-morul of ifles. Son of Fingal, begun Mal-orchol, not forgot thalt thou pafs from me. A light fhall dwell in thy fhip. Oina-morul of flow-rolling eyes. She thall kindle gladnefs, along thy mighty foul. Nor unheeded fhall the maid move in Schna, thro' the dwelling of kings.
In the hall I lay in night. Mine eyes were half-clofed in fleep. Soft mufic came to mine ear it was like the rifing breeze, that whirls, at firft, the thistle's beard; then flies, darkshadowy, over the grafs. It was the maid of Fuärfed wild: the raifed the nightly fong; for the knew that my foul was a ftream, that flowed at pleasant sounds.". ::
Who looks, the faid, from his rock, on ocean's clofing mift? His long locks, like the raven's wing, are wandering on the blast. Stately are his fteps in grief. The tears are in his eyes. His manly breaft is heaving over his bursting foul.-Retire, I am distant far; a wanderer in lands unknown. Tho' the race of kings are around me, yet my foul is dark.-Why have our fathers been foes, Ton-thormod love of maids!
SOFT Voice of the ftreamy isle, why doft thou mourn by night; the race of daring Trenmor are not the dark in foul. Thou shalt not wan
der, by ftreams unknown, blue-eyed Oinamorul.-Within this bofom is a voice; it comes not to other ears: it bids Offian hear the hapless, in their hour of woe.Retire, foft finger by night; Ton-thormod fhall not mourn on his rock.
WITH morning I loofed the king. I gave the long-haired maid. Mal-orchol heard my words, in the midft of his echoing halls. "King of Fuärfed wild, why should Tonthormod mourn? He is of the race of heroes, and a flame in war. Your fathers have been foes, but now their dim ghofts rejoice in death. They ftretch their arms of mift to the fame fhell in Loda. Forget their rage, ye warriors, it was the cloud of other years."
SUCH were the deeds of Offian, while yet his locks were young: tho' loveliness, with a robe of beams, clothed the daughter of many ifles. -We call back, maid of Lutha, the years that have rolled away!
FINGAL dispatches Offian and Toscar to raise a stone, on the banks of the ftream of Crona, to perpetuate the memory of a victory, which he had obtained in that place. When they were employed in that work, Carul, a neighbouring chief, invited them to a feaft. They went and Tofcar fell defperately in love with Colna-dona, the daughter of Car-ul. Colna-dona became no lefs enamoured of Tofcar. An incident, at a hunting-party, brings their loves to a happy iffue.