from the mountains, formed his echoing hall. The gathering of the people was there, around the feaft of the blue-eyed king.---But who, among his chiefs, was like the ftately Crothar? Warriors kindled in his prefence. The young figh of the virgins, rofe. In Alnecma * was the warrior honoured; the firft of the race of Bolga.

He purfued the chace in Ullin: on the mofscovered top of Drumárdo. From the wood

them, for we find mention made of the towers of Atha in the time of Cathmor, which could not well be applied to wooden buildings. In Caledonia they begun very early to build with ftone. None of the houses of Fingal, excepting Ti-foirmal, were of wood. Ti-foirmal was the great hall where the bards met to repeat their compofitions annually, before they submitted them to the judgment of the king in Selma. By fome accident or other, this wooden houfe happened to be burnt, and an ancient bard, in the character of Offian, has left us a curious catalogue of the furniture which it contained. The poem is not juft now in my hands, otherwise I would lay here a translation of it before the reader. It has little poetical merit, and evidently bears the arks of a period much later

than that wherein Fingal lived.

Alnecma, or Alnecmacht, was the ancient name of Connaught. Ullin is ftill the Irish name of the province of Ulfter. To avoid the multiplying of notes, I fhall here give the fignification of the names in this epifode. Drumardo, high-ridge. Cathmin, calm in battle. Cón-lamha, foft hand. Turloch, man of the quiver. Cormul, blue eye.

looked

looked the daughter of

rolling eye of Con-láma.

Cathmin, the blue

Her sigh rose in se

She bent her head, midft her wandering locks. The moon looked in, at night, and faw the white-toffing of her arms? for the thought of the mighty Crothar, in the feafon of her dreams.

THREE days feafted Crothar with Cathmin. On the fourth they awaked the hinds. Con-láma moved to the chace, with all her lovely fteps. She met Crothar in the narrow path. The bow fell, at once, from her hand. She turned her face away, and half-hid it with her locks. The love of Crothar rofe. He brought the white-bofomed maid to Atha.-Bards raised the fong in her prefence; joy dwelt round the daughter of Ullin.

THE pride of Turloch rofe, a youth who loved the white-handed Con-láma. He came, with battle, to Alnecma; to Atha of the roes. Cormul went forth to the ftrife, the brother of car-borne Crothar. He went forth, but he fell, and the figh of his people rofe.Silent and tall, across the ftream, came the darkening ftrength of Crothar: he rolled the foe from Alnecma, and returned, midft the joy of Con

láma.

E

BATTLE

BATTLE on battle comes. Blood is poured

on blood.

The tombs of the valiant rise. Erin's clouds are hung round with ghofts. The chiefs of the fouth gathered round the echoing fhield of Crothar.

He came, with death, to

the paths of the foe. The virgins wept, by the ftreams of Ullin. They looked to the mift of the hill, no hunter defcended from its folds. Silence darkened in the land: blafts fighed lonely on graffy tombs.

DESCENDING like the eagle of heaven, with all his ruftling wings, when he forfakes the blaft with joy, the fon of Trenmor came; Conar, arm of death, from Morven of the groves.--He poured his might along green Erin. Death dimly ftrode behind his fword. The fons of Bolga fled, from his courfe, as from a ftream, that bursting from the ftormy defart, rolls the fields together, with all their echoing woods. -Crothar met him in battle: but Alnecma's warriors

*

The delicacy of the bard, with regard to Crothar, is remarkable. As he was the ancestor of Cathmor, to whom the epifode is addreffed, the bard foftens his defeat, by only mentioning that his people fled.-Cathmor took the fong of Fonar in an unfavourable light. The bards, being of the order of the Druids, who pretended to a foreknowledge of events, were fuppofed to have fome fupernatural prefcience of futurity. The king thought,

that

warriors fled. The king of Atha flowly retired, in the grief of his foul. He, afterwards, fhone in the fouth; but dim as the fun of Autumn; when he vifits, in his robes of mift, Lara of dark ftreams. The withered grafs is covered with dew: the field, tho' bright, is fad.

WHY wakes the bard before me, faid Cathmor, the memory of thofe who fled? Has fome ghost, from his dufky cloud, bent forward to thine ear; to frighten Cathmor from the field with the tales of old? Dwellers of the folds of night, your voice is but a blaft to me; which takes the grey thiftle's head, and firews its beard on ftreams. Within my bofom is a voice; others hear it not. His foul forbids the king of Erin to fhrink back from war.

ABASHED the bard finks back in night: retired, he bends above a ftream. His thoughts are on the days of Atha, when Cathmor heard his fong with joy. His tears come rolling down the winds are in his beard.

that the choice of Fonar's fong proceeded, from his forefeeing the unfortunate iffue of the war; and that his own fate was shadowed out, in that of his ancestor Crothar. The attitude of the bard, after the reprimand of his patron, is picturefque and affecting. We admire the fpeech of Cathmor, but lament the effect it has on the feeling foul of the good old poet. E 2

ERIN

ERIN fleeps around. No fleep comes down on Cathmor's eyes. Dark, in his foul, he faw the fpirit of low-laid Cairbar. He faw him, without his fong, rolled in a blast of night.

He rofe. His fteps were round the hoft. He ftruck, at times, his echoing fhield. The found reached Offian's ear, on Mora of the hinds.

FILLAN, I faid, the focs advance. I hear the fhield of war. Stand thou in the narrow path. Offian fhall mark their course. If over my fall the hoft fhall pour; then be thy buckler heard. Awake the king on his heath, left his fame thould ceafe.

I STRODE, in all my rattling arms; widebounding over a ftream that darkly-winded, in the field, before the king of Atha. Green Atha's king, with lifted fpear, came forward on my courfe.---Now would we have mixed in horrid fray, like two contending ghofts, that bending forward, from two clouds, fend forth the roaring winds; did not Offian behold, on high, the helmet of Erin's kings. The Eagle's wing spread above it, ruffling in the breeze. A red ftar looked thro' the plumes. I ftopt the lifted spear.

THE helmet of kings is before me! Who art thou, fon of night? Shall Offian's fpear be re

nowned,