rides the eddying wings! It is Morni* of the bounding steeds! Be like thy father, Gaul!

SELMA is opened wide. Bards take the trembling harps. Ten youths carry the oak of the feaft. A diftant fun-beam marks the hill. The dufky waves of the blast fly over the fields of grafs. Why art thou fo filent, Morven ?-The king returns with all his fame. Did not the battle roar; yet peaceful is his brow? It roared, and Fingal overcame.---Be like thy father, Fillan.

THEY moved beneath the fong.---High waved their arms, as rufhy fields, beneath autumnal winds. On Mora ftood the king in arms. Mist flies round his buckler broad; as, aloft, it hung on a bough, on Cormul's moffy rock.--In filence I ftood by Fingal, and turned my eyes on Cromla's wood: left I fhould behold the hoft, and ruth amidft my fwelling foul. My foot is forward on the heath. I glittered,

The expedition of Morni to Clutha, alluded to here, is handed down in tradition. The poem, on which the tradition was founded, is now lost.

† Offian is peculiarly happy, in his descriptions of still life; and thefe acquire double force, by his placing them near bufy and tumultuous fcenes. This antithefis ferves to animate and heighten the features of poetry.

The mountain Cromla was in the neighbourhood of the scene of this poem; which was nearly the fame with that of Fingal.

tall,

tall, in steel: like the falling ftream of Tromo, which nightly winds bind over with ice.---The boy fees it, on high, gleaming to the early beam: towards it he turns his ear, and wonders why it is fo filent.

NOR bent over a ftream is Cathmor, like a youth in a peaceful field: wide he drew forward the war, a dark and troubled wave.-But when he beheld Fingal on Mora; his generous pride arose. "Shall the chief of Atha fight, " and no king in the field? Foldath lead my people forth. Thou art a beam of fire."

66

FORTH-ISSUED the chief of Moma, like a cloud, the robe of ghofts. He drew his sword, a flame, from his fide; and bade the battle move. The tribes, like ridgy waves, dark pour their ftrength around. Haughty is his ftride before them: his red eye rolls in wrath. -He called the chief of Dunratho*; and his words were heard.

* Dun-ratho, a hill, with a plain en its top. Corme uil, blue eye. Foldath dispatches, here, Cormul to lie in ambush behind the army of the Caledonians. This speech fuits well with the character of Foldath, which is, throughout, haughty and prefumptuous. Towards the latter end of this speech, we find the opinion of the times, concerning the unhappiness of the fouls of those who were buried without the funeral fong. This doctrine, no doubt, was inculcated by the bards, to make their order refpectable and neceffary. CORMUL,

F 3

CORMUL, thou beholdeft that path. It winds green behind the foe. Place thy people there; left Morven fhould efcape from my fword. ---Bards of green-valleyed Erin, let no voice of yours arife. The fons of Morven muft fall without fong. They are the foes of Cairbar. Hereafter fhall the traveller meet their dark, thick mift on Lena, where it wanders, with their ghofts, befide the reedy lake. Never fhall they rife, without fong, to the dwelling of winds.

CORMUL darkened, as he went behind him rushed his tribe. They funk beyond the rock: Gaul spoke to Fillan of Moruth; as his eye purfued the courfe of the dark-eyed king of Dunratho.

THOU beholdeft the fteps of Cormul; let thine arm be ftrong. When he is low, fon of Fingal, remember Gaul in war. Here I fall forward into battle, amidst the ridge of fhields.

THE fign of death arofe: the dreadful found of Morni's fhield. Gaul poured his voice between. Fingal rofe, high on Mora. He faw them, from wing to wing, bending in the ftrife. Gleaming, on his own dark hill, the ftrength

*By the ftrength of Atha, is meant Cathmor. The expreffion is common in Homer, and other ancient poets.

of

were like two fpirits of

of Atha flood.---They heaven, Landing each on his gloomy cloud; when they pour abroad the winds, and lift the roaring feas. The blue-tumbling of waves is before them, marked with the paths of whales. Themselves are calm and bright; and the gale lifts their locks of mift.

WHAT beam of light hangs high in air? It is Morni's dreadful fword.---Death is ftrewed on thy paths, O Gaul; thou foldest them together in thy rage.---Like a young oak falls Turlathon, with his branches round him. His high-bofomed fpoufe ftretches her white arms, in dreams, to the returning king, as the fleeps by gurgling Moruth, in her difordered locks. It is his ghoft, Oichoma; the chief is lowly laid. Hearken not to the winds for Turlathon's echoing fhield. It is pierced, by his ftreams, and its found is paft away.

NOT peaceful is the hand of Foldath: he winds his courfe in blood. Connal met him in fight; they mixed their clanging fteel.---Why should mine eyes behold them! Connal, thy locks are grey.---Thou wert the friend of

*The two kings.

+ Tur-lathon, broad trunk of a tree. Móruth, great fream. Oichaoma, mild maid. Dun-lora, the hill of the neify ftream. Duth-caron, dark-brown man.

ftrangers, at the mofs-covered rock of Dunlora.

When the fkies were rolled together; then thy feaft was fpread. The ftranger heard the winds without; and rejoiced at thy burning oak.-Why, fon of Duth-caron, art thou laid in blood! The blafted tree bends above thee: thy fhield lies broken near. Thy blood mixes with the ftream; thou breaker of the fhields !

* I TOOK the spear, in my wrath; but Gaul rushed forward on the foe. The feeble pafs by his fide; his rage is turned on Moma's chief. Now they had raifed their deathful fpears: unfeen an arrow came. It pierced the hand of Gaul; his fteel fell founding to earth.-Young Fillan came, with Cormul's fhield, and stretched it large before the king. Foldath fent his fhout abroad, and kindled all the field: as a blaft that lifts the broad-winged flame, over Lumon's echoing groves.

*The poet speaks in his own person.

Fillan had been difpatched by Gaul to oppofe Cormul, who had been fent by Foldath to lie in ambush behind the Caledonian army. It appears that Fillan had killed Cormul, otherwife he could not be fuppofed to have poffeffed himfelf of the fhield of that chief. The poet being intent upon the main action, paffes over flightly this feat of Fillan.

Lumon, bending hill; a mountain in Inis-huna, or that part of South-Britain which is over-against the Irish coaft.

SON