though Vinvela lived. He faw her fair-moving on the plain: but the bright form lafted not: the "funbeam fled from the field, and fhe was feen no more. Hear the fong of Shilric, it is foft, but fad. I fit by the mofly fountain; on the top of the hill of winds. One tree is ruftling above me. Dark waves roll over the heath. The lake is troubled below. The deer defcend from the hill. No hunter at a distance is feen; no whiftling cow-herd is nigh. It is mid-day: but all is filent. Sad are my thoughts alone. Didft thou but appear, O my love, a wanderer on the heath! thy hair floating on the wind behind thee: thy bofom heaving on the fight; thine eyes full of tears for thy friends, whom the mift of the hill had concealed! Thee I would comfort, my love, and bring thee to thy father's houfe. But is it the that there appears, like a beam of light on the heath? bright as the moon in autumn, as the fun in a fummer-ftorm, comeft thou, lovely maid, over rocks, over mountains to me? She speaks: but how weak her voice, like the breeze in the reeds of the pool. "Returneft thou fafe from the war? Where are thy friends, my love? I heard of thy death on the hill; I heard and mourned thee, Shilric!" Yes, my fair, I return; but I alone of my race. Thou fhalt fee them no more: their graves I raised on the plain. But why art thou on the defert hill? Why on the heath, alone? "Alone I am, O Shilric! alone in the winter-house. With grief for thee I expired. Shilric, I am pale in the tomb. She fleets, fhe fails away; as gray mist before the wind! and, wilt thou not flay, my love? Stay and behold my tears? fair thou appeareft, Vinvela! fair thou waft, when alive! By the mofly fountain I will fit; on the top of the hill of winds. When mid-day is filent around, con [The distinction, which the ancient Scots made between good and bad spirits, was, that the former appeared fometimes in the day time in lonely unfrequented places, but the latter feldon but by night, and always in a difmal gloomy fcené. ཀི ། ཨ verfe, O Such was the fong of Cronnan, on the night of Selma's joy. But morning rofe in the eaft; the blue waters rolled in light. Fingal bade his fails to rife, and the winds came ruftling from their hills. Iniftore rofe to fight, and Carric-thura's moffy towers. But the fign of diftrefs was on their top: the green flame edged with fmoke. The king of Morven flruck his breaft: he affumed, at once, his fpear. His darkened brow bends forward to the coaft: he looks back to the lagging winds. His hair is difordered on his back. The filence of the king is terrible. Night came down on the fea: Rotha's bay received the fhip. A rock bends along the coaft with all its echoing wood. On the top is the circle of Loda, and the mofly ftone of power. A narrow plain spreads beneath, covered with grafs and aged trees, which the midnight winds, in their wrath, had torn from the fhaggy rock. The blue courfe of a ftream is there: and the lonely blaft of ocean pursues the thiftle's beard. The flame of three oaks arofe: the feaft is fpread around: but the foul of the king is fad, for Carric-thura's battling chief. The wan cold moon rofe, in the eaft. Sleep defcended on the youths. Their blue helmets glitter to the beam, the fading fire decays. But fleep did not reft on the king: he rofe in the midft of his arms, and flowly afcended the hill to behold the flame of Sarno's tower. The flame was dim and diftant; the moon hid her red face in the east. A blaft came from the mountain, and bore, on its wings, the fpirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrors, and he shook his dusky spear. + The circle of Loda is fuppofed to be a place of worship among the Scandinavi ans, as the spirit of Loda is thought to be the fame with their god Odin. μfie is defcribed, in a fimile, in the poem concerning the death of Cuchallin. His eyes appear like flames in his dark face; and his voice is like diftant thunder. Fingal advanced with the fpear of his ftrength, and raised his voice on high. Son of night, retire: call thy winds and fly: Why doft thou come to my prefence, with thy fhadowy arms? Do I fear thy gloomy form, difmal fpirit of Loda? Weak is thy fhield of clouds: feeble is that meteor, thy fword. The blaft rolls them together, and thou thyfelf doft vanish. Fly from my presence, son of night! call thy winds and fly! Doft thou force me from my place, replied the hollow voice? The people bend before me. I turn the battle in the field of the vallant. I look on the nations and they vanish: my noftrils pour the blaft of death. I come abroad on the winds: the tempefts are before my face. But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my reft are pleasant. Dwell then in my calm field, faid Fingal, and let Comhal's fon be forgot. Do my fteps afcend, from my hills, into thy peaceful plains? Do I meet thee, with a fpear, on thy cloud, fpirit of difmal Loda? Why then doft thou frown on Fingal? Or fhake thine airy ipear? But thou frowneft in vain: I never fled from mighty men. And fhall the fons of the wind frighten the king of Morven! No: he knows the weakness of their arms. Fly to thy land, replied the form: receive the wind and fly. The blafts are in the hollow of my hand. the courfe of the ftorm is mine. The king of Sora is my fon, he bends at the ftone of my power. His battle is around Carric-thura; and he will prevail. Fly 'to thy land, fon of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath. He lifted high his fhadowy fpear; and bent forward his terrible height. But the king, advancing, drew his fword; the blade of dark-brown Lunot. The gleaming path of the fteel winds through the gloomy ghost. The form fell shapeless into air, like a column of smoke, The famous sword of Fingal, made by Lun, or Luno, a fmith of Lochlin which the ftaff of the boy disturbs, as it rifes from the half-extinguished furnace. The fpirit of Loda fhrieked, as, rolled into himself, he rofe on the wind. Inistore shook at the found. The waves heard it on the deep: they ftopped, in their course, with fear: the companions of Fingal started, at once; and took their heavy spears. They miffed the king; they rofe with rage: all their arms refound. The moon came forth in the east. The king returned in the gleam of his arms. The joy of his youths was great; their fouls fettled, as a fea from a ftorm. Ullin raised the song of gladness. The hills of Iniftore rejoiced. The flame of the oak arofe; and the tales of heroes are told. But Frothal, Sera's battling king, fits in fadnefs beneath a tree. The hoft fpreads around Carric-thura, He looks towards the walls with rage. He longs for the blood of Cathulla, who, once overcame the king in war. When Annir reigned in Sora, the father of carborne Frothal, a blaft rose on the fea, and carried Frothal to Iniftore. Three days he feafted in Sarno's halls, and faw the flow-rolling eyes of Comala. He loved her, in the rage of youth, and rushed to feize the white-armed maid. Cathulla met the chief. The gloomy battle rofe. Frothal is bound in the hall: three days he pined alone. On the fourth, Sarno fent him to his fhip, and he returned to his land. But wrath darkened his foul againft the noble Cathulla. When Annir's ftonet of fame arofe, Frothal came in his ftrength. The battle burned round Carric-thura, and Sarno's moffy walls. Morning rofe on Iniftore. Frothal ftruck his darkbrown fhield. His chiefs ftarted at the found; they flood, but their eyes were turned to the fea. They faw Annir was alfo the father of Erragon, who was killed after the death of his brother Frothal. The death of Erragon is the subject of the battle of Lora, a poem in this collection. That is, after the donth of Annir. To erect the ftone of one' fame, was, other words, to say that the person was dead. Vol. II. E Fingal coming in his ftrength; and firft the noble Thubar spoke. "Who comes like the ftag of the mountain, with all his herd behind him? Frothal, it is a foe; I fee his forward fpear. Perhaps it is the king of Morven, Fingal, the firft of men. His actions are well known on Gormal; the blood of his foes is in Sarno's halls. Shall I afk the peace of kings? He is like the thunder of heaven." "Son of the feeble hand," faid Frothal, "fhall my days begin in darkness? Shall I yield before I have conquered in battle, chief of ftreamy Tora? The people would say in Sora, Frothal flew forth like a meteor; but the dark cloud met it, and it is no more. No: Thubar, I will never yield; my fame fhall furround me like light. No: I will never yield, king of streamy Tora." He went forth with the ftream of his people, but they met a rock: Fingal ftood unmoved, broken they rolled back from his fide. Nor did they roll in fafety the fpear of the king purfued their flight. The field is covered with heroes. A rifing hill preferved the flying hoft. Frothal faw their flight. The rage of his bofom rofe. He bent his eyes to the ground, and called the noble Thubar. "Thubar! my people fled. My fame has ceafed to rife. I will fight the king; I feel my burning foul. Send a bard to demand the combat. Speak not againft Frothal's words. But, Thubar! I love a maid; fhe dwells by Thano's stream, the whitebofomed maid of Herman, Utha with the foftlyrolling eyes. She feared the daughter of Iniftore, and her foft fighs rofe, at my departure. Tell to Utha that I am low; but that my foul delighted in her." Such were his words, refolved to fight. But the foft figh of Utha was near. She had followed her hero o Honourable terms of peace. By the daughter of Initiore, Frothal means Comala, of whofe death Utha probably had not heard; confequently the feared that the former paffion of Frothai for Comala might return. |