romantic air, fo ftriking, fo defcriptive, and fo happily adapted to this fublime fpecies of writing. To the manners of the times, may be likewife afcribed the frequent intervention of the fofter sex, whofe tragical loves furnish thofe affecting episodes, which, blended with the heroic ftory of the work at large, form fuch a rare and irrefistible union of the pathetic and the terrible. Indeed both its defects and excellencies fpeak loudly in favour of its antiquity; its defects, as the natural result of barbarifm; its excellencies, as the efforts of a great genius, which like light bursting from darkness, fhine the brighter for the night of ignorance through which, they blaze. But if, notwithstanding thefe marks of antique genuineness, which add fo much weight to the editor's affertion, this extraordinary piece fhould prove, after all, a modern compofition; then would its faults admit of little extenuation, its beauties fink in that peculiar value which they derive from primitive fimplicity; and the poem, however well imagined, and happily executed, and with all the merit of a fine original, be nevertheless efteemed but as a grand imposture. From the curiofity which fo uncommon a production muft naturally have excited, it is probable that the merit of it is already very well known to most of our readers. To those who have not yet perufed it, the following fpecimen will recommend it much more ftrongly than any thing we can add, to what has been already faid in its favour. It is a defcription of the battle between Swaran and Cuchullin, which we give not as the best, but as the firft that occurs in the work. “As rushes a stream of foam from the dark fhady steep of Cromla; when the thunder is rolling above, and dark-brown_night on half the hill. So fierce, fo vast, and fo terrible rufhed on the fons of Erin. The chief like a whale of ocean, whom all his billows follow, poured valour forth as a ftream, rolling his might along the fhore. The fons of Lochlin heard the noife as the found of a winterftream. Swaran ftruck his boffy fhield, and called the fon of Arno. What murmur rolls along the hill like the gathered flies of evening? The fons of Innis-fail defcend, or ruftling winds roar in the dif tant wood, Such is the noise of The found of blustering wind. MILTON, Gormal before the white tops of He went, and trembling, swift returned. His eyes rolled wildly round. His heart beat high against his fide. His words were faultering, broken, flow. Rife, fon of ocean, rife chief of the dark-brown fhields. I fee the dark, the mountain-stream of the battle. The deep-moving ftrength of the fons of Erin. The car, the car of battle comes, like the flame of death; the rapid car of Cuchullin, the noble fon of Semo. It bends behind like a wave near a rock; like the golden mift of the heath. Its fides are emboffed with ftones, and fparkle like the fea round the boat of night. Of polished yew is its beam, and its feat of the fmootheft bone. The fides are replenished with fpears; and the bottom is the foot-ftool of heroes. Before the right fide of the car is feen the fnorting horfe. The high-maned, broad breafted, proud, high-leaping ftrong fteed of the hill. Loud and refounding is his hoof; the fpreading of his mane above is like that ftream of smoke on the heath. Bright are the fides of the fteed, and his name is SulinSifadda. Before the left fide of the car is feen the fnorting horfe. The thin-maned, high-headed, ftrong hoofed, fleet, bounded fon of the hill his name is Dufronnal among the ftormy fons of the fword. A thousand thongs bind the car on high. Hard polished bits fhine Within the car is feen the chief; the strong ftormy fon of the fword; the hero's name is Cuchullin, fon of Semo king of shells. His red cheek is like my polished yew. The look of his blue-rolling eye is wide beneath the dark arch of his brow. His hair flies from his head like a flame, as bending forward he wields the fpear. Fly, king of ocean, fly; he comes, like a ftorm, along the streamy vale. When did I fly, replied the king, from the battle of many fpears? When did I fly, fon of Arno, chief of the little foul? I met the storm of Gormal when the foam of my waves was high; I met the ftorm of the clouds, and fhall I fly from a hero? Were it Fingal himself my foul fhould not darken before him. Rife to the battle, my thoufands; pour round me like the echoing main. Gather round the bright steel of your king; ftrong as the rocks of my land; meet the ftorm with joy, and ftretch their dark woods to the wind. that As autumn's dark storms pour from two echoing hills, towards each The reader may compare this paffage with a fmilar one in Homer, Iliad. 4. ver. 446. Now death of the noble Sithallin Let the fighs of Fiona rife on the dark heaths of her lovely Ardan.— They fell, like two hinds of the defart, by the hands of the mighty Swaran; when, in the midst of thousands he roared; like the fhrill fpirit of a ftorm, that fits dim, on the clouds of Gormal, and enjoys the death of the mariner. Nor flept thy hand by thy fide, chief of the ifle of mift §; many were the deaths of thine arm, Cuchullin, thou fon of Semo. His fword was like the beam of heaven when it pierces the fons of the vale; when the people are blasted and fall, and all the hills are burning around. Dufronnal + fnorted over the bodies of heroes; and Sifadda || bathed his hoof in blood. The battle lay behind them as groves overturned on the defart of Cromla; when the blast has pafled the heath laden with the spirits of night. Now fhield with fhield, with helmet helmet clos'd, With ftreaming blood the flipp'ry fields are dy'd, Statius has very happily imitated Homer. Jam clypeus clypeis, umbone repellitur umbo, Arms on armour crashing, bray'd Horrible difcord, and the madding wheels Weep Porz. The isle of Sky; not improperly called the isle of mift, as its high hills, which eatch the clouds from the weftern ocean, occafion almost continual rains. + One of Cuchullin's horses. Dubhstron gheal. Sith fadda,. i. e. long fride. Weep on the rocks of roaring winds, O maid of Iniftore +, bend thy fair head over the waves, thou fairer than the ghost of the hills; when it moves in the fun-beam at noon over the filence of Morven. He is fallen! thy youth is low; pale beneath the fword of Cuchullin. No more fhall valour raise the youth to match the blood of kings. Trenar, lovely Trenar died, thou maid of Iniftore. His gray dogs are howling at home, and fee his paffing ghoft. His bow is in the hall unftrung, No found is in the heath of his hinds. As roll a thousand waves to the rocks, fo Swaran's hoft came on; as meets a rock a thousand waves, fo Inisfail met Swaran. Death raifes all his voices round, and mixes with the found of fhields. Each hero is a pillar of darkriefs, and the fword a beam of fire in his hand. The field echoes from wing to wing, as a hundred hammers that rife by turns on the red fon of the furnace. Who are thefe on Lena's heath that are fo gloomy and dark? Who are thefe like two clouds *, and their fwords like lightning above them? The little hills are troubled around, and the rocks tremble with all their mofs. Who is it but Ocean's fon and the car-borne chief of Erin? Many are the anxious eyes of their friends, as they fee them dim on the heath. Now night conceals the chiefs in her clouds, and ends the terrible fight." As most of the fmaller pieces in this collection were taken notice of in the last year's Register under the title of Fragments of ancient poetry, it is unneceffary to dwell particularly upon them here. They are either tragical or warlike, and admirable in their kind. In one of them is an address to the Sun, which we think remarkably fine. The reader is to know that our poet, like Homer and Milton, was at this time blind. "O thou that rolleft above t, round as the fhield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams, O fun! thy everlafting light? Thou comest forth, in thy aweful beauty, and the ftars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, finks in the western wave. But thou thyfelf moveft alone: who can be a companion of thy courfe! The oaks of the mountains fall: the mountains themfelves decay with years; the ocean fhrinks and grows again: the moon herself is loft in heaven; but thou art for ever the fame; rejoicing in the brightnefs The maid of Iniftore was the daughter of Gorlo king of Iniftore or Orkney islands. Trenar was brother to the king of Inifcon, fuppofed to be one of the islands of Shetland. The Orkneys and Shetland were at that time fubject to the king of Lochlin. We find that the dogs of Trenar are fenfible at home of the death of their mafter, the very inftant he is killed.. It was the opinion of the times, that the fouls of heroes went immediately after death to the hills of their country, and the fcenes they frequented the moft happy time of their life. It was thought too that dogs and horfes faw the ghosts of the deceased. * As when two black clouds With heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on MILTON. This paffage is fomething fimilar to Satan's addrefs to the Sun, in the fourth book of Paradife loft. O thou nefs of thy course. When the world is dark with tempeft; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies: thou lookeft in thy beauty, from the clouds, and laugheft at the ftorm. But to Offian, thou lookeft in vain; for he beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou trembleft at the gates of the west. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a feafon, and thy years will have an end. Thou shalt fleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult then, O fun, in the ftrength of thy youth. Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it fhines through broken clouds, and the mift is on the hills; the blast of the north is on the plain, the traveller fhrinks in the midft of his journey." tory from the fall to the deluge. The poet has had the art to intereft us in the diftreffes of our first parents, and their immediate defcendants, by the lively and affecting manner in which he manages the paffions, and by the graces and truth he throws into his paintings, while he defcribes the fimple manners of the firft inhabitants of the earth." Mr. Geffner has laid his fcene in fuch remote antiquity, as might poffibly have encouraged fome writers to have taken great liberties, but he has been very cautious. In the fimple age he defcribes, ambition could have nothing to upon. But that other bane of fociety, envy, may find room in the humbleft and moft fimple cottage, and this Mr. Geffner has chofen for the acting principle, which produces the catastrophe, Abel's death. Perhaps had the character of Cain appeared a little more artfully a mixed character, we had ftill been more interested in the story; but whatever elfe may be objected to it, it must be allowed, that Mr. Geffner has great imagination. If the fable should not intereft, at least his defcriptions, his hymns and all thofe parts which leave room for fancy to di play itself, may engage the reader's attention. We must not omit to mention, that the German O thou that, with furpaffing g'ory crown'd, • Quale per incertam lunam fub luce maligna has V 12 Gr And the faint crefcent fhoots by fits before their eyes. DRYD. |