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They went each to his hill of mist. Bards marked the sounds of the shields. Loudest rung thy boss, Duth-maruno. Thou must lead in war!

Like the murmur of waters the race of U-thorno came down. Starno led the battle, and Swaran of stormy isles. They looked forward from iron shields, like Cruth-loda, fiery-eyed, when he looks from behind the darkened moon, and strews his signs on night. The foes met by Turthor's stream. They heaved like ridgy waves. Their echoing strokes are mixed. Shadowy death flies over the hosts. They were clouds of hail, with squally winds in their skirts. Their showers are roaring together. Below them swells the dark-rolling deep.

Strife of gloomy U-thorno, why should I mark thy wounds! Thou art with the years that are gone; thou fadest on my soul !

Starno brought forward his skirt of war, and Swaran his own dark wing. Nor a harmless fire is Duth-maruno's sword. Lochlin is rolled over her streams. The wrathful kings are lost in thought. They roll their silent eyes over the flight of their land. The horn of Fingal was heard; the sons of woody Albion returned. But many lay, by Turthor's stream, silent in their blood.

“ Chief of Crathmo," said the king, “ Duthmaruno, hunter of boars ! not harmless returns “ my eagle from the field of foes ! For this white“ bosomed Lanul shall brighten at her streams;

« Candona shall rejoice as he wanders in Crath“ mo's fields."

“ Colgorm,"* replied the chief, “ was the first « of my race in Albion; Colgorm, the rider of “ ocean, through its watery vales. He slew his “ brother in I-thorno:f he left the land of his “ fathers. He chose his place, in silence, by “ rocky Crathmo-craulo. His race came forth .“ in their years; they came forth to war, but “ they always fell. The wound of my fathers is “mine, king of echoing isles!” · He drew an arrow from his side! He fell pale, in a land unknown. His soul came forth to his fathers to their stormy isle. There they pursued boars of mist along the skirts of winds. The chiefs stood silent around, as the stones of Loda, on their hill. The traveller sees them, through the twilight, from his lonely path. He thinks them the ghosts of the aged, forming future wars.

Night came down on U-thorno. Still stood the chiefs in their grief. The blast whistled, by

* The family of Duth-maruno, it appears, eame originally from Scandinavia, or, at least, from some of the northern isles, subject in chief to the kings of Lochlin. The Highland senachies, who never missed to make their comments on, and additions to, the works of Os sian, bave given us a long list of the ancestors of Duth-maruno, and a particular account of their actions, many of which are of the marvellous kind. One of the tale-makers of the north has chosen for his hero, Starnmor, the father of Duth-maruno, and considering the adventures through which he has led him, the piece is neither disagreeable nor abounding with that kind of fiction which shocks credibility,

† An island of Scandinavian

turns, through every warrior's hair. Fingal, at length, broke forth from the thoughts of his soul. He called Ullin of harps, and bade the song to rise. No falling fire, that is only seen, and then retires in night; no departing meteor was he that is laid so low. He was like the strong-beaming sun, long rejoicing on his hill. Call the names of his fathers from their dwellings old!

I-thorno,* said the bard, that risest midst ridgy seas! Why is thy head so gloomy in the ocean's mist? From thy vales came forth a race, fearless as thy strong-winged eagles; the race of Colgorm of iron shields, dwellers of Loda's hall.

In Tormoth's resounding isle arose Lurthan, streamy hill. It bent its woody head over a silent vale. There, at foamy Cruruth's source, dwelt Rurmar, hunter of boars! His daughter was fair as a sun-beam, white-bosomed Ştrinadona!

Many a king of heroes, and hero of iron shields; many a youth of heavy locks came to Rurmar's echoing hall. They came to woo the maid, the

* This episode is, in the original, extremely beautiful. It is set to that wild kind of music which some of the Highlanders distinguish by the title of Pon Oi-marra, or the Song of Mermaids. Some part of the air is absolutely infernal, but there are many returns in the measure, which are inexpressibly wild and beautiful. From the genius of the music I should think it came originally from Scandinavia, for the fictions delivered down concerning the Oi-marra (who are reputed the authors of the music,) exactly correspond with the notions of the northern nations concerning the dire, or goddesses of death. of all the names in this episode there is none of a Gallic original, except Strina-dona, which signifies the strife of heroes.

stately huntress of Tormoth wild. But thou lookest careless from thy steps, high-bosomed Strina-dona.

If on the heath she moved, her breast was whiter than the down of Cana;* if on the seabeat shore, than the foam of the rolling ocean. Her eyes were two stars of light. Hor face was heaven's bow in showers. Her dark hair flowed round it like the streaming clouds. Thou wert the dweller of souls, white-handed Strina-dona!

Colgorm came in his ship, and Corcul-suran, king of shells. The brothers came from I-thorno to woo the sun-beam of Tormoth wild. She saw them in their echoing steel. Her soul was fixed on blue-eyed Colgorm. Ul-lochlin'st nightly eye looked in and saw the tossing arms of Strina-dona.

Wrathful the brothers frowned. Their flaming eyes in silence met. They turned away. They struck their shields. Their hands were trembling on their swords. They rushed into the strife of heroes for long-haired Strina-dona.

Corcul-surau fell in blood. On his isle raged the strength of his father. He turned Colgorm, from I-thorno, to wander on all the winds. In

* The Cana is a certain kind of grass which grows plentifully in the heathy morasses of the north. Its stalk is of the reedy kind, and it carries a tuft of down very much resembling cotton. It is excessively white, and, consequently, often introduced by the bards in their similes concerning the beauty of women. + Ul-lochlin, the guide to Lochlin ; the pame of a star,

Crathmo-craulo's rocky field he dwelt by a foreign stream. Nor darkened the king alone, that beam of light was near, the daughter of echoing Tormoth,white-armed Strina-dona.*

* The continuation of this episode is just now in my hands ; but the language is so different from, and the ideas so unworthy of Ossian, that I bare rejected it as an interpolation by a modern bard.

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