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 Strinadona!

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 Fon 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 ge nius 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. Her 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's+ 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 name 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 have rejected it as an interpolation by a modern bard.

CATH-LODA.

DUAN THIRD.

ARGUMENT-OSSIAN, after some general reflections, describes the situation of Fingal, and the position of the army of Lochlin.-The conversation of Starno and Swaran. The episode of Corman-trunar and Foina-brâgal. -Starno, from his own example, recommends to Swaran to surprise Fingal, who had retired alone to a neigh bouring hill. Upon Swaran's refusal Starno undertakes the enterprise himself, is overcome, and taken prisoner by Fingal.-He is dismissed, after a severe reprimand, for his cruelty.

WHENCE is the stream of years? Whither do they roll along? Where have they hid, in mist, their many-coloured sides?

I look into the times of old, but they seem dim to Ossian's eyes, like reflected moon-beams on a distant lake. Here rise the red beams of war! There silent dwells a feeble race! They mark no years with their deeds, as slow they pass along. Dweller between the shields! thou that awakest the failing soul! descend from thy wall, harp of Cona, with thy voices three! Come with that which kindles the past: rear the forms of old on their own dark-brown years!

* U-thorno, hill of storms, I behold my race

* The bards, who were always ready to supply what they thought deficient in the poems of Ossian, have inserted a great many incidents between the second and third duän of Cath-loda. Their interpolations are so easily distinguished from the genuine remains of Ossian, that it took me very little time to mark them out, and totally to re

on thy side. Fingal is bending in night over Duth-maruno's tomb. Near him are the steps of his heroes, hunters of the boar. By Turthor's stream the host of Lochlin is deep in shades. The wrathful kings stood on two hills; they looked forward from their bossy shields. They looked forward to the stars of night, red-wandering in the west. Cruth-loda bends from high, like a formless meteor in clouds. He sends abroad the winds, and marks them with his signs. Starno foresaw that Morven's king was not to yield in war.

He twice struck the tree in wrath. He rushed before his son. He hummed a surly song; and

ject them. If the modern Scotch and Irish bards have shown any judgment, it is in ascribing their own compositions to names of antiquity, for by that means, they themselves have escaped that contempt which the authors of such futile performances must necessarily have met with from people of true taste. I was led into this observation by an Irish poem just now before me. It concerns a descent made by Swaran, king of Lochlin, on Ireland, and is the work, says the traditional preface prefixed to it, of Ossian Mac-Fion. It however appears, from several pious ejaculations, that it was rather the composition of some good priest, in the fifteenth or sixteenth century, for he speaks with great devotion of pilgrimage, and more particularly of the blue-eyed daughters of the convent. Religious, however, as this poet was, he was not altogether decent in the scenes he introduces between Swaran and the wife of Congcullion, both of whom he represents as giants. It happening, unfortunately, that Congcullion was only of a moderate stature, his wife, without hesitation, preferred Swaran, as a more adequate match for her own gigantic size. From this fatal preference proceeded so much mischief, that the good poet altogether lost sight of his principal action, and he ends the piece with advice to men in the choice of their wives, which however good it may be, I shall leave concealed in the obscurity of the original.