the hills. He spoke of mighty men.

He told of the deeds of my fathers. I felt my rising joy. But sit thou at the feast, O Carril, I have often heard thy voice. Sing in praise of Cuthullin. Sing of Nathos of Etha!

Day rose on Temora, with all the beams of

the east.

Crathin came to the hall, the son of

old Gelláma.

"I behold," he said, "a cloud in the desert, king of Erin! a cloud it seemed at first, but now a crowd of men 34! One strides before them in his strength. His red hair flies in wind. His shield glitters to the beam of the east. His His spear is in his hand." "Call him to the feast of Temora," replied the brightening king. "My hall is the house of strangers, son of generous Gelláma! It is perhaps the chief of Etha, coming in all his renown. Hail, mighty

stranger! art thou of the friends of Cormac ? But Carril, he is dark, and unlovely. He draws his sword. Is that the son of Usnoth, bard of the times of old?"

34 I behold, he said, a dark cloud in the desert.---a cloud it seemed at first, but now a crowd of men.] He said, Behold there ariseth a little cloud out of the sea, like a man's hand. 1 Kings, xviii. 44.

"It is not the son of Usnoth !" said Carril. "It is Cairbar thy foe. Why comest thou in thy arms to Temora? chief of the gloomy brow. Let not thy sword rise against Cormac! Whither dost thou turn thy speed?" He passed on in darkness. He seized the hand of the king. Cormac foresaw his death; the rage of his eyes arose. "Retire, thou chief of Atha! Nathos comes with war. Thou art bold in Cormac's hall, for his arm is weak." The sword entered the side of the king. He fell in the halls of his fathers. His fair hair is in the dust. His blood is smoking round.

Art thou fallen in thy halls!" said Carrit. "O son of noble Artho. The shield of Cuthullin was not near. Nor the spear of thy father. Mournful are the mountains of Erin, for the chief of the people is low! Blest be thy soul, O Cormac! Thou art darkened in thy youth."

His words came to the ear of Cairbar. He closed us in the midst of darkness. He feared to stretch his sword to the bards, though his soul was dark. Long we pined alone! At length the noble Cathmor came. He heard our voice

from the cave. on Cairbar.

He turned the eye of his wrath

"Brother of Cathmor," he said, "how long wilt thou pain my soul? Thy heart is a rock. Thy thoughts are dark and bloody! But thou art the brother of Cathmor; and Cathmor shall shine in thy war. But my soul is not like thine: thou feeble hand in fight! The light of The light of my bosom is stained with thy deeds. Bards will not sing of my renown: They may say, "Cathmor was brave; but he fought for gloomy Cairbar." They will pass over my tomb in silence. My fame shall not be heard. Cairbar loose the bards. They are the sons of future times. Their voice shall be heard in other years; after the kings of Temora have failed." We came forth at the words of the chief. We saw him in his strength. He was like thy youth, O Fingal, when thou first didst lift the spear. His face was like the plain of the sun 35, when it is bright. No

35 His face was like the plain of the sun.] Not the sun's disk, but, as expressed in the first book annexed to Fingal, "His face was like the sunny field, when it is bright. No darkness moved ever his brow." A frequent imitation of THOMSON's Autumn, The sudden sun,

By fits effulgent, gilds th' illumined field,
And black, by fits, the shadows sweep along.

darkness travelled over his brow.

But he came

with his thousands to aid the red-haired Cairbar. Now he comes to revenge his death, O king of woody Morven."

"Let Cathmor come, replied the king, "I love a foe so great. His soul is bright. His arm is strong. His battles are full of fame. But the little soul is a vapour that hovers round the marshy lake. It never rises on the green hill 36

36 But the little soul is a vapour that hovers round the marshy lake. It never rises on the green hill.] Par. Lost, xii. 626. inverted.

From the other hill

To their fixed stations, all in bright array,
The cherubim descended, on the ground

Gliding meteorous, as evening mist,

Risen from a river, o'er a marish glides

The brandished sword of God before them blazed

Fierce as a comet, which, with torrid heat,

And vapour, as the Lybian air adust.

"The little soul, like the vapour that hovers round the marshy lake, but never rises on the green hill,” is an inversion of the cherubim descending from the other hill, and on the ground gliding as evening mist, risen from a river, o'er the marish glides. But the dart of death, emitted by the vapour from the cave of pestilence, in which it dwells lest the winds should meet it on the hill,

She (the plague) draws a close incumbent cloud of death,
Uninterrupted by the living winds,

Forbid to blow a wholesome breeze;

THOMSON.

lest the winds should meet it there. Its dwelling is in the cave, it sends forth the dart of death! Our young heroes, O warriors, are like the renown of our fathers. They fight in youth. They fall. Their names are in song. Fingal is amid his darkening years 37. He must not fall, as an aged oak, across a secret stream. Near it are the steps of the hunter, as it lies beneath the wind. "How has that tree fallen ?" he says, Raise the song of Let our souls forget

and, whistling, strides along. joy, ye bards of Morven.

the past. The red stars look on us from clouds,

forms such a confusion of modern metaphors, as Blair terms a simile highly finished. "Cairbar, after the treacherous assassination of Oscar, is compared to a pestilential fog. This is a simile highly finished." BLAIR'S Dissertation.

37 Fingal is amid his darkening years.] In the first book of Temora annexed to Fingal, the whole passage was addressed to Usnoth: Thus,

"Usnoth! thou hast heard the fame of Etha's car-borne chiefs. Our young heroes, O warrior, are like the renown of our fathers. They fought in youth, and they fall: their names are in the song. But we are old, O Usnoth ! let us not fall like aged oaks, which the blast overturns in secret. The hunter came past, and saw them lying across a stream. How have they fallen,' he said, and whistling, passed along."

The propriety of the passage, in its application to the three sons of Usnoth, the chiefs of Etha, is lost by the removal of Usnoth from the poem.