"no more.

Give us the song of other years.

"Let the night pass away on the sound, and mor"ning return with joy."

We gave the song to the kings. An hundred harps mixed their sound with our voice. The face of Swaran brightened, like the full moon of heaven; when the clouds vanish away, and leave her calm and broad in the midst of the sky!

"Where, Carril," said the great Fingal, “ Car"ril of other times! Where is the son of Semo, "the king of the isle of mist? Has he retired like "the meteor of death, to the dreary cave of Tu"ra?"-"Cuthullin," said Carril of other times, "lies in the dreary cave of Tura. His hand is on "the sword of his strength. His thoughts on the "battles he lost. Mournful is the king of spears; "till now unconquered in war. He sends his "sword to rest on the side of Fingal: for, like "the storm of the desert, thou hast scattered all "his foes. Take, O Fingal! the sword of the "hero. His fame is departed like mist, when it "flies, before the rustling wind, along the brightning vale."

"No," replied the king, "Fingal shall never "take his sword. His arm is mighty in war: "his fame shall never fail. Many have been over" come in battle; whose renown arose from their "fall. O Swaran, king of resounding woods, give all thy grief away. The vanquished, if "brave, are renowned. They are like the sun

He sought

rejoiced in He poured

" in a cloud, when he hides his face in the south, "but looks again on the hills of grass! "Grumal was a chief of Cona. "the battle on every coast. His soul "blood; his ear in the din of arms. "his warriors on Craca; Craca's king met him "from his grove; for then, within the circle of "Brumo," he spoke to the stone of power. Fierce was the battle of the heroes, for the maid of "the breast of snow. The fame of the daughter "of Craca had reached Grumal at the streams of "Cona: he vowed to have the white-bosomed "maid, or die on echoing Craca. Three days "they strove together, and Grumal on the fourth "was bound. Far from his friends they placed "him in the hor id circle of Brumo; where often, "they said, the ghosts of the dead howled round "the stone of their fear. But he afterwards

"

shone, like a pillar of the light of heaven. They "fell by his mighty hand. Grumal had all his " fame!"

"Raise, ye bards of other times," continued the great Fingal. "raise high the praise of heroes: "that my soul may settle on their fame; that "the mind of Swaran may cease to be sad." They lay in the heath of Mora. The dark winds rustled over the chiefs. A hundred voices, at once, arose: a hundred harps were strung. They sung of other times; the mighty chiefs of former

* This passage alludes to the religion of the king of Craca,

years! When now shall I hear the bard? When rejoice at the fane of my fathers? The harp is not strung on Morven. The voice of music ascends not on Cona. Dead, with the mighty, is the bard. Fame is in the desert no more.

Morning trembles with the beam of the east; it glimmers on Cromla's side. Over Lena is heard the horn of Swaran. The sons of the ocean gather around. Silent and sad they rise on the

wave.

The blast of Erin is behind their sails. White, as the mist of Morven, they float along the sea. "Call," said Fingal, "call my dogs, the "long-bounding sons of the chase. Call white"breasted Bran, and the surly strength of Luath! "Fillan, and Ryno; but he is not here! My

46

son rests on the bed of death. Fillan and Fer

"gus! blow the horn that the joy of the chase may arise that the deer of Cromla may hear "and start at the lake of roes."

The shrill sound spreads along the wood. The sons of heathy Cromla arise. A thousand dogs fly off at once, grey-bounding through the heath. A deer fell by every dog; three by the whitebreasted Bran. He brought them in their flight, to Fingal, that the joy of the king might be great! One deer fell at the tomb of Ryno. The grief of Fingal returned. He saw how peaceful lay the stone of him, who was the first at the chase! "No more shalt thou rise, O my son! to partake "of the feast of Cromla. Soon will thy tomb be

"hid, and the grass grow rank on thy grave. The sons of the feeble shall pass along. They shall "not know where the mighty lie.

"Ossian and Fillan, sons of my strength! "Gaul, chief of the blue steel of war! let us as"cend the hill to the cave of Tura. Let us find "the chief of the battles of Erin. Are these the "walls of Tura? grey and lonely they rise on the "heath. The chief of shells is sad, and the halls

'

are silent and lonely. Come, let us find Cuthul« lin, and give him all our joy. But is that Cu"thullin, O Fillan, or a pillar of smoke on the "heath? The wind of Cromla is on my eyes. I "distinguish not my friend."

"Fingal!" replied the youth," it is the son of "Semo! Gloomy and sad is the hero! his hand "is on his sword. Hail to the son of battle, "breaker of the shields!" "Hail to thee," replied Cuthullin, “hail to all the sons of Morven! De"lightful is thy presence, O Fingal! it is the sun " on Cromla; when the hunter mourns his ab

scence for a season, and sees him between the "clouds. Thy sons are like stars that attend thy "course. They give light in the night. It is "not thus thou hast seen me, O Fingal! return

ing from the wars of thy land: when the kings " of the world had fled, and joy returned to

* This is the only passage in the poem wherein the wars of Fingal against the Romans are alluded to: the Roman emperor is distinguished in old composition by the title of king of the world.

"the hill of hinds!"-" Many are thy words, "Cuthullin," said Connan* of small renown.

"Thy words are many, son of Semo, but "where are thy deeds in arms? Why did we come, "over ocean, to aid thy feeble sword? Thou "flyest to thy cave of grief, and Connan fights "thy battles. Resign to me these arms of light. "Yield them, thou chief of Erin."-" No hero,” replied the chief, "ever sought the arms of Cu"thullin ! and had a thousand heroes sought "them, it were in vain, thou gloomy youth! I "fled not to the cave of grief, till Erin failed at "her streams."

"Youth of the feeble arm," said Fingal, "Connan, cease thy words! Cuthullin is renown"ed in battle: terrible over the world. Often "have I heard thy fame, thou stormy chief of "Inis-fail. Spread now thy white sails for the "isle of mist. See Bragela leaning on her rock. "Her tender eye is in tears, the winds lift her

long hair from her heaving breast. She listens "to the breeze of night, to hear the voice of thy "rowers;† to hear the song of the sea: the sound "of thy distant harp.

* Connan was of the family of Morni. He is mentioned in several other poems, and always appears with the same character. The poet passed him over in silence till now, and his behaviour here deserves no better usuge.

+ The practice of singing when they row is universal among the inhabitants of the north-west coast of Scotland and the istes. It de ceives time, and inspirits the rowers.