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“ didst command them, O Fingal! to aid the
king of Erin.
“ Like the bursting strength of ocean, the sons “ of Bolgar rushed to war. Colc-ulla* was be“fore them, the chief of blue-streaming Atha. “ The battle was inixed on the plain. Cormact “ shone in his own strife, bright as the forms of “ his fathers. But, far before the rest, Duthca“ ron hewed down the foe. Nor slept the arm “ of Connal by his father's side. Colc-ulla pre“ vailed on the plain: like scattered mist, fled the “ people of Cormac. I
“ Then rose the sword of Duthcaron, and the “ steel of broad-shielded Connal. They shaded
* Colc-ulla, firm look in readiness: he was the brother of Borbarduthul, the father of Cairbar and Cathmor, who after the death of Cor mac, the son of Artho, succesively mounted the Irish throne.
+ Cormac the son of Conar, the second king of Ireland, of the race of the Caledonians. This insurrection of the Firbolg happened towards the latter end of the long reign of Cormac, He never possessed the Irish throne peaceably. The party of the family of Atha had made several attempts to overturn the succession in the race of Conar, before they effected it, in the minority of Cormac, the son of Artho, Ireland, from the most ancient accounts concerning it, seems to have been always so disturbed by domestic commotions, that it is difficult to say, whether it ever was, for any length of time, subject to one mon. arch. It is certain, that every province, if not every small district had its own king. One of these petty princes assumed, at times, the title of king of Ireland, and on account of his superior force, or in cases of public danger, was acknowledged by the rest as such: but the succession from father to son, does not appear to have been established. It was the divisions amongst themselves, arising from the bad constitution of their government, that at last, subjected the Irish to a foreign yoke.
The inhabitants of Ullin or Ulster, who were of the race of the Caledonians, seem, alone, to have been the firm friends to the succes. sion in the family of Conar. The Firbolg were only subject to them by constraint, braced every opportunity to throw off their yoke. * Colgan, the son of Cathmul, was the principal bard of Cormac, king of Ireland. The following dialogue, on the loves of Fingal and Ros-crana, may be ascribed to him:
“ their flying friends, like two rocks with their “ heads of pine. Night came down on Duth-ula : 66 silent strode the chiefs over the field. A moun“ tain-stream roared across the path, nor could • Duthcaron bound over its course." 66 stands my
father ?'' said Connal. “I hear the “ ruslring foe."
Fly, Connal,” he said. “Thy father's “ strength begins to fail. I come wounded from « battle. Here let me rest in night.” " thou shalt not remain alone,” said Connal's bursting sigh. “My shield is an eagle's wing to
cover the king of Dun-lora.” He bends dark above his father. The mighty Duthcaron dies.
Day rose, and night returned. No lonely bard appeared, deep musing on the heath: and could Connal leave the tomb of his father, till he should receive his fame? He bent the bow against the roes of Duth-ula. He spread the lonely feast. Seven nights he laid his head on the tomb, and saw his father in his dreams. He saw him rolled, dark, in a blast, like the vapour of reedy Lego. At length the steps of *Colgan came, the bard of high Temora. Duthcaron received his fame, and brightened, as be rose on the wind.
Ros-crana By night came a dream to Roscrana; I feel my beating soul. No vision of the forms of the dead came to the blue eyes of Erin. But, rising from the wave of the north, I beheld him bright in his locks. I beheld the son of the king. My beating soul is high. I laid my head down in night; again ascended the form. Why delayest thou thy coming, young rider of stormy waves ?
“ Pleasant to the ear,” said Fingal, “is the “ praises of the kings of men; when their bows
are strong in battle: when they soften at the “ sight of the sad. Thus let my name be re“ nowned, when bards shall lighten my rising “ soul. Carril, son of Kinfena! take the bards “ and raise a tomb. To-night let Connal dwell “ within his narrow house. Let not the soul of “ the valiant wander on the winds. Faint glim
mers the moon on Moi-lena, through the “ broad-headed groves of the bill! Raise stones, “ beneath is beam, to all the fallen in war. “ Though no chiefs were they, yet their hands
But, there, far distant, he comes; where seas roll their green ridges in mist ! young dweller of my soul; why dost thou delay
Fingal. It was the soft voice of Moi-lena! the pleasant breeze of the valley of roes ! But why dost thou hide thee in shades? Young love of heroes, rise. Are not thy steps covered with light? In thy groves thou appearest, Ros-crana, like the sun in the gathering of clouds. Why dost thou hide thee in shades? Young love of heroes, rise.
Roswcrana. My fluttering soul is high! Let me turn from the steps of the king. He has heard my secret voice, and shall my blue eyes roll in his presence ? Roe of the hill of moss, towards thy dwelling I move. Meet me, ye breezes of Mora! as I move through the valley of winds. But why should he ascend his ocean? Son of heroes, my soul is thine! My steps shall not move to the desert; the light of Roscrana is here.
Fingal. It was the light tread of a ghost, the fair dweller of eddying winds. Why deceivest thou me with thy voice? Here let me rest in shades. Shouldst thou stretch thy white arm from thy grove, thou sin-beam of Cormac of Erin!
Roswcrana. He is gone; and my blue eyes are dim; faint-rolling, in all my tears. But, there, I behold him, alone, king of Selma, my soul is thine. Ah me! what clanging of armour! Colc-ulla of Atha is near.
“ were strong in fight. They were my rock in “ danger; the mountain from which I spread my “ eagle-wings. Thence am I renowned. Car“ ril forget not the low!"
Loud, at once, from the hundred bards, rose the song of the tomb. Carril strode before them,
. they are the murmur of streams behind his steps. Silence dwells in the vales of Moi-lena, where each, with its own dark rill, is winding between the hills. I heard the voice of the bards, lessening, as they moved along. I leaned forward from my shield; and felt the kindling of my soul. Half-formed, the words of my song burst forth upon the wind. So hears a tree, on the vale, the voice of spring around. It pours its green
leaves to the sun. It shakes its lonely head. The hum of the mountain bee is near it; the hunter sees it, with joy, from the blasted heath.
Young Fillan at a distance stood. His helmet lay glittering on the ground. His dark hair is loose to the blast. A beam of light is Clatho's son! He heard the words of the king, with joy. He leaned forward on his spear.
My son," said car-borne Fingal; “I saw thy deeds, and my soul was glad. The fame “ of our fathers, I said, bursts from its gathering " cloud.
Thou art brave, son of Clatho! but “ headlong in the strife. So did not Fingal ad“vance, though he never feared a foe. Let thy “people be a ridge behind. They are thy
strength in the field. Then shalt thou be long “ renowned, and behold the tombs of the old. “ The memory of the past returns my deeds in “ other years: when first I descended from ocean
green vallied isle." We bend towards the voice of the king. The moon looks abroad from her cloud. The greyskirted mist is near: the dwelling of the ghosts!