when, in a whirlwind, he comes to Morven, to see the children of his pride. The oaks resound on their mountains, and the rocks fall down before him. Dimly seen, as lightens the night, he strides largely from hill to hill. Bloody was the hand of my father, when he whirled the gleam of his sword. He remembers the battles of his youth. The field is wasted in his course!

Ryno went on like a pillar of fire. Dark is the brow of Gaul. Fergus rushed forward with feet of wind. Fillan like the mist of the hill.

Ossian, like a rock, came down. I exulted in the strength of the king. Many were the deaths of my arm! dismal the gleam of my sword! My locks were not then so grey; nor trembled my hands with age. My eyes were not closed in darkness, my feet failed not in the race!

Who can relate the deaths of the people? Who the deeds of mighty heroes? when Fingal, burning in his wrath, consumed the sons of Lochlin? Groans swelled on groans from hill to hill, till night had covered all. Pale, staring like a herd of deer, the sons of Lochlin convene on Lena. We sat and heard the sprightly harp, at Lubar's gentle stream. Fingal himself was next to the foe. He listened to the tales of his bards. His godlike race were in the song, the chiefs of other times. Attentive, leaning on his shield, the king of Morven sat. The wind whistled through his locks; his thoughts are of the days of other years.

Near him on his bending spear, my young, my valiant Oscar stood. He admired the king of Morven: his deeds were swelling in his soul!

"Son of my son," begun the king, "O Oscar, " pride of youth! I saw the shining of thy sword. "I gloried in my race. Pursue the fame of our "fathers; be thou what they have been, when "Trennior lived, the first of men, and Trathal the "father of heroes! They fought the battle in "their youth. They are the song of bards, O "Oscar! bend the strong in arm, but spare the "feeble hand. Be thou a stream of many tides "against the foes of thy people; but like the

gale, that moves the grass, to those who ask "thine aid. So Trenmor lived; such Trathal "was; and such has Fingal been. My arm was "the support of the injured; the weak rested be"hind the lightning of my steel.

"Oscar! I was young like thee, when lovely "Fainasóllis came: that sun-beam! that mild "light of love! the daughter of Craca's king: "I then returned from Cona's heath, and few "were in my train. A white-sailed boat appear"ed far off; we saw it like a mist, that rode on "ocean's wind. It soon approached. We saw "the fair. Her white breast heaved with sighs. "The wind was in her loose dark hair: her rosy

mentioned was, is not. at this distance of The most probable opinion is, that it was There is a story concerning a daughter of

*What the Craca here time, easy to determine. one of the Shetland isles. the king of Craca in the sixth book.

"cheek had tears. Daughter of beauty, calm I "said, what sigh is in thy breast? Can I, young " as I am, defend thee, daughter of the sea? My "sword is not unmatched in war, but dauntless is 66 my heart."

"To thee I fly," with sighs she said, "O "prince of mighty men! To thee I fly, chief of "the generous shells, supporter of the feeble hand! "The king of Craca's echoing isle owned me the "sun-beam of his race. Cromla's hills have heard "the sighs of love for unhappy Fainasóllis! So"ra's chief beheld me fair; he loved the daugh"ter of Craca. His sword is a beam of light 86 upon the warrior's side. But dark is his brow; "and tempests are in his soul. I shun him, on "the roaring sea; but Sora's chief pursues.”

"Rest thou," I said, "behind my shield; rest "in peace, thou beam of light! The gloomy chief " of Sora will fly, if Fingal's arm is like his soul. "In some lone cave I might conceal thee, daugh"ter of the sea. But Fingal never flies. Where "the danger threatens, I rejoice in the storm of "spears." I saw the tears upon her cheek. I pitied Craca's fair. Now, like a dreadful wave afar, appeared the ship of stormy Borbar. His masts high-bended over the sea behind their sheets of snow. White roll the waters on either side. The strength of ocean sounds. "Come thou," I said, "from the roar of ocean, thou rider of

"the storm.

Partake the feast within my hall. "It is the house of strangers."

"The maid stood trembling by my side. He "drew the bow. She fell. Unerring is thy hand," I said, "but feeble was the foe. We fought, nor "weak the strife of death. He sunk beneath

my sword." We laid them in two tombs of stone; the hapless lovers of youth! Such have I been in my youth, O Oscar! be thou like the age of Fingal. Never search thou for battle; nor shun it when it comes.

"Fillan and Oscar of the dark-brown hair! ye, that are swift in the race! fly over the heath "in my presence. View the sons of Lochlin. "Far off I hear the noise of their feet, like dis"tant sounds in woods. Go; that they may not

"

fly from my sword, along the waves of the "north. For many chiefs of Erin's race lie here " on the dark bed of death. The children of 66 war are low; the sons of echoing Cromla."

The heroes flew like two dark clouds: two dark clouds that are the chariots of ghosts; when air's dark children come forth to frighten hapless men. It was then that Gaul,* the son of Morni,

• Gaul, the son of Morni, was chief of a tribe that disputed long the pre-eminence with Fingal himself. They were reduced at last to obedience, and Gaul, from an enemy, turned Fingal's best friend and greatest hero. His character is something like that of Ajax in the Iliad ; a hero of more strength than conduct in battle. He was very fond of military fame, and here he demands the next battle to him. self. The poet, by an artifice, removes Fingal, that his return may be the more magnificent.

stood like a rock in night. His spear is glittering to the stars; his voice like many streams.

"Son of battle," cried the chief, “O Fingal, king of shells! let the bards of many songs "sooth Erin's friends to rest. Fingal, sheath "thou thy sword of death; and let thy people

fight. We wither away without our fame; "our king is the only breaker of shields! When "morning rises on our hills, behold, at a distance, our deeds. Let Lochlin feel the sword of "Morni's son; that bards may sing of me.

Such was the custom heretofore of Fingal's noble 46 race. Such was thine own, thou king of swords, "in battles of the spear."

"O son of Morni," Fingal replied, "I glory "in thy fame. Fight; but my spear shall be near, to aid thee in the midst of danger. Raise, "raise the voice, ye sons of song! and lull me "into rest. Here will Fingal lie, amidst the "wind of night. And if thou, Agandecca, art near, among the children of thy land; if thou "sittest on a blast of wind, among the high"shrouded masts of Lochlin; come to my "dreams,* my fair one. Show thy bright face " to my soul."

Many a voice and many a harp, in tuneful sounds arose. Of Fingal's noble deeds they sung; of Fingal's noble race and sometimes, on the lovely sound, was heard the name of Ossian. I

*The poet prepares us for the dream of Fingal in the next book.