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It was then, by Fingal's hand, a hero fell, to his grief ! Grey-haired he rolled in the dust. He lifted his faiut eyes to the king: “And is it by me " thou hast fallen," said the son of Comhal, e thou friend of Agandecca! I have seen thy tears “ for the maid of my love in the halls of the bloody « Starno! Thou hast been the foe of the foes of

my love, and hast thou fallen by any hand ? & Raise, Ullin, raise the grave of Mathon, and

give his name to Agandecca's song. Dear to "my soul hast thou been, thou darkly-dwelling “ maid of Ardven !"

Cuthullin, from the cave of Cromla, heard the noise of the troubled war. He called to Connal chief of swords ; to Carril of other times. The grey-haired heroes heard his voice. They took their pointed spears. They came, and saw the tide of battle like ocean's crowded waves, when the dark wind blows from the deep, and rolls the billows through the sandy vale! Cuthullin kindled at the sight. Darkness gathered on his brow. His hand is on the sword of his fathers : his red rolling eyes on the foe.

He thrice attempted to rush to battle. He thrice was stopt by Connal. “ Chief of the isle of mist,” he said, “ Fingal sub“ dues the foe. Seek not a part of the fame of “ the king; himself is like the storm!”

“ Then, Carril, go," replied the chief, go “ greet the king of Morven. When Lochlin falls

away like a stream after rain: when the noise of si the battle is past. Then be thy voice sweet in " his ear to praise the king of Selma! Give him " the sword of Caithbat. Cuthullin is not worthy " to lift the arms of his fathers ! Come, O ye "ghosts of the lonely Cromla, ye souls of chiefs " that are no more! be near the steps of Cuthul“ lin; talk to him in the cave of his grief. Never

more shall I be renowned among the mighty in " the land. I ani a beam that has shone; a mist “ that has fled away; when the blast of the morn“ing came, and brightened the shaggy side of the * hill : Connal, talk of arms no more : departed " is my fanie. My sighs shall be on Cromla's “ wind, till ny footsteps cease to be seen. And “ thou, white-bosomed Bragela, mourn over the “ fall of my fame: vanquished, I will never re" turn to thee, thou sun-beam of

my

soul !”

TOL. II,

FINGAL

BOOK V.

ARGUMENT.-CUTHULLIN and Connal still remain

on the hill. Fingaland Swarán meet; the combat is. described. Swaran is overcome, bound and delivered over as a prisoner to the care of Ossian, and Gaul the son of Morni; Fingal, his younger'sons, and Oscar, still pursue the enemy. The episode of Orla, a chief of Lochlin, who was mórtally wounded in the battle, is introduced. Fingal, touched with the death of Orla, orders the pursuit to be discontinued ; and calling his sons together, he is informed that Ryno, the youngest of them, was slain. He laments his death, hears the story of Lamderg and Gelchossa, and returns towards the place where he had left Swaran, Carril, who had been sent by Cuthullin to congratulate Fingal on his victory, comes in the mean time to Ossian. The conversation of the two poets closes the action of the fourth day.

ON Cromla's resounding side Connal spoke to the chief of the noble car. Why that gloom, són of Semo? Our friends are the mighty in fight. Renowned art thou, O warrior! many were the deaths of thy steel. Often has Bragela met, with blue-rolling eyes of joy: often has she met her hero returning in the midst of the valiant, when his sword was red with slaughter, when his foes were silept in the fields of the tomb. Pleasant to her ears were thy bards, when thy deeds arose in song.

But bebold the king of Morven! He moves, below, like a pillar of fire. His strength is like the stream of Lubar, or the wind of the echoing Cromla, when the branchy forests of night are torn from all their rocks. Happy are thy people, O Fingal! thine arm shall finish their wars. Thou art the first in their dangers; the wisest in the days of their peace. Thou speakest, and thy thousands obey : armies tremble at the sound of thy steel. Happy are thy people, © Fingal! king of resounding Selma. Who is that so dark and ter- . rible coming in the thunder of his course? who but Starno's son to meet the king of Morven? Behold the battle of the chiefs! it is the storm of the ocean, when two spirits meet far distant, and contend for the rolling of waves. The hunter hears the noise on his bill. He sees the high billows advancing to Ardver's shore?

Such, were the words of Çonnal when the heroes met in fight. There was the clang of arms! there every blow, like the hundred hammers of the furnace! Terrible is the battle of the kings : dreadful the look of their eyes. Their dark-brown shields are cleft in twain. Their steel flies, broken, from their helms. They fling their weapons down. Each rushes to his hero's grasp: their sinewy, arins bend round each other: they turn from side to side, and strain and stretch their large spreading limbs below. But when the pride of their strength arose, they shook the hill with their heels. Rocks tumble from their places on high; the green-headed bushes are overturned. At length the strength of Swaran fell; the king of the groves is bound. Thus have I seen ou Cona; but Çona I behold no

biore! Thus have I seen two dark hills reinoved from their place by the strength of the bursting stream. They turn from side to side in their fall: their tall oaks meet one another on high. Then they tumble together with all their rocks and trees. The streams are turned by their side. The red ruin is seen afar. . « Sons of distant Morven," said Fingal, "guard “ the king of Lochlin. He is strong as his thou" sand waves.

His hand is taught to war. His race is of the times of old. Gaul, thou first of “ my heroes; Ossian, king of songs, attend. He “ is the friend of Agandecca; raise to joy his “ grief. But, Oscar, Fillan, and Ryno, ye chil“ dren of the race, pursue Lochlin over Lena, “ that no vessel may hereafter bound on the dark“ rolling waves of Inistore.” - They flew sudden across the heath.

He slowly moved, like a cloud of thunder, when the sultry plain of sunımer is silent and dark. His sword is before him as a sun-beain; terrible as the streaming meteor of night. He came toward a chief of Lochlin. He spoke to the son of the wave.-“ Who is that so dark and sad, at the rock of the

roaring stream? He cannot bound over its “ course, How stately is the chief! His bossy “shield is on his side ; bis spear like the tree of “ the desert. Youth of the dark-red hair, art “ thou of the foes of Fingal!"

“I am a son of Lochlin," he cries, “stroog is

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