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sword. Fergus, bend thy crooked yew. Throw, Fillan, thy lance through heaven. Lift your shields like the darkened moon. Be your spears the meteors of death. Follow me in the path of my fame, and equal my deeds in battle."

As a hundred winds on Morven ; as the streams of a hundred hills; as clouds fly successive over heaven; or, as the dark ocean assaults the shore of the desert: so roaring, so vast, so terrible the armies mixed on Lena's echoing heath.

"In Mora's heath they slept: the surly blast

Of dusky night loud whistling o'er them passed."
-CAMERON'S OSSIAN.

The groan of the people spread over the hills; it was like the thunder of night, when the cloud bursts on Cona, and a thousand ghosts shriek at once on the hollow wind.

Fingal rushed on in his strength, terrible as the spirit of Trenmor, when, in a whirlwind, he comes to Morven to see the children of his pride. The oaks resound on their hills, and the rocks fall down before him. Bloody was the hand of my father when he whirled the lightning of his sword. He remembers the battles of his youth, and 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, and Fillan like the mist of the hill. Myself, like a rock, came down, I exulted in the strength of the king. Many were the deaths of my arm, and dismal was the gleam of my sword. My locks were not then so gray; nor trembled my hands of age. My eyes were not closed in darkness; nor failed my feet in the race.

Who can relate the deaths of the people, or 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, and listened to the tales of 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 aged locks, and his thoughts are of the days of other years. Near him, on his bending spear,

my young, my lovely Oscar stood.

He admired the king of

Morven, and his actions were swelling in his soul.

"Son of my son," begun the king, "O Oscar, pride of youth, I saw the shining of thy sword and gloried in my race. Pursue the glory of our fathers, and be what they have been; when Trenmor lived, the first of men, and Trathal the father of heroes. They fought the battle in their youth, and are the song of bards. O Oscar! bend the strong in arms, 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, and the weak rested behind the lightning of my steel.

"Oscar! I was young like thee, when lovely Fainafóllis came that sunbeam! 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 appeared far off; we saw it like a mist that rode on ocean's blast. It soon approached; we saw the fair. Her white breast heaved with sighs. The wind was in her loose dark hair; her rosy cheek had tears. Daughter of beauty,' calm I said, 'what sigh is in that breast? Can I, young as I am, defend thee, daughter of the sea? My sword is not unmatched in war, but dauntless is my heart.'

"To thee I fly,' with sighs she replied, 'O chief of mighty men ! To thee I fly, chief of shells, supporter of the feeble hand! The king of Craca's echoing isle owned me the sunbeam of his race. And often did the hills of Cromla reply to the sighs of love for the unhappy Fainafóllis. Sora's chief beheld me fair, and loved the daughter of Craca. His sword is like a beam of light upon the warrior's side. But dark is his brow, and tempests are in his soul. I shun him on the rolling sea; but Sora's chief pursues.'

"O king of shells! to thee, distressed, I fly;
Renowned defender of the helpless maid,
Now one in misery implores thy aid."

-CAMERON'S OSSIAN.

"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,

daughter of the sea! But Fingal never flies; for 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 was the strife of death: He sunk beneath my sword. We laid them in two tombs of stones; the unhappy children of youth. Such have I been in my youth, O Oscar; be thou like the age of Fingal. Never seek the battle, nor shun it when it comes.

:

"Such in my youth, O Oscar, have I been;

And when in years resemble Fingal

The battle never seek, yet when it comes
Maintain thy ground."

-SHACKLETON'S OSSIAN.

"Fillan and Oscar of the dark-brown hair; ye children of the race; fly over the heath of roaring winds, and view the sons of Lochlin. Far off I hear the noise of their fear, like the storms of echoing Cona. Go; that they may not fly 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 the storm 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 to frighten hapless men.

It was then that Gaul, the son of Morni, stood like a rock in the 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 soothe Erin's friends to rest. And, Fingal, sheathe thy sword of death, and let thy people fight. We wither away without our fame; for 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 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, sons of the 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 landif thou sittest on a blast of wind among the high-shrouded masts of Lochlin-come to my dreams, my fair one, and 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, and of the noble race of the hero.

"In greatest concert of symphonious sound
Then many a harp and many a sound arose."
-SHACKLETON'S OSSIAN.

And sometimes on the lovely sound was heard the name of the now mournful Ossian.

Often have I fought, and often won in battles of the spear. But blind, and tearful, and forlorn I now walk with little men. O Fingal, with thy race of battle I now behold thee not. The wild roes feed upon the green tomb of the mighty king of Morven. Blest be thy soul, thou king of swords, thou most renowned on the hills of Cona!

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Fingal's Feast-The Song of Peace-Marriage of Trenmor with Inibaca - Grumal - The Hunting Party-Discovery of Cuchullin-His Departure for Scotland.

THE clouds of night come rolling down, and rest on Cromla's dark-brown steep. The stars of the north arise over the rolling of the waves of Ullin; they show their heads of fire through the flying mist of heaven. A distant wind roars in the wood; but silent and dark is the plain of death.

Still on the darkening Lena arose in my ears the tuneful voice of Carril. He sung of the companions of our youth, and the days of former years; when we met on the banks of Lego, and sent round the joy of the shell. Cromla, with its cloudy steeps, answered to his voice. The ghosts of those he sung came in the rustling blasts. They were seen to bend with joy towards the sound of their praise.

Be thy soul blest, O Carril, in the midst of thy eddying winds. O that thou would come to my hall when I am alone by night! And thou dost come, my friend; I hear often thy light hand on my harp when it hangs on the distant wall, and the feeble sound touches my ear. Why dost thou not speak to me in my grief, and tell when I shall behold my friends? But thou passest

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