of ocean, whom all his billows follow, poured valour forth as a stream, rolling his might along the fhöre.

THE fons of Lochlin heard the noife as the found of a winter-ftream. Swaran ftruck his boffy fhield, and called the son of Arno. What murmur rolls along the hill like the gathered flies of evening? The fons of Innis-fail defcend, or ruftling winds roar in the diftant wood. Such is the noife of Gormal before the white tops of my waves arise. O fon of Arno, af cend the hill and view the dark face of the heath.

He went, and trembling, fwift returned. His eyes rolled wildly round. His heart beat high against his fide. His words were faultering, broken, flow.

RISE, fon of ocean, rife chief of the darkbrown fhields. I fee the dark, the mountainftream of the battle: the deep-moving ftrength of the fons of Erin.The car, the car of battle comes, like the flame of death; the rapid car of Cuchullin, the noble fon of Semo. It bends behind like a wave near a rock; like the golden mift of the heath. Its fides are emboffed with ftones, and fparkle like the fea round the

boat

boat of night. Of polished yew is its beam, and its feat of the fmootheft bone.

The fides are replenished with fpears; and the bottom is the footstool of heroes. Before the right fide of the car is seen the fnorting horse. The highmaned, broad-breafted, proud, high-leaping, ftrong fteed of the hill. Loud and refounding is his hoof; the fpreading of his mane above is like that ftream of smoke on the heath. Bright are the fides of the fteed, and his name is SulinSifadda.

BEFORE the left fide of the car is feen the fnorting horfe. The dark-maned, high-headed, ftrong-hooffed, fleet, bounding fon of the hill: his name is Dufronnal among the ftormy fons of the fword.A thousand thongs bind the car on high. Hard polifhed bits fhine in a wreath of foam. Thin thongs bright-ftudded with gems, bend on the ftately necks of the fteeds. The fteeds that like wreaths of mist fly over the ftreamy vales. The wildness of deer is in their course, the ftrength of the eagle defcending on her prey. Their noife is like the blaft of winter on the fides of the fnow-headed Gormal *.

WITHIN the car is feen the chief; the ftrong ftormy fon of the fword; the hero's name is Cuchullin, fon of Semo king of fhells. His red cheek is like my polished yew. The look of his blue-rolling eye is wide beneath the dark arch of his brow. His hair flies from his head like a flame, as bending forward he wields the fpear. Fly, king of ocean, fly; he comes, like a ftorm, along the ftreamy vale.

WHEN did I fly, replied the king, from the battle of many fpears? When did I fly, fon of Arno, chief of the little foul? I met the ftorm of Gormal when the foam of my waves was high; I met the ftorm of the clouds and fhall I fly from a hero? Were it Fingal himself my foul fhould not darken before him.-Rife to the battle, my thousands; pour round me like the echoing main. Gather round the bright frong as the rocks of my land; that meet the ftorm with joy, and stretch their dark woods to the wind.

fteel of your king

S

As autumn's dark ftorms pour from two echoing hills, towards each other approached

the

* The reader may compare this paffage with a fimilar one in Homer. Iliad. 4. v. 446.

Now fhield with fhield, with helmet heimet clos'd,
To armour armour, lance to lance oppos'd,

Hoft

the heroes.——As two dark ftreams from high rocks meet, and mix and roar on the plain; loud, rough and dark in battle meet Lochlin and Innis-fail. Chief mixed his ftrokes with chief, and man with man, fteel, clanging, founded on fteel, helmets are cleft on high. Blood burfts and fmoaks around.--Strings. twang on the polifhed yews. Darts rush along the fky. Spears fall like the circles of light that gild the ftormy face of night.

As the troubled noife of the ocean when roll the waves on high; as the laft peal of the thunder of heaven, fuch is the noife of battle. Though Cormac's hundred bards were there to give the war to fong; feeble were the voices of a hundred bards to fend the deaths to future times. For many were the falls of the heroes; and wide poured the blood of the valiant.

Hoft against hoft, with fhadowy fquadrons drew,
The founding darts in iron tempefts flew ;
With ftreaming blood the flipp'ry fields are dy'd,
And flaughter'd heroes fwell the dreadful tide.
Statius has very happily imitated Homer.
Jam clypeu, clypeis, umbone repellitur umbo,
Enfe minax enfis, pede pes, & cufpide cufpis, &c.
Arms on armour crashing, bray'd

Horrible difcord, and the madding wheels
Of brazen chariots rag'd, &c.

C 2

POPE

MILTON.

MOURN,

MOURN, ye fons of fong, the death of the noble Sithallin *.--Let the fighs of Fiona rife on the dark heaths of her lovely Ardan. They fell, like two hinds of the defart, by the hands of the mighty Swaran; when, in the midft of thousands he roared; like the fhrill fpirit of a ftorm, that fits dim, on the clouds of Gormal, and enjoys the death of the mariner.

NOR flept thy hand by thy fide, chief of the ifle of mist; many were the deaths of thine arm, Cuchullin, thou fon of Semo. His fword was like the beam of heaven when it pierces the fons of the vale; when the people are blafted and fall, and all the hills are burning around.

Dufronnal fnorted over the bodies of heroes; and Sifadda || bathed his hoof in blood. The battle lay behind them as groves overturned on the defart of Cromla; when the blaft has paffed the heath laden with the spirits of night.

* Sithallin fignifies a handsome man ;-Fiöna, a fair maid ;and Ardan, pride.

The Ifle of Sky; not improperly called the isle of mifl, as its high hills, which catch the clouds from the western ocean, occafion almoft continual rains.

One of Cuchullin's horfes. Dubhftrong gheal.
Sith fadda, i. e. a long stride.

WEEP