mora * glitters in thy hand, fon of the woody Morven! It was the pride of an hundred kings, the death of heroes of old. Yield it, fon of Offian, yield it to car-borne Cairbar.

SHALL I yield, Ofcar replied, the gift of Erin's injured king: the gift of fair-haired Cormac, when Ofcar fcattered his foes? I came to his halls of joy, when Swaran fled from Fingal. Gladness rofe in the face of youth: he gave the fpear of Temora. Nor did he give it to the feeble, O Cairbar, neither to the weak in foul. The darkness of thy face is not a form to me; nor are thine eyes the flames of death. Do I fear thy clanging fhield? Does my foul tremble at Olla's fong? No: Cairbar, frighten thou the feeble; Oscar is like a rock.

AND wilt thou not yield the fpear, replied the rifing pride of Cairbar? Are thy words mighty because Fingal is near, the gray-haired warrior of Morven. He has fought with little men. But he muft vanith before Cairbar, like a thin pillar of mift before the winds of Atha.

WERE he who fought with little men near the chief of Atha: Atha's chief would yield green

* Ti'-mór-ri', the houfe of the great king, the name of the royal palace of the fupreme kings of Ireland.

+ Atha, hallow river: the name of Cairbar's feat in Connaught.

Erin

Erin to avoid his rage. Speak not of the mighty, O Cairbar! but turn thy fword on me. Our ftrength is equal: but Fingal is renowned! the firft of mortal men!

THEIR people faw the darkening chiefs. Their crowding fteps are heard around. Their eyes roll in fire. A thoufand fwords are half unfheathed. Red-haired Olla raised the fong of battle: the trembling joy of Ofcar's foul arose: the wonted joy of his foul when Fingal's horn was heard.

DARK as the fwelling wave of ocean before the rifing winds, when it bends its head near the coaft, came on the host of Cairbar.-Daughter of Toscar *! why that tear? He is not fallen yet. Many were the deaths of his arm before my hero fell !---Behold they fall before my fon like the groves in the defart, when an angry ghoft rushes through night, and takes their green heads in his hand! Morlath falls: Maronnan dies: Conachar trembles in his blood. Cairbar fhrinks before Ofcar's fword; and creeps in darkness behind his ftone. He lifted the spear in fecret, and pierced my Ofcar's fide. He falls forward on his fhield: his knee fuftains the

*The poet means Malvina, the daughter of Tofcar, to whom he addreffed that part of the poem, which related to the death of Ofcar her lover.

chief: but his fpear is in his hand. See gloomy Cairbar falls. The fteel pierced his forehead, and divided his red hair behind. He lay, like a fhattered rock, which Cromla fhakes from its fide. But never more shall Ofcar rife! he leans on his boffy fhield. His fpear is in his terrible hand: Erin's fons ftood distant and dark. Their fhouts arose, like the crowded noise of streams, and Lena echoed around.

FINGAL heard the found; and took his father's fpear. His fteps are before us on the heath. He spoke the words of woe. I hear the noise of battle: and Ofcar is alone. Rise, ye fons of Morven, and join the hero's fword.

OSSIAN rufhed along the heath. Fillan bounded over Lena. Fergus flew with feet of wind. Fingal ftrode in his ftrength, and the light of his shield is terrible. The fons of Erin faw it far diftant; they trembled in their fouls. They knew that the wrath of the king arofe: and they forefaw their death. We first arrived; we fought; and Erin's chiefs withstood our rage.

* The Irish historians place the death of Cairbar, in the latter end of the third century: they fay, he was killed in battle against Ofcar the fon of Offian, but deny that he fell by his hand. As they have nothing to go upon but the traditions of their bards, the tranflator thinks that the account of Offian is as probable: at the worst, it is but oppofing one tradition to another.

But

But when the king came, in the found of his courfe, what heart of fteel could ftand! Erin fled over Lena. Death purfued their flight.

WE faw Ofcar leaning on his fhield. We faw his blood around. Silence darkened on every hero's face. Each turned his back and wept. The king ftrove to hide his tears. His gray beard whistled in the wind. He bends his head over his fon and his words are mixed with fighs.

AND art thou fallen, Ofcar, in the midft of thy courfe? the heart of the aged beats over thee! He fees thy coming battles. He beholds the battles which ought to come, but they are cut off from thy fame. When fhall joy dwell at Selma? When fhall the fong of grief ceafe on Morven? My fons fall by degrees: Fingal fhall be the laft of his race. The fame which I have received fhall pafs away: my age will be without friends. I fhall fit like a grey cloud in my hall: nor fhall I expect the return of a fon, in the midft of his founding arms.

Weep, ye heroes

of Morven! never more fhall Ofcar rife!

AND they did weep, O Fingal; dear was the hero to their fouls. He went out to battle, and the focs vanifhed; he returned, in peace, amidft their joy. No father mourned his fon flain in youth; no brother his brother of love. They

fell,

fell, without tears, for the chief of the people was low! Bran* is howling at his feet: gloomy Luäth is fad, for he had often led them to the chace; to the bounding roes of the defart.

WHEN Ofcar beheld his friends around, his white breast rose with a figh.---The groans, he faid, of my aged heroes, the howling of my dogs, the fudden burfts of the fong of grief, have melted Ofcar's foul. My' foul, that never melted before; it was like the fteel of my fword. ---Offian, carry me to my hills! Raife the ftones of my fame. Place the horn of the deer, and my fword within my narrow dwelling.---The torrent hereafter may wash away the earth of my tomb: the hunter may find the fteel and fay, "This has been Ofcar's fword."

1

AND falleft thou, fon of my fame! And shall I never fee thee, Ofcar! When others hear of their fons, I fhall not hear of thee. The mofs is on the ftones of his tomb, and the mournful wind is there. The battle fhall be fought without him he fhall not purfue the dark-brown hinds. When the warrior returns from battles, and tells of other lands, he will fay, I have feen

* Bran was one of Fingal's dogs.-He was fo remarkable for his fleetness, that the poet, in a piece which is not just now in the tranflator's hands, has given him the fame properties with Virgil's Camilla.

a tomb,