TEMORA.

BOOK VI.

ARGUMENT-THIS book opens with a speech of Fingal, who sees Cathmor descending to the assistance of his flying army. The king dispatches Ossian to the relief of Fillan. He himself retires behind the rock of Cormul, to avoid the sight of the engagement between his son and Cathmor. Ossian advances. The descent of Cathmor described. He rallies the army, renews the battle, and before Ossian could arrive, engages Fillan himself. Upon the approach of Ossian, the combat between the two heroes ceases. Ossian and Cathmor prepare to fight, but night coming on, prevents them. Ossian returns to the

place where Cathmor and Fillan fought. He finds Fillan mortally wounded, and leaning against a rock. Their discourse. Fillan dies: his body is laid, by Ossian, in a neighbouring cave. The Caledonian army return to Fingal. He questions them about his son, and understanding that he was killed, retires, in silence, to the rock of Cormul. Upon the retreat of the army of Fingal, the Firbolg advance. Cathmor finds Bran, one of the dogs of Fingal, lying on the shield of Fillan, before the entrance of the cave, where the body of that hero lay. His reflections thereupon. He returns, in a melancholy mood to his army. Malthos endeavours to comfort him, by the example of his father Borbar-duthul. Cathmor retires to rest. The song of Sul-malla concludes the book, which ends about the middle of the third night, from the opening of the poem.

“CATHMOR* rises on his hill!

Shall Fingal

"take the sword of Luno? But what should be་ come of thy fame, son of white bosomed Clatho? "Turn not thine eyes from Fingal, fair daughter "of Inistore. I shall not quench thy early beam. "It shines along my soul. Rise, wood-skirted "Mora, rise between the war and me! Why * Fingal speaks.

"should Fingal behold the strife, lest his dark66 haired warrior should fall! Amidst the song, "Carril, pour the sound of the trembling harp! "Here are the voices of rocks! and there the bright tumbling of waters. Father of Oscar, lift the "spear! Defend the young in arms. Conceal "thy steps from Fillan.

"that I doubt his steel.

He must not know

No cloud of mine shall

"rise, my son, upon thy soul of fire!

He sunk behind his rock, amid the sound of Carril's song. Brightening in my growing soul, I took the spear of Temora.* I saw, along Moilena, the wild tumbling of battle; the strife of death, in gleaming rows, disjoined and broken round. Fillan is a beam of fire. From wing to wing is his wasteful course. The ridges of war melt before him. They are rolled, in smoke, from the fields!

He

Now is the coming forth of Cathmor, in the armour of kings! Dark waves the eagle's wing, above his helmet of fire. Unconcerned are his steps, as if they were to the chase of Erin. raises at times his terrible voice. Erin, abashed, gathers round. Their souls return back, like a stream. They wonder at the steps of their fear. He rose, like the beam of the morning, on a haunted heath; the traveller looks back, with

* The spear of Temora was that which Oscar had received, in a present, from Cormac, the son of Artho, king of Ireland. It was of it that Cairbar made the pretext for quarrelling with Oscar, at the feast, in the first book.

bending eye, on the field of dreadful forms! Sudden, from the rock of Moi-lena, are Sul-malla's trembling steps. An oak takes the spear from her hand. Half bent she looses the lance. But

then are her eyes on the king, from amid her wandering locks! No friendly strife is before thee! No light contending of bows, as when the youth of Inis-huna, came forth beneath the eye of Conmor!

As the rock of Runo, which takes the passing clouds as they fly, seems growing, in gathered darkness, over the streamy heath; so seems the chief of Atha taller, as gather his people around. As different blasts fly over the sea, each behind its dark-blue wave; so Cathmor's words, on every side, pour his warriors forth. Nor silent on his hill is Fillan. He mixes his words with his echoing shield. An eagle he seemed, with sounding wings, calling the wind to his rock, when he sees the coming forth of the roes, on Lutha's† rushy field!

Now they bend forward in battle. Death's hundred voices arise. The kings, on either side, were like fires on the souls of the hosts. Ossian

* Cluba, winding bay; an arm of the sea in Inis-huna, or the western coast of South-Britain. It was in this bay that Cathmor was wind-bound when Sul-malla came, in the disguise of a young warrior, to accompany him in his voyage to Ireland. Conmor, the father of Sul-malla, as is insinuated at the close of the fourth book, was dead before the departure of his daughter.

There dwelt Tosear

Lutha was the name of a valley in Morven. the son of Conloch, the father of Malvina, who, upon that account, is often called the maid of Lutha. Lutha signifies swift stream.

bounded along. High rocks and trees rush tall between the war and me. But I hear the noise of steel, between my clanging arms. Rising, gleaming on the hill, I behold the backward steps, on either side, and wildly-looking eyes. The chiefs were met in dreadful fight! The two blue-shielded kings! Tall and dark, through gleams of steel, are seen the striving heroes! I rush. My fears for Fillan fly, burning, across my soul.

I come. Nor Cathmor flies; nor yet comes on; he sidelong stalks along. An icy rock, cold, tall, he seems. I call forth all my steel. Silent awhile we stride, on either side of a rushing stream: then, sudden turning, all at once, we raise our pointed spears! We raise our spears, but night comes down. It is dark and silent round; but where the distant steps of hosts are sounding over the heath!

I come to the place where Fillan fought. Nor voice nor sound is there. A broken helmet lies on earth, a buckler cleft in twain. Where, Fillan, where art thou, young chief of echoing Morven? He hears me leaning on a rock, which bends its grey head over the stream. He hears; but sullen dark he stands. At length I saw the hero!

"Why standest thou, robed in darkness, son "of woody Selma? Bright is thy path, my bro“ther, in this dark-brown field! Long has been "thy strife in battle! Now the horn of Fingal

" is heard. Ascend to the cloud of thy father, "to his hill of feasts. In the evening mist he "sits, and hears the sound of Carril's barp. "Carry joy to the aged, young breaker of the "shields!"

"Can the vanquished carry joy? Ossian, no "shield is mine! It lies broken on the fields. "The eagle-wing of my helmet is torn. It is "when foes fly before them, that fathers delight "in their sons. But their sighs burst forth, in "secret, when their young warriors yield. No: "Fillan shall not behold the king! Why should "the hero mourn!

"Son of blue-eyed Clatho! O Fillan, awake "not my soul! Wert thou not a burning fire "before him? Shall he not rejoice? Such fame "belongs not to Ossian; yet is the king still a & sun to me. He looks on my steps with joy. "Shadows never rise on his face. Ascend, O "Fillan, to Mora! His feast is spread in the "folds of mist."

"Ossian! give me that broken shield: these "feathers that are rolled in the wind. Place "them near to Fillan, that less of his fame may "fall. Ossian, I begin to fail. Lay me in that "hollow rock. Raise no stone above, lest one "should ask about my fame. I am fallen in the "first of my fields, fallen without renown. Let "thy voice alone send joy to my flying soul.