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On his spear leans Fillan of Selma, in the wandering of his locks. Thrice he raises his

of my streams. Deep bosomed in the midst of the desert, O king of Strumon, hear!

Dwellest thou in the shadowy breeze, that pours its dark wave over the grass? Cease to strew the beard of the thistle; O chief of Clora, hear!

Or ridest thou on a beam, amidst the dark trouble of clouds? Pourest thou the loud wind on seas, to roll their blue waves over isles? Hear me, father of Gaul; amidst thy terrors, hear!

The rustling of eagles is heard, the murmuring oaks shake their heads on the hills: dreadful and pleasant is thy approach, friend of the dwelling of heroes.

MORNI.

Who awakes me, in the midst of my cloud, where my locks of mist spread on the winds Mixed with the noise of streams, why rises the voice of Gaul?

GAUL.

My foes are around me, Morni: their dark ships descend from their waves. Give the sword of Strumon; that beam which thou hidest in thy night.

MORNI.

Take the sword of resounding Strumon: I look on thy war, my son; I look, a dim meteor, from my cloud. Blueshielded Gaul, destroy.

d Clatho was the daughter of Cathulla, king of Inistore. Fingal, in one of his expeditions to that island, fell in love with Clatho, and took her to wife, after the death of Roscrana, the daughter of Cormac, king of Ireland.

Clatho was the mother of Ryno, Fillan, and Bosmina,

eyes to Fingal: his voice thrice fails him as he speaks. My brother could not boast of battles: at once he strides away. Bent over a distant stream he stands: the tear hangs in his eye. He strikes, at times, the thistle's head, with his inverted spear. Nor is he unseen of Fingal. Sidelong he beholds his son. He beholds him, with bursting joy; and turns, amid his crowded soul. In silence turns the king toward Mora of woods. He hides the big tear with his locks. At length his voice is heard.

، First of the sons of Morni! Thou rock that defiest the storm! Lead thou my battle, for the race of low-laid Cormac. No boy's staff is thy spear: no harmless beam of light thy sword. Son of Morni of steeds, behold the foe! Destroy! Fillan, observe the chief! He is not calm in strife : nor burns he, heedless, in battle. My son, observe the chief! He is strong as Lubar's stream, but never foams and roars. High on cloudy Mora, Fingal shall behold the war. Stand, Ossian, near thy father, by the falling stream. Raise the voice, O bards! Selma, move

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mentioned in the Battle of Lora. Fillan is often called the son of Clatho, to distinguish him from those sons which Fingal had by Ros-crana.

e Ullin being sent to Morven with the 'body of Oscar, Ossian attends his father, in quality of chief bard.

beneath the sound. It is my latter field. Clothe it over with light."

As the sudden rising of winds; or distant rolling of troubled seas, when some dark ghost, in wrath, heaves the billows over an isle; an isle, the seat of mist, on the deep, for many dark-brown years! So terrible is the sound of the host, wide-moving over the field. Gaul is tall before them. The streams glitter within his strides. The bards raise the song by his side. He strikes his shield between. On the skirts of the blast, the tuneful voices rise.

"On Crona," said the bards, "there bursts a stream by night. It swells in its own dark course, till morning's early beam. Then comes it white from the hill, with the rocks and their hundred groves. Far be my steps from Crona. Death is tumbling there. Be ye a stream from Mora; sons of cloudy Morven !"

"Who rises, from his car, on Clutha? The hills are troubled before the king! The dark woods echo round, and lighten at his steel. See him amidst the foe, like Colgach's sportful

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f There are some traditions, but, I believe, of late invention, that this Colgach was the same with the Galgacus of Tacitus. He was the ancestor of Gaul, the son of Morni, and appears, from some really ancient traditions, to have been King, or Vergobret, of the Caledonians; and hence proceeded the pretensions of the family of Morni to the throne, which

ghost; when he scatters the clouds, and rides the eddying winds! It is Morni of bounding steeds! Be like thy father, O Gaul!"

"Selma is opened wide. Bards take the trembling harps. Ten youths bear the oak of the feast. A distant sun-beam marks the hill. The dusky waves of the blast fly over the fields of grass. Why art thou silent, O Selma? The king returns with all his fame. Did not the battle roar? Yet peaceful is his brow? It roared, and Fingal overcame. Be like thy father, O

Fillan!"

They move beneath the song. High wave their arms, as rushy fields, beneath autumnal

created a good deal of disturbance, both to Comhal and his son Fingal. The first was killed in battle, by that tribe; and it was after Fingal was grown up, that they were reduced to obedience. Colgach signifies fiercely-looking, which is a very proper name for a warrior, and is probably the origin of Galgacus; though I believe it a matter of mere conjecture, that the Colgach here mentioned was the same with that hero. I cannot help observing, that the song of the bards is conducted with propriety. Gaul, whose experience might have rendered his conduct cautious in war, has the example of his father, just rushing to battle, set before his eyes. Fillan, on the other hand, whose youth might make him impetuous and unguarded in action, is put in mind of the sedate and serene behaviour of Fingal upon like occasions.

The expedition of Morni to Clutha, alluded to here, is handed down in tradition.

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winds. On Mora stands the king in arms. Mist flies round his buckler abroad; as, aloft it hung on a bough, on Cormul's mossy rock. In silence I stood by Fingal, and turned my eyes on Cromla's wood; lest I should behold the host, and rush amid my swelling soul. My foot is forward, on the heath. I glittered, tall, in steel like the falling stream of Tromo, which nightly winds bind over with ice. The boy sees it, on high, gleaming to the early beam: toward it he turns his ear, and wonders why it is so silent!

Nor bent over a stream is Cathmor, like a youth in a peaceful field. Wide he drew forward the war, a dark and troubled wave. But when he beheld Fingal on Mora, his generous pride arose. "Shall the chief of Atha fight, and no king in the field? Foldath, lead my people forth. Thou art a beam of fire."

Forth issues Foldath of Moma, like a cloud, the robe of ghosts. He drew his sword, a flame, from his side. He bade the battle move. The

tribes, like ridgy waves, dark pour their strength around. Haughty is his stride before them.

The mountain Cromla was in the neighbourhood of the scene of this poem; which was nearly the same with that of Fingal.

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