bards' though his soul was dark.

length, the noble Cathmor came.

Long had we pined alone : at
He heard our voice from the

cave; he turned the eye of his wrath on Cairbar.

"Chief of Atha!' he said, 'how long wilt thou pain my soul? Thy heart is like the rock of the desert, and thy thoughts are dark. But thou art the brother of Cathmor, and he But Cathmor's soul is not like thine, thou The light of my bosom is stained with thy They may say,

will fight thy battles. feeble hand of war!

:

deeds the bards will not sing of my renown. "Cathmor was brave, but he fought for gloomy Cairbar." They will pass over my tomb in silence: my fame shall not be heard. Cairbar! loose the bards: they are the sons of other times. Their voice shall be heard in other years, after the kings of Temora have failed. We came forth at the words of the chief. We saw him in his strength. He was like thy youth, O Fingal, when thou first didst lift the spear. His face was like the plain of the sun when it is bright: no darkness travelled over his brow. But he came with his thousands to Ullin; to aid the red-haired Cairbar and now he comes to revenge his death, O king of woody Morven.'

"And let him come," replied the king; "I love a foe like Cathmor. His soul is great; his arm is strong, his battles are full of fame. But the little soul is a vapor that hovers round the marshy lake it never rises on the green hill, lest the winds should meet it there: its dwelling is in the cave, it sends forth the dart of death. Our young heroes, O warriors, are like the renown of our fathers. They fight in youth; they fall: their names are in the song. Fingal is amidst his darkening years. Near

He must not fall, as an aged oak, across a secret stream.

it are the steps of the hunter, as it lies beneath the wind. How has that tree fallen? He, whistling, strides along.

"Raise the song of joy, ye bards of Morven, that our souls may forget the past. The red stars look on us from the clouds,

and silently descend.

"That our sad souls may forget the past,

Ye bards of Morven raise the song of joy,

Down from the clouds on us red look the stars."

-SHACKLETON'S OSSIAN.

1 The persons of the bards were so sacred, that even he, who had just mur

dered his sovereign, feared to kill them.

Soon shall the gray beam of the morning rise, and show us the foes of Cormac. Fillan take the spear of the king; go to Mora's dark-brown side. Let thine eyes travel over the heath, like flames of fire. Observe the foes of Fingal, and the course of generous Cathmor. I hear a distant sound, like the falling of rocks in the desert. But strike thou thy shield, at times, that they may not come through night, and the fame of Morven cease. I begin to be alone, my son, and I dread the fall of my renown.”

The voice of the bards arose. The king leaned on the shield of Trenmor. Sleep descended on his eyes; his future battles rose in his dreams. The host are sleeping around. Dark-haired Fillan observed the foe. His steps are on a distant hill: ve hear, at times, his clanging shield.

"Whilst on a lonely distant heath he treads,

We hear at times the clangor of his shield."

-SHACKLETON'S OSSIAN.

Lament for Malvina-Fingal's Voyage to Lochlin-He
Touches at Berrathon-Friendship of Larthmor
-Uthal-Nina-thoma-Her Imprisonment-
Ossian and Toscar Defeat Uthal-Nina-
thoma Released-Her Death-
Ossian Foretells His

Death.

Ber-rath'on.

BEND thy blue course, Q stream, round the narrow plain of Lutha.1 Let the green woods hang over it from their mountains and the sun look on it at noon. The thistle is there on its rock, and shakes its beard to the wind. The flower hangs its heavy head, waving, at times, to the gale. "Why dost thou awake me, O gale," it seems to say; "I am covered with the drops of heaven. The time of my fading is near, and the blast that shall scatter my leaves. To-morrow shall the traveller come, he that saw me in my beauty shall come; his eyes will search the field, but they will not find me! So shall they search in vain for the voice of Cona, after it has failed in the field. The hunter shall come forth in the morning, and the voice of my harp shall not be heard. "Where is the son of car-borne Fingal ?" The tear will be on his cheek. Then come thou, O

Malvina, with all thy music, come; lay Ossian in the plain of Lutha let his tomb rise in the lovely field.

Malvina where art thou with thy songs with the soft sound of thy steps? Son' of Alpin, art thou near? where is the daughter of Toscar? "I passed, O son of Fingal, by Tarlutha's mossy walls. The smoke of the hall was ceased: silence was among the trees of the hill. The voice of the chase was over. I saw the daughters of the bow. I asked about Malvina, but they answered not. They turned their faces away thin darkness covered their beauty. They were like stars, on a rainy hill, by night, each looking faintly through her mist."

Pleasant be thy rest, O lovely beam! soon hast thou set on our hills! The steps of thy departure were stately, like the moon on the blue, trembling wave. But thou hast left us in darkness, first of the maids of Lutha! We sit, at the rock, and there is no voice; no light but the meteor of fire! Soon hast thou set, Malvina, daughter of generous Toscar! But thou risest like the beam of the east, among the spirits of thy friends, where they sit in their stormy halls, the chambers of the thunder. A cloud hovers over Cona: its blue curling sides are high. The winds are beneath it, with their wings; within it is the dwelling of Fingal.

There the hero sits in darkness; his airy spear is in his hand. His shield, half covered with clouds, is like the darkened moon; when one half still remains in the wave, and the other looks sickly on the field.

His friends sit around the king, on mist, and hear the songs of Ullin: he strikes the half-viewless harp, and raises the feeble voice.

"Seated on mist his friends are round the king,

And hear the aged Ullin of the song,

The soft, half-viewless harp, he gently strikes,
And raises the weak voice."

-DAVIDSON'S OSSIAN.

The lesser heroes, with a thousand meteors, light the airy hall. Malvina rises, in the midst; a blush is on her cheek.

1 Tradition has not handed down the name of this son of Alpin. His father was one of Fingal's principal bards, and he appears himself to have had a poetical genius.

She beholds the unknown faces of her fathers, and turns aside her humid eyes. "Art thou come so soon," said Fingal, "daughter of generous Toscar? Sadness dwells in the halls of Lutha. My aged son is sad. I hear the breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy locks. It comes to the hall, but thou art not there; its voice is mournful among the arms of thy fathers. Go with thy rustling wing, O breeze! and sigh on 'Malvina's tomb. It rises yonder beneath the rock, at the blue stream of Lutha. The maids' are departed to their place, and thou alone, O breeze, mourneth there."

But who comes from the dusky west, supported on a cloud? A smile is on his gray, watery face; his locks of mist fly on the wind he bends forward on his airy spear; it is thy father, Malvina ! "Why shinest thou, so soon, on our clouds," he says, "O lovely light of Lutha? But thou wert sad, my daughter, for thy friends were passed away. The sons of little men were in the hall, and none remained of the heroes, but Ossian, king

And dost thou remember Ossian, car-borne Toscar, son of Conloch? The battles of our youth were many; our swords went together to the field. They saw us coming like two falling rocks, and the sons of the stranger fled. "There come the warriors of Cona," they said; "their steps are in the paths of the vanquished." Draw near, son of Alpin, to the song of the aged. The actions of other times are in my soul: my memory beams on the days that are past. On the days of the mighty Toscar, when our path was in the deep. Draw near, son of Alpin, to the last sound of the voice of Cona.

The king of Morven commanded, and I raised my sails to the wind. Toscar, chief of Lutha, stood at my side as I rose on the dark-blue wave. Our course was to sea-surrounded Berrathon, the isle of many storms. There dwelt, with his locks of age, the stately strength of Larthmor. Larthmor who spread the feast of shells to Comhal's mighty son, when he went to Starno's halls, in the days of Agandecca. But when the chief was old, the pride of his son arose, the pride of fair-haired Uthal, the love of a thousand maids. He bound the aged Larthmor, and dwelt in his sounding halls.

1 That is, the young virgins who sung the funeral elegy over her tomb.