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MORNING coming on, Fingal, after a speech to his people, de

volves the command on Gaul, the son of Morni; it being the custom of the times, that the king should not engage till the necessity of affairs required his superior valour and conduct. The king and Ossian retire to the rock of Cormul, which overlooked the field of battle. The bards sing the war-song. The general conflict is described. Gaul, the son of Morni, distinguishes himself; kills Tur-lathon, chief of Moruth, and other chiefs of lesser name. On the other hand, Foldath, who commanded the Irish army, (for Cathmor, after the example of Fingal, kept himself from battle) fights gallantly; kills Connal, chief of Dun-lora, and advances to engage Gaul himself. Gaul, in the mean time, being wounded in the hand, by a random arrow, is covered by Fillan, the son of Fingal, who performs prodigies of valour. Night comes on. The horn of Fingal recalls his army. The bards meet them, with a congratulatory song, in which the praises of Gaul and Fillan are particularly celebrated. The chiefs sit down at a feast; Fingal misses Connal. The episode of Connal and Duth-caron is introduced; which throws further light on the ancient history of Ireland. Carril is dispatched to raise the tomb of Connal. The action of this book takes up the second day, from the opening of the poen. MacPHERSON.

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Who is that at blue-streaming Lubar? Who, by the bending hill of roes? Tall, he leans on an oak torn from high, by nightly winds. Who but Comhal's son, brightening in the last of his fields ? His


hair is on the breeze. He half unsheaths the sword of Luno. His eyes are turned to Moi-lena, to the dark moving of foes. Dost thou hear the voice of the king ? It is like the bursting of a stream in the desert, when it comes, between its echoing rocks, to the blasted field of the sun'!

' Like the bursting of a stream in the desert, when it comes between its echoing rocks, to the blasted field of the sun.] A simile frequently repeated : From THOMSON's Winter.

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" Wide-skirted comes down the foe! Sons of woody Selma, arise. Be ye like the rocks of our land, on whose brown sides are the rolling of streams. A beam of joy comes on my soul. I see the foe mighty before me. It is when he is feeble, that the sighs of Fingal are heard : lest death should come, without renown, and darkness dwell on his tomb. Who shall lead the war against the host of Alnecma ? It is only when danger grows that my sword shall shine. Such was the custom, heretofore, of Trenmor, the ruler of winds! and thus descended to battle the blue-shielded Trathal !"

The chiefs bend toward the king. Each darkly seems to claim the war. They tell, by halves, their mighty deeds. They turn their eyes on Erin. But far before the rest the son of Morni stands. Silent he stands ; for who had not heard of the battles of Gaul? They rose within his soul. His hand, in secret, seized the sword.

Down it comes
From the rude mountain, and the mossy wild,
Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far ;
Then o'er the sanded valley floating, spreads,
Calm, sluggish, silent; till again constrained
Betwecn two meeting hills, it bursts away.

The sword which he brought from Strumon, when the strength of Morni failed".

Strumon, stream of the hill, the name of the seat of the family of Gaul, in the neighbourhood of Selma. During Gaul's expedition to Tromathon, mentioned in the poem of Oithona, Morni his father died. Morni ordered the sword of Strumon (which had been preserved in the family as a relic, from the days of Colgach, the most renowned of his ancestors) to be laid by his side in the tomb: at the same time, leaving it in charge to his son, not to take it from thence till he was reduced to the last extremity. Not long after, two of his brothers being slain, in battle, by Coldaronnan chief of Clutha, Gaul went to his father's tomb to take the sword. His address to the spirit of the deceased hero, is the only part now remaining, of a poem of Ossian on the subject. I shall here lay it before the reader. First Edition.


BREAKER of echoing shields, whose head is deep in shades, hear me from the darkness of Clora, O son of Colgach, hear !

No rustling, like the eagle's wing, comes over the course 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.

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