the narrow Plain. A Tree stands alone on the Hill, and marks the Grave of Connal. The Leaves whirl round with the Wind, and ftrew the Grave of the Dead. At Times are seen here the Ghosts of the deceased, when the mufing Hunter alone ftalks flowly over the Heath. Appear in thy Armour of Light, thou Ghost of the mighty Connal! Shine, near thy Tomb, Crimora! like a Moon-beam from a Cloud.

Who can reach the Source of thy Race, O Connal? and who recount thy Fathers? Thy Family grew like an Oak on the Mountain, which meeteth the Wind with its lofty Head. But now it is torn from the Earth. Who fhall supply the Place of Connal?

Here was the Din of Arms; and here the Groans of the dying. Mournful are the Wars of Fingal! O Connal! it was here thou didst fall. Thine Arm was like a Storm; thy Sword a Beam of the Sky; thy Height, a Rock on the Plain; thine Eyes, a Furnace of Fire. Louder than a Storm was thy Voice, when thou confoundeft the Field. Warriors fell by thy Sword, as the Thiftle by the Staff of a Boy.

Dargo the mighty came on, like a Cloud of Thunder. His Brows were contracted and dark. His Eyes like two Caves in a Rock. Bright rose their Swords on each Side; dire was the Clang of their Steel.

The

The Daughter of Rinval was near; Crimora, bright in the Armour of Man; her Hair loose behind, her Bow in her Hand. She followed the Youth to the War, Connal her much-beloved. She drew the String on Dargo; but erring pierced her Cannal. He falls like an Oak on the Plain; like a Rock from the fhaggy Hill. What shall she do, hapless Maid— He bleeds; her Connal dies. All the Night long fhe cries, and all the Day, O Connal, my Love, and my Friend! With Grief the fad Mourner died.

Earth here enclofeth the lovelieft Pair on the Hill. The Grafs grows between the Stones of their Tomb; I fit in the mournful Shade. TheWind fighs through the Grafs; and their Memory rushes on my Mind. Undisturbed you now fleep together; in the Tomb of the Mountain you rest alone.

FRAGMENT

VI.

SON of the noble Fingal, Ofcian Prince of Men! what Tears run down the Cheeks of

Age? what fhades thy mighty Soul?

Memory, Son of Alpin, Memory wounds the Aged. Of former Times are my Thoughts; my Thoughts are of the noble Fingal. the King return into my Mind, with Remembrance.

The Race of and wound me

One Day, returned from the Sport of the Mountains, from pursuing the Sons of the Hill, we covered this Heath with our Youth. Fingal the mighty was here, and Ofcur, my Son, great in War. Fair on our Sight from the Sea, at once, a Virgin came. Her Breaft was like the Snow of one Night. Her Cheek like the Bud of the Rofe. Mild was her blue rolling Eye But Sorrow was big in her Heart.

Fingal renowned in War! fhe cries, Sons of the King, preferve me! Speak fecure, replies the King, Daughter of Beauty, speak: our Ear is open to all: Our Swords redrefs the injured. I fly from Ullin, fhe cries, from Ullin famous in War. 1 fly from the Embrace of him who would debafe my Blood, Cremor, the Friend of Men, was my Father; Cremor the Prince of Inverne.

Fingal's younger Sons arofe; Carryl expert in the Bow; Fillan beloved of the Fair; and Fergus firft in the Race.-Who from the fartheft Lochlyn? who to the Seas of Molochafquir? Who dares hurt the Maid whom the Sons of Fingal guard? Daughter of Beauty, reft fecure; reft in Peace, thou faireft of Women.

Far in the blue Diftance of the Deep, fome Spot appeared like the Back of the Ridge-way. But foon the Ship increased on our Sight. The Hand of Ullin drew her to Land. The Mountain trembled as he moved. The Hills fhook at his Steps. Dire rattled his. Armour around him. Death and Destruction were in

his Eyes. His Stature like the Oak of Morven. He moved in the Lightning of Steel.

Our Warriors fell before him, like the Field before the Reapers. Fingal's three Sons he bound. He plunged his Sword into the Fair-one's Breaft. She fell as a Wreath of Snow before the Sun inSpring. Her Bofom heaved in Death; her Soul came forth in Blood.

Ofcur my Son came down; the mighty in Battle defcended. His Armour rattled as Thunder; and the Lightning of his Eyes was terrible. There, was the clashing of Swords; there, was the Voice of Steel. They ftruck and they thurft; they digged for Death with their Swords. But Death was distant far, and delayed to come. The Sun began to decline; and the Cow-herd thought of Home. Then Ofcur's keen Steel found the Heart of Ullin. He fell like a Mountain-Oak covered over with gliftering Froft He fhone like a Rock on the Plain.-Here the Daughter of Beauty lieth; and here the braveft of Men. Here one Day ended the Fair and the Valiant. Here reft the Purfuer and the Purfued.

Son of Alpin! the Woes of the Aged are many, Their Tears are for the paft. This raifed my Sorrow, Warrior; Memory awaked my Grief, Ofcur my Son was Brave; but Ofcur is now no more. Thou hast heard my Grief, O Son of Alpin; forgive the Tears of the aged.

FRAGME MT VII.

WHY openest thou afresh the Spring of my Grief, O Son of Alpin, inquiring how Ofcur fell? My Eyes are blind with Tears; but Memory beams on my Heart. How can I relate the mournful Death of the Head of the People! Prince of the Warriors, Ofcur, my Son, fhall Į fee thee no more!

He fell as the Moon in a Storm; as the Sun from the Midft of his Course, when Clouds rife from the Waste of the Waves, when the Blackness of the Storm inwraps the Rocks of Ardannider. I like an ancient Oak on Morvan, I moulder alone in my Place. The Blaft hath lopped my Branches away; and I tremble at the Wings of the North, Prince of the Warriors, Ofcur, my Son! fhall I fee thee no more!

Dermid and Ofcur were one: They reaped the Battle together. Their Friendship was ftrong as their Steel; and Death walked between them to the Field. They came on the Foe like two Rocks falling from the Brows of Ardven. Their Swords were ftained with the Blood of the Valiant: Warriors fainted at their Names. Who was a Match for Ofcur, but Dermid? and who for Dermid, but Ofcur?

They killed mighty Dargo in the Field; Darga before invincible. His Daughter was fair as the Morn