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mail, and each assume his shield. Stretch every spear over the wave: let every sword be unsheathed. Lathmon is before us with his host; he that fled 3 from Fingal on the plains of Lona. But he returns, like a collected stream, and his roar is between our hills *.

Such were the words of Fingal. We rushed

2 Let each bind on his mail, and each assume his shield.] Par. Lost, vi. 341.

mon.

Let each

His adamantine coat gird well, and each

Fit well his helm, gripe fast his orbed shield.

3 He alludes to a battle wherein Fingal had defeated LathThe occasion of this first war between these heroes, is told by Ossian in another poem, which the translator has seen. MACPHERSON.

The only poem which the translator ever saw, is the Irish ballad of Lammon-more, or The Great Lammon, the original of Lathmon. Having laid Almhuin, where Fingal resided in Ireland, under contribution, Lammon, the son of Nuavor, was attacked at last, on the dun, or fort, of Lammon, by the united forces of the Fions; and, after a desperate engagement, was slain by Oscar. Of this poem, Blair, as usual, obtained the strongest attestations.

4 He returns like a collected stream, and his roar is between bur hills.] From THOMSON'S Winter.

Resistless, roaring, dreadful, down it comes

From the rude mountain,

Till again constrained

Between two mecting hills it bursts away.

into Carmona's bay. Ossian ascended the hill: He thrice struck his bossy shield. The rock of Morven replied; the bounding roes came forth. The foe was troubled in my presence: he collected his darkened host. I stood, like a cloud on the hill, rejoicing in the arms of my youth.

Morni sat beneath a tree, at the roaring waters of Strumon: his locks of age are grey: he leans forward on his staff; young Gaul is near the hero, hearing the battles of his father. Often did he rise, in the fire of his soul, at the mighty deeds of Morni. The aged heard the sound of Ossian's shield: he knew the sign of war. He started at once from his place. His grey hair parted on his back. He remembered the deeds of other years.

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My son," he said to fair-haired Gaul, “I hear the sound of war. The king of Morven is returned, his signals are spread on the wind. Go to the halls of Strumon; bring his arms to Morni. Bring the shield of my father's latter years;

for my arm begins to fail.

Take thou thy ar

mour, O Gaul, and rush to the first of thy battles. Let thine arm reach to the renown of thy fathers. Be thy course in the field, like the eagle's

wing. Why shouldst thou fear death, my son? the valiant fall with fame; their shields turn the dark stream of danger away; renown dwells on their aged hairs. Dost thou not see, O Gaul, how the steps of my age are honoured? Morni moves forth, and the young meet him, with awe 7, and turn their eyes, with silent joy, on his

5 Be thy course in the field like the eagle's wing.] THOмSON's Spring.

Full many a league to sea

He wings his course, and preys on distant isles.

6 The valiant fall with fame: their shields turn the dark stream of danger away.] MACPHERSON's Translation of Tyr

fæus.

He turns the phalanx of the foe to flight,
And rules with martial art the tide of pight;
And when he falls amid the field of fame,

He leaves behind a great and lasting name.

KYMA MAXHE, the tide of fight; converted, in Ossian, into "the dark stream of danger, which the valiant turn away with their shields."

7 Renown dwells on their aged hairs. Dost thou not see how the steps of my age are honoured? Morni moves forth, and the young meet him with reverence.] First edit. Id.

But if the sable hand of death he shun,
Returning victor with his glory won,
By young and old revered his life he'll lead,
And full of honour sink among the dead;
Or with his growing years his fame will grow,
And all shall reverence his head of snow;

course. But I never fled from danger, my son! my sword lightened through the darkness of war. The stranger melted before me; the mighty were blasted in my presence."

Gaul brought the arms to Morni: the aged warrior is covered with steel. He took the spear in his hand, which was stained with the blood of the valiant. He came towards Fingal, his son attended his steps. The son of Comhal arose before him with joy, when he came in his locks

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"Chief of roaring Strumon!" said the rising soul of Fingal, "do I behold thee in "do I behold thee in arms, after thy strength has failed? Often has Morni shone in fight, like the beam of the ascending sun; when he disperses the storms of the hill, and brings peace to the glittering fields. But why didst thou not rest in thine age? Thy renown is in the song. The people behold thee, and bless the departure of mighty Morni. Why didst

The higher place from every youth he bears,

And age shall quit him all his claim of

years.

These imitations, which I have long expected, confirm my opinion, that the Translations from Tyrtæus, in Blacklock's collection, are by Macpherson himself.

thou not rest in thine age! The foe will vanish before Fingal !”.

"Son of Comhal," replied the chief, "the strength of Morni's arm has failed. I attempt to draw the sword of my youth, but it remains in its place. I throw the spear, but it falls short of the mark. I feel the weight of my shield. We decay like the grass of the hill: our strength returns no more 8. I have a son, O Fingal, his soul has delighted in Morni's deeds; but his sword has not been lifted against a foe, neither has his fame begun. I come with him to war; to direct his arm in fight. His renown will be a light to my soul, in the dark hour of my departure. O that the name of Morni were forgot among the people! that the heroes would only say, "Behold the father of Gaul!"

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King of Strumon," Fingal replied, "Gaul shall lift the sword in fight. But he shall lift it before Fingal; my arm shall defend his youth. But rest thou in the halls of Selma, and hear of

8 We decay like the grass of the hill. Our strength returns no more.] As for man, his days are as grass, as a flower of the field so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone, and the place thereof shall know it no more. Psalms, çiii. 15. Infra Oithona, 5. VOL. I.

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