terrible course of a stream! It is the son of Ossian, bright between his locks! His long hair falls on his back. His dark brows are half-inclosed in steel. His sword hangs loose on his his dark face to the ground; the king of spears is sad! It is Usnoth, O Cairbar! coming to revenge his sons. He sees green Ullin with tears, and remembers the tombs of his children. But far before the rest the son of Ossian comes, bright in the smiles of youth, fair as the first beams of the sun. His long hair falls on his back. His dark brows are half hid beneath his helmet of steel," &c. Ipse ante alios pulcherrimus omnes. Eneid, iv. 141. But far above the rest in beauty shines The great Æneas, when the troop he joins : Of wintry Xanthus and the Lycian coast.- A golden fillet binds his awful brows. His quiver sounds. His "Like fair Apollo, when he leaves the frost of wintry Xanthus,” &c.; or, "Fair as the first beams of the sun. His long hair falls on his back. His brows are half inclosed with steel. sword hangs loose by his side." In this description of the Celtic Apollo, the first design was to connect the poem with Darthula and the Children of Usnoth, which immediately preceded this book in the collection of lesser poems annexed to Fingal. When the Temora, however, was published entire, the first part of the passage was expunged, and the latter altered; as the translator, in the course of composition, had either forgotten old Usnoth, or had found no opportunity to introduce him and Fergus again into the poem. side. His spear glitters as he moves. I fled from his terrible eyes, king of high Temora !" "Then fly, thou feeble man," said Foldath's gloomy wrath. "Fly to the grey streams of thy land, son of the little soul! Have not I seen that Oscar? I beheld the chief in war. He is of the mighty in danger: but there are others who lift the spear. Erin has many sons as brave, king of Temora of groves! Let Foldath meet him in his strength. Let me stop this mighty stream. My spear is covered with blood. My shield is like the wall of Tura!" "Shall Foldath alone meet the foe?" replied the dark-browed Malthos. "Are they not numerous on our coast, like the waters of many streams? Are not these the chiefs, who vanquished Swaran, when the sons of green Erin fled? Shall Foldath meet their bravest hero? Foldath of the heart of pride! take the strength of the people! and let Malthos come. My sword is red with slaughter; but who has heard my words !" "Sons of green Erin," said Hidalla, "let not Fingal hear your words. The foe might rejoice, and his arm be strong in the land. Ye are brave, Ye are, O warriors! Ye are tempests in war. like storms, which meet the rocks without fear, and overturn the woods. But let us move in our strength, slow as a gathered cloud! Then shall the mighty tremble; the spear shall fall from the hand of the valiant. We see the cloud of death, they will say, while shadows fly over their face. Fingal will mourn in his age. He shall behold his flying fame. The steps of his chiefs will cease in Morven, The moss of years shall grow in Selma." Cairbar heard their words, in silence, like the cloud of a shower: it stands dark on Cromla, till the lightning bursts its side. The valley gleams with heaven's flame; the spirits of the storm rejoice. So stood the silent king of Temora ; at length his words broke forth. "Spread the feast on Moi-lena. Let my hundred bards attend. Thou, red-haired Olla, take the harp of the king. 8 The spirits of the storm rejoice.] "The angry spirit of the waters shrieked." HOME's Douglas. And in MACPHERSON'S Hunter, A sprite in every ficry meteor past; A sprite seemed howling in each whistling blast. But the simile itself is an assemblage of images from the thunder-storm in THOMSON'S Summer. Go to Oscar, chief of swords. Bid Oscar to our joy. To-day we feast and hear the song; tomorrow break the spears! Tell him that I have raised the tomb of Cathol; that bards gave his friend to the winds. Tell him, that Cairbar has heard of his fame at the stream of resounding Carun. Cathmor, my brother, is not here. He is not here with his thousands, and our arms are weak. Cathmor is a foe to strife at the feast! His soul is bright as that sun! But Cairbar must fight with Oscar, chiefs of woody Temora! His words for Cathol were many; the wrath of Cairbar burns. He shall fall on Moi-lena. My fame shall rise in blood." Their faces brightened round with joy. They spread over Moi-lena. The feast of shells is prepared. The songs of bards arise. The chiefs of Selma heard their joy. We thought that mighty Cathmor came. Cathmor, the friend of strangers! the brother of red-haired Cairbar. Their souls were not the same. The light of heaven was in the bosom of Cathmor. His towers rose on the banks of Atha: seven paths led to his halls. Seven chiefs stood on the paths, and called the stranger to the feast! But Cathmor dwelt in the wood, to shun the voice of praise! Olla came with his songs. Cairbar's feast. Oscar went to Three hundred warriors strode, 9 Cathmor, great in battle. The character of Cathmor is agreeable to the times. Some, through ostentation, were hospitable; and others fell naturally into a custom handed down from their ancestors. But what marks strongly the character of Cathmor, is his aversion to praise; for he is represented to dwell in a wood to avoid the thanks of his guests; which is still a higher degree of generosity than that of Axylus in Homer: for the poet does not say, but the good man might, at the head of his own table, have heard with pleasure the praise bestowed on him by the people he entertained. MACPHERSON. The note betrays a curious imitation, concealed in the text. Iliad, vi. 12. *Αξυλον δ ̓ ἄρ ̓ ἔπεφνε βοὴν ἀγαθὸς Διομήδης, Next Teuthra's son distained the sands with blood, Axylus, hospitable, rich, and good: In fair Arisbe's walls (his native place), He held his seat, a friend to human race. Fast by the road, his ever open door Obliged the wealthy, and relieved the poor. POPE. "His manner of keeping house near a frequented highway, and relieving travellers, is agreeable to that ancient hospitality which we now only read of.---Diodorus Siculus writes of Gallius of Agrigentum, that having built several inns for the relief of stran |