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Nor lost to other lands was he, like a meteor that sinks in a cloud. He came forth, at times, in his brightness, to the distant dwelling of foes. His fame came, like the sound of winds, to Cluba's woody vale.”

“Darkness dwells in Cluba of harps : the race of kings is distant far; in battle is my

father Conmor: and Lormar my brother, king of streams. Nor darkening alone are they; a beam, from other lands, is nigh; the friend of strangers in Atha, the troubler of the field. High, from their misty hills, look forth the blue eyes of Erin; for he is far away, young dweller of their souls ! Nor harmless, white hands of Erin! is Cathmor in the skirts of war; he rolls ten thousand before him, in his distant field.”

“Not unseen by Ossian,” I said, “rushed Cathmor from his streams, when he poured his strength on I-thorno, isle of many waves! In strife met two kings in I-thorno, Culgorm and Suran-dronlo : each from his echoing isle, stern hunters of the boar !

They met a boar, at a foamy stream: each pierced him with his spear. They strove for the fame of the deed; and gloomy battle rose. From

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isle to isle they sent a spear, broken and stained with blood, to call the friends of their fathers, in their sounding arms. Cathmor came, from Erin, to Culgorm, red-eyed king: I aided Suran-dronlo, in his land of boars.

"We rushed on either side of a stream, which roared through a blasted heath. High broken rocks were round, with all their bending trees. Near were two circles of Loda, with the stone of power; where spirits descended, by night, in dark-red streams of fire. There, mixed with the murmur of waters, rose the voice of aged men ; they called the forms of night to aid them in their war.”

Heedless I stood, with my people, where fell the foamy stream from rocks. The moon moved red from the mountain. My song, at times, arose. Dark, on the other side, young Cathmor heard my voice; for he lay, beneath the oak, in all his gleaming arms. Morning came; we rushed to fight: from wing to wing is the rolling of strife. They fell, like the thistle's head, beneath autumnal winds 4.

Pope's

4 Like the thistle's head beneath antumnal winds.] Odyssey, v. 417.

In armour came a stately form: I mixed my strokes with the chief. By turns our shields are pierced : loud rung our steely mails. His hel. met fell to the ground. In brightness shone the foe. His eyes, two pleasant flames, rolled between his wandering locks. ' I knew Cathmor of Atha, and threw my spear on earth. Dark, we turned, and silent passed to mix with other foes.

“Not so passed the striving kings. They mixed in echoing fray; like the meeting of ghosts in the dark wing of winds. Through either breast rushed the spears ; nor yet lay the foes on earth ! A rock received their fall; half-reclined they lay in death. Each held the lock of his foe; each grimly seemed to roll his eyes. The stream of the rock leapt on their shields, and mixed below with blood 5.

6. The battle ceased in I-thorno. The strangers met in peace: Cathmor from Atha of streams, and Ossian, king of harps. We placed the dead

As when a heap of gathered thorns is cast,

Now to, now fro, before th' autumnal blast. 5 The stream of the rock leapt on their shields, and mixed below with blood.] Highlander, v. 54.

Tay circles round, and mingles with his blood.,

her high

in earth. Our steps were by Runar's bay. With the bounding boat, afar, advanced a ridgy wave. Dark was the rider of seas, but a beam of light was there, like the ray of the sun, in Stromlo's rolling smoke. It was the daughter of Surandronlo, wild in brightened looks. Her eyes were wandering flames, amidst disordered locks. Forward is her white arm, with the spear; heaving breast is seen, white as foamy waves that rise, by turns, amidst rocks. They are beautiful, but terrible, and mariners call the winds !”

Come, ye dwellers of Loda !” she said, come, Carchar, pale in the midst of clouds ! Sluthmor, that stridest in airy halls ! Corchtur, terrible in winds! Receive, from his daughter's spear, the foes of Suran-dronlo. No shadow, at his roaring streams; no mildly-looking form was he! When he took up his spear, the hawks shook their sounding wings; for blood was poured around the steps of dark-eyed Suran

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When he took

up
his
spcar,

the hawks shook their sounding wings.] From REGNER LODBROG's Death Song, irr Blair's Dissertation,

Gaudebat

Accipiter ab gladiorum ludum. See Cath-Loda, iii. 7.

pugna lætus

VOL. II.

T

dronlo. He lighted me, no harmless beam, to glitter on his streams. Like meteors I was bright; but I blasted the foes of Suran-dronlo.” * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Nor unconcerned heard Sul-malla, the praise of Cathmor of shields. He was within her soul, like a fire in secret heath, which awakes at the voice of the blast, and sends its beam abroad. Amidst the song removed the daughter of kings, like the voice of a summer breeze; when it lifts the heads of flowers, and curls the lakes and streams 8. The rustling sound gently spreads o'er the vale, softly-pleasing as it saddens the soul.

7 He was within her soul, like a fire in secret heath, which awakes at the voice of the blast, and sends its beam abroad.] Uror ut indomitis ignem. Ovid. POPE's Sappho to Phaon.

I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd corn,

By driving winds, the spreading flames are borne. 8 Like the soft sound of a summer breeze, when it lifts the heads of Aowers, and curls the lakes and streams.] First edit. From Pope's Eloisa.

The wandering streams that shine between the hills,
The grots that echo to the tinkling rills,
The dying gales that pant upon the trees,

The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze. And in the additional sentence: “The rustling sound spreads o'er the vale, softly pleasing as it saddens the soul;" Pope's Visionary Maid was still in view.

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