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 fiery meteor past; A sprite seemed howling in each whistling blast. But the simile itself is an assemblage of images from the thunder-storm in THомSON'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. Oscar went to Cairbar's feast. Three hundred warriors strode, 9 Cathmor, great in battle. The character of Cathmor is agreeable to the times. Some, through ostentation, were hos. pitable; 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 The grey dogs along Moi-lena of the streams. bounded on the heath: Their howling reached afar. Fingal saw the departing hero. The soul of the king was sad. He dreaded Cairbar's gloomy thoughts, amidst the feast of shells. My son raised high the spear of Cormac. of Cormac. An hundred bards met him with songs. Cairbar concealed with smiles, the death that was dark in his soul. The feast is spread. The shells resound. Joy gers, he appointed persons at the gates to invite all who travelled to make use of them." POPE's note, Iliad, vi. 16. “Cathmor, the friend of strangers !-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." As an improvement upon the death of Axylus, Caolt, in a former imitation, had often prepared the feast on the very spot where he fell. Fingal, ii. 27. Cathmor, in imitation of Gallias of Agrigentum, plants seven chiefs on the seven paths leading to his halls (the persons appointed at the city gates), to call the stranger to the feast; and, as another improvement upon Axylus, the friend of human race, Diλos de arbewπo, the friend of strangers retires to the wood himself, to avoid the thanks or praise of his guests. But the encomium which the imitator bestows upon the generosity of Cathmor, as so superior to that of Axylus in Homer, might justify the character which Diodorus Siculus has given of the Celts. Κατα δε τας ομιλίας βραχυλογοί, καὶ ΑΙΝΙΓΜΑΤΙΑΙ, και τα πολλα αινιττομενοι ΣΥΝΕΚΔΟΧΙΚΩΣ. πολλά δε λέγοντες εν ΥΠΕΡΒΟΛΑΙΣ, επ ̓ ΑΥΞΗΣΕΙ μεν ΕΑΥΤΩΝ, ΜΕΙΩΣΕΙ δε των ΑΛΛΩΝ. Lib. v. p. 554. brightens the face of the host. But it was like the parting beam of the sun, when he is to hide his red head in a storm. Cairbar rises in his arms. Darkness gathers on his brow. The hundred harps cease at once. The clang of shields is heard. Far distant on the heath Olla raised a song of woe. My son knew the sign of death; and rising, seized his spear. Oscar," said the dark-red Cairbar, "I behold the spear of Erin. The spear of Temora glitters in thy hand, son of woody Morven! It was the pride of an hundred kings. The death of heroes of old. Yield it, son of Ossian, yield it to carborne Cairbar!" "Shall I yield," Oscar replied, "the gift of Erin's injured king; the gift of fair-haired Cormac, when Oscar scattered his foes? I came to Cormac's halls with joy, when Swaran fled from 10 Joy brightens the face of the host---like the parting beam of the sun.] Par. Lost, ii. 492. A frequent imitation. If chance the radiant sun with farewell sweet, Extend his evening beam, the fields revive, "When he is to hide his red head in a storm." Virgil, Georg. i. 466. Quum caput obscura nitidum ferrugine texit. |