Mighty man who haft come to us over fea! The warmth of affection has kindled for thee in my heart. Thy hair is like the golden beam of the fun, Which sparkles on yonder mountain. Thy form is like the hanging branch of the vale, Which the warmth of summer has covered with beauty. Soft is thy brow, mildly move thine eyelids, Thine eye is like dew on the plain of the mountain ; Redder are thy lips than the ftrawberry. Thy teeth are like fnow which has newly fallen upon branches, Thou feemeft like the fun when he opens on the fhadowy plain. Fair and gentle youth of the auburn ringlets! Great haft thou become, and goodly is thy prowess. Do thou now attend to the purport of my addrefs, O hero, who excelleft in deeds and conduct! What has moved thee from the place of thy refidence? If it was to give me thine aid, great is my joy. I have come in quality of meffenger To inquire of thee who thy people are ; Who thou art thyfelf, or who thy friends; And in what place thou haft been trained ?” "That is what I cannot reveal, But to one who fhall wreft it from me by force. If I could declare it to any one upon earth, From a person of thy bearing I would not withhold it.” "Here ftands the king of Ullin and Tonnagorma, Who is the fierceft among the heroes of Erin. Conceal not thy ftory from me, O warrior, Though great be thy might in the ftrife of death !" "My ftory cannot be revealed, O Conal of the thousand battles! For I am under engagement not to declare myself, The heroes gave a hundred turns of strength, By the border of the fea, on the fmooth white beach. Conal was thrown down by the mighty, Who bound him, without a wound like the rest. Arduous was the deed he atchieved On the shore of the dark-coloured ocean.' Conal fends for Cuchullin to oppose the victorious ftranger, whofe progrefs to the combat is defcribed with the fame fublime and terrible imagery which is given in Macpherson's tranflation of the Death of Cuchullin.* Ruidh e fiar le tartar uamhan, 'S fuaimneach arm mar Spiorad Lodda, Fea an rathaid gu grad chōrag. Mar nos. *The fame paffage is found almoft verbatim in Smith's MaThis paffage,' fays Dr Smith, in a note on that poem, (Scan Dana, p. 262.) is much admired in the original, and is therefore inferted for the fake of fuch as may understand it.' Such ftriking paffages, which, from the impreffion they make, are in the mouth of every reciter, are often thus transferred from one poem to another, when they are applicable to the ftory or fituation. The fituation of Fingal in the poem of Manos is cer tainly better fuited to this poetical defcription of the terrors of his march, than that of Cuchullin in this poem of Conloch. The fubject of this paffage is remarkable, as the Spirit of Loda has been a cause of difpute among the inquirers into the authenticity of the poems of Offian Mar mhile tonn a beacaich In ftoirm eitidh re flios carraige, Las a thuilean, dhat a chridhe, He rushed weft with terror in his tread, In the found of his arms, like the Spirit of Loda, In the path of fudden conflict. As a thousand waves, which roar, In the wrath of the ftorm, againft a rock, Such was the found of his arms and mail, While the gloom of battle spread over his countenance, In the hand of the champion While the rustling winds toffed his locks Like the foam of a rapid ftream. The little hills quaked around him, The path fhook under his fteps; He He rushed, in the found of his arms, like the terrible fpiit of Loda, when he comes in the roar of a thousand ftorins, and fcatters battles from his eyes. He fits on a cloud over Lochlin's feas. He lays those terrors afide, however, in the prefence of the young hero, whom he addreffes in the following mild and affectionate terms: Bheannaich Cuchullan do'n mhacaimh Chliuaich e ghaifge is àille In glòir bhinn mar chora fili, Is theafaich a chridhe le gràdh dha. "Oganaich a thainig in cèin! Math do ghniomh, a threun laoich chalma! Se m'adhbharfa theachd incèin D' fhiofracha dhiot fein do chonai. Na ceil ni 'f faide oirne." Cuchulin greeting hailed the fon of youth. Good were thy deeds, ftrong and mighty hero! Under binding, without the wound of a weapon. Bright feas. His mighty hand is on his fword. Winds lift his flaming iocks! The waining moon half lights his dreadful face. His features, blended in darkness, arife to view. So terrible was Cuthullin in the day of his fame.' Ofs. Poems, vol. 1. p. 385-6. Bright is thy form on the beach, As the moon in the night of calm, When fhe comes forth from peaceful clouds. Is to inquire thy dwelling of thee. Who thou art thyfelf, and who is thy father, Do no longer conceal from us." This friendly greeting Conloch meets with the fame obftinate refufal as before: in confequence of that refufal the heroes engage. Chaidh iad ann dàil a cheile Nan tre'ain bu docair ag corag Gu cuidreach, cudromach, beumnach Le daltan a chathamhilidh. Thuit e, mar in giùfaich an fhàfach Gun fhios, thug a charaig fuaim uaith, "A |