The joy of the shell went round, and the aged hero gave the fair. ... My love for Moina was great: my heart poured forth in joy.

thy half-worn shield. And let the blast of the desert come! we shall be renowned in our day! The mark of my arm shall be in battle; my name in the song of bards. Raise the song; 5 send round the shell: let joy be heard in my hall. When thou, sun of heaven, shalt fail! if thou shalt fail, thou mighty light! if thy brightness is for a season, like Fingal; our fame shall survive thy beams!

"The son of a stranger came; a chief who loved the white-bosomed Moina. His words were mighty in the hall; he often half-unsheathed his sword. Where, said he, is the mighty Comhal, the restless wanderer of the heath? Comes he, with his host, to Balclutha, 10 since Clessámmor is so bold? My soul, I replied, O warrior! burns in a light of its own. I stand without fear in the midst of thousands, though the valiant are distant far. Stranger! thy words are mighty, for Clessámor is alone. 15 Fingal! why had not Ossian the strength of

But my sword trembles by my side, and longs to glitter in my hand. Speak no more of Comhal, son of the winding Clutha.

"The strength of his pride arose. We

Such was the song of Fingal, in the day of his joy. His thousand bards leaned forward from their seats, to hear the voice of the king. It was like the music of harps on the gale of the spring. Lovely were thy thoughts, O

thy soul? But thou standest alone, my father! who can equal the king of Selma? . . .

Joy rose in Carthon's face; he lifted his heavy eyes. He gave his sword to Fingal, to lie

fought; he fell beneath my sword. The banks 20 within his hall, that the memory of Balclutha's

king might remain in Morven. The battle ceased along the field, the bard had sung the song of peace. The chiefs gathered round the falling Carthon; they heard his words with

Silent they leaned on their spears, while Balclutha's hero spoke. His hair sighed in the wind, and his voice was sad and low.

"King of Morven," Carthon said, "I fall in the midst of my course. A foreign tomb re

of Clutha heard his fall; a thousand spears glittered around. I fought; the strangers prevailed: I plunged into the stream of Clutha; my white sails rose over the waves, and bounded on the dark-blue sea. Moina came 25 sighs. to the shore, and rolled the red eye of her tears: her loose hair flew on the wind; and I heard her mournful, distant cries. Often did I turn my ship; but the winds of the East prevailed. Nor Clutha ever since have I seen, 30 ceives, in youth, the last of Reuthâmir's race, nor Moina of the dark-brown hair. She fell in Balclutha, for I have seen her ghost. I knew her as she came through the dusky night, along the murmur of Lora; she was like the new moon, seen through the gathered mist: 35 when the sky pours down its flaky snow, and the world is silent and dark."

Darkness dwells in Balclutha: the shadows of grief in Crathmo. But raise my remembrance on the banks of Lora, where my fathers dwelt. Perhaps the husband of Moina will mourn over his fallen Carthon." His words reached the heart of Clessámmor: he fell, in silence on his son. The host stood darkened around; no voice is on the plain. Night came, the moon, from the east, looked on the mournful field;

with your songs, to our hills; that she may 40 but still they stood, like a silent grove that

rest with the fair of Morven, the sunbeams of other days, the delight of heroes of old. I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate. The fire had resounded in the

lifts its head on Gormal, when the loud winds
are laid, and dark autumn is on the plain.
Three days they mourned above Carthon;
on the fourth his father died. In the narrow

their tomb. There lovely Moina is often seen; when the sunbeam darts on the rock, and all around is dark. There she is seen, Malvina! but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the stranger's land; and she is still alone!

halls: and the voice of the people is heard no 45 plain of the rock they lie; a dim ghost defends more. The stream of Clutha was removed from its place, by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook, there, its lonely head: the moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows, the rank grass of the wall waved 50 round its head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina, silence is in the house of her fathers. Raise the song of mourning, O bards! over the land of strangers. They have but fallen before us: for one day we must fall. Why dost thou 55 build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy towers today; yet a few years, and the blast of the desert comes; it howls in thy empty court, and whistles round

Fingal was sad for Carthon; he commanded his bards to mark the day; when shadowy autumn returned; and often did they mark the day, and sing the hero's praise. "Who comes so dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's shadowy cloud? Death is trembling in his hand! his eyes are flames of fire! Who roars along dark Lora's heath? Who but Carthon, king of