THE POEMS OF OSSIAN

by

JAMES MACPHERSON



A PRELIMINARY DISCOURSE.


 As Swift has, with some reason, affirmed that all sublunary
happiness consists in being well deceived, it may possibly be the
creed of many, that it had been wise, if after Dr. Blair's ingenious
and elegant dissertation on "the venerable Ossian," all doubts
respecting what we have been taught to call his works had forever
ceased: since there appears cause to believe, that numbers who
listened with delight to "the voice of Cona," would have been happy,
if, seeing their own good, they had been content with these poems
accompanied by Dr. Blair's judgment, and sought to know no more.
There are men, however, whose ardent love of truth rises, on all
occasions, paramount to every other consideration; and though the
first step in search of it should dissolve the charm, and turn a
fruitful Eden into a barren wild, they would pursue it. For those,
and for the idly curious in literary problems, added to the wish of
making this new edition of "The Poems of Ossian" as well-informed as
the hour would allow, we have here thought it proper to insert some
account of a renewal of the controversy relating to the genuineness
of this rich treasure of poetical excellence.

 Nearly half a century has elapsed since the Publication of the poems
ascribed by Mr. Macpherson to Ossian, which poems he then professed
to have collected in the original Gaelic, during a tour through the
Western Highlands and Isles; but a doubt of their authenticity
nevertheless obtained, and, from their first appearance to this day,
has continued in various degrees to agitate the literary world. In
the present year, "A Report," springing from an inquiry instituted
for the purpose of leaving, with regard to this matter, "no hinge or
loop to hang a doubt on," has been laid before the public. As the
committee, in this investigation, followed, in a great measure, that
line of conduct chalked out by David Hume to Dr. Blair, we shall,
previously to stating their precise mode of proceeding, make several
large and interesting extracts from the historian's two letters on
this subject.

 "I live in a place," he writes, "where I have the pleasure of
frequently hearing justice done to your dissertation, but never heard
it mentioned in a company, where some one person or other did not
express his doubts with regard to the authenticity of the poems which
are its subject; and I often hear them totally rejected with disdain
and indignation, as a palpable and most impudent forgery. This
opinion has, indeed, become very prevalent among the men of letters
in London; and I can foresee, that in a few years, the poems, if they
continue to stand on their present footing, will be thrown aside, and
will fall into final oblivion.

 "The absurd pride and caprice of Macpherson himself, who scorns, as
he pretends, to satisfy anybody that doubts his veracity, has tended
much to confirm this general skepticism; and I must own, for my part,
that though I have had many particular reasons to believe these poems
genuine, more than it is possible for any Englishman of letters to
have, yet I am not entirely without my scruples on that head. You
think, that the internal proofs in favor of the poems are very
convincing; so they are; but there are also internal reasons against
them, particularly from the manners, notwithstanding all the art with
which you have endeavored to throw a vernish 1 on that circumstance;
and the preservation of such long and such connected poems, by oral
tradition alone, during a course of fourteen centuries, is so much
out of the ordinary course of human affairs, that it requires the
strongest reasons to make us believe it. My present purpose,
therefore, is to apply to you in the name of all the men of letters
of this, and, I may say, of all other countries, to establish this
capital point, and to give us proofs that these poems are, I do not
say, so ancient as the age of Severus, but that they, were not forged
within these five years by James Macpherson. These proofs must not be
arguments, but testimonies; people's ears are fortified against the
former; the latter may yet find their way, before the poems are
consigned to total oblivion. Now the testimonies may, in my opinion,
be of two kinds. Macpherson pretends there is an ancient manuscript
of part of Fingal in the family, I think, of Clanronald. Get that
fact ascertained by more than one person of credit; let these persons
be acquainted with the Gaelic; let them compare the original and the
translation; and let them testify the fidelity of the latter.

 "But the chief point in which it will be necessary for you to exert
yourself, will be, to get positive testimony from many different
hands that such poems are vulgarly recited in the Highlands, and have
there long been the entertainment of the people. This testimony must
be as particular as it is positive. It will not be sufficient that a
Highland gentleman or clergyman say or write to you that he has heard
such poems; nobody questions that there are traditional poems of that
part of the country, where the names of Ossian and Fingal, and Oscar
and Gaul, are mentionmed in every stanza. The only doubt is, whether
these poems have any farther resemblance to the poems published by
Macpherson. I was told by Bourke, 1 a very ingenious Irish gentleman,
the author of a tract on the sublime and beautiful, that on the first
publication of Macpherson's book, all the Irish cried out, 'We know
all those poems. We have always heard them from our infancy.' But
when he asked more particular questions, he could never learn that
any one ever heard or could repeat the original of any one paragraph
of the pretended translation. This generality, then, must be
carefully guarded against, as being of no authority.

 "Your connections among your brethren of the clergy may be of great
use to you. You may easily learn the names of all ministers of that
country who understand the language of it. You may write to them,
expressing the doubts that have arisen, and desiring them to send for
such of the bards as remain, and make them rehearse their ancient
poems. Let the clergymen then have the translation in their hands,
and let them write back to you, and inform you, that they heard such
a one, (naming him,) living in such a place, rehearse the original of
such a passage, from such a page to such a page of the English
translation, which appeared exact and faithful. If you give to the
public a sufficient number of such testimonials, you may prevail. But
I venture to foretel to you, that nothing less will serve the
purpose; nothing less will so much as command the attention of the
public.

"Becket tells me, that he is to give us a new edition of your
dissertation, accompanied with some-remarks on Temora. Here is a
favorable opportunity for you to execute this purpose. You have a
just and laudable zeal for the credit of these poems. They are, if
genuine, one of the greatest curiosities, in all respects, that ever
was discovered in the commonwealth of letters; and the child is, in a
manner, become yours by adoption, as Macpherson has totally abandoned
all care of it. These motives call upon you to exert yourself: and I
think it were suitable to your candor, and most satisfactory also to
the reader, to publish all the answers to all the letters you write,
even though some of those letters should make somewhat against your
own opinion in this affair. We shall always be the more assured, that
no arguments are strained beyond their proper force, and no contrary
arguments suppressed, where such an entire communication is made to
us. Becket joins me heartily in that application; and he owns to me,
that the believers in the authenticity of the poems diminish every
day among the men of sense and reflection. Nothing less than what I
propose can throw the balance on the other side."

Lisle street, Leicester Fields,
19th Sept., 1763.

The second letter contains less matter of importance; but what there
is that is relevant deserves not to be omitted.

 "I am very glad," he writes on the 6th of October, 1763, "you have
undertaken the task which I used the freedom to recommend to you.
Nothing less than what you propose will serve the purpose. You must
expect no assistance from Macpherson, who flew into a passion when I
told him of the letter I had wrote to you. But you must not mind so
strange and heteroclite a mortal, than whom I have scarce ever known
a man more perverse and unamiable. He will probably depart for
Florida with Governor Johnstone, and I would advise him to travel
among the Chickasaws or Cherokees, in order to tame and civilize him.

*   *   *   *   *   * 

 "Since writing the above, I have been in company with Mrs. Montague,
a lady of great distinction in this place, and a zealous partisan of
Ossian. I told her of your intention, and even used the freedom to
read your letter to her. She was extremely pleased with your project;
and the rather, as the Due de Nivernois, she said, had talked to her
much on that subject last winter; and desired, if possible, to get
collected some proofs of the authenticity of these poems, which he
proposed to lay before the Academie de Belles Lettres at Paris. You
see, then, that you are upon a great stage in this inquiry, and that
many people have their eyes upon you. This is a new motive for
rendering your proofs as complete as possible. I cannot conceive any
objection which a man, even of the gravest character, could have to
your publication of his letters, which will only attest a plain fact
known to him. Such scruples, if they occur, you must endeavor to
remove, for on this trial of yours will the judgment of the public
finally depend."

 Without being acquainted with Hume's advice to Dr. Blair, the
committee, composed of chosen persons, and assisted by the best
Celtic scholars, adopted, as it will he seen, a very similar manner
of acting.

 It conceived the purpose of its nomination to be, to employ the
influence of the society, and the extensive communication which it
possesses with every part of the Highlands, in collecting what
materials or information it was still practicable to collect,
regarding the authenticity and nature of the poems ascribed to
Ossian, and particularly of that celebrated collection published by
Mr. James Macpherson.

 For the purpose above mentioned, the committee, soon after its
appointment, circulated the following set of queries, through such
parts of the Highlands and Islands, and among such persons resident
there, as seemed most likely to afford the information required.

QUERIES.

1. Have you ever heard repeated, or sung, any of the poems ascribed
to Ossian, translated and published by Mr. Macpherson? By whom have
you heard them so repeated, and at what time or times? Did you ever
commit any of them to writing? or can you remember them so well as
now to set them down? In either of these cases, be so good to send
the Gaelic original to the committee.

2. The same answer is requested concerning any other ancient poems of
the same kind, and relating to the same traditionary persons or
stories with those in Mr. Macpherson's collection.

3. Are any of the persons from whom you heard any such poems now
alive? or are there, in your part of the country, any persons who
remember and can repeat or recite such poems? If there are, be so
good as to examine them as to the manner of their getting or learning
such compositions; and set down, as accurately as possible, such as
they can now repeat or recite; and transmit such their account, and
such compositions as they repeat, to the committee.

4. If there are, in your neighborhood, any persons from whom Mr.
Macpherson received any poems, in. quire particularly what the poems
were which he so received, the manner in which he received them, and
how he wrote them down; show those persons, if you have an
opportunity, his translation of such poems, and desire them to say,
if the translation is exact and literal; or, if it differs, in what
it differs from the poems, as they repeated them to Mr. Macpherson,
and can now recollect them.

5. Be so good to procure every information you conveniently can, with
regard to the traditionary belief, in the country in which you live,
concerning, the history of Fingal and his followers, and that of
Ossian and his poems; particularly those stories and poems published
by Mr. Macpherson, and the heroes mentioned in them. Transmit any
such account, and any proverbial or traditionary expression in the
original Gaelic, relating to the subject, to the committee.

6. In all the above inquiries, or any that may occur to in
elucidation of this subject, he is requested by the committee to make
the inquiry, and to take down the answers, with as much impartiality
and precision as possible, in the same manner as if it were a legal
question, and the proof to be investigated with a legal strictness.--
See the "Report."

 It is presumed as undisputed, that a traditionary history of a great
hero or chief, called Fion, Fion na Gael, or, as it is modernized,
Fingal, exists, and has immemorially existed, in the Highlands and
Islands of Scotland, and that certain poems or ballads containing the
exploits of him and his associate heroes, were the favorite lore of
the natives of those districts. The general belief of the existence
of such heroic personages, and the great poet Ossian, the son of
Fingal, by whom their exploits were sung, is as universal in the
Highlands, as the belief of any ancient fact whatsoever. It is
recorded in proverbs, which pass through all ranks and conditions of
men, Ossian dall, blind Ossian, is a person as well known as strong
Sampson, or wise Solomon. The very boys in their sports cry out for
fair play, Cothram na feine, the equal combat o the Fingalians.
Ossian, an deigh nam fiann, Ossian, the last of his race, is
proverbial, to signify a man who has had the misfortune to survive
his kindred; and servants returning from a fair or wedding, were in
use to describe the beauty of young women they had seen there, by the
words, Tha i cho boidheach reh Agandecca, nighean ant sneachda, She 
is as beautiful as Agandecca, the daughter of the Snow.

 All this will be readily conceded, and Mr. Macpherson's being at one
period an "indifferent proficient in the Gaelic language," may seem
an argument of some weight against his having himself composed these
Ossianic Poems. Of his inaccuracy in the Gaelic, a ludicrous instance
is related in the declaration of Mr. Evan Macpherson, at Knock, in
Sleat, Sept. 11, 1800. He declares that he, "Colonel Macleod, of
Talisker, and the late Mr. Maclean of Coll, embarked with Mr.
Macpherson for Uist on the same pursuit: that they landed at
Lochmaddy, and proceeded across the Muir to Benbecula, the seat of
the younger Clanronald: that on their way thither they fell in with a
man whom they afterwards ascertained to have been Mac Codrum, the
poet: that Mr. Macpherson asked him the question, A bheil dad agad
air an Fheinn? by which he meant to inquire, whether or not he knew
any of the poems of Ossian relative to the Fingalians: but that the
term in which the question was asked, strictly imported whether or
not the Fingalians owed him any thing; and that Mac Codrum, being a
man of humor, took advantage of the incorrectness or inelegance of
the Gaelic in which the question was put, and answered, that really
if they had owed him any thing, the bonds and obligations were lost,
and he believed any attempt to recover them at that time of day would
be unavailing. Which sally of MacCodrum's wit seemed to have hurt Mr.
Macpherson, who cut short the conversation, and proceeded on towards
Benbecula. And the declarant being asked whether or not the late Mr.
James Macpherson was capable of composing such poems as those of
Ossian, declares most explicitly and positively that he is certain
Mr. Macpherson was as unequal to such compositions as the declarant
himself, who could no more make them than take wings and fly." p. 96.

 We would here observe, that the sufficiency of a man's knowledge of
such a language as the Gaelic, for all the purposes of composition,
is not to be questioned, because he does not speak it accurately or
elegantly, much less is it to be quibbled into suspicion by the
pleasantry of a double entendre. But we hold it prudent, and it shall
be our endeavor in this place, to give no decided opinion on the main
subject of dispute. For us the contention shall still remain sub
judice.

 To the queries circulated through such parts of the Highlands as the
committee imagined most likely to afford information in reply to
them, they received many answers, most of which were conceived in
nearly similar terms; that the persons themselves had never doubted
of the existence of such poems as Mr. Macpherson had translated; that
they had heard many of them repeated in their youth: that listening
to them was the favorite amusement of Highlanders, in the hours of
leisure and idleness; but that since the rebellion in 1745, the
manners of the people had undergone a change so unfavorable to the
recitation of these poems, that it was now an amusement scarcely
known, and that very few persons remained alive who were able to
recite them. That many of the poems which they had formerly heard
were similar in subject and story, as well as in the names of the
heroes mentioned in them, to those translated by Mr. Macpherson: that
his translation seemed, to such as had read it, a very able one; but
that it did not by any means come up to the force or energy of the
original to such as had read it; for his book was by no means
universally possessed, or read among the Highlanders, even accustomed
to reading, who conceived that his translation could add but little
to their amusement, and not at all to their conviction, in a matter
which they had never doubted. A few of the committee's correspondents
sent them such ancient poems as they possessed in writing, from
having formerly taken them down from the oral recitation of the old
Highlanders who were in use to recite them, or as they now took them
down from some person, whom a very advanced period of life, or a
particular connection with some reciter of the old school, enabled
still to retain them in his memory; but those, the committee's
correspondents said, were generally less perfect, and more corrupted,
than the poems which they had, formerly heard, or which might have
been obtained at an earlier period.

 Several collections came to them by presents, as well as by
purchase, and in these are numerous "shreds and patches," that bear a
strong resemblance to the materials of which "Ossian's Poems" are
composed. These are of various degrees of consequence. One of them we
are the more tempted to give, for the same reason as the committee
was the more solicitous to procure it, because it was one which some
of the opposers of the authenticity of Ossian had quoted as evidently
spurious, betraying the most convincing marks of its being a close
imitation of the address to the sun in Milton.

 "I got," says Mr. Mac Diarmid, "the copy of these poems" (Ossian's
address to the sun in Carthon, and a similar address in Carrickthura)
"about thirty years, ago, from an old man in Glenlyon. I took it, and
several other fragments, now, I fear, irrecoverably lost, from the
man's mouth. He had learnt them in his youth from people in the same
glen, which must have been long before Macpherson was born."

LITERAL TRANSLATION OF OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN IN CARTHON.

 "O! thou who travellest above, round as the full-orbed hard shield
of the mighty! whence is thy brightness without frown, thy light that
is lasting, O sun? Thou comest forth in thy powerful beauty, and the
stars bide their course; the moon, without strength, goes from the
sky, hiding herself under a wave in the west. Thou art in thy journey
alone; who is so bold as to come nigh thee? The oak falleth from the
high mountain; the rock and the precipice fall under old age; the
ocean ebbeth and floweth, the moon is lost above in the sky; but thou
alone forever in victory, in the rejoicing of thy own light. When the
storm darkeneth around the world, with fierce thunder, and piercing
lightnings, thou lookest in thy beauty from the noise, smiling in the
troubled sky! To me is thy light in vain, as I can never see thy
countenance; though thy yellow golden locks are spread on the face of
the clouds in the east; or when thou tremblest in the west, at thy
dusky doors in the ocean. Perhaps thou and myself are at one time
mighty, at another feeble, our years sliding down from the skies,
quickly travelling together to their end. Rejoice then, O sun! while
thou art strong, O king! in thy youth. Dark and unpleasant is old
age, like the vain and feeble light of the moon, while she looks
through a cloud on the field, and her gray mist on the sides of the
rocks; a blast from the north on the plain, a traveller in distress,
and he slow."

 The comparison may be made, by turning to the end of Mr.
Macpherson's version of "Carthon," beginning "O thou that rollest
above."

 But it must not be concealed, that after all the exertions of the
committee, it has not been able to obtain any one poem, the same in
title and tenor with the poems published by him. We therefore feel
that the reader of "Ossian's Poems," until grounds more relative be
produced, will often, in the perusal of Mr. Macpherson's
translations, be induced, with some show of justice. to exclaim with
him, when he looked over the manuscript copies found in Clanronald's
family, "D--n the scoundrel, it is he himself that now speaks, and
not Ossian!'

 To this sentiment the committee has the candor to incline, us it
will appear by their summing up. After producing or pointing to a
large body of mixed evidence, and taking for granted the existence,
at some period, of an abundance of Ossianic poetry, it comes to the
question, "How far that collection of such poetry, published by Mr.
James Macpherson, is genuine?" To answer this query decisively, is,
as they confess, difficult. This, however, is the ingenious manner in
which they treat it.

 "The committee is possessed of no documents, to show how much of his
collection Mr. Macpherson obtained in the form in which he has given
it to the world. The poems and fragments of poems which the committee
has been able to procure, contain, as will appear from the article in
the Appendix (No. 15) already mentioned, often the substance, and
sometimes almost the literal expression (the ipsissima verba) of
passages given by Mr. Macpherson, in the poems of which he has
published the translations. But the committee has not been able to
obtain any one poem the same in title or tenor with the poems
published by him. It is inclined to believe, that he was in use to
supply chasms, and to give connection, by inserting passages which he
did not find, and to add what he conceived to be dignity and delicacy
to the original Composition, by striking out passages, by softening
incidents, by refining the language -- in short, by changing what he
considered as too simple or too rude for modern ear, and elevating
what, in his opinion, was below the standard of good poetry. To what
degree, however, he exercised these liberties, it is impossible for
the committee to determine. The advantages he possessed, which the
committee began its inquiries too late to enjoy, of collecting from
the oral recitation of a number of persons, now no more, a very great
number of the same poems on the same subjects, and then collating
those different copies, or editions, if they may be so called,
rejecting what was spurious or corrupted in one copy, and adopting
from another, something more genuine and excellent in its place,
afforded him an opportunity of putting together what might fairly
enough be called an original whole, of much more beauty, and with
much fewer blemishes, than the committee believe it now possible for
any person, or combination of persons, to obtain." P. 152-3.

 Some Scotch critics, who should not be ignorant of the strongholds
and fastnesses of the advocates for the authenticity of these poems,
appear so convinced of their insufficiency, that they pronounce the
question put to rest forever. But we greatly distrust that any
literary question, possessing a single inch of debateable ground to
stand upon, will be suffered to enjoy much rest in an age like the
present. There are as many minds as men, and of wranglers there is no
end. Behold another and "another yet," and in our imagination, he

"bears a glass,
Which shows us many more."

 The first of these is Mr. Laing, who has recently published the
"Poems of Ossian, &c., containing Poetical Works of James Macpherson,
Esq., in Prose and Rhyme: with, notes and illustrations. In 2 vols. 8
vo. Edinburgh, 1805." In these "notes and illustrations," we foresee,
that Ossian is likely to share the fate of Shakspeare, that is,
ultimately to be loaded and oppressed by heavy commentators, until
his immortal spirit groan beneath vast heaps of perishable matter.
The object of Mr. Laing's commentary, after having elsewhere
endeavored to show that the poems are spurious, and of no historical
authority, "is," says he, it not merely to exhibit parallel passages,
much less instances of a fortuitous resemblance of ideas, but to
produce the precise originals from which the similes and images arc
indisputably derived." And these he pretends to find in Holy Writ,
and in the classical poets, both of ancient and modern times. Mr.
Laing, however, is one of those detectors of plagiarisms, and
discoverers of coincidences, whose exquisite penetration and
acuteness can find any thing anywhere. Dr. Johnson, who was shut
against conviction with respect to Ossian, even when he affected to
seek the truth in the heart of the Hebrides, may yet be made useful
to the Ossianites in canvassing the merits of this redoubted stickler
on the side of opposition. "Among the innumerable practices," says
the Rambler, "by which interest or envy have taught those who live
upon literary fame to disturb each other at their airy banquets, one
of the most common is the charge of plagiarism. When the excellence
of a now composition can no longer be contested, and malice is
compelled to give way to the unanimity of applause, there is yet this
one expedient to be tried, by which the author may be degraded,
though his work be reverenced; and the excellence which we cannot
obscure, may be set at such a distance as not to overpower our
fainter lustre. This accusation is dangerous, because, even when it
is false, it may be sometimes urged with probability."

 How far this just sentence applies to Mr. Laing, it does not become
us, nor is it our business, now to declare: but we must say, that
nothing can be more disingenuous or groundless than his frequent
charges of plagiarism of the following description; because, in the
War of Caros, we meet with these words, "It is like the field, when
darkness covers the hills around, and the shadow grows slowly on the
plain of the sun," we are to believe, according to Mr. Laing, that
the idea was stolen from Virgil's

Majoresque cadunt altis de montibus umbra.
For see, yon sunny hills the shade extend.--Dryden.

As well might we credit that no one ever beheld a natural phenomenon
except the Mantuan bard. The book of nature is open to all, and in
her pages there are no new readings. "Many subjects," it is were said
by Johnson, "fall under the consideration of an author, which, being
limited by nature, can admit only of slight and accidental
diversities. And definitions of the same thing must be nearly the
same; and descriptions, which are definitions of a more lax and
fanciful kind, must always have, in some degree, that resemblance to
each other, which they all have to their object." It is true,
however, if we were fully able to admit that Macpherson could not
have obtained these-ideas where he professes to have found them, Mr.
Laing has produced many instances of such remarkable coincidence as
would make it probable that Macpherson frequently translates, not the
Gaelic, but the poetical lore of antiquity. Still this is a battery
that can only be brought to play on particular points; and then with
great uncertainty. The mode of attack used by Mr. Knight, could it
have been carried on to any extent, 'would have proved much more
effectual. We shall give the instance alluded to. In his "Analytical
Enquiry into the Principles of Taste, 1805," he makes these remarks:

 "The untutored, but uncorrupted feelings of all unpolished nations,
have regulated their fictions upon the same principles, even when
most rudely exhibited. In relating the actions of their gods and
deceased heroes, they are licentiously extravagant: for their
falsehood could amuse, because it could not be detected; but in
describing the common appearances of nature, and all those objects
and effects which are exposed to habitual observation, their bards
are scrupulously exact; so that an extravagant hyperbole, in a matter
of this kind, is sufficient to mark, as counterfeit any composition
attributed to them. In the early stages of society, men are as acute
and accurate in practical observation as they are limited and
deficient in speculative science; and in proportion as, they, are
ready to give up their imaginations to delusion, they are jealously
tenacious of the evidence of their senses. James Macpherson, in the
person of his blind bard, could say, with applause in the eighteenth
century, 'Thus have I seen in Cona; but Cona I behold no more; thus
have I seen two dark hills removed from their place by the strength
of the mountain stream. They turn from side to side, and their tall
oaks meet one another on high. Then they fall together with all their
rocks and trees.'

 "But had a blind bard, or any other bard, presumed to utter such a
rhapsody of bombast in the hall of shells, amid the savage warriors
to whom Ossian is supposed to have sung, he would have needed all the
influence of royal birth, attributed to that fabulous personage, to
restrain the audience from throwing their shells at his head, and
hooting him out of their company as an impudent liar. They must have
been sufficiently acquainted with the rivulets of Cona or Glen-Coe to
know that he had seen nothing of the kind; and have known enough of
mountain torrents in general to know that no such effects are ever
produced by them, and would, therefore, have indignantly rejected
such a barefaced attempt to impose on their credulity."

The best defence that can be set up in this case will, perhaps, be to
repeat, "It is he himself that now speaks, and not Ossian."

 Mr. Laing had scarcely thrown down the gauntlet, when Mr. Archibald
M'Donald appeared

"Ready, aye, ready, for the field.

 The opinion of the color of his opposition, whether it be that of
truth or error, will depend on the eye that contemplates it. Those
who delight to feast with Mr. Laing on the limbs of a mangled poet,
will think the latter unanswered; while those who continue to indulge
the animating thought, "that Fingal lived, and that Ossian sung,"
will entertain a different sentiment. After successfully combating
several old positions, Mr. M'Donald terminates his discussion of the
point at issue with these words:

 "He (Mr. Laing) declares, 'if a single poem of Ossian in MS. of an
older date than the present century (1700,) be procured and lodged in
a public library, I (Laing) shall return among the first to our
national creed.'

 "This is reducing the point at issue to a narrow compass. Had the
proposal been made at the outset, it would have saved both him and me
a good deal of trouble: not that in regard to ancient Gaelic
manuscripts I could give any more satisfactory account than has been
done in the course of this discourse. There the reader will see, that
though some of the poems are confessedly procured from oral
tradition, yet several gentlemen of veracity attest to have seen,
among Macpherson's papers, several MSS. of a much older date than Mr.
Laing requires to be convinced. Though not more credulous than my
neighbors, I cannot resist facts so well attested; there are no
stronger for believing the best-established human transactions.

 "I understand the originals are in the press, and expected daily to
make their appearance. When they do, the public will not be carried
away by conjectures, but be able to judge on solid grounds. Till
then, let the discussion be at rest." P. 193-4. It is curious to
remark, and, in this place, not unworthy of our notice, that whilst
the controversy is imminent in the decision, whether these poems are
to be ascribed to a Highland bard long since gone "to the halls of
his fathers," or to a Lowland muse of the last century, it is in the
serious meditation of some controversialist to step in and place the
disputed wreath on the brows of Hibernia. There is no doubt that
Ireland was, in ancient times, so much connected with the adjacent
coast of Scotland, that they might almost be considered as one
country, having a community of manners and of language, as well as
the closest political connection. Their poetical language is nearly,
or rather altogether the same. These coinciding circumstances,
therefore, independent of all other ground, afford to ingenuity, in
the present state of the question, a sufficient basis for the
erection of an hypothetical superstructure of a very imposing nature.

 In a small volume published at Dusseldorf in 1787, by Edmond, Baron
de Harold, an Irishman, of endless titles, we are presented with what
are called, "Poems of Ossian lately discovered."

 "I am interested," says the baron in his preface, in no polemical
dispute or party, and give these poems such as they are found in the
mouths of the people; and do not pretend to ascertain what was the
native country of Ossian. I honor and revere equally a bard of his
exalted talents, were he born in Ireland or in Scotland. It is
certain that the Scotch and Irish were united at some early period.
That they proceed from the same origin is indisputable; nay, I
believe that it is proved beyond any possibility of negating it, that
the Scotch derive their origin from the Irish. This truth has been
brought in question but of late days; and all ancient tradition, and
the general con. sent of the Scotch nation, and of their oldest
historians, agree to confirm the certitude of this assertion. If any
man still doubts of it, he will find, in Macgeogehan's History of
Ireland, an entire conviction, established by elaborate discussion,
and most incontrovertible proofs:" pp. v. vi.

 We shall not stay to quarrel about "Sir Archy's great grandmother,"
or to contend that Fingal, the Irish giant, did not one day go "over
from Carrickfergus, and people all Scotland with his own hands," and
make these sons of the north "illegitimate;" but we may observe, that
from the inclination of the baron's opinion, added to the internal
evidence of his poems, there appears at least as much reason to
believe their author to have been a native of Ireland as of Scotland.
The success with which Macpherson's endeavors had been rewarded,
induced the baron to inquire whether any more of this kind of poetry
could be obtained. His search, he confessed, would have proved
fruitless, had he expected to find complete pieces; "for, certainly,"
says he, "none such exist. But," he adds, "in seeking with assiduity
and care, I found, by the help of my friends, several fragments of
old traditionary songs, which were very sublime, and particularly
remarkable for their simplicity and elegance." P. iv.

 "From these fragments," continues Baron de Harold, "I have composed
the following poems. They are all founded on tradition; but the dress
they now appear in is mine. It will appear singular to some, that
Ossian, at times, especially in the songs of Comfort, seems rather to
be an Hibernian than a Scotchman, and that some of these poems
formally contradict passages of great importance in those handed to
the public by Mr. Macpherson, especially that very remarkable one of
Evir-allen, where the description of her marriage with Ossian, is
essentially different in all its parts front that given in former
poems." P. v.

We refer the reader to the opening of the fourth book of Fingal,
which treats of Ossian's courtship of Evir-allen. The Evir-allen of
Baron de Harold is in these words:

EVIR-ALLEN:

A POEM.

 THOU fairest of the maids of Morven, young beam of streamy Lutha,
come to the help of the aged, come to the help of the distressed. Thy
soul is open to pity. Friendship glows in thy tender breast. Ah come
and sooth away my wo. Thy words are music to my soul.

Bring me my once-loved harp. It hangs long neglected in my hall. The
stream of years has borne me away in its course, and rolled away all
my bliss. Dim and faded are my eyes; thin-strewed with hairs my head.
Weak is that nervous arm, once the terror of foes. Scarce can I grasp
my staff, the prop of my trembling limbs.

 Lead me to yonder craggy steep. The murmur of the falling streams;
the whistling winds rushing through the woods of my hills; the
welcome rays of the bounteous sun, will soon awake the voice of song
in my breast. The thoughts of former years glide over my soul like
swift-shooting meteors o'er Ardven's gloomy vales.

 Come, ye friends of my youth, ye soft-sounding voices of Cona, bend
from your gold-tinged clouds, and join me in my song. A mighty blaze
is kindled in my soul. I hear a powerful voice. It says, "Seize thy
beam of glory, O bard! for thou shalt soon depart. Soon shall the
light of song be faded. Soon thy tuneful voice forgotten."--"Yes, I
obey, O Powerful voice, for thou art pleasing to mine ear."

 O Evir-allen! thou boast of Erin's maids, thy thoughts come
streaming on my soul. Hear, O Malvina! a tale of my youth, the
actions of my former days.

 Peace reigned over Morven's hills. The shell of joy resounded in our
halls. Round the blaze of the oak sported in festive dance the maids
of Morven. They shone like the radiant bow of heaven, when the fiery
rays, of the setting sun brightens its varied sides. They wooed me to
their love, but my heart was silent, cold. Indifference, like a
brazen shield, covered my frozen heart.

 Fingal saw, he smiled, and mildly spoke: My son, the down of youth
grows on thy check. Thy arm has wielded the spear of war. Foes have
felt thy force. Morven's maids are fair, but fairer are the daughters
of Erin. Go to that happy isle; to Branno's grass-covered fields. The
daughter of my friend deserves thy love. Majestic beauty flows around
her as a robe, and innocence, as a precious veil, heightens her
youthful charms. Go, take thy arms, and win the lovely fair.

 Straight I obeyed. A chosen band followed my steps. O We mounted the
dark-bosomed ship of the king, spread its white sails to the winds,
and ploughed through the foam of ocean. Pleasant shone the fine-eyed
Ull-Erin. 1 With joyal songs we cut the liquid way. The moon, regent
of the silent night, gleamed majestic in the blue vault of heaven,
and seemed pleased to bathe her side in the trembling wave. My soul
was full of my father's words. A thousand thoughts divided my
wavering mind,

 Soon as the early beam of morn appeared we saw the green-skirted
sides of Erin advancing in the bosom of the sea. White broke the 
tumbling surges on the Coast.

 Deep in Larmor's woody bay we drove our keel to the shore, and
gained the lofty beach. I inquired after the generous Branno. A son
of Erin led us to his halls, to the banks of the Sounding Lego. He
said, "Many warlike youths are assembled to gain the dark-haired
maid, the beauteous Evir-allen. Branno will give her to the brave.
The conqueror shall bear away the fair. Erin's chiefs dispute the
maid, for she is destined for the strong in arms."

 These words inflamed my breast, and roused courage in my heart. I
clad my limbs in steel. I grasped a shining spear in my hand. Branno
saw our approach. He sent the gray-haired Snivan to invite us to his
feast, and know the intent of our course. He came with the solemn
steps of age, and gravely spoke the words of the Chief.

 "Whence are these arms of steel? If friends ye come, Branno invites
you to his halls; for this day the lovely Evir-allen shall bless the
warrior's arms whose lance shall shine victorious in the combat of
valor."

 "O venerable bard!" I said, "peace guides my steps to Branno. My arm
is young, and few are my deeds in war, but valor inflames my soul; I
am of the race of the brave."

 The bard departed. We followed the steps of age, and soon arrived to
Branno's halls.

 The hero came to meet us. Manly serenity adorned his brow. His open
front showed the kindness of his heart. "Welcome," he said, "ye sons
of strangers; welcome to Branno's friendly halls; partake his shell
of joy. Share, in the combat of spears. Not unworthy is the prize of
valor, the lovely dark-haired maid of Erin; but strong must be that
warrior's hand that conquers Erin's chiefs; matchless his strength in
fight."

 "Chief," I replied, "the light of my father's deeds blazes in my
soul. Though young, I seek my beam of glory foremost in the ranks of
foes. Warrior, I can fair, but I shall fill with renown."

 "Happy is thy father, O generous youth! more happy the maid of thy
love. Thy glory shall surround her with praise; thy valor raise her
charms. O were my Evir-allen thy spouse, my years would pass away in
. joy. Pleased I would descend into the grave: contented see the end
of my days."

 The feast was spread; stately and slow camp Evir-allen. A snow-white
veil. covered her blushing face. Her large blue eyes were bent on
earth. Dignity flowed round her graceful steps. A shining tear fell
glittering on her cheek. She appeared lovely as the mountain flower
when the ruddy beams of the rising sun gleam on its dew-covered
aides. Decent she sate. High beat my fluttering heart. Swift through
my veins flew my thrilling blood. An unusual weight oppressed my
breast. I stood, darkened in my place. The image of the maid wandered
over my troubled soul.

 The sprightly harp's melodious voice arose from the string of the
bards. My soul melted away in the sounds, for my heart, like a
stream, flowed gently away in song. Murmurs soon broke upon our joy.
Half-unsheathed daggers gleamed. Many a voice was heard abrupt.
"Shall the son of the strangers be preferred? Soon shall he be rolled
away, like mist by rushing breath of the tempest." Sedate I rose, for
I despised the boaster's threats. The fair one's eye followed my
departure. I heard a smothered sigh from her breast.

 The horn's harsh sound summoned us to the doubtful strife of spears.
Lothmar, fierce hunter of the woody Galmal, first opposed his might.
He vainly insulted my youth, but my sword cleft his brazen shield,
and cut his ashen lance in twain. Straight I withheld my descending
blade. Lothmar retired confused.

 Then rose the red-haired strength of Sulin. Fierce rolled his deep-
sunk eye. His shaggy brows stood erect. His face was contracted with
scorn. Thrice his spear pierced my buckler. Thrice his sword struck
on my helm. Swift flashes gleamed from our circling blades. The pride
of my rage arose. Furious I rushed on the chief, and stretched his
bulk on the plain. Groaning he fell to earth. Lego's shores re-echoed
from his fall.

 Then advanced Cormac, graceful in glittering arms. No fairer youth
was seen on Erin's grassy hills. His age was equal to mine; his port
majestic; his stature tall and slender, like the young shooting
poplar in Lutha's streamy vales; but sorrow sate upon his brow;
languor reigned on his cheek. My heart inclined to the youth. My
sword oft avoided to wound; often sought to save his days: but he
rushed eager on death. He fell. Blood gushed from his panting breast.
Tears flowed streaming from mine eyes. I stretched forth my hand to
the chief. I proffered gentle words of peace. Faintly he seized my
hand. "Stranger," he said, "I willingly die, for my days were
oppressed with wo. Evir-allen rejected my love. She slighted my
tender suit. Thou alone deservest the maid, for pity reigns in thy
soul, and thou art generous and brave. Tell her, I forgive her scorn.
Tell her, I descend with joy into the grave; but raise the stone of
my praise. Let the maid throw a flower on my tomb, and mingle one
tear with my dust; this is my sole request. This she can grant to my
shade."

 I would have spoken, but broken sighs issuing from my breast,
interrupted my faltering words. I threw my spear aside. I clasped the
youth in my arms: but, alas! his soul was already departed to the
cloudy mansions of his; fathers.

 Then thrice I raised my voice, and called the chiefs to combat.
Thrice I brandished my spear, and wielded my glittering sword. No
warrior appeared. They dreaded the force of my arm, and yielded the
blue-eyed maid.

 Three days I remained in Branno's halls. On the fourth he led me to
the chambers of the fair. She came forth attended by her maids,
graceful in lovely majesty, like the moon, when all the stars confess
her sway, and retire respectful and abashed. I laid my sword at her
feet. Words of love flowed faltering from my tongue. Gently she gave
her hand. Joy seized my enraptured soul. Branno was touched at the
sight. He closed me in his aged arms.

 "O wert thou," said he, "the son of my friend, the son of the mighty
Fingal, then were my happiness complete!"

 "I am, I am the son of thy friend," I replied, "Ossian, the son of
Fingal;" then sunk upon his aged breast. Our flowing tears mingled
together. We remained long clasped in each other's arms.

 Such was my youth, O Malvina! but alas! I am now forlorn. Darkness
covers my soul. Yet the light of song beams at times on my mind. It
solaces awhile my we. Bards, prepare my tomb. Lay me by the fair
Evir-allen. When the revolving years bring back the mild season of
spring to our hills, sing the praise of Cona's bard, of Ossian, the
friend of the distressed.

 The difference, in many material circumstances, between these two
descriptions of, as it would seem, the same thing, must be very
apparent. "I will submit," says the baron, "the solution of this
problem to the public." We shall follow his example.

 The Honorable Henry Grattan, to whom the baron dedicates his work,
has said, that the poems: which it contains are calculated to inspire
"valor, wisdom, and virtue." It is true, that they are adorned with
numerous beauties both of poetry and morality. They are still farther
distinguished and illumined by noble allusions to the Omnipotent,
which cannot fail to strike the reader as a particular in which they
remarkably vary from those of Mr. Macpherson. "In his," says our
author," there is no mention of the Divinity. In these, the chief
characteristic is the many solemn descriptions of the Almighty Being,
which give a degree of elevation to them unattainable by any other
method. It is worthy of observation how the bard gains in sublimity
by his magnificent, display of the power, bounty, eternity, and
justice of God: and every reader must rejoice to find the venerable
old warrior occupied in descriptions so worthy his great and
comprehensive genius, and to see him freed from the imputation of
atheism, with which he had been branded by many sagacious and
impartial men." P. vi.

 We could willingly transcribe more of these. poems, but we have
already quoted enough to show the style of them, and can spare space
for no additions. "Lamor, a poem," is, the baron thinks, of a more
ancient date than that of Ossian, and "the model, perhaps, of his
compositions." Another, called "Sitric," king of Dublin, which throws
some light on the history of those times, he places in the ninth
century. What faith, however, is to be put in the genuineness of the
"Fragments,"  which Baron de Harold assures us furnished him with the
ground-work of these poems, we leave it to others to ascertain. Our
investigation is confined within far narrower limits.

 It has, without doubt, been observed that in noticing what has
transpired on this subject since our last edition, we have carefully
avoided any dogmatism on the question collectedly; and having simply
displayed a torch to show the paths which lead to the labyrinth,
those who wish to venture more deeply into its intricacies, may, when
they please, pursue them.

 We must acknowledge, before we depart, that we cannot see without
indignation, or rather pity, the belief of some persons that these
poems are the offspring of Macpherson's genius, so operating on their
minds as to turn their admiration of the ancient poet into contempt
of the modern. We ourselves love antiquity, not merely however, on
account of its antiquity, but because it deserves to be loved. No: we
honestly own with Quintilian, in quibusdam antiquorum, vix risum, in
quibusdam autem vix somnum tenere. The songs of other times, when
they are, as they frequently are, supremely beautiful, merit every
praise, but we must not therefore despise all novelty. In the days of
the Theban bard, it would seem to have been otherwise, for he appears
to give the preference to old wine, but new songs--

a??e? de pa?a???
µe? o????, a??ea d' ?µ???
?e?te???.-- Pind. Ol. Od. ix

(ainei de palaion
men oinon, anthea d'ymnon
neoteron)

 With respect to age in wine we are tolerably agreed, but we differ
widely in regard to novelty in verse. Though warranted in some
measure, yet all inordinate prepossessions should be moderated, and
it would be well if we were occasionally to reflect on this question,
if the ancients had been so inimicable to novelty as we are, what
would now be old?

 We shall not presume to affirm that these poems were originally
produced by Macpherson, but admitting it, for the sake of argument,
it would then, perhaps, be just to ascribe all the mystery that has
hung about them to the often ungenerous dislike of novelty, or, it
may be more truly, the efforts of contemporaries, which influences
the present day. This might have stimulated him to seek in the garb
of "th' olden time," that respect which is sometimes despitefully
denied to drapery of a later date. Such a motive doubtlessly swayed
the designs both of Chatterton and Ireland, whose names we cannot
mention together without Dryden's comment on Spenser and Flecknoe,
"that is, from the top to the bottom of all poetry." In ushering into
the world the hapless, but beautiful muse of Chatterton, as well as
the contemptible compositions of Ireland, it was alike thought
necessary, to secure public attention, to have recourse to "quaint
Inglis," or an antique dress. And to the eternal disgrace, of
prejudice, the latter, merely in consequence of their disguise, found
men blind enough to advocate their claims to that admiration which,
on their eyes being opened, they could no longer see, and from the
support of which they shrunk abashed.

 But we desist. It is useless to draw conclusions, as it is vain to
reason with certain people who act unreasonably, since, if they were,
in these particular cases, capable of reason, they would need no
reasoning with. By some, the poems here published will be esteemed in
proportion as the argument for their antiquity prevails, but with
regard to the general reader, and the unaffected lovers of "heaven-
descended poesy," let the question take either way, still

The harp in Selma was not idly
And long shall last the themes our poet

Berrathon.





PREFACE.

 WITHOUT increasing his genius, the author may have improved his
language, in the eleven years that the following poems have been in
the hands of the public. Errors in diction might have been committed
at twenty-four, which the experience of a riper age may remove; and
some exuberances in imagery may be restrained with advantage, by a
degree of judgment acquired in the progress of time. Impressed with
this opinion, he ran over the whole with attention and accuracy; and
he hopes he has brought the work to a state of correctness which will
preclude all future improvements.

 The eagerness with which these poems have been received abroad, is a
recompense for the coldness with which a few have affected to treat
them at home. All the polite nations of Europe have transferred them
into their respective languages; and they speak of him who brought
them to light, in terms that might flatter the vanity of one fond of
flame. In a convenient indifference for a literary reputation, the
author hears praise without being elevated, and ribaldry without
being depressed. He has frequently seen the first bestowed too
precipitately; and the latter is so faithless to its purpose, that it
is often the only index to merit in the present age.

 Though the taste which defines genius by the points of the compass,
is a subject fit for mirth in itself, it is often a serious matter in
the sale of the work. When rivers define the limits of abilities, as
well as the boundaries of countries, a writer may measure his success
by the latitude under which he was born. It was to avoid a part of
this inconvenience, that the author is said by some, who speak
without any authority, to nave ascribed his own productions to
another name. If this was the case, he was but young in the art of
deception. When he placed the poet in antiquity, the translator
should have been born on this side of the Tweed.

 These observations regard only the frivolous in matters of
literature; these, however, form a majority of every age and nation.
In this countrymen of genuine taste abound; but their still voice is
drowned in the clamors of a multitude, who judge by fashion of
poetry, as of dress. The truth is, to judge aright, requires almost
as much genius as to write well; and good critics are as rare as
great poets. Though two hundred thousand Romans stood up when Virgil
came into the theatre, Varius only could correct the Æneid. He that
obtains fame must receive it through mere fashion; and gratify his
vanity with the applause of men, of whose judgment he cannot approve.

 The following poems, it must be confessed, are more calculated to
please persons of exquisite feelings of heart, than those who receive
all their impressions by the car. The novelty of cadence, in what is
called a prose version, thou h not destitute of harmony, will not, to
common readers, supply the absence of the frequent returns of rhyme.
This was the opinion of the writer himself, though he yielded to the
judgment of others, in a mode, which presented freedom and dignity of
expression, instead of fetters, which cramp the thought, whilst the
harmony of language is preserved. His attention was to publish
inverse.--The making of poetry, like any other handicraft, may be
learned by industry; and he had served his apprenticeship, though in
secret, to the Muses.

 It is, however, doubtful, whether the harmony which these poems
might derive from rhyme, even in much better hands than those of the
translator, could atone for the simplicity and energy which they
would lose. The determination of this point shall be left to the
readers of this preface. The following is the beginning of a poem,
translated from the Norse to the Gaelic language; and, from the
latter, transferred into English. The verse took little more time to
the writer than the prose; and he himself is doubtful (if he has
succeeded in either) which of them is the most literal version.

 FRAGMENT OF A NORTHERN TALE.

 WHERE Harold, with golden hair, spread o'er Lochlinn his high
commands; where, with justice, he ruled the tribes, who sunk,
subdued, beneath his sword; abrupt rises Gormal in snow! the tempests
roll dark on his sides, but calm, above, his vast forehead appears.
White-issuing from the skirt of his storms, the troubled torrents
pour down his sides. Joining, as they roar along, they bear the
Torno, in foam, to the main.

 Gray on the bank, and far from men, half-covered, by ancient pines,
from the wind, a lonely pile exalts its head, long shaken by the
storms of the north. To this fled Sigurd, fierce in fight, from
Harold the leader of armies, when fate had brightened his spear with
renown: when he conquered in that rude field, where Lulan's warriors
fell in blood, or rose in terror on the waves of the main. Darkly sat
the gray-haired chief; yet sorrow dwelt not in his soul. But when the
warrior thought on the past, his proud heart heaved against his side:
forth flew his sword from its place: he wounded Harold in all the
winds.

 One daughter, and only one, but bright in form and mild of soul, the
last beam of the setting line, remained to Sigurd of all his race.
His son, in Lulan's battle slain, beheld not his father's flight from
his foes. Nor finished seemed the ancient line! The splendid beauty
of bright-eyed Fithon covered still the fallen king with renown. Her
arm was white like Gormal's snow; her bosom whiter than the foam of
the main, when roll the waves beneath the wrath of the winds. Like
two stars were her radiant eyes, like two stars that rise on the
deep, when dark tumult embroils the night. Pleasant are their beams
aloft, as stately they ascend the skies.

 Nor Odin forgot, in aught, the maid. Her form scarce equalled her
lofty mind. Awe moved around her stately steps. Heroes loved-but
shrunk away in their fears. Yet, midst the pride of all her charms,
her heart was soft and her soul was kind. She saw the mournful with
tearful eyes. Transient darkness arose in her breast. Her joy was in
the chase. Each morning, when doubtful light wandered dimly on
Lulan's waves, she roused the resounding woods to Gormal's head of
snow. Nor moved the maid alone, &c.

The same versified.

Where fair-hair'd Harold, o'er Scandinia reign'd,
And held with justice what his valor gain'd ,
Sevo, in snow, his rugged forehead rears,
A o'er the warfare of his storms, appears
Abrupt and vast.--White wandering down his side
A thousand torrents, gleaming as they glide,
Unite below, and, pouring through the plain,
flurry the troubled Torno to the main.
Gray, on the bank, remote from human kind,
By aged pines half-shelter'd from the wind,
A homely mansion rose, of antique form,
For ages batter'd by the polar storm.
To this, fierce Sigurd fled from Norway's lord,
When fortune settled on the warrior's sword,
In that rude field, where Suecia's chiefs were slain,
Or forc'd to wander o'er the Bothnic main.
Dark was his life, yet undisturb'd with woes,
But when the memory of defeat arose,
His proud heart struck his side; he grasp'd the spear,
And wounded Harold in the vacant air.
One daughter only, but of form divine,
The last fair beam of the departing line,
Remain'd of Sigurd's race. His warlike son
Fell in the shock which overturn'd the throne.
Nor desolate the house! Fionia's charms
Sustain'd the glory which they lost in arms.
White was her arm as Sevo's lofty snow,
Her bosom fairer than the waves below
When heaving to the winds. Her radiant eyes
Like two bright stars, exulting as they rise,
O'er the dark tumult of a stormy night,
And gladd'ning heaven with their majestic light.
In nought is Odin to the maid unkind,
Her form scarce equals her exalted mind;
Awe leads her sacred steps where'er they move,
And mankind worship where they dare not love.
But mix'd with softness was the virgin's pride,
Her heart bad feeling, which her eyes denied;
Her bright tears started at another's woes,
While transient darkness on her soul arose.
The chase she lov'd; when morn with doubtful beam
Came dimly wand'ring o'er the Bothnic stream.
On Sevo's sounding sides she bent the bow,
And rous'd his forests to his head of snow.
Nor moved the maid alone, &c.

One of the chief improvements, in this edition, is the care taken in
arranging the poems in the order of time; so as to form a kind of
regular history of the age to which they relate. The writer has now
resigned them forever to their fate. That they have been well
received by the public appears from an extensive sale; that they
shall continue to be well received, he may venture to prophesy,
without the gift of that inspiration to which poets lay claim.
Through the medium of version upon version, they retain, in foreign
languages, their native character of simplicity and energy. Genuine
poetry, like gold, loses little, when properly transfused; but when a
composition cannot bear the test of a literal version, it is a
counterfeit which ought not to pass current. The operation must,
however, be performed with skilful hands. A translator who cannot
equal his original, is incapable of expressing its beauties.

 London,
Aug. 15,1773.





A DISSERTATION CONCERNING THE ÆRA OF OSSIAN.

 INQUIRIES into the antiquities of nations afford more pleasure than
any real advantage to mankind. The ingenious may form systems of
history on probabilities and a few facts; but, at a great distance of
time, their accounts must be vague and uncertain. The infancy of
states and kingdoms is as destitute of great events, as of the means
of transmitting them to posterity. The arts of polished life, by
which alone facts can be preserved with certainty, are the production
of a well. formed community. It is then historians begin to write,
and public transactions to be worthy remembrance. The actions of
former times are left in obscurity, or magnified by uncertain
traditions. Hence it is that we find so much of the marvellous in the
origin of every nation; posterity being always ready to believe any
thing, however fabulous, that reflects honor on their ancestors.

 The Greeks and Romans were remarkable for this weakness. They
swallowed the most absurd fables concerning the high antiquities of
their respective nations. Good historians, however, rose very early
amongst them, and transmitted, with lustre, their great actions to
posterity. It is to them that they owe that unrivalled fame they now
enjoy; while the great actions of other nations are involved in
fables, or lost in obscurity. The Celtic nations afford a striking
instance of this kind. They, though once the masters of Europe, from
the mouth of the river Oby, in Russia, to Cape Finisterre, the
western point of Gallicia, in Spain, are very little mentioned in
history. They trusted their fame to tradition and the songs of their
bards, which, by the vicissitude of human affairs, are long since
lost. Their ancient language is the only monument that remains of
them; and the traces of it being found in places so widely distant
from each other, serves only to show the extent of their ancient
power, but throws very little light on their history.

 Of all the Celtic nations, that which possessed old Gaul is the most
renowned: not perhaps on account of worth superior to the rest, but
for their wars with a people who had historians to transmit the fame
of their enemies, as well as their own, to posterity. Britain was
first peopled by them, according to the testimony of the best
authors; its situation in respect to Gaul makes the opinion probable;
but what puts it beyond all dispute, is, that the same customs and
language prevailed among the inhabitants of both in the days of
Julius Cæsar.

 The colony from Gaul possessed themselves, at first, of that part of
Britain which was next to their own country; and spreading northward
by degrees, as they increased in numbers, peopled the whole island.
Some adventurers passing over from those parts of Britain that are
within sight of Ireland, were the founders of the Irish nation: which
is a more probable story than the idle fables of Milesian and
Gallician colonies. Diodorus Siculus mentions it as a thing well k-
town in his time, that the inhabitants of Ireland were originally
Britons; and his testimony is unquestionable, when we consider that,
for many ages, the language and customs of both nations were the
same.

 Tacitus was of opinion that the ancient Caledonians were of German
extract; but even the ancient Ger. mans themselves were Gauls. The
present Germans, properly so called, were not the same with the
ancient Celtæ. The manners and customs of the two nations were
similar; but their language different. The Germans are the genuine
descendants of the ancient Scandinavians, who crossed, at an early
period, the Baltic. The Celtæ, anciently, sent many colonies into
Germany, all of whom retained their own laws, language, and customs,
till they were dissipated, in the Roman empire; and it is of them, if
any colonies came from Germany into Scotland, that the ancient
Caledonians were descended.

 But whether the ancient Caledonians were a colony of the Celtic
Germans,, or the same with the Gauls that first possessed themselves
of Britain, is a matter of no moment at this distance of time.
Whatever their origin was, we find them very numerous in the time of
Julius Agricola, which is a presumption that they were long before
settled in the country. The form of their government was a mixture of
aristocracy and monarchy, as it was in all the countries where the
Druids bore the chief sway. This order of men seems to have been
formed on the same principles with the Dactyli, Idæ, and Curetes of
the ancients. Their pretended intercourse with heaven, their magic
and divination, were the same. The knowledge of the Druids in natural
causes, and the properties of certain things, the fruits of the
experiments of ages, gained them a mighty reputation among the
people. The esteem of the populace soon increased into a veneration
for the order; which these cunning and ambitious priests took care to
improve, to such a degree, that they, in a manner, engrossed the
management of civil, as well as religious matters. It is generally
allowed, that they did not abuse this extraordinary power; the
preserving the character of sanctity was so essential to their
influence, that they never broke out into violence or oppression. The
chiefs were allowed to execute the laws, but the legislative power
was entirely in the hands of the Druids. It Was by their authority
that the tribes were united, in times of the greatest danger, under
one head. This temporary king, or Vergobretus, was chosen by them,
and generally laid down his office at the end of the war. These
priests enjoyed long this extraordinary privilege among the Celtic
nations who lay beyond the pale of the Roman empire. It was in the
beginning of the second century that their power among the
Caledonians began to decline. The traditions concerning Trathal and
Cormac, ancestors to Fingal, are full of the particulars of the fall
of the Druids: a singular fate it must be owned, of priests who had
once established their superstition.

 The continual wars of the Caledonians against the Romans, hindered
the bettor sort from initiating themselves, as the custom formerly
was, into the order of the Druids. The precepts of their religion
were con. fined to a few, and were not much attended to by a people
inured to war. He Vergobretus, or chief magistrate, was chosen
without the concurrence of the hierarchy, or continued in his office
against their will. Continual power strengthened his interest among
the tribes, and enabled him to send down, as hereditary to his
posterity, the office he had only received himself by election.

 On occasion of a new war against the "king of the world," as
tradition emphatically calls the Roman emperor, the Druids, to
vindicate the honor of the order, began to resume their ancient
privilege of choosing the Vergobretus. Garmal, the son of Tarno,
being deputed by them, came to the grandfather of the celebrated
Fingal, who was then Vergobretus, and commanded him, in the name of
the whole order, to lay down his office. Upon his refusal, a civil
war commenced, which soon ended in almost the total extinction of the
religious order of the Druids. A few that remained, retired to the
dark recesses of their groves, and the caves they had formerly used
for their meditations. It is then we find them in the circle of
stones, and unheeded by the world. A total disregard for the order,
and utter abhorrence of the Druidical rites ensued. Under this cloud
of public hate, all that had any knowledge of the religion of the
Druids became extinct, and the nation fell into the last degree of
ignorance of their rites and ceremonies.

 It is no matter of wonder, then, that Fingal and his son Ossian
disliked the Druids, who were the declared enemies to their
succession in the supreme magistracy. It is a singular case, it must
be allowed, that there are no traces of religion in the poems
ascribed to Ossian, as the poetical compositions of other nations are
so closely connected with their mythology. But gods are not
necessary, when the poet has genius. It is hard to account for it to
those who are not made acquainted with the manner of the old Scottish
bards. That race of men carried their notions of martial honor to an
extravagant pitch. Any aid given their heroes in battle, was thought
to derogate from their fame; and the bards immediately transferred
the glory of the action to him who had given that aid.

 Had the poet brought down gods, as often as Homer has done, to
assist his heroes, his work had not consisted of eulogiums on men,
but of hymns to superior beings. Those who write in the Gaelic
language seldom mention religion in their profane poetry; and when
they professedly write of religion, they never mix, with their
compositions, the actions of their heroes. This custom alone, even
though the religion of the Druids had not been previously
extinguished, may, in some measure, excuse the author's silence
concerning the religion of ancient times.

 To allege that a nation is void of all religion, betrays ignorance
of the history of mankind. The traditions of their fathers, and their
own observations on the works of nature, together with that
superstition which is inherent in the human frame, have, in all ages,
raised in the minds of men some idea of a superior being. Hence it
is, that in the darkest times, and amongst the most barbarous
nations, the very populace themselves hid some faint notion, at
least, of a divinity. The Indians, who worship no God, believe that
he exists. It would be doing injustice to the author of these poems,
to think that he had not opened his conceptions to that primitive and
greatest of all truths. But let his religion be what it will, it is
certain that he has not alluded to Christianity or any of its rites,
in his poems; which ought to fix his opinions, at least; to an era
prior to that religion. Conjectures, on this subject, must supply the
place of proof. The persecution begun by Dioclesian, in the year 303,
is the most probable time in which the first dawning of Christianity
in the north of Britain can be fixed. The humane and mild character
of Constantius Chlorus, who commanded then in Britain, induced the
persecuted Christians to take refuge under him. Some of them, through
a zeal to propagate their tenets, or through fear, went beyond the
pale of the Roman empire, and settled among the Caledonians; who
were, ready to hearken to their doctrines, if the religion of the
Druids was exploded long before. These missionaries, either through
choice or to give more weight to the doctrine they advanced, took
possession of the cells and groves of the Druids; and it was from
this retired life they had the name of Culdees, which, in the
language of the country, signified "the sequestered persons." It was
with one of the Culdees that Ossian, in his extreme old age, is said
to have disputed concerning the Christian religion. This dispute they
say, is extant, and is couched in verse, according to the custom of
the times. The extreme ignorance on the part of Ossian of the
Christian tenets, shows that that religion had only lately been
introduced, as it is not easy to conceive how one of the first rank
could be totally unacquainted with a religion that had been known for
any time in the country. The dispute bears the genuine marks of
antiquity. The obsolete phrases and expressions, peculiar to the
time, prove it to be no forgery. If Ossian, then, lived at the
introduction of Christianity, as by all appearance he did, his epoch
will be the, latter end of the third, and beginning of the fourth
century. Tradition here steps in with a kind of proof.

 The exploits of Fingal against Caracul, the son of the "king of the
world," are among the first brave actions of his youth. A complete:
poem, which relates to this subject, is printed in this collection.

 In the year 210, the Emperor Severus, after returning from his
expedition against the Caledonians at York, fell into the tedious
illness of which he afterward died. The Caledonians and Maiatæ,
resuming courage from his indisposition, took arms in order to
recover the possessions they had lost. The enraged emperor commanded
his army to march into their country, and to destroy it with fire and
sword. His orders were but ill executed; for his son Caracalla was at
the head of the army, and his thoughts were entirely taken up with
the hopes of his father's death, and with schemes to supplant his
brother Geta. He scarcely had entered into the enemy's country, when
news was brought him that Severus was dead, A sudden peace is patched
up with the Caledonians, and, as it appears from Dion Cassius, the
country they had lost to Severus was restored to them.

 The Caracul of Fingal is no other than Caracalla, who as the son of
Severus, the emperor of Rome, whose dominions were extended almost
over the known world, was not without reason called the "son of the
king of the world." The space, of time between 211, the year Severus
, died, and the beginning of the fourth century is not so great, but
Ossian, the son of Fingal, might have seen the Christians whom the
persecution under Dioclesian had driven beyond the pale of the Roman
empire.

 In one of the many lamentations of the death of Oscar, a battle
which he fought, against Caros, king of ships, on the banks of the
winding Carun, is mentioned among his great actions. It is more than
probable, that the Caros mentioned here, is the same with the noted
usurper Carausius, who assumed the purple in the year 287, and
seizing on Britain, defeated the Emperor Maximinian Herculius in
several naval engagements, which gives propriety to his being called
the "king of ships." "The winding Carun," is that small river
retaining still the name of Carron, and runs in the neighborhood of
Agricola's wall, which Carausius repaired, to obstruct the incursions
of the Caledonians. Several other passages in traditions allude to
the wars of the Romans; but the two just mentioned clearly fix the
epocha of Fingal to the third century; and this account agrees
exactly with the Irish histories, which place the death of Fingal,
the son of Comhal, in the year 283, and that of Oscar and their own
celebrated Cairbre, in the year 296.

 Some people may imagine, that the allusions to the Roman history
might have been derived by tradition, from learned men, more than
from ancient poems. This must then have happened at least three
hundred years ago, as these allusions are mentioned often in the
compositions of those times.

 Every one knows what a cloud of ignorance and barbarism overspread
the north of Europe three hundred years ago. The minds of men,
addicted to superstition, contracted a narrowness that destroyed
genius. Accordingly we find the compositions of those times trivial
and puerile to the last degree. But, let it be allowed; that, amidst
all the untoward circumstances of the age, a genius might arise; it
is not easy to determine what could induce him to allude to the Roman
times. We find no fact to favor any designs which could be
entertained by any man who lived in the fifteenth century.

 The strongest objection to the antiquity of the poems now given to
the public under the name of Ossian, is the improbability of their
being handed down by tradition through so many centuries. Ages of
barbarism some will say, could not produce poems abounding with the
disinterested and generous sentiments so conspicuous in the
compositions of Ossian; and could these ages produce them, it is
impossible but they must be lost, or altogether corrupted, in a long
succession of barbarous generations.

 Those objections naturally suggest themselves to men unacquainted
with the ancient state of the northern parts of Britain. The bards,
who were an inferior order of the Druids, did not share their bad
fortune. They were spared by the victorious king, as it was through
their means only he could hope for immortality to his fame. They
attended him in the camp, and contributed to establish his power by
their songs. His great actions were magnified, and the populace, who
had no ability to examine into his character narrowly, were dazzled
with his fame in the rhymes of the bards. In the mean time, men
assumed sentiments that are rarely to be met with in an age of
barbarism. The bards, who were originally the disciples of the
Druids, hid their minds opened, and their ideas enlarged, by being
initiated into the learning of that celebrated order. They could form
a perfect hero in their own minds, and ascribe that character to
their prince. The inferior chiefs made this ideal character the model
of their conduct; and, by degrees, brought their minds to that
generous spirit which breathes in all the poetry of the times. The
prince, flattered by his bards, and rivalled by his own heroes, who
imitated his character as described in the eulogies of his poets,
endeavored to excel his people in merit, as he was above them in
station. This emulation continuing, formed at last the general
character of the nation, happily compounded of what is noble in
barbarity, and virtuous and generous in a polished people.

 When virtue in peace, and bravery in war, are the characteristics of
a nation, their actions become interesting, and their fame worthy of
immortality. A generous spirit is warmed with noble actions, and
becomes ambitious of perpetuating them. This is the true source of
that divine inspiration, to which the poets of all ages pretended.
When they found their themes inadequate to the warmth of their
imaginations, they varnished them over with fables supplied with
their own fancy, or furnished by absurd traditions. These fables,
however ridiculous, had their abettors; posterity either implicitly
believed them, or through a vanity natural to mankind, pretended that
they did. They loved to place the founders of their families in the
days of fable, when poetry, without the fear of contradiction, could
give what character she pleased of her heroes. It is to this vanity
that we owe the preservation of what remain of the more ancient
poems. Their poetical merit made their heroes famous in a country
where heroism was much esteemed and admired. The posterity of these
heroes or those who pretended to be descended from them, heard with
pleasure the eulogiums of their ancestors; bards were employed to
repeat the poems, and to record the connection of their patrons with
chiefs so renowned. Every chief, in process of time, had a bard in
his family, and the office became at last hereditary. By the
succession of these bards, the poems concerning the ancestors of the
family were handed down from generation to generation; they were
repeated to the whole clan on solemn occasions, and always alluded to
in the new compositions of the bards. The custom came down to near
our own times; and after the bards were discontinued, a great number
in a clan retained by memory, or committed to writing, their
compositions, and founded the antiquity of their families on the
authority of their poems.

 The use of letters was not known in the north of Europe till long
after the institution of the bards: the records of the families of
their patrons, their own, and more ancient poems, were handed down by
tradition. Their poetical compositions were admirably contrived for
that purpose. They were adapted to music; and the most perfect
harmony was observed. Each verse was so connected with those which
preceded or followed it, that if one line, had been remembered in a
stanza, it was almost impossible to forget the rest. The cadences
followed so natural a gradation, and the words were so adapted to the
common turn of the voice, after it is raised to a certain key, that
it was almost impossible, from a similarity of sound, to substitute
one word for another. This excellence is peculiar to the Celtic
tongue, and is perhaps to be met with in no other language. Nor does
this choice of words clog the sense, or weaken the expression. The
numerous flexions of consonants, and variation in declension, make
the language very copious.

 The descendants of the Celtæ, who inhabited Britain and its isles,
were not singular in this method of preserving the most precious
monuments of their nation. The ancient laws of the Greeks were
couched in verse, and handed down by tradition. The Spartans, through
a long habit, became so fond of this custom, that they would never
allow their laws to be committed to writing. The actions of great
men, and eulogiums of kings and heroes, were preserved in the same
manner. All the historical monuments of the old Germans were
comprehended in their ancient songs; which were either hymns to their
gods, or elegies in praise of their heroes, and were intended to
perpetuate the great events in their nation, which were carefully
interwoven with them. This species of composition was not committed
to writing, but delivered by oral tradition. The care they took to
have the poems taught to their children, the uninterrupted custom of
repeating them upon certain occasions, and the happy measure of the
verse, served to preserve them for a long time uncorrupted. This oral
chronicle of the Germans was not forgot in the eighth century; and it
probably would have remained to this day, had not learning, which
thinks every thing that is not committed to writing, fabulous, been
introduced. It was from poetical traditions that Garcilasso composed
his account of the Incas of Peru. The Peruvians had lost all other
monuments of their history, and it was from ancient poems, which his
mother, a princess of the blood of the Incas, taught him in his
youth, that he, collected the materials of his history. If other
nations, then, that had often been overrun by enemies, and hath sent
abroad and received colonies, could for many ages preserve, by oral
tradition, their laws and histories uncorrupted, it is much more
probable that the ancient Scots, a people so free of intermixture
with foreigners, and so strongly attached to the memory of their
ancestors, had the works of their bards handed down with great
purity.

 What is advanced in s short dissertation, it must be confessed, is
mere conjecture. Beyond the reach of' records is settled a gloom
which no ingenuity can penetrate. The manners described in these
poems suit the ancient Celtic times, and no other period that is
known in history. We must, therefore, place the heroes far back in
antiquity; and it matters little, who were their contemporaries in
other parts of the world. If we have placed Fingal in his proper
period, we do honor to the manners of barbarous times. He exercised
every manly virtue in Caledonia, while Heliogabalus disgraced human
nature at Rome.





A DISSERTATION CONCERNING THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.

 THE history of those nations who originally possessed the north of
Europe, is less known than their manners. Destitute of the use of
letters, they them. selves had not the means of transmitting their
great actions to remote posterity. Foreign writers saw them only at a
distance, and described them as they found them. The vanity of the
Romans induced them to consider the nations beyond the pale of their
empire as barbarians; and, consequently, their history unworthy of
being investigated. Their manners and singular character were matters
of curiosity, as they committed them to record. Some men otherwise of
great merit, among ourselves, give into confined ideas on this
subject. Having early imbibed their idea of exalted manners from the
Greek and Roman writers, they scarcely ever afterward have the
fortitude to allow any dignity of character to any nation destitute
of the use of letters.

 Without derogating from the fame of Greece and Rome, we may consider
antiquity beyond the pale of their empire worthy of some attention.
The nobler passions of the mind never shoot forth more free and
unrestrained than in the times we call barbarous. That irregular
manner of life, and those manly pursuits, from which barbarity takes
it name, are highly favorable to a strength of mind unknown in
polished times. In advanced society, the characters of men are more
uniform and disguised. The human passions lie in some degree
concealed behind forms and artificial manners; and the powers of the
soul, without an opportunity of exerting them, lose their vigor. The
times of regular government, and polished manners, are therefore to
be wished for by the feeble and weak in mind. An unsettled state, and
those convulsions which attend it, is the proper field for an exalted
character, and the exertion of great parts. Merit there rises always
superior; no fortuitous event can raise the timid and mean into
power. To those who look upon antiquity in this light, it is an
agreeable prospect; and they alone can have real pleasure in tracing
nations to their source. The establishment of the Celtic states, in
the north of Europe, is beyond the reach of written annals. The
traditions and songs to which they trusted their history, were lost,
or altogether corrupted, in their revolutions and migrations, which
were so frequent and universal, that no kingdom in Europe is now
possessed by its original inhabitants. Societies were formed, and
kingdoms erected, from a mixture of nations, who, in process of time,
lost all knowledge of their own origin. If tradition could be
depended upon, it is only among a people, from all time, free from
intermixture with foreigners. We are to look for these among the
mountains and inaccessible parts of a country: places, on account of
their barrenness, uninviting to an enemy, or whose natural strength
enabled the natives to repel invasions. Such are the inhabitants of
the mountains of Scotland. We, accordingly find that they differ
materially from those who possess the low and more fertile parts of,
the kingdom. Their language is pure and original, and their manners
are those of an ancient and unmixed race of men. Conscious of their
own antiquity, they long despised others, as a new and mixed people.
As they lived in a country only fit for pasture, they were free from
that toil and business which engross the attention of a commercial
people. Their amusement consisted in hearing or repeating their songs
and traditions, and these entirely turned on the antiquity of their
nation, and the exploits of their forefathers. It is no wonder,
therefore, that there are more remains among them, than among any
other people in Europe. Traditions, however, concerning remote
periods are only to be regarded, in so far as they coincide with
contemporary writers of undoubted credit and veracity.

 No writers began their accounts for a more early period than the
historians of the Scots nation. Without records, or even tradition
itself, they gave a long list of ancient kings, and a detail of their
transactions, with a scrupulous exactness. One might naturally
suppose, that when they had no authentic annals, they should, at
least, have recourse to the traditions of their country, and have
reduced them into a regular system of history. Of both they seem to
have been equally destitute. Born in the low country, and strangers
to the ancient language of their nation, they contented themselves
with copying from one another, and retailing the same fictions in a
new color and dress.

 John Fordun was the first who collected those fragments of the Scots
history which had escaped the brutal policy of Edward I., and reduced
them into order. His accounts, in so far as they concerned recent
transactions, deserved credit: beyond a certain period, they were
fabulous and unsatisfactory. Sometime before Fordun wrote, the king
of England, in a letter to the pope, had run up the antiquity of his
nation to a very remote æra. Fordun, possessed of all the national
prejudice of the age, was unwilling that his country should yield, in
point of antiquity, to a people then its rivals and enemies.
Destitute of annals in Scotland, he had recourse to Ireland, which,
according to the vulgar error of the times, was reckoned the first
habitation of the Scots. He found there, that the Irish bards had
carried their pretensions to antiquity as high, if not beyond any
nation in Europe. It was from them he took those improbable fictions
which form the first part of his history.

 The writers that succeeded Fordun implicitly followed his system,
though they sometimes varied from him in their relations of
particular transactions and the order of succession of their kings.
As they had no new lights, and were equally with him unacquainted
with the traditions of their country, their histories contain little
information concerning the origin of the Scots. Even Buchanan
himself, except the elegance and vigor of his style, has very little
to recommend him. Blinded with political prejudices, he seemed more
anxious to turn the fictions of his predecessors to his own purposes,
than to detect their misrepresentations, or investigate truth amidst
the darkness which they had thrown round it. It therefore appears,
that little can be collected from their own historians concerning the
first migrations of the Scots into Britain.

 That this island was peopled from Gaul admits of no doubt. Whether
colonies came afterward from the north of Europe, is a matter of mere
speculation. When South Britain yielded to the power of the Romans,
the unconquered nations to the north of the province were
distinguished by the name of Caledonians. From their very name, it
appears that they were of those Gauls who possessed themselves
originally of Britain. It is compounded of two Celtic words, Cael
signifying Celts, or Gauls, and Dun or Don, a hill; so that Caeldon,
or Caledonians, is as much as to say, the "Celts of the hill
country." The Highlanders, to this day, call themselves Cael, and
their language Caelic, or Galic, and their country Caeldock, which
the Romans softened into Caledonia. This, of itself, is sufficient to
demonstrate that they are the genuine descendants of the ancient
Caledonians, and not a pretended colony of Scots, who settled first
in the north, in the third or fourth century.

 From the double meaning of' the word Cael, which signifies
"strangers," as well as Gauls, or Celts, some have imagined, that the
ancestors of the Caledonians were of a different race from the rest
of the Britons, and that they received their name upon that account.
This opinion, say they, is supported by Tacitus, who, from several
circumstances, concludes that the Caledonians were of German
extraction. A discussion of a point so intricate, at this distance of
time, could neither be satisfactory nor important.

 Towards the later end of the third, and beginning of the fourth
century, we find the Scots in the north. Porphirius makes the first
mention of them about that time. As the Scots were not heard of
before that period, most writers supposed them to have been a colony,
newly come to Britain, and that the Picts were the only genuine
descendants of the ancient Caledonians. This mistake is easily
removed. The Caledonians, in process of time, became naturally
divided into two distinct nations, as possessing parts of the country
entirely different in their nature and soil. The western coast of
Scotland is hilly and barren; towards the east, the country is plain,
and fit for tillage. The inhabitants of the mountains, a roving and
uncontrolled race of men, lived by feeding of cattle, and what they
killed in hunting. Their employment did not fix them to one place.
They removed from one heath to another, as suited best with their
convenience or inclination. They were not, therefore, improperly
called, by their neighbors, Scuite, or "the wandering nation;" which
is evidently the origin of the Roman name of Scoti.

 On the other hand, the Caledonians, who possessed the east coast of
Scotland, as this division of the country was plain and fertile,
applied themselves to agriculture, and raising of corn. It was from
this that the Galic name of the Picts proceeded; for they are called
in that language, Cruithnich, i. e. "the wheat or corn eaters." As
the Picts lived in a country so different in its nature from that
possessed by the Scots so their national character suffered a
material change. Unobstructed by mountains or lakes, their
communication with one another was free and frequent. Society,
therefore, became sooner established among them than among the Scots,
and, consequently, they were much sooner governed by civil
magistrates and laws. This, at last, produced so great a difference
in the manners of the two nations, that they began to forget their
common origin, and almost continual quarrels and animosities
subsisted between them. These animosities, after some ages, ended in
the subversion of the Pictish kingdom, but not in the total
extirpation of the nation according to most of the Scots writers, who
seem to think it more for the honor of their countrymen to annihilate
than reduce a rival people under their obedience. It is certain,
however, that the very name of the Picts was lost, and that those
that remained were so completely incorporated with their conquerors,
that they soon lost all memory of their own origin.

 The end of the Pictish government is placed so near that period to
which authentic annals reach, that it is matter of wonder that we
have no monuments of their language or history remaining. This favors
the system I have laid down. Had they originally been of a different
race from the Scots, their language of course would be different. The
contrary is the case. The names of places in the Pictish dominions,
and the very names of their kings, which are handed down to us, are
of Galic original, which is a convincing proof that the two nations
were, of old, one and the same, and only divided into two governments
by the effect which their situation had upon the genius of the
people.

 The name of Picts is said to have been given by the Romans to the
Caledonians who possessed the east coast of Scotland from their
painting their bodies. The story is silly, and the argument absurd.
But let us revere antiquity in her very follies. This circumstance
made some imagine, that the Picts were of British extract, and a
different race of men from the Scots. That more of the Britons, who
fled northward from the tyranny of the Romans, settled in the low
country of Scotland, than among the Scots of the mountains, may be
easily imagined, from the very nature of the country. It was they who
introduced painting among the Picts. From this circumstance, affirm
some antiquaries, proceeded the name of the latter, to distinguish
them from the Scots, who never had that art among them, and from the
Britons, who discontinued it after the Roman conquest.

 The Caledonians, most certainly, acquired a considerable knowledge
in navigation by their living on a coast intersected with many arms
of the sea, and in islands, divided one from another by wide and
dangerous firths. It is, therefore, highly probable, that they very
early found their way to the north of Ireland, which is within sight
of their own country. That Ireland was first peopled from Britain,
is, at length, a matter that admits of no doubt. The vicinity of the
two islands; the exact correspondence of the ancient inhabitants of
both, in point of manners and language, are sufficient proofs, even
if we had not the testimonies of authors of undoubted veracity to
confirm it. The abettors of the most romantic systems of Irish
antiquities allow it; but they place the colony from Britain in an
improbable and remote æra. I shall easily admit that the colony of
the Firbolg, confessedly the Belgæ of Britain, settled in the south
of Ireland, before the Cael, or Caledonians discovered the north; but
it is not at all likely that the migration of the Firbolg to Ireland
happened many centuries before the Christian æra.

 The poem of Temora throws considerable light on this subject. The
accounts given in it agree so well with what the ancients have
delivered concerning the first population and inhabitants of Ireland,
that every unbiased person will confess them more probable than the
legends handed down, by tradition, in that country. It appears that,
in the days of Trathal, grandfather to Fingal, Ireland was possessed
by two nations; the Firbolg or Belgæ of Britain, who inhabited the
south, and the Cael, who passed over from Caledonia and the Hebrides
to Ulster. The two nations, as is usual among an unpolished and
lately settled people, were divided into small dynasties, subject to
petty kings or chiefs, independent of one another. In this situation,
it is probable, they continued long, without any material revolution
in the state of the island, until Crothar, lord of Atha, a country in
Connaught, the most potent chief of the Firbolg, carried away
Conlama, the daughter of Cathmin, a chief of the Cael, who possessed
Ulster.

 Conlama had been betrothed, some time before, to Turloch, a chief of
their own nation. Turloch resented the affront offered him by
Crothar, made an irruption. into Connaught, and killed Cormul, the
brother of Crothar, who came to oppose his progress. Crothar himself
then took arms, and either killed or expelled Turloch. The war, upon
this, became general between the two nations, and the Cael were
reduced to the last extremity. In this situation, they applied for
aid to Trathal, king of Morven, who sent his brother Conar, already
famous for his great exploits, to their relief.

 Conar, upon his arrival in Ulster, was chosen king by the unanimous
consent of the Caledonian tribes who possessed that country. The war
was renewed with vigor and success; but the Firbolg appear to have
been rather repelled than subdued. In succeeding reigns, we learn,
from episodes in the same poem, that the chiefs of Atha made several
efforts to become monarchs of Ireland, and to expel the race of
Conar.

 To Conar succeeded his son Cormac, who appears to have reigned long.
In his latter days he seems to have been driven to the last extremity
by an insurrection of the Firbolg, who supported the pretensions of
the chiefs of Atha to the Irish throne. Fingal, who was then very
young, came to the aid of Cormac, totally defeated Colculla, chief of
Atha, and re-established Cormac in the sole possession of all
Ireland. It was then he fell in love with, and took to wife,
Roscrana, the daughter of Cormac, who was the mother of Ossian.

 Cormac was succeeded in the Irish throne by his son Cairbre; Cairbre
by Artho, his son, who was the father of that Cormac, in whose
minority the invasion of Swaran happened, which is the subject of the
poem of Fingal. The family of Atha, who had not relinquished their
pretensions to the Irish throne, rebelled in the minority of Cormac,
defeated his adherents, and murdered him in the palace of Ternora.
Cairbar, lord of of Atha, upon this mounted the throne. His
usurpation soon ended with his life; for Fingal made an expedition
into Ireland, and restored, after various vicissitudes of fortune,
the family of Conar to the possession of the kingdom. This war is the
subject of Temora; the events, though certainly heightened and
embellished by poetry, seem, notwithstanding, to have their
foundation in true history.

 Temora contains not only the history of the first migration of the
Caledonians into Ireland; it also preserves some important facts
concerning the first settlement of the Firbolg, or Belgæ of Britain,
in that kingdom, under their leader Larthon, who was ancestor to
Cairbar and Cathmor, who successively mounted the Irish throne, after
the death of Cormac, the son of Artho. I forbear to transcribe the
passage on account of its length. It is the song of Fonar, the bard;
towards the latter end of the seventh book of Temora. As the
generations from Larthon to Cathmor, to whom the episode is
addressed, are not marked, as are those of the family of Conar, the
first king of Ireland, we can form no judgment of the time of the
settlement of the Firbolg. It is, however, probable it was some time
before the Cael, or Caledonians, settled in Ulster. One important
fact may, be gathered from this history, that the Irish had no king
before the latter end of the first century. Fingal lived, it is
supposed, in the third century; so Conar, the first monarch of the
Irish, who was his grand-uncle, cannot be placed farther back than
the close of the first, To establish this fact, is to lay, at once,
aside the pretended antiquities of the Scots and Irish, and to get
quit of the long list of kings which the latter give us for a
millenium before.

 Of the affairs of Scotland, it is certain, nothing can be depended
upon prior to the reign of Fergus, the son of Erc, who lived in the
fifth century. The true history of Ireland begins somewhat later than 
that period. Sir James Ware, who was indefatigable in his researches
after the antiquities of his country, rejects, as mere fiction and
idle romance, all that is related of the ancient Irish before the
time of St. Patrick, and the reign of Leogaire. It is from this
consideration that he begins his history at the introduction of
Christianity, remarking, that all that is delivered down concerning
the times of paganism were tales of late invention, strangely mixed
with anachronisms and inconsistencies. Such being the opinion of
Ware, who had collected, with uncommon industry and zeal, all the
real and pretundedly ancient manuscripts concerning the history of
his country, we may, on his authority, reject the improbable and
self-condemned tales of Keating and O'Flaherty. Credulous and puerile
to the last degree, they have disgraced the antiquities they meant to
establish. It is to be wished that some able Irishman, who
understands the language and records of his country, may redeem, ere
too late, the genuine and antiquities of Ireland from the hands of
these idle fabulists.

 By comparing the history in these poems with the legends of the
Scots and Irish writers, and by afterward examining both by the test
of the Roman authors, it is easy to discover which is the most
probable. Probability is all that can be established on the authority
of tradition, ever dubious and uncertain. But when it favors the
hypothesis laid down by contemporary writers of undoubted veracity,
and, as it were, finishes which they only drew the outlines, it
ought, in the judgment of sober reason, to be preferred to accounts
framed in dark and distant periods, with little judgement, and upon
no authority.

 Concerning the period of more than a century which intervenes
between Fingal and the reign of Fergus, the sons of Erc or Arcath,
tradition is dark and contradictory. Some trace up the family of
Fergus to a son of Fingal of that name, who makes a considerable
figure in Ossian's Poems. The three elder sons of Fingal, Ossian,
Fillan, and Ryno, dying without issue, the succession, of course,
devolved upon Fergus, the fourth son, and his posterity. This Fergus,
say some traditions, was the father of Congal, whose son was Arcath,
the father of Fergus, properly called the first king of Scots, as it
was in his time the Cael, who possessed the western coast of
Scotland, began to be distinguished by foreigners by the name of
Scots. From thenceforward, the Scots and Picts, as distinct nations,
became objects of attention to the historians of other countries. The
internal state of the two Caledonian kingdoms has always continued,
and ever must remain, in obscurity and fable.

 It is in this epoch we must fix the beginning of the decay of that
species of heroism which subsisted in the days of Fingal. There are
three stages in human society. The first is the result of
consanguinity, and the natural affection of the members of a family
to one another. The second begins when property is established, and
men enter into associations for mutual defence, against the invasions
and injustice of neighbors. Mankind submit, in the third, to certain
laws and subordinations of government, to which they trust the safety
of their persons and property. As the first is formed on nature, so,
of course, it is the most disinterested and noble. Men, in the last,
have leisure to cultivate the mind, and to restore it, with
reflection, to a primeval dignity of sentiment. The middle state is
the region of complete barbarism and ignorance. About the beginning
of the fifth century, the Scots and Picts were advanced into the
second stage, and consequently, into those circumscribed sentiments
which always distinguish barbarity. The events which soon after
happened did not at all contribute to enlarge their ideas, or mend
their national character.

 About the year 426, the Romans, on account of domestic commotions,
entirely forsook Britain, finding it impossible to defend so distant
a frontier. The Picts and Scots, seizing this favorable opportunity,
made incursions into the deserted province. The Britons, enervated by
the slavery of several centuries, and those vices which are
inseparable from an advanced state of civility, were not able to
withstand the impetuous, though irregular, attacks of a barbarous
enemy. In the utmost distress, they applied to their old masters, the
Romans, and (after the unfortunate state of the empire could not
spare aid) to the Saxons, a nation equally barbarous and brave with
the enemies of whom they were so much afraid. Though the bravery of
the Saxons repelled the Caledonian nations for a time, yet the latter
found means to extend themselves considerably towards the south. It
is in this period we must place the origin of the arts of civil life
among the Scots. The seat of government was removed from the
mountains to the plain and more fertile provinces of the south, to be
near the common enemy in case of sudden incursions. Instead of roving
through unfrequented wilds in search of subsistence by means of
hunting, men applied to agriculture, and raising of corn. This manner
of life was the first means of changing the national character. The
next thing which contributed to it was their mixture with strangers.

 In the countries which the Scots had conquered from the Britons, it
is probable that most of the old inhabitants remained. These
incorporating with the conquerors, taught them agriculture and other
arts which they themselves had received from the Romans. The however,
in number as well as power, being the most predominant, retained
still their language, and as many of the customs of their ancestors
as suited-with the nature of the country they possessed. Even the
union of the two Caledonian kingdoms did not much affect the national
character. Being originally descended from the same stock, the
manners of the Picts and Scots were as similar as the different
natures of the countries they possessed permitted.

 What brought about a total change in the genius of the Scots nation
was their wars and other transactions with the Saxons. Several
counties in the south of Scotland were alternately possessed by the
two nations. They were ceded, in the ninth age, to the Scots, and it
is probable that most of the Saxon inhabitants remained in possession
of their lands. During the several conquests and revolutions in
England, many fled for refuge into Scotland, to avoid the oppression
of foreigners, or the tyranny of domestic usurpers; insomuch, that
the Saxon race formed, perhaps, near one half of the Scottish
kingdom. The Saxon manners and language daily gained ground on the
tongue and customs of the ancient Caledonians, till, at last, the
latter were entirely relegated to the inhabitants of the mountains,
who were still unmixed with strangers.

 It was after the accession of territory which the Scots received
upon the retreat of the Romans from Britain, that the inhabitants of
the Highlands were divided into clans. The king, when he kept his
court in the mountains, was considered by the whole nation as the
chief of their blood. The small number, as well as the presence of
their prince, prevented those divisions which, afterward, sprung
forth into so many separate tribes. When the seat of government
was removed to the south, those who remained in the Highlands were,
of course, neglected. They naturally formed themselves into small
societies independent of one another. Each society had its own
regulus, who either was, or, in the succession of a few generations,
was regarded as chief of their blood. The nature of the country
favored an institution of this sort. A few valleys, divided from one
another by extensive heaths and impassable mountains, form the face
of the Highlands. In those valleys the chiefs fixed their residence.
Round them, and almost within sight of their dwellings, were the
habitations of their relations and dependants.

 The seats of the Highland chiefs were neither disagreeable nor
inconvenient. Surrounded with mountains and hanging woods, they were
covered from the inclemency of the weather. Near them generally ran a
pretty large river, which, discharging itself not far off into an arm
of the sea or extensive lake, swarmed with variety of fish. The woods
were stocked with wild-fowl; and the heaths and mountains behind them
were the natural seat of the red-deer and roe. If we make allowance
for the backward state of agriculture, the valleys were not
unfertile; affording, if not all the conveniences, at least the
necessaries of life. Here the chief lived, the supreme judge and
lawgiver of his own people; but his sway was neither severe nor
unjust. As the populace regarded him as the chief of their blood, so
he, in return, considered them as members of his family. His
commands, therefore, though absolute and decisive, partook more of
the authority of a father than of the rigor of a judge. Though the
whole territory of the tribe was considered as the property of the
thief, yet his vassals made him no other consideration for their
lands than services, neither burdensome nor frequent. As he seldom
went from home, he was at no expense. His table was supplied by his
own herds and what his numerous attendants killed in hunting.

 In this rural kind of magnificence the Highland chiefs lived for
many ages. At a distance from the seat of government, and secured by
the inaccessibleness of their country, they were free and
independent. As they had little communication with strangers, the
customs of their ancestors remained among them, and their language
retained its original purity, Naturally fond of military fame, and
remarkably attached to the memory of their ancestors, they delighted
in traditions and songs concerning the exploits of their nation, and
especially of their own particular families. A succession of bards
was retained in every clan to hand down the memorable actions of
their forefathers. As Fingal and his chiefs were the most renowned
names in tradition, the bards took care to place them in the
genealogy of every great family. They became famous among the people,
and an object of fiction and poetry to the bard.

 The bards erected their immediate patrons into heroes and celebrated
them in their songs. As the circle of their knowledge was narrow,
their ideas were confined in proportion. A few happy expressions, and
the manners they represent, may please those who understand the
language; their obscurity and inaccuracy would disgust in a
translation. It was chiefly for this reason that I have rejected
wholly the works of the bards in my publications. Ossian acted in a
more extensive sphere, and his ideas ought to be more noble and
universal; neither gives he, I presume, so many of their
peculiarities, which are only understood in a certain period or
country. The other bards have their beauties, but not in this species
of composition. Their rhymes, only calculated to kindle a martial
spirit among the vulgar, afford very little pleasure to genuine
taste. This observation only regards their poems of the heroic kind;
in every inferior species of poetry they are more successful. They
express the tender melancholy of desponding love with simplicity and
nature. So well adapted are the sounds of the words to the
sentiments, that, even without any knowledge of the language, they
pierce and dissolve the heart. Successful love is expressed with
peculiar tenderness and elegance. In all their compositions, except
the heroic, which was solely calculated to animate the vulgar, they
gave us the genuine language of the heart, without any of those
affected ornaments of phraseology, which, though intended to beautify
sentiments, divest them of their natural force. The ideas, it is
confessed, are too local to be admired in another language; to those
who are acquainted with the manners they represent, and the scenes
they describe, they must afford pleasure and satisfaction.

 It was the locality of their description and sentiment that,
probably, has kept them in the obscurity of an almost lost language.
The ideas of an unpolished period are so contrary to the present
advanced state of society, that more than a common mediocrity of
taste is required to relish them as they deserve. Those who alone are
capable of transferring ancient poetry into a modern language, might
be better employed in giving originals of their own, were it not for
that wretched envy and meanness which affects to despise contemporary
genius. My first publication was merely accidental; had I then met
with less approbation my after pursuits would have been more
profitable; at least, I might have continued to be stupid without
being branded with dulness.

 These poems may furnish light to antiquaries, as well as some
pleasure to the lovers of poetry. The first population of Ireland,
its first kings, and several circumstances, which regard its
connection of old with the south and north of Britain, am presented
in several episodes. The subject and catastrophe of the poem are
founded upon facts which regarded the first peopling of that country,
and the contests between the two British nations, who originally
inhabited that island. In a preceding part of this dissertation I
have shown how superior the probability of this system is to the
undigested fictions of the Irish bards, and the more recent and
regular legends of both Irish and Scottish historians. I mean not to
give offence to the abettors of the high antiquities of the two
nations, though I have all along expressed my doubts concerning the
veracity and abilities of those who deliver down their ancient
history. For my own part, I prefer the national fame arising from a
few certain facts, to the legendary and uncertain annals of ages of
remote and obscure antiquity. No kingdom now established in Europe
can pretend to equal antiquity with that of the Scots, inconsiderable
as it may appear in other respects, even according to my system; so
that it is altogether needless to fix its origin a fictitious
millenium before.

 Since the first publication of these poems, many insinuations have
been made, and doubts arisen, concerning their authenticity. Whether
these suspicions are suggested by prejudice, or are only the effects
of malice, I neither know nor care. Those who have doubted my
veracity have paid a compliment to my genius; and were even the
allegation true, my self-denial might have atoned for my fault.
Without vanity I say it, I think I could write tolerable poetry, and
I assume my antagonists, that I should not translate what I could not
imitate.

 As prejudice is the effect of ignorance, I am not surprised at its
being general. An age that produces few marks of genius ought to be
sparing of admiration. The truth is, the bulk of mankind have ever
been led by reputation more than taste, in articles of literature. If 
all the Romans who admired Virgil understood his beauties, he would
have scarce deserved to have come down to us through so many
centuries. Unless genius were in fashion, Homer himself might have
written in vain. He that wishes to come with weight on the
superficial, must skim the surface, in their own shallow way. Were my
aim to gain the many, I would write a madrigal sooner than an heroic
poem. Laberius himself would be always sure of more followers than
Sophocles.

 Some who doubt the authenticity of this work, with peculiar
acuteness appropriate them to the Irish nation. Though it is not easy
to conceive how these poems can belong to Ireland and to me at once,
I shall examine the subject without farther animadversion on the
blunder.

 Of all the nations descended from the ancient Celtæ, the Scots and
Irish are the most similar in language, customs, and manners. This
argues a more intimate connection between them than a remote descent
from the great Celtic stock. It is evident, in short, that, at some
period or other, they formed one society, were subject to the same
government, and were, in all respects, one and the same people. How
they became divided, which the colony, or which the mother-nation, I
have in another work amply discussed. The first circumstance that
induced me to disregard the vulgarly. received opinion of the
Hibernian extraction of the Scottish nation was my observations on
their ancient language. The dialect of the Celtic tongue, spoken in
the north of Scotland, is much more pure, more agreeable to its
mother-language, and more abounding with primitives, than that now
spoken, or even that which has been written for some centuries back,
amongst the most unmixed part of the Irish nation. A Scotchman,
tolerably conversant in his own language, understands an Irish
composition from that derivative analogy which it has to the Gaelic
of North Britain. An Irishman, on the other hand, without the aid of
study, can never understand a composition in the Gaelic tongue. This
affords a proof that the Scotch Gaelic is the most original, and,
consequently, the language of a more ancient and unmixed people. The
Irish, however backward they may be to allow any thing to the
prejudice of their antiquity, seem inadvertently to acknowledge it,
by the very appellation they give to the dialect they speak. They
call their own language Caelic Eirinarch, i. e. Caledonian Irish,
when, on the contrary, they call the dialect of North Britain a
Chaelic, or the Caledonian tongue, emphatically. As circumstance of
this nature tends more to decide which is the most ancient nation
than the united testimonies of a whole legion of ignorant bards and
senachies, who, perhaps, never dreamed of bringing the Scots from
Spain to Ireland, till some one of them, more learned than the rest,
discovered that the Romans called the first Iberia, and the latter
Hibernia. On such a slight foundation were probably built the
romantic fictions concerning the Milesians of Ireland.

 From internal proofs it sufficiently appears that the poems
published under the name of Ossian are not of Irish composition. The
favorite chimera, that Ireland is the mother-country of the Scots, is
totally subverted and ruined. The fictions concerning the antiquities
of that country, which were formed for ages, and growing as they came
down on the hands of successive senachies and fileas, are found, at
last, to be the spurious brood of modern and ignorant ages, To those
who know how tenacious the Irish are of their pretended Iberian
descent, this alone is proof sufficient, that poems, so subversive of
their system, could never be produced by an Hibernian bard. But when
we look to the language, it is so different from the Irish dialect,
that it would be as ridiculous to think that Milton's Paradise Lost
could be wrote by a Scottish peasant, as to suppose that the poems
ascribed to Ossian were writ in Ireland.

 The pretensions of Ireland to Ossian proceed from another quarter.
There are handed down in that country traditional poems concerning
the Fiona, or the heroes of Fion Mae Comnal. This Fion, say the Irish
annalists, was general of the militia of Ireland in the reign of
Cormac, in the third century. Where Keating and O'Flaherty learned
that Ireland had an embodied militia so early, is not so easy for me
to determine. Their information certainly did not come from the Irish
poems concerning Fion. I have just now in my hands all that remain of
those compositions; but, unluckily for the antiquities of Ireland,
they appear to be the work of a very modern period. Every stanza,
nay, almost every line, affords striking proofs that they cannot be
three centuries old. Their allusions to the manners and customs of
the fifteenth century are so many, that it is a matter of wonder to
me how any one could dream of their antiquity. They are entirely writ
in that romantic taste which prevailed two ages ago. Giants,
enchanted castles, dwarfs, palfreys, witches, and magicians, form the
whole circle of the poet's invention. The celebrated Fion could
scarcely move from one hillock to another without encountering a
giant, or being entangled in the circles of a magician. Witches, on
broomsticks, were continually hovering round him like crows; and he
had freed enchanted virgins in every valley in Ireland. In short,
Fion, great as he was, passed a disagreeable life. Not only had he to
engage all the mischiefs in his own country, foreign armies invaded
him, assisted by magicians and witches, and headed by kings as tall
as the mainmast of a first-rate. It must be owned, however, that Fion
was not inferior to them in height.

A chos air Cromleach, draim-ard,
Chos eile air Crom-meal dubh,
Thoga Fion le lamh mhoir
An d'uisge o Lubhair na fruth.

With one foot on Cromleach his brow,
The other on Crommal the dark
Fion took with his large hand
The water from Lubar of the streams.

 Cromleach and Crommal were two mountains in the neighborhood of one
another, in Ulster, and the river of Lubar ran through the
intermediate valley. The property of such a monster as this Fion I
should never have disputed with any nation; but the bard himself, in
the poem from which the above quotation is taken, cedes him to
Scotland:

Fion o Albin, siol nan laoich!
Fion from Albion, race of heroes!

 Were it allowable to contradict the authority of a bard, at this
distance of time, I should have given as my opinion, that this 
enormous Fion was of the race of the Hibernian giants, of Ruanus, or
some other celebrated name, rather than a native of Caledonia, whose
inhabitants, now at least, are not remarkable for their stature. As
for the poetry, I leave it to the reader. 

 If Fion was so remarkable for his stature, his heroes had also other
extraordinary properties. "In weight all the sons of strangers
yielded to the celebrated Toniosal; and for hardness of skull, and,
perhaps, for thickness too, the valiant Oscar stood 'unrivalled and
alone.'" Ossian himself had many singular and less delicate
qualifications than playing on the harp; and the brave Cuthullin was
of so diminutive a size, as to be taken for a child of two years of
age by the gigantic Swaran. To illustrate this subject, I shall here
lay before the reader the history of some of the Irish poems
concerning Fion Mae Comnal. A translation of these pieces, if well
executed, might afford satisfaction, in an uncommon way, to the
public. But this ought to be the work of a native of Ireland. To draw
forth from obscurity the poems of my own country has wasted all the
time I had allotted for the Muses; besides, I am too diffident of my
own abilities to undertake such a work. A gentleman in Dublin accused
me to the public of committing blunders and absurdities in
translating the language of my own country, and that before any
translation of mine appeared. How the gentleman came to see my
blunders before I committed them, is not easy to determine, if he did
not conclude that, as a Scotsman, and, of course, descended of the
Milesian race, I might have committed some of those oversights,
which, perhaps very unjustly, are said to be peculiar to them.

 From the whole tenor of the Irish poems concerning the Fiona, it
appears that Fion Mae Comnal flourished in the reign of Cormac, which
is placed, by the universal consent of the senachies, in the third
century. They even fix the death of Fingal in the year 268, yet his
son Ossian is made contemporary with St. Patrick, who preached the
gospel in Ireland about the middle of the fifth age. Ossian, though
at that time he must have been two hundred and fifty years of age,
had a daughter young enough to become wife to the Saint. On account
of this family connection, "Patrick of the Psalms," for so the
apostle of Ireland is emphatically called in the poems, took great
delight in the company of Ossian, and in hearing the great actions of
his family. The saint sometimes threw off the austerity of his
profession, drank freely, and had his soul properly warmed with wine,
to receive with becoming enthusiasm the poems of his father-in-law.
One of the poems begins with this useful piece of information:

Lo don rabh Padric us mhúr,
Gun Sailm air uidh, ach a gol,
Ghluais è thigh Ossian mhic Fhion,
O san leis bhinn a ghloir.

 The title of this poem is "Teantach mor na Fiona." It appears to
have been founded on the same story with the "Battle of Lora." The
circumstances and catastrophe in both are much the same: but the
Irish Ossian discovers the age in which he lived by an unlucky
anachronism. After describing the total rout of Erragon, he very
gravely concludes with this remarkable anecdote, that none of the foe
escaped, but a few, who were permitted to go on a pilgrimage to the
Holy Land. This circumstance fixes the date of the composition of the
piece some centuries after the famous croisade: for it is evident
that the poet thought the time of the croisade so ancient, that he
confounds it with the age of Fingal. Erragon, in the course of this
poem, is often called,

Rhoigh Lochlin an do shloigh,
King of Denmark of two nations--

which alludes to the union of the kingdom of Norway and Denmark, a
circumstance which happened under Margaret de Waldemar, in the close
of the fourteenth age. Modern, however, as this pretended Ossian was,
it is certain he lived before the Irish had dreamed of appropriating
Fion, or Fingal, to themselves. He concludes the poem with this
reflection:

Na fagha se comhthróm nan n arm,
Erragon Mac Annir nan lann glas
'San n'Albin ni n' abairtair Triath
Agus ghlaoite an n'Fhiona as.

"Had Erragon, son of Annir of gleaming swords, avoided the equal
contest of arms, (single combat,) no chief should have afterward been
numbered in Albion, and the heroes of Fion should no more be named."

 The next poem that falls Under our observation is "Cath-cabhra," or
"The Death of Oscar." This piece is founded on the same story which
we have in the first book of Temora. So little thought the author of
Cath-cabhra of making Oscar his countryman, that in the course of two
hundred lines, of which the poem consists, he puts the following
expression thrice in the mouth of the hero:

Albin an sa d'roina m'arch.--
Albion, where I was born and bred.

The poem contains almost all the incidents in the first book of
Temora. In one circumstance the bard differs materially from Ossian.
Oscar, after he was mortally wounded by Cairbar, was carried by his
people to a neighboring hill which commanded a prospect of the sea. A
fleet appeared at a distance, and the hero exclaims with joy,

Loingeas mo shean-athair at' an
'S iad a tiächd le cabhair chugain,
O Albin na n'ioma stuagh.

"It is the fleet of my grandfather coming with aid to our field, from
Albion of many waves!" The testimony of this bard is sufficient to
confute the idle fictions of Keating and O'Flaherty, for, though he
is far from being ancient, it is probable he flourished a full
century before these historians. He appears, however, to have been a
much better Christian than chronologer; for Fion, though he is placed
two centuries before St. Patrick, very devoutly recommends the soul
of his grandson to his Redeemer.

 "Duan a Ghar