Grey torrents pour their noisy streams.

Two green hills with aged oaks surround a narrow plain.

The blue course of a stream is there.

On its banks stood Cairbar of Atha.
His spear supports the king; the red eyes of his fear are sad.

Cormac rises on his soul with all his ghastly wounds.' Precious memorandums from the pocket-book of the blind Ossian! If it be unbecoming, as I acknowledge that for the most part it is, to speak disrespectfully of Works that have enjoyed for a length of time a widely-spread reputation, without at the same time producing irrefragable proofs of their unworthiness, let me be forgiven upon this occasion .-- Having had the good fortune to be born and reared in a mountainous country, from my very childhood I have felt the falsehood that pervades the volumes imposed upon the world under the name of Ossian.