10 



Thy hand, — my father, — hapless chief! — 

 And you, ye warriors of our isle, draw near, 



The anguish of my soul to hear, 

 For I must kill a father's heart with grief.* 



As this passage (a passage not inferior, perhaps, to any 

 of those passages in the Shah Naineh, alluded to by Sir 

 AVilliam Ouseley) exhibits a fine subject for the pencil, 1 

 shall submit it to the contemplation of the Academ}^; 

 while I proceed to the relation of another Irish tale, 

 which bears evident marks of an Oriental origin. The. tale 

 in question, is entitled, Moira Borb; of which also JVIiss 

 Brooke has given a translation. 



While the Finian chiefs range carelessly along the banks 

 of the fierce Mac-bovar, or river Erne, which, in its fall, 

 near Ballyshannon, occasions the celebrated salmon-leap, 

 they are surprised, by the appearance of a lovely damsel, 

 in an enchanted bark. The damacl lands, and is cour- 

 teously received by the chiefs; who, observing her trem- 

 bling apprehensions, enquire into the cause. She relates 

 her story. 



O ! I am follow'd o'er the rolling wave ! 

 O! mighty Finn! thy- trembling suppliant save! 

 The son of Sera's king with wrath pursues, 

 The chief of spears, whose arm the host subdues ! 



While 



* After reading this passage, we cannot wonder, that Spenser should de- 

 •clare, that the poems of the Irish bards " savoured of sweet wit and good 

 " inv«ntion." 



