and the performance appeared in the
_Scots Magazine_ for 1700. The author had learned from the monks the
story of Bellerophon,[7] along with that of Perseus and Andromeda, and
from these materials fabricated a romance in which the hero is a
mythical character, who is supposed to have given name to Loch Fraoch,
near Dunkeld. Belonging to the same era is the "Aged Bard's Wish,"[8] a
composition of singular elegance and pathos, and remarkable for certain
allusions to the age and imagery of Ossian. This has frequently been
translated. Somewhat in the Ossianic style, but of the period of the
_Ur-sgeula_ are two popular pieces entitled _Mordubh_[9] and _Collath_.
Of these productions the imagery is peculiarly illustrative of the
character and habits of the ancient Gael, while they are replete with
incidents of the wars which the Albyn had waged with their enemies of
Scandinavia. To the same period we are disposed to assign the "Song of
the Owl," though it has been regarded by a respectable authority[10] as
of modern origin. Of a portion of this celebrated composition we subjoin
a metrical translation from the pen of Mr William Sinclair.

The Bard, expelled from the dwellings of men by
plunderers according to one account, by a discontented
helpmate according to another, is placed in a lone
out-house, where he meets an owl which he supposes
himself to engage in an interchange of sentiment
respecting the olden time:--

HUNTER.

O wailing owl of Strona's vale!
We wonder not thy night's repose
Is mournful, when with Donegal
In distant years thou first arose:
O lonely bird! we wonder not,
For time the strongest heart can bow,
That thou should'st heave a mournful note,
Or that thy sp'rit is heavy now!

OWL.

Thou truly sayest I lone abide,
I lived with yonder ancient oak,
Whose spreading roots strike deep and wide
Amidst the moss beside the rock;
And long, long years have gone at last,
And thousand moons have o'er me stole,
And many a race before me past,
Still I am Strona's lonely owl!

HUNTER.

Now, since old age has come o'er thee,
Confess, as to a priest, thy ways;
And fearless tell thou unto me
The glorious tales of bygone days.

OWL.

Rapine and falsehood ne'er I knew,
Nor grave nor temples e'er have torn,
My youthful mate still found me true--
Guiltless a