As formerly remarked, the “Old Lays” of Dr Smith are fully as interesting and poetical as Macpherson’s Ossian; and all who wish to read and enjoy good Gaelic poetry—fresh and idiomatic —should go to these lays. Smith’s own translation is exceedingly loose and turgid as compared with his Gaelic. As already observed, Smith also comes under the suspicion of being the author of the Gaelic, as well as translator. His own account of the translation has been already given; and there seems no good reason why its honesty and correctness should be doubted. His Gaelic originals appear to stand in the same relation to pre-existent ballad and taleologic literature that Burns’ new versions of Scottish songs and ballads sustain to the older and original productions. Like Macpherson, Dr Smith cannot be said to be wholly the author nor merely the translator of these grand poetical “lays.” Illustrative specimens of them are given in the next chapter. To furnish a contrast to Macpherson’s Ossian and manner, I give the following lines on _Bas Airt_, or the Death of Artho:— In battle-field he fell in fame; Terrible to many as he came Like thunder through the woods, or lightning That hid itself midst ruin frightning! The enemies trembled, fell, and fled; From Artho’s hand destruction sped, Like Melmor’s rocks dashed through the woods To sink below in sullen floods; Such seemed the low-laid hero’s form Ere came death’s arrow in the storm. _Dan an Deirg_, one of the finest poems in Smith’s volume, has been recently translated, edited, and annotated by an accomplished English scholar and graduate of Cambridge, Mr C. S. Jerram, who has been at the pains of studying the language. To this interesting little volume is prefixed a very intelligent and fair account of the state of the Ossianic question. Dr Smith’s “Old Lays,” translated by himself in too free and turgid a fashion, are as interesting as Macpherson’s “Ossian,” and not inferior in any respect to that famed production. In the opening of one of these “lays,” called “Finan and Lorma,” we find a very pretty set of verses in which the young people around him, looking upon the heavens, are represented as addressing the aged Ossian in the following manner:— While on the plains shines the moon, O bard! And the shadow of Cona holds; Like a ghost breathes the wind from the mountain, With its spirit voice in its folds. There are two cloudy forms before us, Where its host the dim night shows; The sigh of the moor curls their tresses, As they tread over Alva of roes. Dusky his dogs came with one, And he bends his dark-brow of yew; There’s a stream from the side of the sad-faced maid, Dyes her robe with a blood-red hue.