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THE CELTIC MAGAZINE.Smith of Jordan Hill, Hugh Miller, Murchison, and Lyell did not recogniseit ;yet all this, and much more of the same sort, has been proved by me todemonstration from the text of Ossian alone within the last twelvemonth,and proof to this etfect is every day accumulating. No wonder, therefore,that I should believe in Ossian both geologically and philologically, andshould claim, in some degree at least, to understand his poems.In conclusion, I should have to thank Mr Maclean for the complimenthe addresses to me at the end of his letter, for having afforded " such an ableexposition of these poems, and such elucidation of their superior merits,"&c.,—but as that compliment is founded on the supposition that the poemsthemselves are a series of prodigious falsehoods, I have some scruples ofconscience as an honest man about accepting it. I shall accept, however, thewill for the deed, and shall not trouble Mr Maclean any further on the subject.But I am not quite done with the subject itself ; and with your permission,Mr Editor, shall forward you one other communication in connectionwith it.—I am, Sir, &c., P. Hately Waddell,Glasgow.BALCLUTIIA'SDOOM." All is Desolate !Balclutha's dark-liairod daughters danced by Clutlia's peaceful stream,Far rose tlieir merry sliout of joy and mirthful maiden scream,Eeuthainir's grey-liaired harper swept his chords with youth's delight,While round him stalwart warriors sat and crooned tlieir songs of fightOn sped the dance of innocence and evening's pleasures sweet,Flow'rs laughed beneath the tender kiss of nimble maiden feetDark Clutha ceased awhile its lay, and slowly swept along,Nor rose the evening chant of bird to mar the jocund throng :Reuthamir lonely, heard tlieir shouts, and sadness dimmed his eye,As darkling rose the sorrow clouds of distant years of joy.Why trembles he as ring their cries 1 AVhy fall his burning tears ?The echo of a dead love's voice he Aveirdly sounding hears :Why sinks the sun so red to-night? blood streaks his western path,Why lour the clouds with angry brows of fire-descending wrath ?Wolves yell not in the forest on their hungry trails of death,Nor hunter's shout is heard to break the wind's portentous breathThe dance and song had ceased as crept night's shadoAvs doAvn the vales,Grim warriors sat around the hearth, but hummed no battle tales !Strange silence reigned amid them when, loud pealing through the hall,Eeuthamir's studded shield and sword fell from the trophied wallWith frenzied eye and pallid cheek the startled warriors leapt,While o'er each heart a deep'uing cliill of sudden terror crept,Nor dared they e'en to lift again the deedful weapons bright.That dimly flung with scornful gleam the embers' waning light