I

FRAGMENT II.

Sit by the moffy Fountain; on the Top of the Hill of Winds. One Tree is rustling above me. Dark Waves roll over the Heath. The Lake is troubled below. The Deer defcend from the Hill. No Hunter at a Distance is seen; no whistling Cowherd is nigh. It is Mid-day: But all is filent. Sad are my Thoughts alone. Didft thou but appear, O my Love,, a Wanderer on the Heath! Thy Hair floating on the Wind behind thee; thy Bofom heaving on the Sight; thine Eyes full of Tears for thy Friends, whom the midst of the Hill had concealed! Thee I would comfort, my Love, and bring thee to thy Father's House.

But it is the that there appears, like a Beam of Light on the Heath? Bright as the Moon in Autumn, as the Sun in a Summer-ftorm, comeft thou, lovely Maid, over Rocks, over Mountains to me?-She speaks: but how weak her Voice! like the Breeze. in the Reeds of the Pool. Hark!

Returneft thou fafe from the War; Where are thy Friends, my Love? I heard of thy Death on the Hill; I heard and mourned thee, Shilric!

Yes, my Fair, I return; but I alone of my Race.. Thou fhált fee them no more: Their Graves I raifed on the Plain. But why art thou on the defart Hill? why on the Heath, alone?

Alone

Alone I am, O Shilric! alone in the Winter House. With Grief for thee I expired. Shilric, I am Pale in the Tomb.

She fleets, fhe fails away; as grey Mist before the Wind !-and, wilt thou not ftay, my Love? Stay and behold my Tears? Fair thou appeareft, my Love! fair thou waft, when alive!

By the moffy Fountain I will fit; on the Top of the Hill of Winds. When Mid-day is filent around, converse, O my Love, with me! come on the Wings of the Gale! on the Blaft of the Mountain, come! Let me hear thy Voice, as thou paffeft, when Mid-day is filent around.

FRAGMENT III.

EVENING is grey on the Hills. The North

Wind resounds through the Woods. White

Clouds rife on the Sky: the thin-wavering Snow defcends. The River howls afar, along its winding Course. Sad, by a hollow Rock, the grey-hair'd Carryl fat. Dry Fern waves over his Head; his Seat is in an aged Birch. Clear to the roaring Winds he lifts his Voice of Woe.

Toffed on the wavy Ocean is He, the Hope of the Ifles; Malcolm, the Support of the Poor; Foe to the proud in Arms! Why haft thou left us behind?

Why

Why live we to mourn thy Fate? We might have heard, with thee, the Voice of the Deep; have feen the oozy Rock.

1

Sad on the Sea-beat Shore thy Spouse looketh for thy Return. The Time of thy Promise is come; the Night is gathering around. But no white Sail is on the Sea; no Voice but the bluftering Winds. Low is the Soul of the War; Wet are the Locks of Youth! By the Foot of fome Rock thou lieft; wafhed by the Waves as they come. Why, ye Winds, did you bear him on the Defert Rock? Why, ye Waves, did you roll over him?

But, Oh! What Voice is that? Who rides on that Meteor of Fire! Green are his airy Limbs. It is he! it is the Ghoft of Malcolm!-Reft, lovely Soul, reft on the Rock; and let me hear thy Voice. -He is gone, like a Dream of the Night. I fee him through the Trees. Daughter of Reynold! he is gone. Thy Spouse shall return no more. No more fhall his Hounds come from the Hill, Forerunners of their Mafter. No more from the diftant Rock fhall his Voice greet thine Ear. Silent is he in the Deep, unhappy Daughter of Reynold!

I will fit by the Stream of the Plain. Ye Rocks! hang over my Head. Hear my Voice, ye Trees! as ye bend on the fhaggy Hill. My Voice fhall preferve the Praise of him, the Hope of the Ifles.

VOL. II.

K

FRAG

FRAGMENT IV.

WH

CONNAL, CRIMORA.

CRIMORA.

HO. cometh from the Hill, like a Cloud tinged with the Beam of the Weft? Whofe Voice is that, loud as the Wind, but pleasant as the Harp of Carryl? It is my Love in the Light of Steel; but fad is his darkened Brow. Live the mighty Race of Fingal? Or what disturbs my Connal?

CONNAL.

They live. I faw them return from the Chace, like a Stream of Light. The Sun was on their Shields: Like a Ridge of Fire they defcended the Hill. Loud is the Voice of the Youth; the War, my Love, is near. To-morrow the enormous Dargo comes to try the Force of our Race. The Race of Fingal he defies; the Race of Battle and Wounds.

CRIMORA.

Connal, I faw his Sails like grey Mift on the fable Wave. They flowly came to Land. Connál, many are the Warriors of Dargo!

CONNAL.

Bring me thy Father's Shield; the Iron Shield of Rinval; that Shield like the full Moon when it is darkened in the Sky.

CRIMORA.

That Shield I bring, O Connal; but it did not defend my Father. By the Spear of Gauror he fell. Thou mayeft fall, O Connal!

CONNAL.

Fall indeed I may : But raise my Tomb, Crimora. Some Stones, a Mound of Earth, fhall keep my Memory. Bend thy red Eye over my Tomb, and beat thy Breaft with Sighs. Though fair thou art, my Love, as the Light; more pleasant than the Gale of the Hill; yet I will not stay. Raife my Tomb, Crimora.

CRIMORA.

Then give me thofe Arms of Light; that Sword, and that Spear of Steel. I fhall meet Dargo with thee, and aid my lovely Connal. Farewell, ye Rocks of Ardven! ye Deer! and ye Streams of the Hill-We fhall return no more. Our Tombs are diftant far.

FRAGMENT V.

UTUMN is dark on the Mountains; grey

A Mift refts on the Hills. The Whirlwind is

heard on the Heath, Dark rolls the River through