Snow; fweet as the breathing Gale. Arindel, thy Bow was ftrong, thy Spear was fwift in the Field: Thy Look was like Mift on the Wave, thy Shield, a red Cloud in a Storm. Armor renowned in War came, and fought Daura's Love; he was not long denied Fair was the Hope of their Friends.

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Earch, Son of Odgal, repined; for his Brother was flain by Armor. He came disguised like a Son of the Sea Fair was his Skiff on the Wave; white his Locks of Age; calm his ferious Brow. Fairest of Women, he faid, lovely Daughter of Armyn ! a Rock not distant in the Sea, bears a Tree on its Side; red fhines the Fruit afar. There Armor waiteth for Daura. I came to fetch his Love Come, fair Daughter of Armyn !

She went; and fhe called on Armor. Nought anfwered, but the Son of the Rock. Armor, my Love my Love! why tormenteft thou me with Fear? Hear, Son of Ardnart, hear: It is Daura who calleth thee-Earch the Traitor fled laughing to the Land. She lifted up her Voice, and cried for her Brother and her Father. Arindel! Armyn! none to relieve your Daura!

Her voice came over the Sea. Arindel my Son defcended from the Hill; rough in the Spoils of the Chace. His Arrows rattled by his Side; his Bow was in his Hand; five dark grey Dogs attended his Steps. He faw fierce Earch on the Shore; he seized and bound him to an Oak. Thick fly the L 2

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Thongs of the Hide around his Limbs; he loads the Wind with his Groans.

Arindel afcends the furgy Deep in his Boat, to bring Daura to the Land. Armor came in his Wrath, and let fly the grey-feathered Shaft. It funk; it funk in thy Heart, O Arindel my Son! for Earch the Traitor thou diedft. The Oar is ftopped at once; he panted on the Rock and expired. What is thy Grief, O Daura, when round thy Feet is poured thy Brother's Blood!

The Boat is broken in twain by the Waves Armor plunges into the Sea to rescue his Daura or die. Sudden a Blaft from the Hill comes over the Waves. He funk, and he rose no more.

Alone, on the fea-beat Rock, my Daughter was heard to complain. Frequent and loud were her Cries; nor could her Father relieve her. All Night I ftood on the Shore. I faw her by the faint Beam of the Moon. All Night I heard her Cries, Loud was the Wind; and the Rain beat hard on the Side of the Mountain. Before Morning appeared, her Voice was weak. It died away, like the EveningBreeze among the Grafs of the Rocks. Spent with Grief fhe expired. And left thee, Armyn, alone; Gone is my Strength in the War, and fallen my Pride among Women,

When the Storms of the Mountain come; when the North lifts the Waves on high; I fit by the found

ing Shore, and look on the fatal Rock. Often by the fetting Moon I fee the Ghofts of my Children. Half-viewlefs, they walk in mournful Conference together. Will none of you speak in Pity; They do not regard their Father.

FRAGMENT XII,

RYNO, ALPIN,

RY NO.

T

HE Wind and the

Rain are over: Calm is

the Noon of Day. The Clouds are divided in Heaven. Over the green Hills flies the inconftant Sun. Red through the ftony Vale comes down the Stream; but more sweet is the Voice I hear. It is the Voice of Alpin the Son of the Song, mourning for the Dead. Bent is his Head of Age, and red his tearful Eye. Alpin, thou Son of the Song, why alone on the filent Hill? Why complaineft thou, as a Blast in the Wood; as a Wave on the lonely Shore?

ALPIN,

My Tears, O Ryno! are for the. Dead; my Voice for the Inhabitants of the Grave. Tall thou art on the Hill; fair among the Sons of the Plain. But thou fhalt fall like Morar; and the Mourner shall fit on thy Tomb. The Hills fhall know thee no more; thy Bow shall lie in the Hall unftrung.

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Thou wert swift, O Morar! as a Roe on the Hill; terrible as a Meteor of Fire. Thy Wrath was as the Storm of December. Thy Sword in Battle, as Lightning in the Field. Thy Voice was like a Stream after Rain; like Thunder on distant Hills. Many fell by thy Arm; they were confumed in the Flames of thy Wrath.

But when thou returnedft from War, how peaceful was thy Brow! Thy Face was like the Sun after Rain; like the Moon in the Silence of Night; calm as the Breaft of the Lake when the loud Wind is laid,

Narrow is thy Dwelling now; dark the Place of thine Abode. With three Steps I compafs thy Grave, O thou who waft fo great before! Four Stones with their Heads of Mofs are the only Memorial of thee. A Tree with scarce a Leaf, long Grafs which whistles in the Wind, mark to the Hunter's Eye the Grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed. Thou haft no Mother to mourn thee; no Maid with her Tears of Love. Dead is the that brought thee forth. Fallen is the Daughter of Morglan.

Who on his Staff is this? Who is this, whofe Head is white with Age, whofe Eyes are red with Tears, who quakes at every Step?-It is thy Father, O Morar! the Father of none but thee. He heard of thy Fame in Battle; he heard of Foes difperfed. He heard of Morar's Fame; why did he not hear

of

of his Wound? Weep, thou. Father of Morar! weep; but thy Son heareth thee not. Deep is the Sleep of the Dead; low their Pillow of Duft. No more shall he hear thy Voice; no more fhail he awake at thy Call. When shall it be Morn in the Grave, to bid the Slumberer awake?

Farewell, thou bravest of Men! thou Conqueror in the Field! but the Field fhall fee thee no more; nor the dark Wood be lightened with the Splendor of thy Steel. Thou haft left no Son. But the Song fhall preserve thy Name. Future Times fhall hear of thee; they fhall hear of the fallen Morar.

FRAGMENT XIII.

RAISE high the Stones; collect the Earth: Pre

serve the Name of Fear-combraic. Blow, Winds, from all your Hills; Sigh on the Grave of Muirnin.

The dark Rock hangs, with all its Wood, above the calm Dwelling of the Heroes.

The Sea, with its foam-headed Billows, murmurs at their Side.

Why figh the Woods, why roar the Waves? They have no Cause to mourn,

But thou haft Caufe, O Diormar! thou Maid of the Breaft of Snow! Spread thou thy Hair to the Wind; fend thy Sighs on the Blasts of the Hills.

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