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is no found in the hall. No long-ftreaming *) beam, of light comes trembling through the gloom. The voice of Oithóna **) is not heard amidst the noife of the ftreams of Duve ranna.

Whither art thou gone in thy beauty, darkhaired daughter of Nuäth? Lathmon is in the field of the valiant. But thou didst promife to remain in the hall; thou didst promise to remain in the hall, till the fon of Morni returned. Till he returned from Strumon, to the maid of his love. The tear was on thy cheek at his departure: the figh rofe in fecret in thy breast. But thou dost not come to meet him, with fongs, with the lightly-trembling found of the harp.

Such were the words of Gaul, when he came to Dunlathmon's towers. The gates were

open

opens with Gaul's return to Dunlathmon, after the rape of Oithóna.

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open and dark. The winds were bluftering in the hall. The trees ftrowed the threshold with leaves; and the murmur of night was : broad. Sad and filent, at a rock, the fon of Morni fat his foul trembled for the maid; but he knew not whither to turn his course. The fon *) of Leth food at a diflance, and heard the winds in his bufhy hair. But he did not raife his voice, for he faw the forrow of Gaul.

Sleep defcended on the heroes. The vifions of night arofe. Oithóna stood in a dream, before the eyes of Morni's fon. Her dark hair was loofe and disordered: her lovely eye rolled in tears. Blood ftained her fnowy arin. The robe half hid the wound of her breaft. She ftood over the chief, and her voice was heard.

Sleeps the fon of Morni, he that was lovely in the eyes of Oithóna? Sleeps Gaul at the diftant rock, and the daughter of Nuäth low? The fea rolls round the dark ifle of Tromáthon; I fit in my tears in the cave.

Nor

do

*) Morlo, the fon of Leth, is one of Fingal's most famous heroes. He and three other men attended Gaul on his expedition to Tromáthon.

do I fit alone, o Gaul, the dark chief of Cuthal is there. He is there in the rage of his love. And what can Oitbóna do?

A rougher blast rushed through the oak. The dream of night departed. Gaul took his afpen fpear; he ftood in the rage of wrath. Often did his eyes turn to the eaft, and accufe At length the mornThe hero lifted up the fail.

the lagging light. ing came forth.

The winds came ruftling from the hill; and he bounded on the waves of the deep.

On

the third day àrofe Tromáthon *), like a blue fhield in the midst of the fea. The white wave roared against its rocks; fad Oithóna fat on the coast,

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ὡς ὅτε ῥινον ἐν ἠεροειδέϊ ποντῷ·

HOM. Od. v. 280.

Then fwell'd to fight Phæacia's dufky coaft,
And woody mountains half in vapours loft;
That lay before him indiftin&t and vaft,
Like a broad fhield amid the watry wafte.
Tróm- thón, heavy or deep-founding wave.

C

coaft. She looked on the rolling waters, and her tears defcended. But when she faw

Gaul in his arms, fhe ftarted and turned her eyes away. Her lovely cheek is bent and red; her white arm trembles by her fide. Thrice fhe ftrove to fly from his presence; but her fteps failed her as she went.

Daughter of Nuäth, faid the hero, why doft thou fly from Gaul? Do my eyes fend forth the flame of death? Or darkens hatred in iny foul? Thou art to me the beam of the east rifing in a land unknown. But thou covereft thy face with fadnefs, daughter of high Dunlathmon! Is the foe of Oithóna near? My foul burns to meet him in battle. The fword trembles on the fide of Gaul, and longs to glitter in his hand. Speak, daughter of Nuäth, doft thou not behold my tears?

Car-borne chief of Strumon, replied the fighing maid, why comeft thou over the darkblue wave to Nuäth's mournful daughter? Why did I not pafs away in fecret, like the flower of the rock, that lifts its fair head unfeen, and ftrows its withered leaves on the blaft? Why didst thou come, o Gaul, to hear my depart

ing figh? I pafs away in my youth; and my name fhall not be heard. Or it will be heard with forrow, and the tears of Nuäth will fall. Thou wilt be fad, fon of Morni, for the fallen fame of Oithóna. But fhe fhall fleep in the narrow tomb, far from the voice of the mournWhy didft thou come, chief of Stru

er.

mon,

to the fea-beat rocks of Tromáthon?

I came to meet thy foes, daughter of carborne Nuäth the death of Cuthal's chief darkens before me; or Morni's fon fhall fall.

Oithóna! when Gaul is low, raife my tomb on that oozy rock; and when the dark bounding fhip fhall pafs, call the fons of the fea; call them, and give this fword, that they may carry it to Morni's hall; that the grey-haired hero may ceafe to look towards the defart for the return of his fon.

And fhall the daughter of Nuäth live? fhe replied with a bursting figh. Shall I live in Tromáthon, and the fon of Morni low? My heart is not of that rock; nor my foul careless as that fea, which lifts its blue waves to every wind, and rolls beneath the ftorm. The blaft which fhall lay thee low, fhall fpread the branches of Oithóna on earth, We shall wither to

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