The joy of Croma was great; for peace returned to the land. The night came on with filen ce, the valley murmurs; but its murmur is fullen fades it it flies. Some funeral fhall pass this way the meteor marks the path. The diftant dog is howling from the hut of the hill. The tag lies on the mountain - mofs: the hind is at his fide. She hears the wind in his branchy horns. She ftarts, but lies again. The roe is in the cleft of the rock; the heathcock's head is beneath his wing. No beast, no bird is abroad, but the owl and the howling fox. She on a leaflefs tree: he in a cloud on the hill. Dark, panting, trembling, fad, the traveller has loft his way. Through shrubs, through thorns, he goes, along the gurgling rill. He fears the rock and the fen. He fears the ghost of night. The old tree groans to the blaft; the falling branch refounds. The wind drives the withered burs, clung together, along the grass. It is the light tread of a gholt! He trembles 1 amidst the night. D 2 Dark, ce, and the morning returned with joy. No foe came in darkness, with his glittering fpear. The joy of Croma was great; for the gloomy Róthmar was fallen. I Dark, dufky, howling is night, cloudy, windy, and full of ghofts! The dead are abroad! my friends, receive me from the night. SECOND BARD. The wind is up. The fhower defcends. The fpirit of the mountain fhrieks. Woods fall from high. Windows flap. The growing river roars. The traveller attempts the ford. Hark that shriek! he dies: The ftorm drives the horse from the hill, the goat, the lowing cow. They tremble as drives the shower, befide the mouldering bank. The hunter ftarts from fleep, in his lonely hut; he wakes the fire decayed. His wet dogs fmoke around him. He fills the chinks with heath. Loud roar two mountain- ftreams, which meet befide his booth. Sad on the fide of a hill the wandering fhepherd fits. The tree refounds above him. The ftream roars down the rock. He waits for the rifing moon, to guide him to his home. Ghofts I raised my voice for Fovar-gormo, when they laid the chief in earth. The aged Crothar was there, but his figh was not heard. He fearch Ghofts ride on the form to-night. Sweet is their voice between the fqualls of wind. Their fongs are of other worlds. roar, The rain is paft. The dry wind blows. Streains and windows flap. Cold drops tall from the roof. I fee the starry sky. But the fhower gathers again. The weft is gloomy and dark. Night is ftormy and dismal; receive ine, my friends, from night. THIRD BARD, The wind ftill founds between the hills, and whistles through the grafs of the rock. The firs fall from their place. The turfy hut is torn. The clouds, divided, fly over the fky, and fhew the burning ftars. The meteor, token of death! flies fparkling through the gloom. It refts on the hill. I fee the withered fern, the dark-browed rock, the fallen oak, Who is that in his [hrowd beneath the tree, by the stream? The waves dark-tumble on the lake, and lash its rocky fides. The boat is brimful in the cove; D 3 the fearched for the wound of his fon, and found it in his breaft. Joy. rofe in the face of the aged. He came and fpoke to Oilian. King the oars on the rocking tide. A maid fits fad befide the rock, and eyes the rolling ftream. Her lover promifed to come. She faw his boat, when yet it was light, on the lake. Is this his broken boat on the fhore? Are these his groans on the wind? Hark! the hail rattles around. The flaky fnow defcends. The tops of the hills are white. The ftormy winds abate. Various is the night and cold; receive me, my friends, from night, 4 FOURTH BARD. 1 Night is calm and fair; blue, ftarry, fettled is night. The winds, with the clouds, are gone. They fink behind the hill. The moon is up on the mountain. Trees glitter ftreams fhine on the rock. Bright rolls the settled lake; bright the ftream of the vale. I fee the trees overturned; the fhocks of corn on the plain. The wakeful hind rebuilds the fhocks, and whistles on the distant field. King of fpears! he faid, my fon has not fallen without his fame. The young warrior did not fly; but met death, as he went for ward Who comes Calm, fettled, fair is night!, from the place of the dead? That form with the robe of fnow; white arms and dark-brown hair! It is the daughter of the chief of the people; fhe that lately fell! Come, let us view thee, o maid! thou that hast been the delight of heroes! The blaft drives the phantom away; white, without form, it afcends the hill. The breezes drive the blue mift, flowly over the narrow vale. It rifes on the hill, and joins its head to heaven. Night is fettled, calm, blue, ftarry, bright with the noon. Receive ine not, my friends; for lovely is the night. FIFTH BARD. Night is calm, but dreary. The moon is in a cloud in the weft. Slow moves that pale beam along the fhaded hill. The diftant wave is heard. The torrent murmurs on the rock. The cock is heard from the booth. is past. The house - wife, More than half the night groping in the gloom, rekindles the fettled fire. The hunter thinks, that |