remain in the hall; thou dift 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 breaft. But thou doft 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 and dark. The winds were blaftering in the hall. The trees ftrowed the threshold with leaves; and the murmur of night was abroad. 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 (1) of Leth ftood at a diftance, and heard the winds in his bushy hair. But he did not raise his voice, for he faw the forrow of Gaul.

Sleep defcended on the heroes. The vifions of night arofe. Oithóna ftood in a dream, before the eyes of Morni's fon. Her dark hair was loofe and difordered: her lovely eye rolled in tears. Blood stained her fnowy arm. The robe half hid the wound of her breast.

(1) 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.

She stood 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 distant rock, and the daughter of Nuath low? The fea rolls round the dark isle of Tromáthon; I fit in my tears in the cave. Nor 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 Oithóna do?

A rougher blaft 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 east, and accuse the lagging light.-At length the morning came forth. The hero lifted up the fail. The winds came ruftling from the hill, and he bounded on the waves of the deep. — On the third day arofe Tromáthon (1), like a

-ὡς ὅτε ρινόν ἐν κεροειδέϊ πόντῳ. HOMER. Od. v. 180.

Then fwell'd to fight Phæacia's dusky coast,
And woody mountains half in vapours lost;

blue shield in the midst of the fea. The white wave roared against its rocks; fad Oithóna fat on the coaft. She looked on the rolling waters, and her tears descend.—But when she faw Gaul in his arms, she ftarted and turned her eyes away. Her lovely cheek is bent and red; her white arm trembles by her fide.-Thrice she ftrove to fly from his prefence; but her fteps failed her as she

went.

Daughter of Nuath, faid the hero, why doft thou fly from Gaul? Do my eyes fend forth the flame of death? Or darkens hatred in my foul Thou art to me the beam of the eaft rifing in a land unknown. But thou covereft thy face with fadnefs, daughter of high Dunlathmon! Is the foe of Öithóna 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 Nuath, doft thou not behold my tears?

Car-borne chief of Strumon, replied the fighing maid, why comeft thou over the dark-blue wave to Nuath's mournful daughter?

That lay before him indistinct and vaft,
Like a broad shield amid the watry waste.

Tróm-thón, heavy or deep-founding ware.

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 didft thou come, O Gaul, to hear my departing figh: I pass away in my youth; and my name shall not be heard. Or it will be heard with forrow, and the tears of Nuath will fall. Thou wilt be fad, son of Morni, for the fallen fame of Oithóna. But she shall fleep in the narrow tomb, far from the voice of the mourner.-Why didst thou come, chief of Strumon, to the fea-beat rocks of Tromáthon?

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

Oithóna! when Gaul is low, raise my tomb on that oozy rock; and when the dark-bounding ship shall 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 shall the daughter of Nuath live, she replied with a burfting 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 storm. The blast

which shall lay thee low, shall fpread the branches of Oithóna on earth. We shall wither together, fon of car-borne Morni! - The narrow houfe is pleasant to me, and the gray ftone of the dead: for never more will I leave thy rocks, fea-furrounded Tromáthon! Night (1) came on with her clouds, after the departure of Lathmon, when he went to the wars of his fathers to the mosscovered rock of Duthórmoth; night came on, and I fat in the hall, at the beam of the oak. The wind was abroad in the trees. I heard the found of arms. Joy rose in my face; for I thought of thy return. It was the chief of Cuthal, the red-haired ftrength of Dunrommath. His eyes rolled in fire: the blood of my people was on his fword. They who defended Oithóna fell by the gloomy chief.--What could I do? My arm was weak; it could not lift the fpear. He took me in my grief, amidst my tears he raised the fail. He feared the returning ftrength of Lathmon, the brother of unhappy Oithóna. - But behold, he comes with his people! the dark wave is divided before him! Whither wilt thou turn thy fteps, fon of Morni? Many are the warriors of Dunrommath !

My steps never turned from battle, replied

(1) Oithóna relates how she was carried away by Dunrommath.