COMALA. Who fell on Carun's graffy banks, fon of the cloudy night? Was he white as the fnow of Ardven? Blooming as the bow of the fhower? Was his hair like the mift of the hill, foft and curling in the day of the fun? Was he like the thunder of heaven in battle? Fleet as the roe of the defart? HIDALLAN. O that I might behold his love, fair- lean-1 ing from her rock! Her red eye dim in tears, and her blushing cheek half-hid in her locks! Blow, thou gentle breeze, and lift the heavy locks of the maid, that I may behold her white arm, and lovely cheek of her forrow! COMALA. And is the fon of Comhal fallen, chief of the mournful tale? The thunder rolls on the hill! The lightening flies on wings of fire! But they frighten not Comala; for her Fingal fell. Say, chief of the mournful tale, fell the breaker of fhields? HIDALLA N. The nations are scattered on their hills; for they fhall hear the voice of the chief no more. COMA. COMALA. Confufion pursue thee over thy plains; and deftruction overtake thee, thou king of the world. Few be thy steps to thy grave; and let one virgin mourn thee. Let her be, like Comala, tearful in the days of her youth. Why haft thou told me, Hidallan, that my he ro fell? I might have hoped a little while his return, and have thought I faw him on the di ftant rock; a tree might have deceived me with his. appearance; and the wind of the hill been the found of his horn in mine ear. O that I were on the banks of Carun! that my tears might be warm on his cheek! HIDALLA N. He lies not on the banks of Carun: on Ardven heroes raife his tomb. Look on them, o moon, from thy clouds; be thy beam bright on his breast, that Comala may behold him in the light of his armour. COMALA. Stop, ye fons of the grave, till I behold. my love. He left me at the chace alone. I knew not, that he went to war. He faid, he would return with the night; and the king of Morven is returned. Why didst thou not tell me, that he would fall, o trembling fon of the rock *) Thou haft feen him in the blood of his youth, but thou didst not tell Comala! MELILCOMA. What found is that on Ardven? Who is that bright in the vale? Who comes like the ftrength of rivers, when their crowded waters glitter to the moon? COMALA. Who is it but the foe of Comala, the fon of the king of the world! Ghoft of Fingal! do thou, from thy cloud, direct Comala's bow. Let him fall like the hart of the defart. It is Fingal in the crowd of his ghosts. Why doft thou come, my love, to frighten and please my foul? FINGAL. Raife, ye bards of the fong, the wars of the ftreamy Carun. arms * By Son of the rock fhe means a druid. It is pro bable, that fome of the order of the druids remained as late as the beginning of the reign of Fingal; and that Comala had confulted one of them, concerning the event of the war with Caracul, arms along the fields of his pride. He fets far diftant, like a meteor that inclofes a spirit of night, when the winds drive it over the heath, and the dark woods are gleaming around. 1 I heard a voice like the breeze of my hills. Is it the huntress of Galmal, the white-handed daughter of Sarno? Look from thy rocks *), my love; and let me hear the voice of Comala. COMALA. Take me to the cave of thy reft, o lovely fon of death! FINGAL. Come to the cave of my rest. ftorm is over **), and the fun is on The our fields. Come to the cave of my reft, huntress of ecchoing Cona. COMALA. He is returned with his fame; I feel the right hand of his battles. But I muft reft *) O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, in the fecret places of the ftairs, let me fee thy countenance, let me hear thy voice. SOLOMON'S Song, **) The winter is past, the rain is over and gone. SOLOMON'S Song. reft befide the rock, till my foul fettles from fear. Let the harp be near; and raise the fong, ye daughters of Morni. DERSAGREN A. Comala has flain three deer on Ardven, and the fire afcends on the rock; go to the feaft of Comala, king of the woody Morven! FINGAL. Raife, ye fons of fong, the wars of the ftreamy Carun; that my white handed maid may rejoice while I behold the feaft of my love. BARDS. Roll, ftreamy Carun, roll in joy; the fons of battle fied. The fteed is not feen on our fields; and the wings *) of their pride fpread in other lands. The fun will now rife in peace, and the fhadows defcend in joy. The voice of the chace will be heard; and the fhields hang in the hall. Our delight will be in the war of the ocean, and our hands be red in the blood of Lochlin. Roll, ftreamy Carun, roll in joy, the fons of battle, fled. MELIL Perhaps the poet alludes to the Roman eagle. |