WH

HAT soft voice of sorrow is in

the breeze ? ---what lovely funbeam of beauty trembling on the rock? Its bright hair is bathed in showers; and it looks, faint and dim, through its mift on the rushy plain. Why art thou alone maid of the mournful look ? The cold dropping rain is on the rocks of Torlé

na

na-the blast of the defart lifts thy yellow locks. Let thy fteps be in the hall of fhells, by the blue winding ftream of Clutha :-let the harp tremble beneath thy fingers; and the fons of heroes liften to the mufic of fongs.

SHALL my steps be in the hall of fhells and the aged low in the duft? The fa ther of Seláma is low behind this rock on his bed of wither'd leaves :-the thi tle's down is ftrewed over him by the wind, and mixes with his grey hair. Thot art fallen-chief of Etha! without th fame; and there is none to revenge death. But thy daughter will fit, pale befide thee, till she sinks, a faded flower upon thy lifeless form. Leave the maid of Clutha-fon of the ftranger! in the

th

red

eyed mourner of the rock? Mine arm

is not weak in battle; nor my sword without its fame.

CONNAL was a fire in his youth, that lighten'd through fields of renown :-but the flame weakly glimmered through grey afhes of age. His courfe was like a star moving through the heavens:-it walketh in brightness, but leaveth no track behind;―its filver path cannot be found in the sky. The strength of Etha is rolled away like a tale of other years; and his eyes have failed. Feeble and dark, he fits in his hall, and hears the distant tread of a stranger's fteps-the haughty fteps of Tonthormo, from the roar of Duvranno's echoing stream. He stood in the hall like a pillar of darkness, on whose top is the red beam of fire :-wide rolled his eyes beneath the gloomy arch of his brow; as flames in two caves of a rock, over-hung with the black pine of the de

fart. They had rolled on Seláma, and he asked the daughter of Connal. Tonthormo! breaker of fhields! thou art a meteor of death in war, whose fiery hair ftreams on the clouds, and the nations are withered beneath its path. Dwell, Tonthormo! amidst thy hundred hills, and liften to thy torrent's roar; but the foft figh of the virgins is with the chief of Crono;-Hidallan is the dream of Se láma-the dweller of her fecret thoughts. A rufhing ftorm in war-a breeze that fighs over the fallen foe-pleasant are thy words of peace, and thy fongs at the moffy brook. Thy fmiles are like the moon-beams trembling on the wavesThy voice is the gale of fummer that whispers among the reeds of the lake, and awakens the harp of Moilena with all its lightly trembling ftrings. Oh that thy calm light was around me! my foul fhould not fear the gloomy chief of Duv

ranno.

ranno. He came with his ftately steps.~ My fhield is before thee, maid of my love! a wall of shelter from the lightning of fwords. They fought. Tonthormo bends, in all his pride, before the arm of youth. But a voice was in the breast of Hidallan-fhall I flay the love of Seláma? Seláma dwells in thy dark bofom-shall my steel enter there? Live, thou storm of war! He gave again his fword. But-careless as he strode awayrage arose in the troubled thoughts of the vanquish'd. He mark'd his time, and fidelong pierced the heart of the generous fon of Semo. His fair hair is spread on the duft-his eyes are bent on the trembling beam of Clutha. Farewel, light of my foul! They are closed in darknefs. Feeble waft thou then, my father! and in vain didft thou call for help.Thy grey locks are scatter'd, as a wreath of fnow on the top of a wither'd trunk; which

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