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TV. CONNAL, CRIMORA,
C R I M O R A.
WHO cometh from the hill, like a cloud tinged -with the beam of the west? Whose voice is that, logg^ as the wind, but pleasant as the harp of Carryl? It is my love in the light of steel; but fad is his darkened brow. Live the mighty race of Fingal? or what disturbs my Connal?
Conn A L.
They live. I saw them return from
the chace, like a stream of light. The
fun was on their shields: In a line they
descended the hill. Loud is the voice of
C 2 the the youth; the war, my love, is near. To-morrow the enormous Dargo comes to try the force of our race. The race of Fingal he defies; the race of battle aud wounds.
CR I MORA.
'connal, I saw his fails like grey mist on the fable wave. They came to land. .Connal, many are the warriors of Dargo!
-CON N AL.
Bring me thy father's shield; the iron shield of Rinval; that shield like the full moon when it is darkened in the %.
That shield I bring, O Connal ;:but it did not defend my father. By the spear of Gauror he fell. Thou mayst Sfall, O Connal!
Co N N A X.
Fall indeed I may: But raise my tomb, Crimora. Some stones, a mound of earth, shall keep my memory. Though fair thou art, my love, as the light; more pleasant than the gale of the hill; yet I will not stay. Raise my tomb, Crimora.
C R I M OR A.
Then give me those arms of light; that sword, and that spear of steel. I shall meet Dargo with thee, and aid my
lovely lovely Connal. Farewell, ye rocks of Ardven! ye deer! and ye streams of the hill!—We shall return no more. Our tombs are distant far.
A Utumn is dark on the mountains; grey mist rests on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plainA tree stands alone on the hill, and. marks the grave of Connal. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and strew the grave of the dead. At times are seen here the ghosts of the deceased, when the musing hunter alone stalks flowly over the heath.
Who can reach the source of thy race, O Connal? and who recount thy Fathers? Thy family grew like an oak on the mountain, which meeteth the wind with its lofty head. But now it is torn from the earth. Who shall supply the place of Connal?