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IV.

CONNAL, CRIMORA,

WH

CRIMORA.

HO cometh from the hill, like a cloud tinged with the beam of the weft? Whofe voice is that, loud as the wind, but pleasant as the harp of Carryl? It is my love in the light of fteel ; but fad is his darkened brow. Live the mighty race of Fingal? or what disturbs

my

Connal?

CONNAL.

THEY live. I faw them return from the chace, like a stream of light. The fun was on their fhields: In a line they defcended the hill. Loud is the voice of

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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 and wounds.

CRIMORA.

CONNAL, I faw his fails like grey mist on the fable wave. They came to land. Connal, many are the warriors of Dargo.!

CONNAL.

BRING me thy father's fhield; the iron fhield of Rinval; that fhield like the full moon when it is darkened in the iky.

CRIMORA.

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CRIMORA.

THAT fhield I bring, O Connal; but it did not defend my father. By the fpear of Gauror he fell. Thou mayst fall, O Connal !

CONNAL.

my

FALL indeed I may: But raise tomb, Crimora. Some ftones, a mound of earth, fhall 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.

CRIMOR A.

THEN give me those arms of light; that fword, and that fpear of steel. I fhall meet Dargo with thee, and aid my

lovely

lovely Connal. Farewell, ye rocks of Ardven! ye deer! and ye streams of the hill!-We fhall return no more. Our tombs are distant far.

V.

AUTUMN is dark on the mountains;

grey mift refts on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. A tree ftands alone on the hill, and marks the grave of Connal. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and ftrew the grave of the dead. At times are feen here the ghosts of the deceased, when the mufing hunter alone ftalks flowly over the heath.

WHO can reach the fource 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. is torn from the earth. ply the place of Connal?

But now it

Who fhall fup

HERE

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