cheek; his red eye rolled, half-concealed, beneath his shaggy brows! "Whence are the fons of the fea?" begun the gloomy chief. "Have the winds driven you on the rocks of Tromáthon? Or come you in fearch of the white-handed maid? The fons of the unhappy, ye feeble men, come to the hand of Dunrommath! His eye spares not the weak; he delights in the blood of ftrangers. Oithóna is a beam of light, and the chief of Cuthal enjoys it in fecret; wouldft thou come on its loveliness, like a cloud, son of the feeble hand! Thou mayft come but fhalt thou return to the halls of thy fathers?" "Doft thou not know me," said Gaul, "red-haired chief of Cuthal? Thy feet were swift on the heath, in the battle of car-borne Lathmon; when the fword of Morni's fon pursued his hoft, in Morven's woody land. Dunrommath! thy words are mighty, for thy warriors Vol. 1. N gather behind thee. But do I fear them, fon of pride? I am not of the race of the feeble!" Gaul advanced in his arms; Dunrommath fhrunk behind his people. But the Spear of Gaul pierced the gloomy chief; his sword lopped off his head, as it bended in death. The fon of Morni fhook it thrice by the lock; the warriors of Dunrommath fled. The arrows of Morven pursued them: ten fell on the molly rocks. The reft lift the founding fail, and bound on the troubled deep. Gaul advanced towards the cave of Oithóna. He beheld a youth leaning on a rock. An arrow had pierced his fide; his eye rolled faintly beneath his hel met. The foul of Morni's fon was fad, he came and fpoke the words of peace. "Can the hand of Gaul heal thee, youth of the mournful brow? I have fearched for the herbs of the mountains; I have gathered them on the fecret banks of their ftreams. My hand has clofed the wound of the brave, their eyes have blessed the son of Morni. Where dwelt thy fathers, warrior? Were they of the fons of the mighty? Sadness fhall come, like night, on thy native ftreams., Thou art fallen in thy youth!" "My fathers," replied the ftranger, "were of the race of the mighty; but they shall not be sad; for my fame is departed like morning mift. High walls rife on the banks of Duvranna; and fee their molly towers in the stream; a rock afcends behind them with its bending pines. Thou mayft behold it far diftant. There my brother dwells. He is renowned in battle: give him this glittering helm." The helmet fell from the hand of Gaul. It was the wounded Oithóna! She had armed herself in the came in search of death. cave, and Her heavy ? eyes are half closed; the blood pours from her heaving fide. “Son of Morni!” The faid, "prepare the narrow tomb. Sleep grows, like darkness, on my foul. The eyes of Oithóna are dim! O had I dwelt at Duvranna, in the bright beam of my fame! then had my years come on with joy; the virgins would then blefs my fteps. But I fall in youth, fon of Morni! my father shall blush in his hall!" She fell pale on the rock of Tromáthon. He came to Morven; we faw the darkness of his foul. Offian took the harp in the praise of Oithóna. The brightness of the face of Gaul returned. But his figh rose, at times, in the midft of his friends; like blafts that Chake their unfrequent wings, after the formy winds are laid! |