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HE chafe is over. No noife on Ard

Tven but the torrent's roar ! Daughter of Morni, come from Crona's banks. Lay down the bow and take the harp. Let the night come on with fongs, let our joy be great on Ardven.

MELILCOMA *.

Night comes apace, thou blue-eyed maid! grey night grows dim along the * Melilcoma, foft-rolling eye.

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plain. I faw a deer at Crona's ftream; a moffy bank he seemed through the gloom, but foon he bounded away. A meteor played round his branching horns! the awful faces of other times looked from the clouds of Crona!

DERSAGRENA ↑.

These are the figns of Fingal's death. The king of shields is fallen! and Caracul prevails. Rife, Comala ‡, from thy rock; daughter of Sarno, rife in tears! The youth of thy love is low; his ghost is on our hills.

MELILCOMA.

There Comala fits forlorn! two grey dogs near shake their rough ears, and catch the flying breeze. Her red cheek refts upon her arm, the mountain wind is in her hair. She turns her blue eyes toward the fields of his promise, Where art thou, O Fingal? the night is gathering around!

Apparent dira facies, inimicaque Troja
Numina magna deúm.

dreadful founds I hear,

And the dire form of hostile gods appear.

VIRG.

DRYDEN.

+ Derfagrena, the brightness of a fun-beam, Comala, the maid of the pleasant brow.

COMALA.

COMALA.

O Carun* of the ftreams! why do I behold thy waters rolling in blood? Has the noife of the battle been heard; and, fleeps the king of Morven? Rife, moon, thou daughter of the fky! look from between thy clouds, rife that I may behold the gleam of his fteel, on the field of his promife. Or rather let the meteor, that lights our fathers through the night, come, with its red beam, to fhew me the way to my fallen hero. Who will defend me from forrow? Who from the love of Hidallan? Long fhall Comala look before the can behold Fingal in the midst of his hoft; bright as the coming forth of the morning, in the cloud of an early fhower.

* Carun or Cara'on, a winding river.-This river retains ftill the name of Carron, and falls into the Forth fome miles to the north of Falkirk.

Gentefque alias cum pelleret armis
Sedibus, aut victas vilem fervaret in ufum
Servitii, hic contenta fuos defendere fines
Roma fecurigeris prætendit mania Scotis:
Hic fpe progreffus pofita, Caronis ad undam
Terminus Aufonii fignat divortia regni.

BUCHANAN

HIDALLAN *.

Dwell, thou mift of gloomy Crona, dwell on the path of the king! Hide his fteps from mine eyes, let me remember my friend no more. The bands of battle are fcattered, no crowding tread is round the noise of his fteel. O Carun! roll thy ftreams of blood, the chief of the people is low.

COMALA.

Who fell on Carun's founding banks, fon of the cloudy night? Was he white as the fnow of Ardven? Blooming as the bow of the shower? Was his hair like the mist 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, fairleaning from her rock! Her red eye dim in tears, her blushing cheek half hid in her

* Hidallan was fent by Fingal to give notice to Comala of his return; he, to revenge himself on her för flighting his love fome time before, told her that the king was killed in battle. He even pretended that he carried his body from the field to be buried in her prefence; and this circumftance makes it probable that the poem was presented of old.

locks!

locks! Blow, O gentle breeze! lift thou the heavy locks of the maid, that I may behold her white arm, her lovely cheek in her grief.

COMALA.

And is the fon of Comhal fallen, chief of the mournful tale? The thunder rolls on the hill! The lightning flies on wings of fire! They frighten not Comala; for Fingal is low. Say, chief of the mournful tale, fell the breaker of the fhields?

HIDALLAN.

The nations are scattered on their hills! they fhall hear the voice of the king no

more.

COMALA.

Confufion purfue thee over thy plains! Ruin overtake thee, thou king of the world! Few be thy fteps 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 hero fell? I might have hoped a little while his return, I might have thought I faw him on the distant rock; a tree might have deceived me with his appearance; the wind of the hill might have been the found of

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