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FRAGMENT I. ·

SHILRIC, VINVEL A.

M

VIN VELA.

Y Love is a Son of the Hill. He pursues the flying Deer. His Grey Dogs are panting around him; his Bow-ftring founds in the Wind. Whether by the Fount of the Rock, or the Stream of the Mountain thou lieft; when the Rushes are nodding with the Wind, and the Mist is flying over thee, let me approach my Love unperceived, and see him from the Rock. Lovely I faw thee first by the aged Oak of Branno; thou were returning tall from the Chace; the Fairest among thy Friends.

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SHILRIC.

What Voice is that I hear? That Voice like the Summer-wind. I fit not by the nodding Rufhes; I hear not the Fount of the Rock. Afar, Vinvela, afar I go to the Wars of Fingal. My Dogs attend me no more. No more I tread the Hill. No more from on high I fee thee, fair-moving by the Stream

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of the Plain; bright as the Bow of Heaven; as the Moon on the western Wave.

VIN VEL A.

Then thou art gone, O Shilric! and I am alone on the Hill. The Deer are feen on the Brow; void of Fear they graze along. No more they dread the Wind; no more the ruffling Tree. The Hunter is far removed; he is in the Field of Graves. Strangers! Sons of the Waves? fpare my lovely Shilric.

SHILRIC.

If fall I muft in the Field, raife high my Grave, Vinvela. Grey Stones, and heaped-up Earth, fhall mark me to future Times. When the Hunter fhall fit by the Mound, and produce his Food at Noon, "Some Warrior refts here," he will fay; and my Fame fhall live in his Praife. Remember me, A vela, when low on Earth I lie !

VINVEL A.

Vin

Yes!-I will remember thee-indeed my Shilric will fall. What fhall I do, my Love! when thou art gone for ever? Through thefe Hills I will go at Noon; I will go through the filent Heath. There I will fee the Place of thy Reft, returning from the Chace. Indeed, my Shilric will fall; but I will remember him.

FRAG

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FRAGMENT II.

Sit by the moffy Fountain; on the Top of the Hill of Winds. One Tree is ruftling above me. Dark Waves roll over the Heath. The Lake is troubled below. The Deer defcend from the Hill. No Hunter at a Distance is feen; no whistling Cowherd is nigh. It is Mid-day: But all is filent. Sad are my Thoughts alone. Didft thou but appear, O my Love, a Wanderer on the Heath! Thy Hair floating on the Wind behind thee; thy Bofom heaving on the Sight; thine Eyes full of Tears for thy Friends, whom the midst of the Hill had concealed! Thee. I would comfort, my Love, and bring thee to thy Father's House.

But it is the that there appears, like a Beam of Light on the Heath? Bright as the Moon in Autumn, as the Sun in a Summer-ftorm, comeft thou, lovely Maid, over Rocks, over Mountains to me?-She fpeaks: but how weak her Voice! like the Breeze in the Reeds of the Pool. Hark!

Returneft thou fafe from the War; Where are thy Friends, my Love? I heard of thy Death on the Hill; I heard and mourned thee, Shilric!

Yes, my Fair, I return; but I alone of my Race. Thou shalt fee them no more: Their Graves I raised on the Plain. But why art thou on the defart Hill? why on the Heath, alone?

Alone

Alone I am, O Shilric! alone in the WinterHoufe. With Grief for thee I expired. Shilric, I am Pale in the Tomb.

She fleets, fhe fails away; as grey Mift before the Wind !—and, wilt thou not ftay, my Love? Stay and behold my Tears? Fair thou appearest, my Love! fair thou waft, when alive!

By the moffy Fountain I will fit; on the Top of the Hill of Winds. When Mid-day is filent around, converfe, O my Love, with me! come on the Wings of the Gale! on the Blaft of the Mountain, come! Let me hear thy Voice, as thou paffeft, when Mid-day is filent around.

FRAGMENT III.

EVENING is grey on the Hills. The North

Wind refounds through the Woods. White Clouds rife on the Sky: the thin-wavering Snow defcends. The River howls afar, along its winding Courfe. Sad, by a hollow Rock, the grey-hair'd Carryl fat. Dry Fern waves over his Head; his Seat is in an aged Birch. Clear to the roaring Winds he lifts his Voice of Woe.

Toffed on the wavy Ocean is He, the Hope of the Ifles; Malcolm, the Support of the Poor; Foe to the proud in Arms! Why haft thou left us behind?

Why

Why live we to mourn thy Fate? We might have heard, with thee, the Voice of the Deep; have 'feen the oozy Rock.

Sad on the Sea-beat Shore thy Spouse looketh for thy Return. The Time of thy Promife is come; the Night is gathering around. But no white Sail is on the Sea; no Voice but the bluffering Winds. Low is the Soul of the War; Wet are the Locks of Youth! By the Foot of fome Rock thou lieft; wafhed by the Waves as they come. Why, ye Winds, did you bear him on the Defert Rock? Why, ye Waves, did you roll over him?

But, Oh! What Voice is that? Who rides on that Meteor of Fire! Green are his airy Limbs. It is he! it is the Ghoft of Malcolm !-Reft, lovely Soul, reft on the Rock; and let me hear thy Voice.

He is gone, like a Dream of the Night. I fee him through the Trees. Daughter of Reynold! he is gone. Thy Spoufe fhall return no more. No more shall his Hounds come from the Hill, Forerunners of their Mafter. No more from the diftant Rock shall his Voice greet thine Ear. Silent is he in the Deep, unhappy Daughter of Reynold!

I will fit by the Stream of the Plain. Ye Rocks! hang over my Head. Hear my Voice, ye Trees! as ye bend on the fhaggy Hill. My Voice fhall pre^ ferve the Praise of him, the Hope of the Ifles.

VOL. II.

K

FRAG

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