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MY Love is a Son of the Hill. He pursues the flying Deer. His Grey Dogs are panting around him; his Bow-string sounds in the Wind. Whether by the Fount of the Rock, or by the Stream of the Mountain thou liest; when the Rushes are nodding with the Wind, and the Mist is flying over thee, let me approach my Love unperceived, and fee 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.
What Voice is that I hear? That Voice like the Summer-wind.—I sit not by the nodding Rushes; I hear not the Fount of the Rock. Afar, Vinvila, 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 of the Plain ; bright as the Bow' of Heaven; as the!
Moon on the western Wave.
Then thou art gone, O Shilric! and I am alone on the HiU. The Deer are seen on the Brow ; void of Fear they graze along. No more they dread the Wind ; no more the rustling Tree. The Hunter is far removed; he is in the Field of Graves. Strangers \ Sons of the Waves? spare my Ibvely Shilric.
If fall I must in the Field, raise high my Grave, Vinvela. Grey Stones, and heaped-up Earth, shall mark me to future Times. When the Hunter shall fit by the Mound, and produce his Food at Noon, u Some Warrior rests here," he will fay; and my Fame shall live in his Praise. Remember me, Vin~ vela, when low on Earth I lie ,'
V I N V E L A.
Yes I—I will remember thee—indeed my Shilric will fall. What mall I do, my Love ! when thou art gone for ever ? Through these Hills I will go at Noon; I will go through the silent Heath. There i] will sec the Place of thv Rest, returning from the 'Chacc. Indeed, my Shilric will fall; but I will remember him.
ISit by the mossy Fountain; on the Top of the Hill of Winds. One Tree is rustling above me. Dark Waves roll over the Heath. The Lake is troubled below. The Deer descend from the Hill. No Hunter at a Distance is seen ; no whistling Cowherd is nigh. It is Mid-day: But all is silent. Sad are my Thoughts alone. Didst thou but appear, O my Love, a Wanderer on the Heath! Thy Hair floating on the Wind behind thee ; thy Bofibm heaving on the Sight; thine Eyes full of Tears for thy . Friends, whom the midst of the Hill had concealed f Thee I would comfort, my Love, and bring thee to thy Father's House.
But it is slie that there appears, like a Beam of Light on the Heath ? Bright as the Moon in Autumn, as the Sun in a Summer-storm, comest thou, lovely Maid, over Rocks, over Mountains to me ?—She speaks: but how weak her Voice! like the Breeze in the Reeds of the Pool. Hark!
Returnest thou fafe from the War; Where are thy Friends, my Love? I heard of thy Death on the Hill j I heard and mourned thee, Shilric!
Yes, my Fair, I return ; but I alone of my Race. Thou stialt 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 I am, O Shilric! alone in the WinterHouse. With Grief for thee I expired. Shilric, I am Pale in the Tomb.
She fleets, she fails away; as grey Mist before the Wind !—and, wilt thou not stay, my Love? Stay and behold my Tears? Fair thou appearest, my Love! fair thou wast, when alive!
By the mossy Fountain I will sit; on the Top of the Hill of Winds. When Mid-day is silent around, converse, O my Love, with me! come on the Wings of the Gale ! on the Blast of the Mountain, come! Let me hear thy Voice, as thou passest, when Mid-day is silent around.
EV E N I N G is grey on the Hills. The North Wind resounds through the Woods. White Clouds rife on the Sky: the thin-wavering Snow" descends. The River howls afar, along its winding Course. Sad, by a hollow Rock, the grey-hair'd Carry! 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.
Tolled on the wavy Ocean is He, the Hope of the Isles ; Malcolm, the Support of the Poor; Foe to the proud in Arms! Why hast thou left us behind?
Why Why live we to,mourn thy Fate? We might have heard, with thee, the Voice of the Deep; have seen the oozy Rock.
Sad on the Sea-beat Shore thy Spouse looketh for thy Return. The Time of thy Promise is come; the Night is gathering around. But no white Saif is on the Sea; no Voice but the blustering Winds. Low is the Sou'? Of the War; Wet are the Locks of Youth! By the Foot of some Rock thou liest; ivastied by the Waves as they come. Why, ye Winds, did you bear him on the Desert Rock? Why, ye Waves, did you roll over him?
Bat, Oh i What Voice is that?' WHo rides oil that M&ebr of Fire! Green' are his' airy Limbs* ft is he' f H is the Ghost of Malcolm!lovely Soul, felt on the Rock j 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 Spouse shall return no more. No more shall his Hounds come from the Hill, Forerunners of their Master. No more from the distant Rock shall Kis Voice greet thine' Ear. Silent is he in the Deep, unhappy Daughter of Reynold!
I will sit by the Stream of the Plain. Ye Rocks! hang over my Head. Hear my Voice, ye Trees! as ye bend on the stiaggy Hill. My Voice shall pre~«" serve the Praise of him, the Hope of the Mes.
Vol. IT. R