FRAGMENT IV.

CONNAL, CRIMORA.

WHO

CRIMORA.

WHO cometh from the Hill, like a Cloud tinged with the Beam of the West? Whose Voice is that, loud as the Wind, but pleasant as the Harp of Carryl? It is my Love in the Light of Steel; 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 Sun was on their Shields Like a Ridge of Fire they descended the Hill. Loud is the Voice of 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.

Connal, I faw his Sails like grey Mift on the fable Wave. They flowly came to Land. Connal, many are the Warriors of Dargo!

CONNAL.

Bring me thy Father's Shield; the Iron Shield of Rinval; that Shield like the full Moon when it is darkened in the Sky.

CRIMORA.

CRIMORA.

That Shield I bring, O Connal; but it did not defend my Father. By the Spear of Gauror he fell. Thou mayeft fall, O Connal!

CONNAL.

Fall indeed I may: But raise my Tomb, Crimora. Some Stones, a Mound of Earth, fhall keep my Memory. Bend thy red Eye over my Tomb, and beat thy Breaft with Sighs. Though fair thou art, my Love, as the Light; more pleasant than the Gale of the Hill; yet I will not stay. Raife my Tomb, Crimora.

CRIMORA.

Then give me thofe Arms of Light; that Sword, and that Spear of Steel. I fhall meet Dargo with thee, and aid my lovely Connal. Farewell, ye Rocks of Ardven! ye Deer! and ye Streams of the Hill!-We fhall return no more. Our Tombs are diftant far.

Α

FRAGMENT V.

UTUMN 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 stands 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 seen here the Ghosts of the deceased, when the musing Hunter alone stalks flowly over the Heath. Appear in thy Armour of Light, thou Ghost of the mighty Connal! Shine, near thy Tomb, Crimora! like a Moon-beam from a Cloud.

Who can reach the Source 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. But now it is torn from the Earth. Who fhall fupply the Place of Connal?

Here was the Din of Arms; and here the Groans of the dying. Mournful are the Wars of Fingal! O Connal! it was here thou didst fall. Thine Arm was like a Storm; thy Sword a Beam of the Sky; thy Height, a Rock on the Plain; thine Eyes, a Furnace of Fire. Louder than a Storm was thy Voice, when thou confoundeft the Field. Warriors fell by thy Sword, as the Thistle by the Staff of a Boy.

Dargo the mighty came on, like a Cloud of Thunder. His Brows were contracted and dark.. His Eyes like two Caves in a Rock. Bright rofe their Swords on each Side; dire was the Clang of their Steel,.

The

The Daughter of Rinval was near; Crimora, bright in the Armour of Man; her Hair loose behind, her Bow in her Hand. She followed the Youth to the War, Connal her much-beloved. She drew the String on Dargo; but erring pierced her Connal. He falls like an Oak on the Plain; like a Rock from the fhaggy Hill. What shall she do, hapless MaidHe bleeds; her Connal dies. All the Night long she cries, and all the Day, O Connal, my Love, and my Friend! With Grief the fad Mourner died.

Earth here encloseth the loveliest Pair on the Hill. The Grafs grows between the Stones of their Tomb; I fit in the mournful Shade. The Wind fighs through the Grafs; and their Memory rushes on my Mind. Undisturbed you now fleep together; in the Tomb of the Mountain you reft alone.

FRAGMENT

VI.

SON of the noble Fingal, Ofcian Prince of Men! what Tears run down the Cheeks of

Age? what fhades thy mighty Soul?

Memory, Son of Alpin, Memory wounds the Aged. Of former Times are my Thoughts; my Thoughts are of the noble Fingal.

the King return into my Mind, with Remembrance.

The Race of

and wound me

One Day, returned from the Sport of the Mountains, from pursuing the Sons of the Hill, we covered this Heath with our Youth. Fingal the mighty was here, and Ofcur, my Son, great in War. Fair on our Sight from the Sea, at once, a Virgin came. Her Breaft was like the Snow of one Night. Her Cheek like the Bud of the Rofe. Mild was her blue rolling Eye But Sorrow was big in her Heart.

Fingal renowned in War! fhe cries, Sons of the King, preferve me! Speak fecure, replies the King, Daughter of Beauty, speak: our Ear is open to all : Our Swords redrefs the injured. I fly from Ullin, fhe cries, from Ullin famous in War. I fly from the Embrace of him who would debafe my Blood. Cremor, the Friend of Men, was my Father; Cremor the Prince of Inverne.

Fingal's younger Sons arofe; Carryl expert in the Bow; Fillan beloved of the Fair; and Fergus first in the Race. Who from the fartheft Lochlyn? who to the Seas of Molochafquir? Who dares hurt the Maid whom the Sons of Fingal guard? Daughter of Beauty, reft fecure; reft in Peace, thou faircft of Women.

Far in the blue Distance of the Deep, fome Spot appeared like the Back of the Ridge-way. But foon the Ship increased on our Sight. The Hand of Ullin drew her to Land. The Mountain trembled as he moved, The Hills fhook at his Steps. Dire rattled his Armour around him. Death and Destruction were in