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Thou wert swift, O Morar.' as a Roe on the Hill; terrible as a Meteor of Fire. Thy Wrath was as the Storm of December. Thy Sword in Battle, as Lightning in the Field. Thy Voice was like a Stream after Rain; like Thunder on distant Hills. Many fell by thy Arm; they were consu-~ med in the Flames of thy Wrath.

But when thou returnedst from War, how peaceful was thy Brow! Thy Face was like the Sun after Rain ; like the Moon in the Silence of Night; calm as the Breast of the Lake when the loud Wind is laid.

Narrow is thy Dwelling now; dark the Place of thine Abode. With three Steps I compass thy Grave, O thou who wast so great before ! Four Stones with their Heads of Moss are the only Memorial of thee. A Tree with scarce a Leaf, long Grass which whistles in the Wind, mark to the Hunter's Eye the Grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed. Thou hast no Mother to mourn thee; no Maid with her Tears of Love. Dead is she that brought thee forth. Fallen is the Daughter of Morglan.

Who on his Staff is this? Who is this, whose Head is white with Age, whose Eyes are red with Tears, who quakes at every Step ?—It is thy Father, O Morar! the Father of none but thee. He heanf of thy Fame in Battle; he heard of Foes dispersed. He heard of Morar's Fame; why did he not hear

of of his Wound? Weep, thou Father of Morar! weep; but thy Son heareth thee not. Deep is the Sleep of the Dead ; low their Pillow of Dust. No more shall he hear thy Voice; no more shall he awake at thy Call. When shall it be Morn in the Grave, to bid the Slumberer awake?

Farewell, thou bravest of Mert! thou Conqueror in the Field ! but the Field shall see thee no more; nor the dark Wood be lightened with the Splendor of thy Steel. Thou hastiest no Son. But the Song shall preserve thy Name. Future Times shall hear of thee; they shall hear of the fallen Morar.


RAISE high the Stones; collect the Earth: Preserve theName of Fear-combraie. Wow, Winds, from all your Hills; Sigh on the Grave of Muirnin.

The dark Rock hangs, with all its Wood, above the calm Dwelling of the Heroes.

The Sea, with its foam-headed Billows, murmurs at their Side.

Why sigh the Woods, why roar the Waves? They have no Cause to mourn.

But thou hast Cause, O Diormar! thou Maid of the Breast of Snow! Spread thou thy Hair to the Wind, j fend thy Sighs on the Blasts of the Hills.

L 4 They

They vanished like two Beams of Light, which fly from the Heath in a Storm: They funk like two Stars in a Cloud when the Winds of the North arise.

For Thee weep the Maids, Fear-comhraic, along the echoing Hills. For Thee the Women weep, O Muirnin ; Chief of the Wars of Erin. I fee not Fear-comhraic on the Hill; I fee not Muirnin in the Storms of Ocean, Raise, raise the Songs.; relate the Tale. Descend, ye Tears of other Times.

Diorma was the Daughter of Connaid the Chief of a thoufand Shields.

Diorma was among the Maids, as the white Flower among the Heath.

Her Breast was like a white Cloud in Heaven. Her Bosom like the Top of a Wave in a Storm. Her Hair was like Smoke in the Sun: Her Eye like the Start of Morn. Not fairer looks the Moon from between two Clouds, than the Face of Diorma from between her Locks.

A thoufand Heroes loved the Maid; the Maid loved none but Fear-comhraic. He loved the Maid, . and well he might; fair among Women was the Daughter of Connaid. She was the Light of his Soul in Danger; the Strength of his Arm in Battle.

Who shall deny me the Maid, faid Fear-comhraic, who, the fairest of Women, Diorma! Hard must

fee his Helm of Steel, and strong his Shield of Iron.

I deny her, faid Muirnin Son of the Chief of generous Shells. My Sword is keen, my Spear is strong; the Valiant yeild to Muirnin.

Come then, thou Son of Cormac, O ^mighty Muirnin, come! leave the Hills of Erinj come on the foamy Wave. Let thy Ship, like a Cloud, come over the Storms of Ocean.

He came along the Sea: His Sails were like grey Jllist on the Heath : Long was his Spear of Asti; his Shield like the Bloody Moon.—Aodan Son of Armclach came; the Youth of the gloomy Brow.

Rife, Fear-eombraic, rife, thou Love of the soft Diorma? Fight or yield the Maid, Son of the great Camhfeadan.

He rose like a Cloud on the Hill, when the Winds of Autumn blow.

Tall art thou, faid Fear-combraic, Son of mighty Cormac; fair are thy Cheeks of Youth, and strong thy Arm of War. Prepare the Feast, and flay the Deer; fend round the Shell of Joy: Three Days we feast together j we fight on the fourth, Son of Cormac.

Why should I (heath my Sword, Son of the noble Comhfeadan? Yield to me. Son of Battle, and raise


Raise thou my Tomb, O Muirnin! If Fearcombraic fall by thy Steel, place my bright Sword by my Side, in the Tomb of the lonely Hill.

We fight by the Noise of the Stream, Muirnin! wield thy Steel.

Swords sound on Helmets, sound on Shields; Brass clashes, clatters, rings. Sparkles buzz; Shivers fly; Death bounds from Mail to Mail. As leaps a Stone from Rock to Rock, so Blow succeeds to Blow. Their Eyes dart Fire; their Nostrils blow: They leap, they thrust, they wound.

Slowly, flowly falls the Blade of Muirnin, Son of War. He sinks, his Armour rings; he cries, I die Fear-comhraic, I die.

And falls the bravest of Men, the Chief of Innisfhallin! Stretch wide the Sail; ascend the Wave, and bring the Youth to Erin. Deep on the Hills of Erin is the Sigh of Maids. For thee, my Foe, I mourn: Thou art the Grief of Fear-comhraic.

Rife, ye Winds of the sounding Hill; sigh over the Fall of Muirnin ! Weep Diorma, for the Hero; weep, Maid of the Arms of Snow; appear like the Sun in Rain; move in Tears along the Shore!

Aodan faw the Fall of Muirnin, and drew' the sounding Bow: The grey-winged Arrow flew, and


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