Thou wert fwift, 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 diftant Hills. Many fell by thy Arm; they were confu-" med in the Flames of thy Wrath.

But when thou returnedft 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 Breaft 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 waft so great before! Four Stones with their Heads of Mofs are the only Memorial of thee. A Tree with fcarce 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 haft no Mother to mourn thee; no Maid with her Tears of Love. Dead is the 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, whofe Eyes are red with. Tears, who quakes at every Step?-It is thy Father, O Morar! the Father of none but thee. He heard of thy Fame in Battle; he heard of Foes difperfed. 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 Duft. No more fhall he hear thy Voice; no more fhall he awake at thy Call. When fhall it be Morn in the Grave, to bid the Slumberer awake?

Farewell, thou braveft of Men! thou Conqueror in the Field! but the Field fhall fee thee no more; nor the dark Wood be lightened with the Splendor of thy Steel. Thou haft left no Sọn. But the Song fhall preserve thy Name. Future Times fhall hear of thee; they shall hear of the fallen Morar.

FRAGMENT

XIII.

RAISE high the Stones; collect the Earth: Pre

serve the Name of Fear-combraie. Blow, 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 figh the Woods, why roar the Waves? They have no Cause to mourn.

But thou haft Cause, O Diormar! thou Maid of the Breaft of Snow! Spread thou thy Hair to the Wind; fend thy Sighs on the Blafts of the Hills.

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-combraic on the Hill; I fee not Muirnin in the Storms of Ocean, Raife, raise the Songs; relate the Tale. Defcend, ye Tears of other Times.

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

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

Her Breaft was like a white Cloud in Heaven. Her Bofom 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 thousand Heroes loved the Maid; the Maid loved none but Fear-combraic. 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 fhall deny me the Maid, faid Fear-combraic, who, the faireft of Women, Diorma! Hard must

be

be his Helm of Steel, and ftrong his Shield of Iron.

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

Come then, thou Son of Cormac, O`mighty Muirnin, come! leave the Hills of Erin, 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 Mift on the Heath: Long was his Spear of Afh; his Shield like the Bloody Moon.-A.dan Son of Armclach came; the Youth of the gloomy Brow.

Rife, Fear-comhraic, rife, thou Love of the foft Diorma? Fight or yield the Maid, Son of the great Combfeadan.

He rofe 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 ftrong thy Arm of War. Prepare the Feaft, and flay the Deer; fend round the Shell of Joy: Three Days we feast together; we fight on the fourth, Son of Cormac.

Why should I sheath my Sword, Son of the noble Combfeadan? Yield to me, Son of Battle, and raise my Fame in Erin.

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

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

And falls the braveft of Men, the Chief of Innisfhallin! Stretch wide the Sail; afcend 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-combraic.

Rife, ye Winds of the founding Hill; figh 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 founding Bow: The grey-winged Arrow flew, and pierced