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In the weak shriek the gen'rous soul was lost, From my sad grasp escap'd th' abhorrent ghost, • Shunn'd the fierce terrors of my jealous love, And on a moonbeam sought her friends above. Four stones now mark the dwelling of the brave, There, too, the lovely finds a peaceful grave: The virgins oft, with solemn brow draw near, And deck the sacred spot with beauty's tear; The shrubs wave mournful as the breezes blow, Their tuneful inmates pour the notes of woe; All night I listen to the howling blast, 'Or gaze on clouds with double gloom o'ercast : On me they darkly frown while gliding by, And airy forms from me with horror fly. • Dunairm's sad chief in lonely silence mourns, In vain he weeps,-the past no more returns ; At times his hands explore his children's tomb, His voice of woe breaks through the midnight gloom, No more he lifts the spear;-but I again

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Shall bid his weapons thunder o'er the plain;

Against my father's house his arms I wield,

His gleaming steel shall pierce my kindred's shield ;

My fatal weapon slew his valiant son,

Ere well his race of glory had begun ;

Now round his early tomb, his country's foes
Shall fall, the victims of my guilty woes.

The moon's faint beams beheld the frantic deed,
By her pale light my kindred host shall bleed.

• Once more I feel my wonted ardour burn,—
• Once more I
go,
but never to return!'

*

NOTES

ON

MORD UTH.

No. 1.

Blest be the meek-ey'd virgin of thy love.-P. 374. THERE is an affecting delicacy in this address to the hunter, whom the bard evidently means to address in such a strain of soothing gratitude as would be most likely to please and interest him. He does not directly compliment him, but seems to know this tender mention of

"The meek-ey'd virgin of his love,”

would gratify the sincere and artless lover more than any expression of kindness directed to himself:-the succeeding allusion to his manner of life is equally appropriate.

No. 2.

Cold LOCHLIN'S smooth ships thro' the stormy surge.P. 375.

What proves this poem to be of considerable antiquity, is, the Norwegian vessels Somadh-leng, smooth ships, in contradistinction to those of our ancestors, which were covered with skins with the hair on, and appear indeed to have been little more than currachs, or round vessels formed with osier twigs and covered with hides, which have been used to cross ferries in Argyleshire in the memory of many now living. Yet the period in which this poem was composed appears to have been long subsequent to the FINGALIAN times; for we hear of cills, or tombs, on the sea-side, and of one sovereign under whose sway all the chiefs seem united. In the age of Fingal the four grey stones seem to have been the only memorial of the warrior or the hunter.

No. 3.

Said MORFOLT, "let no warrior further come.-P. 386. MORFOLT appears to have been a Norwegian, thrown oy a tempest in his youth upon the British coast, where receiving much kindness, and being captivated with the beauty of a maiden whom he calls BOSMINA, smooth soft hand, he had been induced to reside in the land of her kindred; but now, in sorrow for her death, and remorse for fighting against his own countrymen, devotes himself to certain destruction. The fragment breaks off abruptly, and leaves the sequel of the story in obscurity,

.THE

AGED BARD'S WISH:

TRANSLATION OF A GAELIC POEM COMPOSED

IN THE ISLE OF SKY.

"As when a minstrel, taught by Heav'n to sing, "Awakes high raptures to the vocal string.

POPE'S ODYSSEY,

I.

OH! lay me by yon peaceful stream

That glides away so softly slow,

Where boughs exclude the noon-day beam, And early violets round me blow *.

II.

And thou, O sun! with friendly eye

Regard my languid limbs of age; While on the new spring grass they lie, Their warmth restore, their pains assuage. * See note No. 1.

III.

Then on the pure stream's sloping side,
Wave soft thy wings thou western gale,
Clear stream, how gently dost thou glide,
To wake the flow'rets of the vale.

IV.

The primrose pale, of lovely dye,
Around my dewy bank be spread;
The daisy ope its modest eye,
And golden blooms bedeck my bed.
V.

From lofty banks that bound my glen,
Let blossom'd branches softly bend,

While sweetly from each rocky den,

The little birds their love-notes blend.

VI.

Where from yon crag, with age so grey,

The fresh stream bursts with rushing sound,

And echo bears the din away,

While ocean's distant waves resound.

VII.

Each rock and hill returns the strain

Of nature's joy that wakes around,
While sportive kids in frolic vein,
And roes in sprightly gambol bound.

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