Fragments Of Ancient Poetry | Page 7

go through the silent heath. There?I will see where often thou sattest returning?from the chace. Indeed, my Shilric?will fall; but I will remember?him.
II
I sit 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 cow-herd is nigh. It is?mid-day: but all is silent. Sad are my?thoughts as I sit alone. Didst thou?but appear, O my love, a wanderer on?the heath! thy hair floating on the?wind behind thee; thy bosom heaving?on the sight; thine eyes full of tears?for thy friends, whom the mist of the?hill had concealed! Thee I would comfort,?my love, and bring thee to thy?father's house.
But is it she that there appears, like?a beam of light on the heath? bright?as the moon in autumn, as the sun in?a summer-storm?--She speaks: but?how weak her voice! like the breeze?in the reeds of the pool. Hark!
Returnest thou safe from the war??"Where are thy friends, my love? I?heard of thy death on the hill; I heard?and mourned thee, Shilric!"
Yes, my fair, I return; but I alone?of my race. Thou shalt see them no?more: their graves I raised on the plain.?But why art thou on the desert hill??why on the heath, alone?
Alone I am, O Shilric! alone in the?winter-house. With grief for thee I?expired. Shilric, I am pale in the tomb.
She fleets, she sails 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.
III
Evening is grey on the hills. The?north wind resounds through the?woods. White clouds rise on the sky: the?trembling snow descends. The river howls?afar, along its winding course. Sad,?by a hollow rock, the grey-hair'd Carryl?sat. Dry fern waves over his head; his?seat is in an aged birch. Clear to the?roaring winds he lifts his voice of woe.
Tossed 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 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 sail is?on the sea; no voice is heard except?the blustering winds. Low is the soul?of the war! Wet are the locks of youth!?By the foot of some rock thou liest;?washed by the waves as they come.?Why, ye winds, did ye bear him on?the desert rock? Why, ye waves, did?ye roll over him?
But, Oh! what voice is that??Who rides on that meteor of fire! Green?are his airy limbs. It is he! it is the?ghost of Malcolm!--Rest, lovely soul,?rest on the rock; and let me hear thy?voice!--He is gone, like a dream of?the night. I see 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 his?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?shaggy hill. My voice shall preserve?the praise of him, the hope of the?isles.
IV
CONNAL, CRIMORA,
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 sad is his darkened brow.?Live the mighty race of Fingal? or?what disturbs my Connal?
CONNAL.
They live. I saw them return from?the chace, like a stream of light. The?sun was on their shields: In a line 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.
CRIMORA.?Connal, I saw his sails like grey mist?on the sable wave. They came to land.?Connnal, 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.
That shield I bring, O Connal; but?it did not defend my father. By the?spear of Gauror he fell. Thou mayst?fall, O Connal!
CONNAL.
Fall indeed I may: But raise my?tomb, Crimora. Some stones, a mound?of earth, shall keep my memory.?Though fair thou art, my love, as the?light; more pleasant than the gale of?the hill; yet I will not