"The first in the chase of the stately deer,

To the strangers of ocean the foe, The first on the battle plains was he, My youth of the breast of snow!

"Duchomar, thou dark and gloomy man,
To Morna how cruel thy love!

Each drop of that wandering blood how dear,
Let the tears of Morna prove!

"Oh, give me that sword, 'twas my Cathba's arm That once wielded its shining blade!

Thou art dark to me, thou terrible man,

Would Morna thine arm could have staid!'

"He gave the sword to her streaming tears,
And she pierced his savage breast!
He fell like a bank of a mountain stream;
His voice was weak and depressed:

"In my youth I am slain! the sword is cold;
Oh, Morna! I feel it is cold;

Oh, draw the steel from the fatal wound,
And my mantle around me fold!

"Oh give me to Moina! the maid whose love Would have cheered Duchomar's life!

She will raise my tomb in the dark green wood, Far from the scenes of strife.'

"Trembling and pale the maiden came,

In the midst of her tears she came,

And drew the sword from the crimson wound,
While horror shook her frame.

"He seized the sword with a demon's strength,

And pierced her tender side;

The bubbling blood gushed from the wound,

And she sank! brave Cathba's pride!

"Her hair spread o'er the crimson ground,
Her white arms stained with gore;
Rolling in death the maiden lay
Upon the rocky shore!"

66

"Peace," said Cuthullin, " to their souls!
Great were those heroes in the fight;
On evening clouds, oh! let them ride,
And show their features to my sight;

"My soul shall then be firm and bright, Mine arm like thunder of the heaven!

My steel shall deal destruction round,

Like lightning which the rocks hath riven.

"And, Morna, thou in all thy charms

Dwell near the window of my rest,

Be thou a moonbeam in my path,

When thoughts of peace my soul have blest!

"Gather the strength of all the tribes!

Move on to aid in Erin's war!

The prowess of your arms display!
Attend my bright and shining car!

"Rejoice in great Cuthullin's fame;
Place by my side three spears;
Follow the bounding of my steed,
When Swaran's host appears!

"The billows roll high on the troubled lake,
And dark are the clouds of the sky,
But thou art pale as the snow on the heath,
When drifted in mountains high;

"Thy hair is like the floating mist

When it curls on the brow of the hill,
When it shines in the beams of the sinking sun,
And the lake is calm and still;

"Thy bosom is fair as the smooth white rock,
Embedded in Branno's stream,

Thy arms like pillars in Fingal's Hall,
So stately and white they seem.'

"From whence, Duchomar, most gloomy of men?' The fair-haired maiden replies,

Thy terrible brow is dark and bent,

And red are thy rolling eyes.

"Does Swaran appear on Erin's coast?

Duchomar! what of the foe!'

"From the hill of the dark-brown hinds I come,

Where sports the bounding roe!

"Three deer have I slain with my bended yew, And three with my dogs of chase,

One stately buck have I slain for thee,
Oh! deign my poor offering to grace!

"High were his branchy antlers tossed, And his feet of wind did fly;

I have slain him for thee, thou art dear to my soul, For the daughter of Cormac I sigh!'

"Duchomar!' with firmness the maiden replied,

Thy presents my soul doth spurn; Thy heart is as hard as the sea-girt rock, Thy love I can never return!

"Thou terrible man with the gloomy brow!
Morna's love to young Cathba is plighted,
In darkness and gloom, like a sunbeam he shines,
Mid the storm which the young trees had blighted.

"Hast thou seen my young Cathba, all lovely and fair?

On the hill of the hinds he stays,

The daughter of Cormac is waiting him there;
Canst thou tell me why thus he delays?'

"Long, long shalt thou tarry,' Duchomar replied, 'Full long shall his coming be staid,— Oh, Morna! behold this unsheathed sword, And mark the red blood on its blade.

"Here wanders the blood of thy Cathba brave, And he fell by Branno's stream!

On Cromla's heights I will raise his tomb,
'Neath the pale moon's flickering beam;

"Oh, turn on Duchomar thine eyes of love;
As strong as the storm is his arm!
Its grasp of power shall crush thy foes,
And thy loveliness shelter from harm!'

"With wildly bursting voice she cried,
Is the son of Torman low?

Has he fallen upon his echoing hills,
My youth, with the breast of snow?

"The first in the chase of the stately deer,

To the strangers of ocean the foe, The first on the battle plains was he, My youth of the breast of snow!

"Duchomar, thou dark and gloomy man,
To Morna how cruel thy love!

Each drop of that wandering blood how dear,
Let the tears of Morna prove!

"Oh, give me that sword, 'twas my Cathba's arm That once wielded its shining blade!

Thou art dark to me, thou terrible man,

Would Morna thine arm could have staid!'

"He gave the sword to her streaming tears,
And she pierced his savage breast!
He fell like a bank of a mountain stream;
His voice was weak and depressed:

"In my youth I am slain! the sword is cold;
Oh, Morna! I feel it is cold;

Oh, draw the steel from the fatal wound,
And my mantle around me fold!

"Oh give me to Moina! the maid whose love Would have cheered Duchomar's life!

She will raise my tomb in the dark green wood, Far from the scenes of strife.'

66

Trembling and pale the maiden came,

In the midst of her tears she came,

And drew the sword from the crimson wound,
While horror shook her frame.