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"I saw thee in my father's halls,
Few were thy years beyond my own;
When shall I, said my haughty soul,
Lift spear like noble Comhal's son?

"Oh! warrior, we have fought before
On shaggy Malmor's rugged head;
My waves conveyed me to thy hall,
Where feast of thousand shells was spread;

"Many of Lochlin's youthful sons
Now silent, press yon bloody plain,
Who once conveyed those stately ships
In pride across the foaming main.

"Oh! Fingal, noble king, take these, -
And be the conquered Swaran's friend,
And when thy sons to Gormal come
We will the feast of shells attend!"

"No ship," the generous monarch said,
"Shall Fingal take, nor lands, nor hills;
The desert is enough for me,

Which with its deer my valley fills!

"Rise on thy waves, my noble friend!
My love to Swaran ne'er shall cease,
Spread thy white sails to morning's beam;
Return to Gormal's hills in peace."

"Blest be thy soul, thou king of shells,"
Said Swaran of the dark-brown shield,
"In peace, thou art the gale of spring,
In war, the storm that wastes the field:

"Now let our hands in friendship join!
And let thy bards mourn those who fell,
Let Erin bury Lochlin's sons,

And high-raised tombs their story tell;

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"That, when the children of the north
Hereafter may behold the spot,
The hunter 'mid his sport may pause
And say--'twas here our fathers fought!'

"In future times our names shall live
And our renown shall never die;"_
"Great Swaran," Fingal mildly said,
"Our fame like mountain mist shall fly!

"To-day, we're mighty on the earth,
But like a dream we pass away!
No sound of war within our fields,
Our memories, with our tombs decay!

"The hunter shall not know the place
Where Fingal and great Swaran fought,
Our names in song no more will rise,
Our strength hath fled, and we are nought.

"Oh! Ullin, Carril, ancient bards!
Sing to us heroes that are gone,
Give us the tales of other years
And send the night away in song!"

We gave the song of other days,
A hundred voices loudly rise,
The face of Swaran brightly glowed
Like the full moon in evening skies,

When clouds have vanish'd from her face,
And leave her calm, and broad, and high,
To spread her brightness o'er the Heavens
While travelling through the midnight sky.

" But, tell me, Carril," Fingal cried, "What of the noble Semo's son? Oh! has he like a fallen star

To Tura's dreary cavern gone?"

"Cuthullin," thus replied the bard,
"Now lies in Tura's gloomy cave;
His hand is on his sword of strength,
His thoughts on battle of the brave.

"Oh mournful is the king of spears!
Unconquered he in war till now,
By me he sends a hero's sword,
For thou hast vanquished Erin's foe.

"Oh place it by thy warrior side,
It long has graced a hero's hand!
But now, departed is his fame,

In battle he no more shall stand!"

"No, Carril, no," replied the king,
"Cuthullin's sword I cannot take,
It well becomes his valiant arm:-
That noble spirit must not break!

"Though vanquished, he is noble still,
And high the hero's fame shall rise,
And, like the sun from 'neath the cloud,
Shall brightly beam amid the skies!

"Young Grumal was a valiant chief,
He sought the war on every coast,
The din of battle pleased his ear,
And scenes of carnage were his boast;

"On Craca's coast his warriors poured,
He met the king in solemn hour, -
For, within Brumo's circle, he
Consulted the great stone of power!

"The brave in battle fiercely fought
For Craca's daughter, young and fair,
Her praises rang throughout the land,
And heroes paid their homage there.

"Grumal had vowed to gain the maid,
Or die on echoing Craca's plains:
Full long they strove in mortal fight;
Grumal at length was bound in chains!

"Far from his friends, far from his home,
The horrid circle closed him round,
Where oft 'tis said the ghosts of night
Howled round the stone, and darkly frowned;

" But after that he brightly shone,
His fame was as the light of Heaven,
The mighty fell by his right arm,
And from the field his foes were driven."

"Come, sound the harp, ye bards of old!
Oh! raise the praise of heroes high,
My soul would settle on their fame,
Till Swaran's sadness passes by."

The bards reclined upon the heath-
At once a hundred voices rose!
They sung the deeds of other times
'Till Swaran's mournful bosom glows.

When shall I hear their songs again?
The harp is silent on those walls!
Low are the mighty! hushed the bards
Whose voices echoed through our halls.

Morn trembles on its eastern beam,
And glimmers on high Cromla's side,
When loud is heard the echoing horn
To summon men, once Lochlin's pride.

The sons of ocean gather round,
And sad they rise upon the wave,
The blast of Erin fills their sails,
Which float aloft like banners brave:

"Call all my dogs, ye sons of chase!
Fillan and Ryno, sound the horn!
My Ryno sleeps, alas! in death,
He greets no more the vernal morn!

"Fergus, and Fillan, blow the horn,
And joyful let the chase arise,
Let the deer start from Cromla's hill,
And let our echoes reach the skies!"

Shrill the horn sounded through the wood,
And a buck fell at Ryno's tomb!
The father's grief was all renewed,

He mourned young Ryno's early doom:

"Behold! how peaceful 'neath the stone
Lies he, who was the first in chase!
Thou shalt no more arise, my son!
Who in the field will fill thy place?

"Thy tomb will soon be lost from sight,
The rank grass, o'er thy breast shall wave,
The sons of feeble men shall pass
And not discern the warrior's grave;

"Children of Morven, let us rise!
And go to Erin's mournful son;-
And are these Tura's stately walls?
The seat of many a battle won?

"Lonely, and gray, these towers arise,
And sadness reigns within the walls!
'Tis here the hero sits and weeps
The fame departed from his halls.

"Fillan, is that a stream of smoke?
The wind of Cromla dims my eyes;
Or is it sad Cuthullin's form?
The great, the valiant, and the wise."

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