The night is long, but his eyes are heavy. Depart, thou ruftling blaft." "BUT why art thou fad, fon of Fingal? Why grows the cloud of thy foul? The chiefs of other times are departed. They have gone without their fame. The fons of future years fhall pafs away. Another race fhall arife.. The people are like the waves of ocean: like the leaves of woody Morven, they pafs away in the ruftling blaft, and other leaves lift their green heads on high." DID thy beauty laft, O Ryno*? Stood the ftrength of car-borne Ofcar? Fingal himself departed. Ryno, the fon of Fingal, who was killed in Ireland, in the war against Swaran, was remarkable for the beauty of his perfon, his swiftnefs and great exploits. Minvâne, the daughter of Morni, and fifter to Gaul, was in love with Ryno.. Her lamentation over her lover follows. HE blushing fad, from Morven's rocks, bends over the darkly rolling fea. She fees the youth in all their arms Where, Ryno, where art thou? Our dark looks told that he was low! That pale the hero flew on clouds! That in the grafs of Morven's hills, his feeble voice was heard in wind! And is the fon of Fingal fallen. on Ullin's mossy plains? Strong was the arm that vanquished him! Ah me! I am alone! Alone I fhall not be, ye winds! that lift my dark-brown hair. My fighs fall not long mix with your ftream; for I muft fleep with Ryno. I fee 1 departed. The halls of his fathers forgot his steps. Shalt thou then remain, thou aged bard! when the mighty have failed? But my fame fhall remain, and grow like the oak of Morven which lifts its broad head to the ftorm, and rejoices in the course of the wind! ; I fee thee not, with beauty's fteps, returning from the chace. The night is round Minvâne's love. Dark filence dwells with Ryno. Where are thy dogs, and where thy bow? Thy shield that was fo ftrong? Thy sword like heaven's descending fire? The bloody fpear of Ryno? I fee them mixed in thy deep fhip; I fee them ftained with blood. No arms are in thy narrow hall, O darklydwelling Ryno! When will the morning come, and fay, "arife, thou king of spears! arise, the hunters are abroad. The hinds are near thee, Ryno!" Away, thou fair-haired morning, away! the flumbering king hears thee not! The hinds bound over his narrow tomb; for death dwells round young Ryno. But I will tread softly, my king! and steal to the bed of thy repofe. Minvâne will lie in filence, nor disturb the flumbering Ryno. The maids shall seek me; but they shall not find me: they fhall follow my departure with fongs. But I fhall not hear you, O maids: I fleep with fair-haired Ryno. |