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Ah! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here,
Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear,
To one who thus for kindred hearts must roam,
And seek abroad the love denied at home.
Those hearts, dear Ida, have I found in thee-
A home, a world, a paradise to me.
Stern Death forbade my orphan youth to share
The tender guidance of a father's care.
Can rank, or e'en a guardian's name, supply
The love which glistens in a father's eye?
For this can wealth or title's sound atone,
Made, by a parent's early loss, my own ?"
What brother springs a brother's love to seek ?
What sister's gentle kiss has press'd my cheek?
For me how dull the vacant moments rise,
To no fond bosom link’a by kindred ties !
Oft in the progress of some fleeting dream
Fraternal smiles collected round me seem;
While still the visions to my heart are press'd,
The voice of love will murmur in my rest :
I hear–I wake—and in the sound rejoice;
I hear again,- but ah! no brother's voice.
A bermit

, ’midst of crowds, I fain must stray
Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way;
While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine,
I cannot call one single blossom mine :
What then remains ? in solitude to groan,
To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone.
Thos must I cling to some endearing hand,
And none more dear than Ida's social band.

Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list
Of those with whom I lived supremely bless'd,
Oft have we drain’d the font of ancient lore;
Though drinking deeply, thirsting still the more.
Yet, when confinement's lingering hour was done,
Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one :
Together we impelld the flying ball;
Together waited in our tutor's hall;
Together join'd in cricket's manly toil,
Or shared the produce of the river's spoil ;
Or, plunging from the green declining shore,
Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore ;
In every element, unchanged, the same,
All, all that brothers should be, but the name.

Nor yet are you forgot, my jocund boy!
Davus, the harbinger of childish joy ;
Forever foremost in the ranks of fun,
The laughing herald of the harmless pun;
Yet with a breast of such materials made-
Anxious to please, of pleasing half afraid ;
Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel
In danger's path, though not untaught to feel.
Still I remember, in the factious strife,
The rustic's musket aim'd against my life :
High poised in air the massy weapon hung,
A cry of horror burst from every tongue ;
Whilst I, in combat with another foe,
Fought on, unconscious of th' impending blow;
Your arm, brave boy, arrested his career-
Forward you sprung, insensible to fear;
Disarm’d and baffled by your conquering hand,
The grovelling savage roll'd upon the sand:
An act like this, can simple thanks repay ?
Or all the labors of a grateful lay?
Oh no! whene'er my breast forgets the deed,
That instant, Davus, it deserves to bleed.

Lycus !on me thy claims are justly great:
Thy milder virtues could my muse relate,

ALONZO ! best and dearest of my friends,
Thy name ennobles him who thus commends :
From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise ;
The praise is bis who now that tribute pays.
Oh! in the promise of thy early youth,
If hope anticipate the words of truth,
Save lostier bard shall sing thy glorious name,
To build his own upon thy deathless fame.

[It has been reserved for our own time to produce one : [The Rev. John Cecil Tattersall, B.A., of Christ Church, distingrushed example of the Muse having descended upon a Oxford ; who died Dec. 8, 1812, at Hall's Place, Kent, aged bard of a wounded spirit, and lent her lyre to tell, and we twenty-four. “His mind," says a writer in the Gent. Mag., trest io sontbe, afflictions of no ordinary description; afflic “was comprehensive and perspicuous; his affections warm bons originating probably in that singular coinbination of and sincere. Through extreme aversion to hypocrisy, he feeling, which has been called the poetical temperament, was so far from assuming the false appearances of virtue, and which has so often saddened the days of those on whom that much of his real excellence was unseen, whilst he was t has been conferred. If ever a man could lay claim to that eager to acknowledge every fault into which he was led. character in all its strength and all its weakness, with its He was an ardent friend, a stranger to feelings of enmity; wbounded range of enjoyment, and its exquisite sensibility he lived in good faith towards men, and died with hope in of pleasure and of pain, it must certainly be granted to Lord God.") Byron. His own tale is partly told in two lines of Lara : *[The “ factious strife” here recorded, was accidentally

"Left by his sire, too young such loss to know, brought on by the breaking up of school, and the dismissal Lord of himself-that heritage of wo!"

of some volunteers from drill, both happening at the same

Sir WALTER SCOTT.) hour. On this occasion, it appears, the butt-end of a musket [The Hon. John Wingfield, of the Coldstream Guards,

was aimed at Byron's head, and would have felled him to trother to Richard, fourth Viscount Powerscourt. He died

the ground, but for the interposition of Tattersall.) of a fever, in his twentieth year, at Coimbra, May 14th, 1811. 6 [In the private volume : Of all human beings," says Lord Byron, "I was, perhaps, “ Thus did you save that life I scarcely prizeat one time, the most attached to poor Wingfield. I had KTOWE him the better half of his life, and the happiest part

A life unworthy such a sacrifice."] of mine." On hearing of the death of his beloved school

[John Fitzgibbon, second Earl of Clare, born June 2, fellow, be added the following stanzas to the first canto of

1792. His father, whom he succeeded Jan. 28, 1802, was for nearly twelve years Lord Chancellor of Ireland. See antė,

p. 416, note. His Lordship is now (1832) Governor of Bom"And thou, my friend !-since unavailing wo

bay. I never," says Lord Byron, in 1821, hear the word Barsts from my heart, and mingles with the strain · Clare,' without a beating of the heart even now; and I Had the sword laid thee with the mighty low, write it with feelings of 1803-4-5, ad infinitum." of the Pride might forbid ev'n Friendship to complain: tenaciousness with which he clung to all the kindly impresBut thos nnlaurell'd to descend in vain, By all forgotten, save the lonely breast,

sions of his youth, there can be no stronger prooi than the

interesting fact, that after his death almost all the notes and And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest!

letters which his principal school favorites had ever ad

dressed to him were found preserved carefully among his What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest ? papers. The following is the endorsement upon one of them : Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most, “ This and another letter were written at Harrow, by my Dear to a heart where naugnt was left so dear! then and, I hope, ever beloved friend, Lord Clare, when we Though to my hopeless days forever lost,

were both schoolboys; and sent to my study in consequence In dreams deny me not to see thee here!" &c.) of some childish misunderstanding,—the only one which

Childe Harold :


To thee alone, unrivall’d, would belong
The feeble efforts of my lengthen'd song."
Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit,
A Spartan firmness with Athenian wit:
Though yet in embryo these perfections shine,
Lycus! thy father's fame will soon be thine.
Where learning nurtures the superior mind,
What may we hope from genius thus refined !
When time at length matures thy growing years,
How wilt thou tower above thy fellow peers!
Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free,
With honor's soul, united beam in thee.

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Shall fair Euryalus pass by unsung ?
From ancient lineage, not unworthy sprung:
What though one sad dissension bade us part,
That name is yet embalm’d within my heart;
Yet at the mention does that heart rebound,
And palpitato, responsive to the sound.
Envy dissolved our ties, and not our will:
We once were friends,- I'll think we are so still."
A form unmatch'd in nature's partial mould,
A heart untainted, we in thee behold:
Yet not the senate's thunder thou shalt wield,
Nor seek for glory in the tented field;
To minds of ruder texture these be given-
Thy soul shall nearer soar its native heaven.
Haply, in polish'd courts might be thy seat,
But that thy tongue could never forge deceit:
The courtier's supple bow and sneering smile,
The flow of compliment, the slippery wile,
Would make that breast with indignation burn,
And all the glittering snares to tempt thee spurn.
Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate;
Sacred to love, unclouded e'er by hate;

The world admire thee, and thy friends adore ;-
Ambition's slave alono would toil for more.

Now last, but nearest, of the social band,
See honest, open, generous Cleon stand ;
With scarce one speck to cloud the pleasing seene,
No vice degrades that purest soul serene.
On the same day our studious race begun,
On the same day our studious race was run;
Thus side by side we pass'd our first career,
Thus side by side we strove for many a year;
At last concluded our scholastic life,
We neither conquer'd in the classic strife :
As speakers“ each supports an equal name,
And crowds allow to both a partial fame:
To soothe a youthful rival's early pride,
Though Cleon's candor would the palm divide,
Yet candor's self compels me now to own,
Justice awards it to my friend alone.

Oh! friends regretted, scenes forever dear,
Remembrance hails you with her warmest tear!
Drooping, she bends o’er pensive Fancy's urn,
To trace the hours which never can retur;
Yet with the retrospection loves to dwell,
And soothe the sorrows of her last farewell!
Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind,
As infant laurels round my head were twined,
When Probus' praise repaid my lyric song,
Or placed me higher in the studious throng ;
Or when my first harangue received applause,
His sage instruction the primeval cause,
What gratitude to him my soul possess'd
While hope of dawning honors fill'd my breast !
For all my humble fame, to him alone
The praise is due, who made that fame my own."

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ever arose between us. It was of short duration, and I re without involving some old friends of mine in the business tain this note solely for the purpose of submitting it to his the cause of my behavior to hiin during my last perusal, that we may smile over the recollection of the in at Harrow, which you will recollect was rather en carain. significance of our first and last quarrel."]

Since that period I have discovered he was treated with in? [In the private volume, the following lines conclude this justice, both by those who misrepresented his conduct, in character:

fore, made all the reparation in my power, by apologizing for * Forever to possess a friend in thee,

my mistake, though with very faint hopes of success. HowWas bliss unhoped, though not unsought by me.

ever, I have eased my own conscience by the atonement, Thy softer soul was form'd for love alone,

which is humiliating enough to one of my disposition; yet I To'ruder passions and to hate unknown; Thy mind, in union with thy beauteous form,

could not have slept satisfied with the reflection of having,

even unintentionally, injured any individual. I have done Was gentle, but unfit to stem the storm.

all that could be done to repair the injury.") That face, an index of celestial worth, Proclaim'd a heart abstracted from the earth.

4[Edward Noel Long, Esq.-to whom a subsequent poem Oft, when depress'd with sad foreboding gloom,

is addressed. See p. 424.] I sat reclined upon our favorite tomb,

[This alludes to the public speeches delivered at the I've seen those sympathetic eyes o'erflow

school where the author was educated.) With kind compassion for thy comrade's wo;

of Thus in the private volumeOr when less mournful subjects form'd our themes, We tried a thousand fond romantic schemes,

“ Yet in the retrospection finds relief,

I Oft hast thou sworn, in friendship's soothing tone,

And revels in the luxury of grief.""] Whatever wish was mine must be thine own."}

["I remember that my first declamation astonished Dr. ? (George-John, fifth Earl Delawarr, born Oct. 26, 1791 ;

Drury into some unwonted (for he was economical of such succeeded his father, John Richard, July 28, 1795. This

and sudden compliments before the declaimers at our first ancient family have been barons by the male line from 1312;

rehearsal."- Byron Dary.) their ancestor, Sir Thomas West, having been summoned to 8 ["I certainly was much pleased with Lord Byron's atparliament, as Lord West, the 16th Edw. II. We find the titude, gesture, and delivery, as well as with his confollowing notices in some hitherto unpublished letters of position. All who spoke on that day adhered. as usual, io Lord Byron :-“llarrow, Oct. 25, 1801.-I am happy enough The letter of their composition, as in the earlier part of his and comfortable here. My friends are not numerous, but delivery did Lord Byron. But, to my surprise, he savedselect. Among the principal I rank Lord Delawarr, who is ly diverged from the written composition, with a boldress very amiable, and my particular friend." « Nov. 2, 1801. - and rapidity sufficient to alarm me, lest he should fall in Lord Delawarr is considerably younger than me, but the memory as to the conclusion. There was no failure ;-he most good-tempered, amiable, clever fellow in the universe. came round to the close of his composition without discover To all which he adds the quality (a good one in the eyes of ing any impediment and irregularity on the whole. I ques, women) of being remarkably handsome. Delawarr and my tioned him, why he had altered his declamation? He deself are, in a manner, connected ; for one of my forefathers, clared he had made no alteration, and did not know, in in Charles the First's time, married into their family."] speaking, that he had deviated from it one letter. I behered 3.[It is impossible to peruse the following extract of a letter

him, and from aknowledge of his temperamentum conviner addressed to Lord Clare, in February, 1807, without acknow

that, fully iinpressed with the sense and substance of the subledging the noble candor and conscientiousness of the writer,

ject, he was hurried on to expressions and colorings more - You will be astonished to hear I have lately written to striking than what his pen had expressed."-DR. DEURT; Delawarr, for the purpose of explaining (as far as possible, (In the private volume the poem concludes thus:

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Oh! could I soar above these feeble lays,
These young effusions of my early days,
To him my muse her noblest strain would give :
The song might perish, but the theme night live.
V'et why for him the needless verse essay?
His honor'd name requires no vain display:
By every son of grateful Ida bless'd,
I finds an echo in each youthful breast;
A lame beyond the glories of the proud,
Or all the plaudits of the venal crowd.'

Revolve the fleeting moments of your youth,
While Care as yet withheld her venom'd tooth;
Say if remembrance days like these endears
Beyond the rapture of succeeding years ?
Say, can ambition's fever'd dream bestow
So sweet a balm to soothe your hours of wo?
Can treasures, hoarded for some thankless son,
Can royal smiles, or wreaths by slaughter won,
Can stars or ermine, man's maturer toys,
(For glittering baubles are not left to boys,)
Recall one scene so much beloved to view,
As those where Youth her garland twined for you?
Ah, no! amidst the gloomy calm of age
You turn with faltering hand life's varied pago ;
Peruse the record of your days on earth,
Unsullied only where it marks your birth ;
Still lingering pause above each checker'd leaf,
And blot with tears the sable lines of grief;
Where Passion o'er the theme her mantle threw,
Or weeping Virtue sigh'd a faint adieu ;
But bless the scroll which fairer words adorn,
Traced by the rosy finger of the morn ;
When Friendship bow'd before the shrine of truth,
And Love, without his pinion, smiled on youth.

loa! not yet exhausted is the theme,
Nor closed the progress of my youthful dream.
How many a friend deserves the grateful strain!
What scenes of childhood still unsung remain !
Yet let me hush this echo of the past,
This parting song, the dearest and the last;
And brood in secret o'er those hours of joy,
To me a silent and a sweet employ,
While future hope and fear alike unknown,
I think with pleasure on the past alone ;
l'es, to the past alone my heart confine,
And chase the phantom of what once was mine.

Ida! still o'er thy hills in joy preside,
And proudly steer through time's eventful tide ;
Null may thy blooming sons thy name revere,
Smile in thy bower, but quit thee with a tear ;-
That trar, perhaps, the fondest which will flow,
0'er their last scene of happiness below.
Tell me, ye hoary few, who glide along,
The feeble veterans of some former throng,
Whose friends, like autumn leaves by tempests whirl’d,
Are swept forever from this busy world;

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MONTGOMERY! true, the common lot

Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave;
Yet some shall never be forgot-

Some shall exist beyond the grave.

- When, vet a novice in the mimic art,

I feign'd the transports of a vengeful heart-
When as the Royal Slave I trod the stage,
To vent in Zanga more than mortal rage-
The praise of Probus made me feel more proud
Tban all the plaudits of the list’ning crowd.

"Ah! vain endeavor in this childish strain
To soothe the woes of which I thus complain!
What can avail this fruitless loss of time,
To measure sorrow in a jingling rhyme!
No social solace from a friend is near,
And heartless strangers drop no feeling tear.
I seek not joy in woman's sparkling eye:
The smiles of beauty cannot check the sigh.
Adieu, thou world! thy pleasure 's still a dream,
Thy virtue but a visionary there;
Thy years of vice on years of folly roll,
Till grinning death assigns the destined goal,
Where all are hastening to the dread abode,
To meet the indgment of a righteous God ;
Mird in the concourse of the thoughtless throng,
A mourer midst of mirth. I glide along;
A wretched, isolated, gloomy thing,
Cursed by reflection's deep corroding sting ;
But not that mental sting whuch stabs within,
The dark avenger of unpunish'd sin;
The silent shaft which goads the guilty wretch
Extended on a rack's untiring stretch:
Conscience that sting, that shaft to hirm supplies-
His find the rack from which he ne'er can rise.
For me, whate'er my folly, or iny fear,
One cheerful comfort still is cherish'd here:
No dread internal haunts my hours of rest,
No dreams of injured innocence infest ;*
Oi hope, of peace, of alınost all berest,
Conselence, my last but welcome guest, is left.
Slander's inpoison d breath inay blast my name,
Envy delighis to blight the buds of fame
Deceit may chill the current of my blood,
And freeze affection's warın impassion d flood;
Presaging horror darken every sense :
Eren here will conscience be my best defence.

My bosom feeds no worm which ne'er can die :'+
Not crimes I mourn, but happiness gone by.
Thus crawling on with many a reptile vile,
My heart is bitter, though my cheek may smile:
No more with former bliss my heart is glad;
Hope yields to anguish, and my soul is sad:
Froin fond regret no future joy can save ;

Remembrance slumbers only in the grave." 11" To Dr. Drury," observes Moore, “ Lord Byron has left on record a tribute of affection and respect, which, like the reverential regard of Dryden for Dr. Busby, will long associate together honorably the names of the poet and the master." The above is not, however, the only one. In a note to the fourth Canto of Childe Harold, he says, “ My preceptor, was the best and worthiest friend I ever possessed, whose warnings I have remembered but too well, though too late --when I have erred, and whosc counsels I have but followed when I have done well or wisely. If ever this imperfect record of my feelings towards him should reach his eyes, let it remind him of one who never thinks of him but with gratitude and veneration--of one who would more gladly boast of having been his pupil, il by more closely following his injunctions, he could reflect any honor upon his instructor." We extract the following from some unpublished letters of Lord Byron :

" Harrow. Nov. 2, 1804. There is so much of the gentleman, so much mildness and nothing of pedantry in his char. acter, that I cannot help liking him, and will remember his instructions with gratitude as long as I live. He is the best master we ever had, and at the same tine respected and i feared." "Nov, 11, 1804. I revere Dr. Drury. He is never violent, never outrageous. I dread offending him ;- not however, through fear; but the respect I bear him makes me unhappy when I am under his displeasure.")

9 “ L'Amitié est l'Amour sans ailes," is a French proverb. [See a subsequent poem, under this uitle ]

3 Written by James Montgomery, author of " The Wanderer in Switzerland," &c.

! it “ We know enough even of Lord Byron's private history to give our warrant that, though his youth may have shared somewhat too largely in the indiscretions of those left too early masters of their own actions and fortunes, falsehood and malice alone can impute to him any real cause for hopeless remorse, or gloomy melancholy."-Sir W. Scott.)

{"I am not a Joseph," said Lord Byron, in 1821, "nor a SCIPAO, but I can safely aflirm, that I never in my life seduced any woman.")

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Then do not say the common lot

Of all lies deep in Lothe's wave; Some few who ne'er will be forgot

Shall burst the bondage of the grave.



Dear Becher, you tell me to mix with mankind;

I cannot deny such a precept is wise ;
But retirement accords with the tone of my mind :

I will not descend to a world I despise.
Did the senate or camp my exertions require,

Ambition might prompt me, at once, to go forth;
When infancy's years of probation expire,

Perchance I may strive to distinguish my birth.
The fire in the cavern of Etna conceald,

Still mantles unseen in its secret recess ;-
At length, in a volume terrific reveal'd,

No torrent can quench it, no bounds can represe



Tus Band, which bound thy yellow hair,

Is mine, sweet girl! thy pledge of love ; It claims my warmest, dearest care,

Like relics left of saints above.


1 No particular hero is here alluded to. The exploits of mortifying consciousness of the inadequacy of his own Bayard, Nemours, Edward the Black Prince, and in more means to his rank, and the proud dread of being made to feel modern times the fame of Marlborough, Frederick the Great, his own inferiority by persons to whom, in every other reCount Saxe, Charles of Sweden, &c. are familiar to every spect, he knew himsell superior." Mr. Becher frequeativ historical reader, but the exact places of their birth are expostulated with him on This unsociableness, and one of 1 known to a very small proportion of their admirers

his friendly remonstrances drew forth these lines, so re. ? [The true reason of the haughty distance at which Byron, markably prefiguring the splendid burst with which Lord both at this period and afterwards, stood apart from his more Byron's volcanic genius was ere long to open upon the opulent neighbors, is to be found (says Mr. Moore) * in his world.)




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Oh! thus, the desire in my bosom for fame

but the blazing oaks gleam through the valley. The Bids me live but to hope for posterity’s praise. sons of Lochlin slept : their dreams were of blood. Could I soar with the phenix on pinions of flame,

They lift the spear in thought, and Fingal flies. With him I would wish to expire in the blaze.

Not so the host Morven. To watch was the post

of Orla. Calmar stood by his side. Their spears For the life of a Fox, of a Chatham the death, were in their hands. Fingal called his chiefs: they What censure, what danger, what wo would I stood around. The king was in the midst. Gray

(breath: were his locks, but strong was the arm of the king. Their lives did not end when they yielded their Age withered not his powers.

“ Sons of Morven," Their glory illumines the gloom of their grave.

said the hero, “ to-morrow we meet the foe. But

where is Cuthullin, the shield of Erin ? He rests in Yet why should I mingle in Fashion's full herd ? the balls of Tura ; he knows not of our coming. Who

Why crouch to her leaders, or cringe to her rules? will speed through Lochlin to the hero, and call the Why bend to the proud, or applaud the absurd ? chief to arms? The path is by the swords of foes ; Why search for delight in the friendship of fools ? but many are my heroes. They are thunderbolts of

war. Speak, ye chiefs! Who will arise ?" I have tasted the sweets and the bitters of love ; “ Son of Treumor! mine be the deed," said darkIn friendship I early was taught to believe ; haired Orla, “and mine alone. What is death to Mly passion the matrons of prudence reprove ;

mel? I love the sleep of the mighty, but little is I have found that a friend may profess, yet deceive. the danger. The sons of Lochlin dream. I will

seek car-borne Cuthullin. If I fall, raise the song To me what is wealth ?-it may pass in an hour, of bards; and lay me by the stream of Lubar."If tyrants prevail, or if Fortune should frown;

“ And shalt thou fall alone ?" said fair-haired Cal. To me what is title?-the phantom of power ;

“Wilt thou leave thy friend afar ? Chief of To me what is fashion ?--I seek but renown.

Oithona! not feeble is my arm in fight. Could I

see thee die, and not list the spear? No, Orla! ours Deceit is a stranger as yet to my soul ;

has been the chase of the roebuck, and the feast of I still am unpractised to varnish the truth :

shells; ours be the path of danger: ours has been Then why should I live in a hateful control ?

the cave of Oithona ; ours be the narrow dwelling on Why waste upon folly the days of my youth ?

the banks of Lubar." Calmar," said the chief of Oithona, " why should thy yellow locks be darkened in the dust of Erin? Let me fall alone. My father dwells in his hall of air: he will rejoice in his boy ; but the blue-eyed Mora spreads the feast for her son in Morven. She listens to the steps of the hunter

on the beath, and thinks it is the tread of Calmar. THE DEATH OF CALMAR AND ORLA.

Let him not say, 'Calmar has fallen by the steel of AN IMITATION OF MACPHERSON'S Ossian.'

Lochlin : he died with gloomy Orla, the chief of the

dark brow.' Why should tears dim the azure eye of Dear are the days of youth! Age dwells on their Mora? Why should her voice curse Orla, the deremembrance through the mist of time. In the twi- stroyer of Calmar? Livo, Calmar! Live to raise fight he recalls the sunny hours of morn. He lifts my stone of moss ; live to revenge me in the blood his spear with trembling hand. “ Not thus feebly did of Lochlin. Join the song of bards above my grave. I raise the steel before my fathers !" Passed is the race Sweet will be the song of death to Orla, from the of heroes! But their fame rises on the harp ; their voice of Calmar. My ghost shall smile on the notes saus nide on the wings of the wind; they hear the of praise.” “ Orla," said the son of Mora, “ could I sound through the sighs of the storm, and rejoice in raise the song of death to my friend? Could I give ther hall of clouds! Such is Calmar. The gray his fame to the winds ? No, my heart would speak Roje marks his narrow house. He looks down from in sighs: faint and broken are the sounds of sorrow. eddy ing tempests : he rolls his form in the whirlwind, Orla! our souls shall hear the song together. Ono and hovers on the blast of the mountain.

cloud shall be ours on high : the bards will mingle the In Morven dwelt the chief ; a beam of war to names of Orla and Calmar." Fingal . His steps in the field were marked in blood. They quit the circle of the chiefs.

Their steps Lachlia's sons had fled before his angry spear: but are to the host of Lochlin. The dying blaze of oak n.d was the eye of Calmar; soft was the flow of his dim twinkles through the night. The northern star Filow locks : they streamed like the meteor of the points the path to 'Tura. Swaran, the king, rests on night

. No maid was the sigh of his soul : his thoughts his lonely hill. Here the troops are mixed: they Here given to friendship,--to dark-haired Orla, de- frown in sleep; their shields beneath their heads. stroyer of heroes! Equal were their swords in battle ; | Their swords gleam at distance in heaps. The fires but fierce was the pride of Orla :-gentle alone to are faint ; their embers fail in smoke. All is hushed; Calmar

. Together they dwelt in the cave of Oithona. but the gale sighs on the rocks above. Lightly wheel From Lochlin, Swaran bounded o'er the blue waves. the heroes through the slumbering band. Half the Enn's sous fell beneath his might. Fingal roused journey is past, when Mathon, resting on his shield, his chiefs to combat. Their ships cover the ocean. meets the eye of Orla. It rolls in flame, and glistens Their hosts throng on the green hills. They come to through the shade. His spear is raised on high.

Why dost thou bend thy brow, chief of Oithona ?" rose in clouds. Darkness veils the armies : said fair-haired Calmar: "we are in the midst of

the aid of Erin.


'It may be necessary to observe, that the story, though considerably varied in the catastrophe, is taken from “ Ni

sus and Euryalus," of which episode a translation is already given in the present volume.

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