I.

SHILRIC, VINVEL A.

VIN VEL A.

Y love is a fon of the hill.
He pursues the flying deer.

M

His gray dogs are panting

around him; his bow-ftring founds in the wind. Whether by the fount of the rock, or by the ftream of the mountain thou lieft; when the rushes are nodding with the wind, and the mist is flying over thee, let me approach my love unperceived, and fee him from the rock. Lovely I saw thee first by the aged oak of Branno; thou wert returning tall from the chace; the fairest among thy friends.

I fit

voice like the fummer-wind. not by the nodding rufhes; I hear not the fount of the rock. Afar, Vinvela, afar I go to the wars of Fingal. My dogs attend me no more. No more I tread the hill. No more from on high I fee thee, fair-moving by the ftream of the plain; bright as the bow of heaven; as the moon on the western wave.

VINVEL A.

THEN thou art gone, O Shilric! and I am alone on the hill. The deer are seen on the brow; void of fear they graze along. No more they dread the wind; no more the rustling tree. The hunter is far removed;

he

he is in the field of graves. Stran

gers! fons of the waves lovely Shilric.

SHILRIC.

fpare my

If fall I muft in the field, raise high my grave, Vinvela. Grey ftones, and heaped-up earth, fhall mark me to future times. When the hunter fhall fit. by the mound, and produce his food at noon, "Some warrior refts here," he will fay; and my fame fhall live in his praise. Remember me, Vinvela, when low on earth I lie!

VIN VELA.

YES! I will remember thee-indeed my Shilric will fall. What fhall I do, my love! when thou art gone for ever? Through these hills I will go at noon: I will go through the filent heath.

There

There I will fee the place of thy rest, returning from the chace. Indeed, my Shilric will fall; but I will remember him..

I

II.

SIT by the moffy 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 defcend from the hill. No hunter at a distance is feen; no whistling cow-herd is nigh. It is mid-day: but all is filent. Sad are my thoughts alone. Didft thou but appear, O my love, a wanderer on the heath thy hair floating on the wind behind thee; thy bofom heaving on the fight; 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 houfe.

BUT is it fhe that there appears, like a beam of light on the heath? bright

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