Part 2 (2/2)

He pursues the flying deer.

His grey dogs are panting around him; his bow-string sounds in the wind. Whether by the fount of the rock, or by the stream of the mountain thou liest; when the rushes are nodding with the wind, and the mist is flying over thee, let me approach my love unperceived, and see him from the rock. Lovely I saw thee first by the aged oak; thou wert returning tall from the chace; the fairest among thy friends.

s.h.i.+LRIC.

What voice is that I hear? that voice like the summer-wind.--I sit not by the nodding rushes; 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 see thee, fair-moving by the stream of the plain; bright as the bow of heaven; as the moon on the western wave.

VINVELA.

Then thou art gone, O s.h.i.+lric!

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 is in the field of graves. Strangers!

sons of the waves! spare my lovely s.h.i.+lric.

s.h.i.+LRIC.

If fall I must in the field, raise high my grave, Vinvela. Grey stones, and heaped-up earth, shall murk me to future times. When the hunter shall sit by the mound, and produce his food at noon, ”some warrior rests here,” he will say; and my fame shall live in his praise. Remember me, Vinvela, when low on earth I lie!

VINVELA.

Yes!--I will remember thee--indeed my s.h.i.+lric will fall. What shall I do, my love! when thou art gone for ever?

Through these hills I will go at noon: O will go through the silent heath. There I will see where often thou sattest returning from the chace. Indeed, my s.h.i.+lric will fall; but I will remember him.

II

I sit by the mossy 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 descend from the hill. No hunter at a distance is seen; no whistling cow-herd is nigh. It is mid-day: but all is silent. Sad are my thoughts as I sit alone. Didst thou but appear, O my love, a wanderer on the heath! thy hair floating on the wind behind thee; thy bosom heaving on the sight; 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 house.

But is it she that there appears, like a beam of light on the heath? bright as the moon in autumn, as the sun in a summer-storm?--She speaks: but how weak her voice! like the breeze in the reeds of the pool. Hark!

Returnest thou safe from the war?

”Where are thy friends, my love? I heard of thy death on the hill; I heard and mourned thee, s.h.i.+lric!”

Yes, my fair, I return; but I alone of my race. Thou shalt see them no more: their graves I raised on the plain.

But why art thou on the desert hill?

why on the heath, alone?

Alone I am, O s.h.i.+lric! alone in the winter-house. With grief for thee I expired. s.h.i.+lric, I am pale in the tomb.

She fleets, she sails away; as grey mist before the wind!--and, wilt thou not stay, my love? Stay and behold my tears? fair thou appearest, my love!

fair thou wast, when alive!

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