« ForrigeFortsæt »
mourning for the dead. Bent is his head of age, and red his tearful eye.-Alpin, thou fon of fong, why alone `on the filent hill? Why complainest thou, as a blast in the wood-as a wave on the lonely shore ?
My tears, O Reyno ! are for the dead-my voice for the inhabitants of the grave.-Tall thou art on the hill -fair among the fons of the plain. But thou shalt fall, like Morar; and the mourner shall fit on thy tomb. The hills fhall know thee no more. Thy bow fhall lie in the hall, unftrung.- Thou wert fwift, O Morar! as a roe on the hill-terrible as a meteor of fire.-Thy wrath was as the ftorm-thy fword, in battle, as lightning in the field. Thy voice was like a ftream after rain-like thunder on diftant hills. Many fell by thy. armthey were confumed in the flames of thy wrath. But, when thou didst return from war, how peaceful was thy brow! Thy face was like the fun after rainlike the moon in the filence of night-calm as the breast of the lake, when the loud wind is hufhed into a calm. Narrow is thy dwelling now-dark the place of thine abode. With three fteps I compafs thy grave, O thou, who waft so great before! Four ftones, with their heads of mofs. are the only memorial of thee. A tree with fcarce a leaflong grafs, whiftling in the windmark to the hunter's eye, the grave of the mighty Morar. -Morar! thou art low indeed: thou haft no mother to mourn thee no maid with her tears of love: dead is fhe that brought thee forth; fallen is the daughter of Morglan.Who, on his staff, is this? who this, whofe head is white with age, whofe eyes are galled with tears, who quakes at every step ?- -It is thy father, O Morar! The father of no fon, but thee.-Weep, thou
father of Morar! weep; but thy fon heareth thee not. Deep is the fleep of the dead-low their pillow of duft. No more fhall he hear thy voice-no more awake at thy call.- -When fhall it be morn in the grave, to bid the flumberer awake ?- Farewell! thou braveft of men ; thou conqueror in the field: but the field fhall fee thee no more; nor the gloomy wood be lightened with the fplendor of thy fteel. -Thou haft left no fon-but the fong fhall preferve thy name.
SATAN'S MEETING WITH SIN AND DEATH.
EAN while, the adverfary of God and man,
M Satan, with thoughts inflam'd of higheft defign,
Puts on fwift wings, and, towards the gates of hell,
He fcours the right hand coaft; fometimes, the left:
'Thrice threefold were the gates: three folds were brass ; Three iron; three of adamantine rock : Impenetrable; impal'd with circling fire;
Yet unconfum'd. Before the gates, there fat,
On either fide, a formidable shape.
Voluminous and vaft; a ferpent, arm'd
And fhook a dreadful dart. What feem'd his head,
"WHENCE, and what art thou, execrable fhape!
To yonder gates? Through them I mean to pass,
Drew after him the third part of heav'ns fons ;
Falfe fugitive and, to thy fpeed, add wings;
So fpake the grisly terror; and, in shape, So fpeaking, and fo threat'ning, grew tenfold More dreadful and deform. On th' other fide, Incens'd with indignation, Satan ftood, Unterrify'd and, like a comet, burn'd. So frown'd the might combatants, that bell Grew darker at their frown.-And, now, great deeds Had been achiev'd, whereof all hell had rung, Had not the fnaky forcerefs, that fat Faft by hell-gate, and kept the fatal key, Ris'n, and, with hideous outcry, rush'd between. "Ofather! what intends thy hand (the cry'd) Against thy only fon? What fury, O fon, Poffeffes thee, to bend that mortal dart Against thy father's head? and know'ft for whom For him, who fits above, and laughs the while, At thee, ordain'd his drudge, to execute Whate'er his wrath, which he calls justice, bids: His wrath; which, one day, will deftroy ye both."
SHE fpake and thus, to her, Satan return'd. "So ftrange thy outcry, and thy words fo strange Thou interpofeft, that my fudden hand, Prevented, fpares to tell thee, yet, by deeds, What it intends; till, firft, I know of thee, What thing thou art, thus double-form'd; and why, In this infernal vale firft met, thou call'ft Me father, and that phantafm call'ft my I know thee not; nor ever faw, till now, Sight more deteftable than him and thee."
To whom thus the portrefs of hell-gate reply'd,
I alfo at which time, this pow'rful key
Into my hand was giv'n, with charge to keep
SHE finish'd, and the fubtle fiend his lore