"the sound of arms. Joy rose in my face. I thought of thy return. It was the chief of Cu“thal, the red-haired strength of Dunrommath. "His eyes rolled in fire: the blood of my people was on his sword. They who defended Oitho"na fell by the gloomy chief? What could I do? "My arm was weak. I could not lift the spear. "He took me in my grief, amidst my tears he "raised the sail. He feared the returning of "Lathmon, the brother of unhappy Oithona! "But behold he comes with his people! the dark 66 wave is divided before him! Whither wilt thou "turn thy steps, son of Morni? Many are the "warriors of thy foe!" My steps never turned from battle," Gaul said, and unsheathed his sword. "Shall I then begin to fear, Oithona! when thy foes are near? "Go to thy cave, my love, till our battle cease on "the field. Son of Leth, bring the bows of our "fathers! the sounding quiver of Morni! Let "our three warriors bend the yew. Ourselves "will lift the spear. They are an host on the "rock! our souls are strong in war!" Oithona went to the cave. A troubled joy rose on her mind, like the red path of lightning on a stormy cloud! Her soul was resolved; the tear was dried from her wildly-looking eye. Dunrommath slowly approached. He saw the son of Morni. Contempt contracted his face, a smile is on his dark-brown cheek; his red eye rolled halfconcealed beneath his shaggy brows! "Whence are the sons of the sea?" begun the gloomy chief. 'Have the winds driven you on "the rocks of Tromáthon? Or came you in "search of the white-handed maid? The sons of "the unhappy, ye feeble men, come to the hand " of Dunrommath! His eye spares not the weak; "he delights in the blood of strangers. Oithona " is a beam of light, and the chief of Cuthal en"joys it in secret; wouldst thou come on its loveliness, like a cloud, son of the feeble hand! "Thou mayest come, but shalt thou return to the "halls of thy fathers? "Dost thou not know me," said Gaul," red"haired chief of Cuthal? Thy feet were swift on "the heath, in the battle of car-borne Lathmon; "when the sword of Morni's son pursued his host, "in Morven's woody land. Dunrommath! thy 86 words are mighty, for thy warriors gather be"hind thee. But do I fear them, son of pride? "I am not of the race of the feeble!" Gaul advanced in his arms; Dunrommath shrunk behind his people. But the spear of Gaul pierced the gloomy chief; his sword lopped off his head, as it bended in death. The son of Morni shook it thrice by the lock; the warriors of Dunrommath fled. The arrows of Morven pursued them: ten fell on the mossy rocks. The rest lift the sounding sail, and bound on the troubled deep. Gaul advanced towards the cave of Oithona. He beheld a youth leaning on a rock. An arrow had pierced his side; his eye rolled faintly beneath his helmet. The soul of Morni's son was sad, he came and spoke the words of peace. "Can the hand of Gaul heal thee, youth of "the mournful brow? I have searched for the " herbs of the mountains; I have gathered them 66 on the secret banks of their streams. My "hand has closed the wound of the brave, their 66 eyes have blessed the son of Morni. Where "dwelt thy fathers, warrior? Were they of the 66 sons of the mighty? Sadness shall come, like night on thy native streams. Thou art fallen " in thy youth!" "My fathers," replied the stranger, "were of "the race of the mighty; but they shall not be "sad; for my fame is departed like morning "mist. High walls rise on the banks of Duvranna; and see their mossy towers in the stream; a rock ascends behind them with its bending 66 66 pines. Thou mayest behold it far distant. "There my brother dwells. He is renowned in "battle; give him this glittering helm." The helmet fell from the hand of Gaul. It was the wounded Oithona! She had armed herself in the cave and came in search of death. Her heavy eyes are half closed; the blood pours from her heaving side. "Son of Morni!" she said, “prepare the narrow tomb. Sleep grows, "like darkness, on my soul. The eyes of Oitho66 na are dim! O had I dwelt at Duvranna, in the bright beam of my fame! then had my years 66 66 66 66 come on with joy; the virgins would then bless my steps. But I fall in youth, son of Morni! my father shall blush in his hall!" She fell pale on the rock of Tromáthon. The mournful warrior raised her tomb. He came to Morven; we saw the darkness of his soul. Os sian took the harp in the praise of Oithona. The brightness of the face of Gaul returned. But his sigh rose, at times, in the midst of his friends; like blasts that shake their unfrequent wings after the stormy winds are laid! |