The Caledonian chiefs again pursue:
The Scandinavian fleet o’er ocean few.
Telude the foe the Danes fly diff'rent ways;
And cut with sep'rate prows the hoary seas.
Some bear to sea, some rush upon the land,
And fly amain on earth, a trembling band.
As, in pursuit of doves, on rapid wings
The darting hawk through air his journey sings;
But when the parting flock divides the sky,
Hovers, in doubt this way or that to fly,-
So undetermined long young Duffus stood;
At length he sighed, and thus began aloud :
“ While thus, () chiefs, we urge the flying Dane,
Unmourned, unhonoured lies the mighty slain;
"Tis ours to grace with woe great Indulph's bier,
And o'er his fallen virtue shed the tear."
The warrior spoke: the Caledonians sighed,
And with returning prow the waves divide;
With swelling sail bring on the fatal shore,
Where o'er the dead the aged chiefs deplore.
The warriors bear their monarch as they come,
In sad procession to the silent tomb,
Forsake with lazy steps the sounding main,
And move a sad and lamentable train.
Behind the dead the tuneful bards appear,
And mingle with their elegies the tear;
From their sad hearts the mournful numbers flow
In all the tuneful melody of woe.
In grief's solemnity Culena leads
A mournful train of tear-distilling maids :
Above the rest the beauteous queen appears,
And heightens all her beauties with her tears.
Now in the tomb the godlike Indulph laid,
Shared the dark couch with the illustrious dead :
All o'er his grave the mournful warriors sigh,
And give his dust the tribute of the eye.