Page:Poems Baldwin.djvu/149

Me views the lovely one in death laid low;
And thus remorseful sorrows from him flow:
'Huntress of Ardven! will we hear no more
Thy low-toned voice? oh why did I adore?
Why did my love, bereft of pity, tear
The heart of Comala; and plant sorrow there?
When shall I see thee hunt the hinds again?
No more! no more upon this fated plain!'

On Fingal's brow, so pale with sorrow, falls
A dark stern frown; he on Hidallan calls:
'Youth of the gloomy brow! feast thou no more
Within my halls, but leave this desert shore.
Thou shalt no more with me pursue the chase,
No more shall see thy stricken chieftain's face;
No more thy sword shall e'er smite Fingal's foe,
Far from his plains shalt thou, abhorred one, go.
See her now lying beauteous in her rest,
The cold winds lift her hair from her fair breast;
Her bow-string murmurs in the rising blast,
Her arrow's broken;—thus she fell at last.
Ye sons of song! your loud sad voices raise;
King Sarno's daughter claims your fairest praise.'

Bards:
'See meteors gleam around the stricken maid,
And moon beams guide her spirit through the shade;