Fragments Of Ancient Poetry, Fragment V

Autumn is dark on the mountains;     grey mist rests on the hills. The     whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark     rolls the river through the narrow plain.     A tree stands alone on the hill, and     marks the grave of Connal. The leaves     whirl round with the wind, and strew     the grave of the dead. At times are     seen here the ghosts of the deceased,     when the musing hunter alone stalks     slowly over the heath.     Who can reach the source of thy     race, O Connal? and who recount thy     Fathers? Thy family grew like an oak     on the mountain, which meeteth the     wind with its lofty head. But now it     is torn from the earth. Who shall supply     the place of Connal?     Here was the din of arms; and     here the groans of the dying. Mournful     are the wars of Fingal! O Connal!     it was here thou didst fall. Thine arm     was like a storm; thy sword, a beam     of the sky; thy height, a rock on the     plain; thine eyes, a furnace of fire.     Louder than a storm was thy voice,     when thou confoundedst the field. Warriors     fell by thy sword, as the thistle by     the staff of a boy.     Dargo the mighty came on, like a     cloud of thunder. His brows were contracted     and dark. His eyes like two     caves in a rock. Bright rose their     swords on each side; dire was the clang     of their steel.     The daughter of Rinval was near;     Crimora, bright in the armour of man;     her hair loose behind, her bow in her     hand. She followed the youth to the     war, Connal her much beloved. She     drew the string on Dargo; but erring     pierced her Connal. He falls like an     oak on the plain; like a rock from the     shaggy hill. What shall she do, hapless     maid!--He bleeds; her Connal dies.     All the night long she cries, and all the     day, O Connal, my love, and my     friend! With grief the sad mourner     died.     Earth here incloseth the loveliest     pair on the hill. The grass grows between     the stones of their tomb; I sit in     the mournful shade. The wind sighs     through the grass; and their memory     rushes on my mind. Undisturbed you     now sleep together; in the tomb of the     mountain you rest alone.