Galic Antiquities

. A
P O E M. 269
is plealant. It is pleafant ; but I fee it not, for tliou dofl not difpel
the night from the eye of the bard.
— But tlie mift of years, one day, may dim thy own countenance
;
and flow, like mine, may be thy fteps of age on Morven.
A dim circle, like thy lifter, thou mayefl wander through heaven,
and forget the time of thy rifing.
The voice of the morning will
call, but thou wilt not anfwer. The hunter from his hill will
lonk for thy coming, but he fhall not behold thee.
The tear will
ftart into his eye. " The beam of heaven," he will fay to his
dogs, " hath failed us !" He will return to his booth in fadnefs.
But the moon will fhine in her brightnefs ; and the blue ftars, in
their place, will rejoice.—Yes, O fun, thou wilt one day grow
old in the heavens ;
and, perhaps, fleep in thy tomb, like Trathal.
Dost thou not remember, O fun, the car-borne chief ?
His fteps
before thee on the mountain were lovely. One day as he wandered
on Gormal's heath, the beauty of youth, like light, was around
hira. A fpear was in either hand ; and the fhield of his father was
broad, like thy face, before him. His ruddy cheeks rofe beneath
a dark helmet, and his hair defcended in ftreams upon his neck-
As he went, he whiftled, carelefs, the fong of heroes. A fon of
age rifes before him on the heath. His eye is red : on
his cheek
there refts the tear. Sad is his voice of grief, and mournful lings
in his gray hair the mountain-wind.
" I COME," hefaid, " to alk thine help, if thou art Trathal king
of fpears. On the banks of the diftant Dula, many heroes heard
once the Ihield of Tual-arma, and many ftrangers in his hall have
feafted. But heroes hear now the found of my Ihield no more
and my halls, where blazed in the midft of fongs the oak, are filent