Blair Collection > Galic antiquities

A P O E M. 137
then, O Dargo : aiid calm be thy reft, thovi dweller of the rock,
in the land of ftrangers.
And doft thou bid me remain on tliis rock, bard of Comhal ;
will the warriors of Morven forfake their friend in the hour of
danger ? cried Dargo, as he defcended from the fteep of his cliff.
Galchos knew the voice of Dargo, and made the glad reply-
he was wont when called to the chace ; the chace of the dun-
bounding fons of the defart. Quick, as an arrow in air, he
fprings over waves. His feet are fcarce bathed in the deep. He
leaps to the breaft of Dargo. — The dim-twinkling ftars looked,
through the parted clouds, on their meeting of joy. It was like
the embrace of friends, when they meet in the land of ftrangers,
after the flow years of abfence.
How, faid Comhal, is Dargo alive ! How didft thou efcape
ocean's floods, when they rolled their billows over thy head, and
hid thee in their foam ?
The waves, faid Dargo, drove me to this rock, after toiling a
whole night in the ftream. Seven times, fmce, has the moon
wafted its light and grown again : but feven years are not fo long
on the brown heath of Morven. All the day I fat on that rock,
humming the fongs of our bards ; while I liftened to the hoarfe
found of the waves, or the hoarfer fcreams of the fowls that rode
on their top. And, in the night, 1 converfed with the ghofts and
the owl ; or ftole on the fea-fowl that flept on the beachy rock, —
Long, Comhal, was the time ; for flow are the fteps of the fun,
and fcarce-moving is the moon that {h'lnes on this lonely place. —
But w^hy thefe filent tears, what mean thefe pitying looks ? They
are not for my tale of woj they are for Crimora's death. I know
S ' fhe