Blair Collection > Galic antiquities

A P O E M. 211
on the gale, the fear of their dreams ? Yes, you do awake them;
but I will not awake my brother of love till the morning come,
for his flrength is failed ; his fleep is heavy. — But the flies of night
dillurb thee, Finan. How {hall I keep them away ? Thy face,
with my own, I'll foftly cover ; but I will not difpel thy {lumber.
— Ah ! my brother, thou art cold. — Thou haft no breath — thou
art dead ! my brother ! O my brother !
" Her cries afcend on the rock. As I approach they flrike my
ear. The fea grows, and fhe perceives it not. She loads with
her cries the wind. The beating on her white breafl is loud ; the
howling of the gray dog is wild. My foul melts on the {liore with
grief. Often it bade me rufli to the relief of my child. But the
voice within me faid, ' Murno, thou art old and feeble ; the days
of thy cleaving the deep are over.'
The gathering wave lifts my children from the rock : it tof-
fes them on its brea{l to the fliore. There dark rocks meet
them with their force, and the fide of Lorma is torn. Her
blood tinges the wave : her foul is on the fame blafl with Finan,
" Sad, O my children, have you left yovir father: the name of
parent I will hear no more. I {land on the heath, a blafted oak;
no more {hall my branches flourifli. Avitumn is dark on the plain.
The trees are bare on the brown heath. Their leaves with the
fpring fliall return ; but no green leaf of mine fliall lift, in the
fummer-{hower, its head. The race of Alva is failed, like the
blue fmoke of its halls when the beam of the oak is decayed. —
Great is the caufe of Murno's grief; for one night hath feen him
without a child. Thy tomb, O Finan, is here ; and here thy grave,
O Lorma!"
D d 2 The