Ossian Collection > Reliques of Irish poetry

( 339 )
But Miion knew not yet, how near,
How tenderly ally'd,
To his own blood ; — how very dear
The vidlims that had dy'd.
Firfl:, hi^ weak health, and tender years,
Bade the dire truth conceal,
Which after, (though from different fears,)
We did not dare reveal.
For when, as flrength and knowledge grew,
He heard the tale unfold ;
But half its horrors giv'n to view,
And half his wrongs untold :
When, but as kindred to his fire,
The Monarch's death he heard ;
Then, in his foul's quick mounting fire,
His royal race appear'd.
Indignant pafiions fill'd his eye,
And from his accents broke ;
While the pale lip, and burlling figh,
His burden'd foul befpoke.
In vain, his fury to affuage,
I every art beftow'd ;
Still, with the ra£h refolves of rage,
His reftlefs bofom glow'd.
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