Blair Collection > Galic antiquities

A POEM. 159
blue arms are ftrewed upon the heath, and the birds of deatli are
hovering round.
Thou haft feen, Malvina, a mighty wave recoiling, white, from
the broad fide of a whale, when her path is in the foamy deep.
Thou haft feen, on the top of that wave, a flock of hungry fea-fowl
gathereci about the whale which they dare not approach ; tho' they
fee her float, half-dead, on ocean's ftream, with her white belly
turned above like fails : fo flood the fons of Ifrona, afraid ; and
kept at bay by the fword of Gaul.
BiJT the ftrength of the chief of Strumon begins to fall. He
leans to the flde of a tree. His blood marks, with wandering
ftreams, his blue fliield, and a hundred arrows with their heads
of fteel have torn his fide. Still, however, he holds his fword, a me-
teor of death, in his hand, and the foes are afraid.
But fons of Ifrona! what means that ftone which you try to
hft ? Is it to mark to future times your fame f ? Ah ! no ; the
thoughts of your foul are hard as fteel. Scarce can feven hurl the
rock from the hill : it rolls its courle againft the thigh of Gaul. —
The chief finks upon his knee; b\it over his broad, brazen fliield,
he ftill looks terrible. His foes are afraid to come nigh. They leave
him to pine away in death, like an eagle that lies upon a rock, when
the bolt of heaven hath broke its wings.
O THAT we had known in Selma that fuch, whirlwind of
battle ! was thy fate. Then had we not liftened to the fongs of
virgins, nor to the voice of harps and bards. The fpear of Fingal
had not flept fo quiet by the wall ; nor the fon of Luno refted in
his
t In ancient times, pillars of ftone were frequently ere£led in the field of
battle to commemorate the viftory.