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A DRAMATIC POEM. 215
Com ALA. Who fell on Canm's grassy banks, son of
the cloudy night ? Was he white as the snow of Ard-
ven ? Blooming as the bow of the shower ? Was his
hair like the mist of the hill, soft and curling in the
day of the sun ? Was he like the thunder of heaven in
batt'e ? Fleet as the roe of the desart ?
HiDAL. O that I might behold his love, fair-leaning
from, her rock ! Her red eye dim in tears, and her
blushing cheek half hid in her locks I Blow, thou gen-
tle breeze, and lift the heavy locks of the r^aid, that I
may behold her white arm, and lovely cheek of her
sorrow I
CoMALA. And is the son of Comhal fallen, chief o£
the mournful tale ? The thunder rolls on the hill 1 The
lightning fiies on v.-ings of fire I But they frighten not
Comala ; for her Fingal fell. Sav, chief of the mourn-
ful tale, fell the breaker of the shields ?
HiDAL. The nations are scattered on their hills : for
they shall hear the voice of the chief no more.
Comala. Confusion pursue thee over thy plains ;
and destruction overtake thee, thou king of the world.
Few be thy steps to thy grave ; and let one virgin
mourn thee. Let her be, like Comala, tearful in the
days of her youth. Why hast thou told me, Hidallan,
that my hero fell ? I might have hoped a little while
his return, and have thought I saw him on the distant
rock ; a tree might have deceived me with his appear-
ance ; and the wind of the hill been the sound of his
horn in mine ear. O that I were on the banks of Ca-
run 1 that my tears might be warm op his cheek I
HiDAL. He lies not on the banks of Carun : on Ard-
ven heroes raise his tomb. Look on them, O moon,
from thy clouds ; be thy beam bright on his breast,
that Comala may behold him in the light of his ar-
mour.
Comala. Stop, ye sons of the grave, till I behold
my love. He left me at the chase alone. I knew not
that he went to war. He said he would return with
the night ; and the king of Morven is not returned I
Why didst thou not tell me that he would fall, O trem-'

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