The Enquirer

FOR THE ENQUIRER.

THE DEATH OF CUTHULLIN

Continued from last Thursday's paper.

The bard retired with his songs,
Old Carril's harp the notes prolongs!
Pleasant and sad the sounds arise,
Like memory of former joys.
The ghosts of bards, hear and reply ;
The lonely vales of night feel joy.
So when he sits beneath a tree,
The humming of the mountain bee,
Strikes Ossian's ear, in some lone vale,
Tho' often drowned by the gale,
The pleasant sound returns again;
Slant the sun looks on the plain.
Cuthullin bids his bards to raise
A song in noble Fingal's praise ;
"The song which Fingal hears by night,
When from the oak the glimmering light,
On Selma's walls but dimly gleams,
And music soothes the hero's dreams.
Or let the grief of Lara rise ;
That I may hear Alcletha's sighs;
When Calmar fell on Lena's plain,
And on his hills was fought in vain.
Far distant lay the hero low,
And in his hall was hung his bow.
Carril! hang my Shield on high;
And let my beamy spear be-nigh,
Then loud the sound of war may rise,
When morn shall light the eastern skies.
On Semo's shield the hero lies ;
From Carril's harp soft notes arise.
He raised the song of Lara's grief;
He alone is near the chief.
The hundred bards are distant round.
Pleasant and mournful is the sound.
"Mother of Calmar. car-borne chief.
Grey are thy locks, and great thy grief.
Why dost thou eye the heathy plain ?
To see thy son thou look'st in vain:
For that is but the distant grove,
Where thou believ'st his warriors move ;
And that is but the wind's loud noise,
Which thou believ'st thy Calmar's voice."
"Who bounds across dark Lara's stream,
Say. daughter ; for my eyes are dim,
Sure I behold the hero's spear
'Tis Matha's son, my Calmar dear."

(To be continued.)