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Once to those eyes the lamp of Love,

They blest her dear propitious light; But now she glimmer'd from above,

A sad, funereal torch of night. Faded is Alva's noble race,

And gray her towers are seen afar ; No more her heroes urge the chase,

Or roll the crimson tide of war. But who was last of Alva's clan?

Why grows the moss on Alva's stone ?
Her towers resound no steps of man,

They echo to the gale alune.
And when that gale is fierce and high,

A sound is heard in yonder hall;
It rises hoarsely through the sky,

And vibrates o'er the mould'ring wall. Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs,

It shakes the shield of Oscar brave; But there no more his banners rise,

No more his plumes of sable ware. Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth,

When Angus hail'd his eldest born; The vassals round their chieftain's hearth

Crowd to applaud the happy morn. They feast upon the mountain deer,

The pibroch raised its piercing note; To gladden more their highland cheer,

The strains in martial numbers float: And they who heard the war-notes wild

Hoped that one day the pibroch's strain Should play before the hero's child

While he should lead the tartan train. Another year is quickly past,

And Angus hails another son; His natal day is like the last,

Nor soon the jocund feast was done.
Taught by their sire to bend the bow,

On Alva's dusky hills of wind,
The boys in childhood chased the roe,

And left their hounds in speed behind.
But ere their years of youth are o'er,

They mingle in the ranks of war; They lightly wheel the bright claymore.

And send the whistling arrow far. Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair,

Wildly it stream'd along the gale; But Allan's locks were bright and fair,

And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale. But Oscar own'd a hero's soul,

His dark eye shone through beams of truth; Allan had early learn'd control,

And smooth his words had been from youth. Both, both were brave; the Saxon spear

Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel; And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear,

But Oscar's bosom knew to feel While Allan's soul belied his form,

Unworthy with such charms to dwell: Keen as the lightning of the storm,

On foes his deadly vengeance fell.

From high Southannon's distant tower

Arrived a young and noble dame;
With Kenneth's lands to form her dower,

Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came;
And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride,

And Angus on his Oscar smiled: It soothed the father's feudal pride

Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child. Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note!

Hark to the swelling nuptial song! In joyous strains the voices float,

And still the choral peal prolong. See how the heroes' blood-red plumes

Assembled wave in Alva's hall; Each youth his varied plaid assumes,

Attending on their chieftain's call. It is not war their aid demands,

The pibroch plays the song of peace; To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands,

Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. But where is Oscar? sure 't is late:

Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame?
While thronging guests and ladies wait,

Nor Oscar nor his brother came.
At length young Allan join'd the bride;

“Why comes not Oscar," Angus said: "Is he not here?" the youth replied;

“With me he roved not o'er the glade: “Perchance, forgetful of the day,

'Tis his to chase the bounding roe; Or ocean's waves prolong his stay;

Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow." "Oh, no!” the anguish'd sire rejoin'd,

“Nor chase, nor wave, my boy delay; Would he to Mora seem unkind?

Would aught to her impede his way? "Oh, search, ye chiefs! oh, search around!

Allan, with these through Alva fly; Till Oscar, till my son is found,

Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply." All is confusion-through the vale

The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, It rises on the murmuring gale,

Till night expands her dusky wings; It breaks the stillness of the night,

But echoes through her shades in vain; It sounds through morning's misty light,

But Oscar comes not o'er the plain. Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief

For Oscar search'd each mountain cave; Then hope is lost; in boundless grief,

His locks in gray-torn ringlets wave. "Oscar! my son!-thou God of heaven,

Restore the prop of sinking age! Or if that hope no more is given,

Yield his assassin to my rage. “Yes, on some desert rocky shore

My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie; Then grant, thou God! I ask no more,

With him his frantic sire may die!

" Yet he may live-away, despair!

Be calm, my soul! he yet may live;
T'arraign my fate, my voice forbear!

O God! my impious prayer forgive.
"What, if he live for me no more,

I sink forgotten in the dust,
The hope of Alva's age is o'er:

Alas! cần pangs like these be just?"
Thus did the hapless parent mourn,

Till Time, which soothes severest woe,
Had bade serenity return,

And made the tear-drop cease to flow.
For still some latent hope survived

That Oscar might once more appear;
His hope now droop'd and now revived,

Till Time had told a tedious year.
Days roll'd along, the orb of light

Again had run his destined race;
No Oscar bless'd his father's sight,

And sorrow left a fainter trace.
For youthful Allan still remain'd,

And now his father's only joy:
And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd,

For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy.
She thought that Oscar low was laid,

And Allan's face was wondrous fair;
If Oscar lived, some other maid

Had claim'd his faithless bosom's care.
And Angus said, if one year more

In fruitless hope was pass'd away,
His fondest scruples should be o'er,

And he would name their nuptial day.
Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last

Arrived the dearly destined morn: The year of anxious trembling past,

What smiles the lovers' cheeks adorn! Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note!

Hark to the swelling nuptial song! In joyous strains the voices float,

And still the choral peal prolong. Again the clan, in festive crowd,

Throng through the gate of Alva's hall;
The sounds of mirth reëcho loud,

And all their former joy recall.
But who is he, whose darken'd brow

Glooms in the midst of general mirth?
Before his eyes' far fiercer glow

The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. Dark is the robe which wraps his form,

And tall his plume of gory red;
His voice is like the rising storm,

But light and trackless is his tread.
Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round,

The bridegroom's health is deeply quaffd;
With shouts the vaulted roofs resound,

And all combine to hail the draught.
Budden the stranger-chief arose,

And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd;
And Angus' cheek with wonder glows,
And Mora's tender bosom blush'd.

“old man!” he cried, "this pledge is done;

Thou saw'st 't was duly drank by me;
It hail'd the nuptials of thy son:

Now will I claim a pledge from thee.
"While all around is mirth and joy,

To bless thy Allan's happy lot,
Say, hadst thou ne'er another boy?

Say, why should Oscar be forgot?"
“Alas!" the hapless sire replied,

The big tear starting as he spoke,
“When Oscar left my hall, or died,

This aged heart was almost broke.
“Thrice has the earth revolved her course

Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight;
And Allan is my last resource,

Since martial Oscar's death or flight."
“T is well," replied the stranger stern,

And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye;
“Thy Oscar's fate I fain would learn;

Perhaps the hero did not die.
“Perchance, if those whom most he loved

Would call, thy Oscar might return;
Perchance the chief has only roved ;

For him thy beltane yet may burn.
“Fill high the bowl the table round,

We will not claim the pledge by stealth ;
With wine let every cup be crown'd;

Pledge me departed Oscar's health.”
“ With all my soul,” old Angus said,

And fill'd his goblet to the brim : “ Here's to my boy! alive or dead,

I ne'er shall find a son like him." “Bravely, old man, this health has sped;

But why does Allan trembling stand? Come, drink remembrance of the dead,

And raise thy cup with firmer hand." The crimson glow of Allan's face

Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue;
The drops of death each other chase

Adown in agonizing dew.
Thrice did he raise the goblet high,

And thrice his lips refused to taste;
For thrice he caught the stranger's eye

On his with deadly fury placed. “ And is it thus a brother hails

A brother's fond remembrance here? If thus affection's strength prevails,

What might we not expect from fear?" Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl,

“Would Oscar now could share our mirth!" Internal fear appall’d his soul;

He said, and dash'd the cup to earth. " 'T is he! I hear my murderer's voice !"

Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form. A murderer's voice!” the roof replies,

And deeply swells the bursting storm. The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink,

The stranger 's gone,-amidst the crew, A form was seen in tartan green,

And tall the shade terrific grew.

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His waist was bound with a broad belt round,

His plume of sable stream'd on high; (there,

But his brcast was bare, with the red wounds
And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye.

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ÆNEID, LIB. IX. And thrice he smiled, with his eye so wild,

Nisus, the guardian of the portal, stood, On Angus bending low the knee;

Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood; And thrice he frown'd on a chief on the ground, well skill'd in fight the quivering lapce to wield, Whom shivering crowds with horror see.

Or pour his arrows through th' embattled field : The bolts loud roll from pole to pole,

From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave,
The thunders through the welkin ring, And sought a foreign home, a distant grave.
And the gleaming form, through the mist of the To watch the movements of the Daunian host,

With him Euryalus sustains the post;
Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing. No lovelier mien adorn'd the ranks of Troy,
Cold was the feast, the revel ceased.

And beardless bloom yet graced the gallant boy ; Who lies upon the stony floor?

Though few the seasons of his youthful life, Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast,

As yet a novice in the martial strife, At length his life-pulse throbs once more. 'T was his, with beauty, valour's gifts to share“ Away, away! let the leech essay

A soul heroic, as his form was fair: To pour the light on Allan's eyes :"

These burn with one pure flame of generous love; His sand is done,-his race is run,

In peace, in war, united still they move; Oh! never more shall Allan rise !

Friendship and glory form their joint reward ; But Oscar's breast is cold as clay,

And now combined they hold their nightly guard. His locks are lifted by the gale;

“Whatgod,"exclaim'd the first, "instils this fire? And Allan's barbed arrow lay

Or, in itself a god, what great desire ? With him in dark Glentanar's vale.

My labouring soul, with anxious thought oppress'd, And whence the dreadful stranger came,

Abhors this station of inglorious rest; Or who, no mortal wight can tell;

The love of fame with this can ill accord, But no one doubts the form of flame,

Be 't mine to seek for glory with my sword. For Alva's sons knew Oscar well,

Seest thou yon camp, with torches twinkling dim, Ambition nerved young Allan's hand,

Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb? Exulting demons wing'd his dart;

Where confidence and ease the watch disdain, While Envy waved her burning brand,

And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign? And pour'd her venom round his heart. Then hear my thought :-In deep and sullen grief Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow;

Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief: Whose streaming life-blood stains his side ?

Now could the gifts and promised prize be thine Dark Oscar's sable crest is low,

(The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine), The dart has drunk his vital tide.

Were this decreed, beneath yon rising mound,

Methinks, an easy path perchance were found; And Mora's eye could Allan move,

Which past, I speed my way to Pallas' walls.
She bade his wounded pride rebel :

And lead Æneas from Evander's halls."
Alas! that eyes which beam'd with love
Should urge the soul to deeds hell.

With equal ardour fired, and warlike joy,
Lo! seest thou not a lonely tomb

His glowing friend address'd the Dardan boy :Which rises o'er a warrior dead ?

“ These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou dare alone? It glimmers through the twilight gloom; Must all the fame, the peril, be thine own? Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.

Am I by thee despised, and left afar, Far, distant far, the noble grave

As one unfit to share the toils of war? Which held his clan's great ashes stood;

Not thus his son the great Opheltes taught; And o'er his corse no banners wave,

Not thus my sire in Argive combats fought, For they were stain'd with kindred blood. Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate,

I track'd Eneas through the walks of fate: What minstrel gray, what hoary bard,

Thou know'st my deeds, my breast devoid of fear, Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise?

And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear. The song is glory's chief reward,

Here is a soul with hope immortal burns, But who can strike a murderer's praise ?

And life, ignoble life, for glory spurns. Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand, Fame, fame is cheaply earn'd by fleeting breath : No minstrel dare the theme a wake;

The price of honour is the sleep of death." Guilt would benumb his palsied hand,

Then Nisus:-"Calm thy bosom's fond alarms: His harp in shuddering chords would break.

Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of arms. No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse,

More dear thy worth and valour than my own, Shall sound his glories high in air:

I swear by him who fills Olympus' throne!
A dying father's bitter curse,

So may I triumph, as I speak the truth,
A brother's death-groan echoes there. And clasp again the comrade of my youth !

“ Ye parent gods! who rule the fate of Troy,
Still dwells the Dardan spirit in the boy;
When minds like these in striplings thus ye raise,
Yours is the godlike act, be yours the praise;
In gallant youth, my fainting hopes revive,
And Ilion's wonted glories still survive."
Then in his warm embrace the boys he pressid,
And, quivering, strain'd them to his aged breast;
With tears the burning cheek of each bedew'd,
And, sobbing, thus his first discourse renew'd :
“What gift, my countrymen, what martial prize,
Can we bestow, which you may not despise?
Our deities the first best boon have given
Internal virtues are the gift of Heaven.
What poor rewards can bless your deeds on earth,
Doubtless a wait such young, exalted worth,
Æneas and Ascanius shall combine
To yield applause far, far surpassing mine."

But should I fall,- and he who dares advance Through hostile legions must abide by chance,If some Rutulian arm, with adverse blow, Should lay the friend who ever loved thec low, Live thou, such beauties I would fain preserve, Thy budding years a lengthen'd term deserve. When humbled in the dust, let some one be, Whose gentle eyes will shed one tear for me; Whose manly arm may snatch me back by force, Or wealth redeem from foes my captive corse; Or, if my destiny these last deny, If in the spoiler's power my ashes lie, Thy pious care may raise a simple tomb, To mark thy love, and signalize my doom. Why should thy doting wretched mother weep Her only boy, reclined in endless sleep? Who, for thy sake, the tempest's fury dared, Who, for thy sake, war's deadly peril shared; Who braved what woman never braved before, And left her native for the Latian shore."

"In vain you damp the ardour of my soul," Replied Euryalus; "it scorns control! Hence, let us haste!"-their brother guards arose, Roused by their call, nor court again repose ; The pair, buoy'd up on Hope's exulting wing, Their stations leave, and speed to seek the king.

Now o'er the earth a solemn stillness ran, And lull'd alike the cares of brute and man; Save where the Dardan leaders nightly hold Alternate con verse, and their plans unfold. On one great point the council are agreed, An instant message to their prince decreed; Each lean'd upon the lance he well could wield, And poised with easy arm his ancient shield; When Nisus and his friend their leave request To offer something to their high behest. With anxious tremors, yet unawed by fear, The faithful pair before the throne appear: Iulus greets them; at his kind command, The elder first address'd the hoary band.

“With patience" (thus Hyrtacides began) Attend, nor judge from youth our humble plan. Where yonder beacons half expiring beam, Our slumbering foes of future conquest dreamn, Nor heed that we a secret path have traced, Between the ocean and the portal placed. Beneath the covert of the blackening smoke, Whose shade securely our design will cloak! If you, ye chiefs, and fortune will allow, We'll bend our course to yonder mountain's brow, Where Pallas' walls at distance meet the sight, Been o'er the glade, when not obscured by night: Then shall Æneas in his pride return, When hostile matrons raise their offspring's urn; And Latian spoils and purpled heaps of dead Shail mark the havoc of our hero's tread. Such is our purpose, not unknown the way; Where yonder torrent's devious waters stray, Oft have we seen, when hunting by the stream, The distant spires above the valleys gleam.”

Mature in years, for sober wisdom famed, Moved by the speech, Alethes here exclaim’d,

Iulus then:-“By all the powers above! By those Penates who my country love! By hoary Vesta's sacred fane, I swear, My hopes are all in you, ye generous pair! Restore my father to my grateful sight, And all my sorrows yield to one delight. Nisus ! two silver goblets are thine own, Saved from Arisba's stately domes o'erthrown! My sire secured them on that fatal day, Nor left such bowls an Argive robber's prey: Two massy tripods, also, shall be thine; Two talents polish'd from the glittering mine; An ancient cup, which Tyrian Dido gave, While yet our vessels press'd the Punic wave: But when the hostile chiefs at length bow down, When great Æneas wears Hesperia's crown, The casque, the buckler, and the fiery steed Which Turnus guides with more than mortal speed, Are thine; no envious lot shall then be cast, I pledge my word, irrevocably past: (dames, Nay more, twelve slaves, and twice six captive To soothe thy softer hours with amorous flames, And all the realms which now the Latins sway, The labours of to-night shall well repay. But thou, my generous youth, whose tender years Are near my own, whose worth my heart reveres, Henceforth affection, sweetly thus begun, Shall join our bosoms and our souls in one; Without thy aid, no glory shall be mine; Without thy dear advice, no great design; Alike through life esteem'd, thou godlike boy, In war my bulwark, and in peace my joy."

To him Euryalus:-"No day shall shame The rising glories which from this I claim. Fortune may favour, or the skies may frown, But valour, spite of fate, obtains renown. Yet, ere from hence our eager steps de part, One boon I beg, the nearest to my heart: My mother, sprung from Priam's royal line, Like thine ennobled, hardly less divine, Nor Troy nor king Accstes' realms restrain Her feeble age from dangers of the main : Alone she came, all selfish fears above, A bright example of maternal love.


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Unknown the secret enterprise I brave,

Next Remus' armour-bearer, hapless, fell,
Lest grief should bend my parent to the grave; And three unhappy slaves the carnage swell;
From this alone no fond adieus I seek,

The charioteer along his courser's sides
No fainting mother's lips have press'd my cheek; Expires, the steel his sever'd neck divides;
By gloomy night and thy right hand I vow

And, last, his lord is number'd with the dead :
Her parting tears would shake my purpose now: Bounding convulsive, flies the gasping head;
Do thou, my prince, her failing age sustain,

From the swoll'n veins the blackening torrents pour; In thee her much-loved child may live again;

Stain'd is the couch and earth with clotting gore. Her dying hours with pious conduct bless,

Young Lamyrus and Lamus next expire, Assist her wants, relieve her fond distress:

And gay Serranus, fill'd with youthful fire; So dear a hope must all my soul inflame,

Half the long night in childish games was pass'd; To rise in glory, or to fall in fame.”

Lull'd by the potent grape, he slept at last: Struck with a filial care so deeply felt,

Ah! happier far had he the morn survey'd, In tears at once the Trojan warriors melt;

And till Aurora's dawn his skill display'd. Faster than all, Iulus' eyes o'erflow! Such love was his, and such had been his woe. In slaughter'd fold, the keepers lost in sleep, “All thou hast ask'd, receive," the prince replied; His hungry fangs a lion thus may steep; “Nor this alone, but many a gift beside.

'Mid the sad flock, at dead of night he prowls, To cheer thy mother's years shall be my aim, With murder glutted, and in carnage rolls: Creusa's style but wanting to the dame.

Insatiate still, through teeming herds he roams;
Fortune an adverse wayward course may run, In seas of gore the lordly tyrant foams.
But bless'd thy mother in so dear a son.
Now, by my life!-my sire's most sacred oath-

Nor less the other's deadly vengeance came,
To thee I pledge my full, my firmest troth,

But falls on feeble crowds without a name;
All the rewards which once to thee were vow'd, His wound unconscious Fadus scarce can feel,
If thou shouldst fall, on her shall be bestow'd."

Yet wakeful Rhæsus sees the threatening steel;
Thus spoke the weeping prince, then forth to view His coward breast behind a jar he hides,
A gleaming falchion from the sheath he drew; And vainly in the weak defence confides;
Lycaon's utmost skill had graced the steel,

Full in his heart, the falchion search'd his veins,
For friends to envy and for foes to feel:

The reeking weapon bears alternate stains; A tawny hide, the Moorish lion's spoil,

Through wine and blood, commingling as they flow, Slain 'midst the forest, in the hunter's toil,

One feeble spirit seeks the shades below. Mnestheus to guard the elder youth bestows,

Now where Messapus dwelt they bend their way, And old Alethes' casque defends his brows.

Whose fires emit a faint and trembling ray; Arm'd, thence they go, while all th’assembled train, There, unconfined, behold each grazing steed, To aid their cause, implore the gods in vain.

Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed : More than a boy, in wisdom and in grace,

Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm, Iulus holds amidst the chiefs his place:

Too flush'd with carnage, and with conquest warm : His prayer he sends; but what can prayers avail, “Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is pass'd; Lost in the murmurs of the sighing gale ?

Full foes enough to-night have breathed their last:

Soon will the day those eastern clouds adorn;
The trench is pass'd, and, favour'd by the night, Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn."
Through sleeping foes they wheel their wary flight.
When shall the sleep of many a foe be o'er ?

What silver arms, with various art emboss'd,
Alas! some slumber who shall wake no more! What bowls and mantles in confusion toss'd,
Chariots and bridles, mix'd with arms, are seen; They leave regardless ! yet one glittering prize
And flowing flasks, and scatter'd troops between: Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes ;
Bacchus and Mars to rule the camp combine; The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt,
A mingled chaos this of war and wine.

The gems which stud the monarch's golden belt:
“Now," cries the first,“for deeds of blood prepare, This from the pallid corse was quickly torn,
With me the conquest and the labour share: Once by a line of former chieftains worn.
Here lies our path; lest any hand arise,

Th' exulting boy the studded girdle wears,
Watch thou, while many a dreaming chieftain dies: Messapus' helm his head in triumph bears;
I'll carve our passage through the heedless foe, Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend,
And clear thy road with many a deadly blow." To seek the vale where safer paths extend.
His whispering accents then the youth repress'd,
And pierced proud Rhamnes through his panting Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse

To Turnus' camp ursue their destined course: Stretch'd at his ease, th' incautious king reposed; While the slow foot their tardy march delay, Debauch, and not fatigue, his eyes had closed: The knights, impatient, spur along the way: To Turnus dear, a prophet and a prince,

Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led, His omens more than augur's skill evince;

To Turnus with their master's promise sped : But he, who thus foretold the fate of all,

Now they approach the trench, and view the walls, I not avert his own untimely fall.

When, on the left, a light reflection falls;

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