I. SHILRIC, VINVELA.
Vinvela.
My love is a son of the hill.
My love is a son of the hill. He pursues the flying deer. His
gray dogs are panting around him; his bow-string sounds in the
wind. Whether by the fount of the rock, or by the stream of
the mountain thou liest; when the rushes are nodding with the
wind, and the mist is flying over thee, let me approach my love
unperceived, and see him from the rock. Lovely I saw thee
first by the aged oak of Branno; thou wert returning tall
from the chace; the fairest among thy friends.
Shilric.
What voice is that I hear? that voice like the summer wind.
I sit not by the nodding rushes; I hear not the fount of the
rock. Afar, Vinvela, afar I go to the wars of Fingal. My
dogs attend me no more. No more I tread the hill. No more
from on high I see thee, fair-moving by the stream of the plain;
bright as the bow of heaven; as the moon on the western
wave.
Vinvela.
Then thou art gone, O Shilric! and I am alone on the hill.
The deer are seen on the brow; void of fear they graze along.
No more they dread the wind; no more the rustling tree. The
hunter is far removed; he is in the field of graves. Strangers!
sons of the waves! spare my lovely Shilric.
Shilric.
If fall I must in the field, raise high my grave, Vinvela.
Grey stones, and heaped-up earth, shall mark me to future
times. When the hunter shall sit by the mound, and produce
his food at noon, “Some warrior rests here,” he will say; and
my fame shall live in his praise. Remember me, Vinvela, when
low on earth I lie!
Vinvela.
Yes!—I will remember thee—indeed my Shilric will fall.
What shall I do, my love! when thou art gone for ever?
Through these hills I will go at noon: I will go through the
silent heath. There I will see the place of thy rest, returning
from the chace. Indeed, my Shilric will fall; but I will remember
him.
