V. Autumn is dark on the mountains
Autumn is dark on the mountains
Autumn is dark on the mountains; grey mist rests on the
hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the
river through the narrow plain. A tree stands alone on the
hill, and marks the grave of Connal. The leaves whirl round
with the wind, and strew the grave of the dead. At times are
seen here the ghosts of the deceased, when the musing hunter
alone stalks slowly over the heath. Appear in thy armour of
light, thou ghost of the mighty Connal! Shine, near thy tomb,
Crimora! like a moon-beam from a cloud.
Who can search the source of thy race, O Connal? and who
recount thy fathers? Thy family grew like an oak on the mountain,
which meeteth the wind with its lofty head. But now it
is torn from the earth. Who shall supply the place of Connal?
Here was the din of arms; and here the groans of the dying.
Mournful are the wars of Fingal! O Connal! it was here thou
didst fall. Thine arm was like a storm; thy sword, a beam of
the sky; thy height, a rock on the plain; thine eyes, a furnace
of fire. Louder than a storm was thy voice, when thou confoundedst
the field. Warriors fell by thy sword, as the thistle
by the staff of a boy.
Dargo the mighty came on, like a cloud of thunder. His
brows were contracted and dark. His eyes like two caves in a
rock. Bright rose their swords on each side; dire was the clang
of their steel.
The daughter of Rinval was near; Crimora, bright in the armour
of man; her hair loose behind, her bow in her hand.
She followed the youth to the war, Connal her much-beloved.
She drew the string on Dargo; but erring pierced her Connal.
He falls like an oak on the plain; like a rock from the shaggy
hill. What shall she do, hapless maid! He bleeds; her Connal
dies. All the night long she cries, and all the day, O Connal,
my love, and my friend! With grief the sad mourner died.
Earth here incloseth the loveliest pair on the hill. The grass
grows between the stones of their tomb; I sit in the mournful
shade. The wind sighs through the grass; and their memory
rushes on my mind. Undisturbed you now sleep together; in
the tomb of the mountain you rest alone.