XV. DUCHOMMAR, MORNA.
Duchommar.
Morna thou fairest of women
Morna thou fairest of women, daughter of Cormac-Carbre!
why in the circle of stones, in the cave of the rock, alone! The
stream murmureth hoarsely. The blast groaneth in the aged
tree. The lake is troubled before thee. Dark are the clouds
of the sky. But thou art like snow on the heath. Thy hair
like a thin cloud of gold on the top of Cromleach. Thy breasts
like two smooth rocks on the hill, which is seen from the stream
of Brannuin. Thy arms, as two white pillars in the hall of Fingal.
Morna.
Whence the son of Mugruch, Duchommar, the most gloomy
of men? Dark are thy brows of terror. Red thy rolling eyes.
Does Garve appear on the sea? What of the foe, Duchommar?
Duchommar.
From the hill I return, O Morna, from the hill of the flying
deer. Three have I slain with my bow; three with my panting
dogs. Daughter of Cormac-Carbre, I love thee as my soul. I
have slain a deer for thee. High was his branchy head; and
fleet his feet of wind.
Morna.
Gloomy son of Mugruch, Duchommar! I love thee not:
hard is thy heart of rock; dark thy terrible brow. But Cadmor,
the son of Tarman, thou art the sun of Morna! thou art
like a sun-beam on the hill, in the day of the gloomy storm.
Sawest thou the son of Tarman, lovely on the hill of the chace?
Here the daughter of Cormac-Carbre waiteth the coming of
Cadmor.
Duchommar.
And long shall Morna wait. His blood is on this sword. I
met him by the mossy stone, by the oak of the noisy stream.
He fought; but I slew him; his blood is on my sword. High
on the hill I will raise his tomb, daughter of Cormac-Carbre.
But love thou the son of Mugruch; his arm is strong as a
storm.
Morna.
And is the son of Tarman fallen; the youth with the breast
of snow! the first in the chace of the hill; the foe of the sons
of the ocean! Duchommar, thou art gloomy indeed; cruel is
thy arm to me. But give me that sword, son of Mugruch; I
love the blood of Cadmor!
[He gives her the sword, with which she instantly stabs him.]
Duchommar.
Daughter of Cormac-Carbre, thou hast pierced Duchommar!
the sword is cold in my breast; thou hast killed the son of Mugruch.
Give me to Moinie the maid; for much she loved Duchommar.
My tomb she will raise on the hill; the hunter shall
see it, and praise me. But draw the sword from my side, Morna;
I feel it cold. ------
[Upon her coming near him, he stabs her. As she fell, she
plucked a stone from the side of the cave, and placed it betwixt
them, that his blood might not be mingled with her's.]
