sun after rain: like the moon in the silence of
night: calm as the breast of the lake when the loud wind is laid.

"Narrow is thy dwelling now! dark the place of thine abode! With three
steps I compass thy grave, O thou who wast so great before! Four stones,
with their heads of moss, are the only memorial of thee. A tree with
scarce a leaf, long grass which whistles in the wind, mark to the
hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed.
Thou hast no mother to mourn thee, no maid with her tears of love. Dead
is she that brought thee forth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan.

"Who on his staff is this? Who is this whose head is white with age,
whose eyes are red with tears, who quakes at every step? It is thy
father, O Morar! the father of no son but thee. He heard of thy fame in
war, he heard of foes dispersed. He heard of Morar's renown, why did
he not hear of his wound? Weep, thou father of Morar! Weep, but thy son
heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead, low their pillow of
dust. No more shall he hear thy voice, no more awake at thy call. When
shall it be morn in the grave, to bid the slumberer awake? Farewell,
thou bravest of men! thou conqueror in the field! but the field shall
see thee no more, nor the dark wood be lightened with the splendour
of thy steel. Thou has left no son. The song shall preserve thy name.
Future times shall hear of thee they shall hear of the fallen Morar!

"The grief of all arose, but most the bursting sigh of Armin. He
remembers the death of his son, who fell in the days of his youth.
Carmor was near the hero, the chief of the echoing Galmal. Why burst the
sigh of Armin? he said. Is there a cause to mourn? The song comes with
its music to melt and please the soul. It is like soft mist that, rising
from a lake, pours on the silent vale; the green flowers are filled with
dew, but the sun returns in his strength, and the mist is gone. Why art
thou sad, O Armin, chief of sea-surrounded Gorma?

"Sad I am! nor small is my cause of woe! Carmor, thou hast lost no son;
thou hast lost no daughter of beauty. Colgar the valiant lives, and
Annira, fairest maid. The boughs of thy house ascend, O Carmor! but
Armin is the last of his race. Dark is thy bed, O Daura! deep thy sleep
in the tomb! When shalt thou wake with thy songs? with all thy voice of
music?

"Arise, winds of autumn, arise: blow along the heath. Streams of the
mountains, roar; roar, tempests in the grov