10 s. x. DEC. 5, loos.] NOTES AND QUERIES.
443
II. Duet and Chorus.
First Bard.
On ancient Cromla's dark brown steeps, Alone Fiona sits, and weeps,
When shall she joy recover ? She sighs for Ardan distant far, She thinks upon the dang'rous war, And trembles for her lover.
But soon, lovely maiden, thy grief shall subside, As sinks to its level the tempest-swell'd tide
Of the stream some sweet valley adorning ; When the clouds are dispers'd, and the night- vapour flies, And the lark carols blithely her song in the skies,
Beneath the pale light of the morning.
Second Bard.
At length with fame her love appears ; No more her eyes, suffus'd with tears,
Lament her absent treasure ; And Ardan, for his glorious pains, A rich and sweet reward obtains,
In beauty's smiles of pleasure.
The warrior of Erin thus hastes to the strife, Well pleased for his country to hazard his life,
His Ibosom to fear is a stranger ; His breast beats with joy as he cuts the white wave, For the smiles of the fair are the meed of the brave,
Who scorn the approaches of danger.
Chorus. The warrior of Erin, &c.
III. Song: Mengala.
The night is long, the skies o'ercast, And coldly blows th' autumnal blast ; Unfriended on a dreary shore, I rove, whilst foaming billows roar
Around in wild commotion : But darker is my fate unbless'd. And colder is my hopeless breast, And stronger tumults rend my soul, Than those which thy loud waves controul,
Thou ever-restless ocean ! Hidalvar ! dear inconstant youth ! I thought thy heart the seat of truth : How swiftly flew the time away ! With thee I led each happy day,
Unthinking of the morrow : What love was e'er more true than mine ? False as thou art, it still is thine ; Yet thou could'st mock my frantic cry, And coldly cast me off to die,
Or live in ceaseless sorrow.
IV. Grand Chorus.
Silence holds her midnight reign; But when morning fires the skies, Hostile bands in arms shall rise, Then no more shall silence reign O'er Loduna's ample plain. Swords shall clash, and shields resound, Bursting blood shall stream around, Bows shall twang, and helmets glare, Nimble arrows hiss in air, Death and Glory, hand in hand, There shall take their awful stand.
Soon as morning fires the sky,-
Haste to conquer or to die !
V. Song: Mengala.
Fidallan was a comely youth,
The love of many a fair ; His breast appear'd the seat of truth,
But 'twas no inmate there.
Young Morna's virgin heart he gain'd,
And promis'd ne'er to roam, Her aged sire's consent obtain'd.
And led her to his home.
But he, by each new beauty fir'd,
More false than summer skies. Soon felt a stronger flame inspir'd
By fierce Dengala's eyes.
With Morna's death his soul was dark,
He watch'd the rising breeze ; Alone he plac'd her in a bark
On Gormal's boist'rous seas.
A friendly chief preserv'd her life,
And rais'd a warlike band, Who pour'd the flames of vengeful strife
On false Fidallan's land.
A stranger met Fidallan's eyes, Who deem'd the fair one dead ;
He knew not Morna in disguise, Who told her tale, and fled.
VI. Grand Chorus.
The bright star of day rises red from the wave, And calls us to war, to the strife of the brave ; As the eagle of heaven descends on his prey, We rush on our foes when renown points the way.
When the thunders of battle resound on the plain, And the hawk hovers round, and exults o'er the-
slain,
In brightness tremendous our fame shall arise, As the death-darting meteor that shoots through
the skies.
Our swords are unsheath'd, and our standards un-
f url'd ;
On our foes shall the lightnings of ruin be hurl'd ; 'Tis the summons of glory : we haste to the call, For our king and our country to vanquish or fall.
VII. Song of the Valkyries. Clashing swords no more resound ;
War withdraws his crimson train ; .Death no longer stalks around,
O'er the blood-empurpled plain.
She, who, with detested spell, Wrapp'd in midnight's fearful gloom,
Scorn'd the laws and pow'r of hell, Broke the slumbers of the tomb ;
She, whose bold and cruel hand
Heroes' blood has basely spilt, She no more shall curse the land,
Lo ! we stamp the fate of guilt !
She, who late made thousands fly,
Soon a lifeless corse shall be : E'en in triumph she shall die,
In the hour of victory !
VIII. Finale.
Strike the harp's responsive strings I
Let the song of pleasure rise ! Peace again unites our kings,
Love returns and discord flies.
