“In Morven dwelt the chief; a beam of war to Fingal. His steps in the field were marked in blood. Lochlin’s sons had fled before his angry spear; but mild was the eye of Calmar; soft was the flow of his yellow locks: they streamed like the meteor of the night. No maid was the sigh of his soul: his thoughts were given to friendship—to dark-haired Orla, destroyer of heroes! Equal were their swords in battle; but fierce was the pride of Orla—gentle alone to Calmar. Together they dwelt in the cave of Oithona.” [Orla is sent by the King on a mission of danger amid the hosts of the enemy. Calmar insists on accompanying him, in spite of all entreaties to the contrary. They are discovered. A fight ensues, and they are slain.] “Morn glimmers on the hills: no living foe is seen; but the sleepers are many; grim they lie on Erin. The breeze of ocean lifts their locks; yet they do not awake. The hawks scream above their prey. “Whose yellow locks wave o’er the breast of a chief? Bright as the gold of the stranger they mingle with the dark hair of his friend. ’Tis Calmar: he lies on the bosom of Orla. Theirs is one stream of blood. Fierce is the look of gloomy Orla. He breathes not, but his eye is still aflame. It glares in death unclosed. His hand is grasped in Calmar’s; but Calmar lives! He lives, though low. ‘Rise,’ said the King, ‘Rise, son of Mora: ’tis mine to heal the wounds of heroes. Calmar may yet bound on the hills of Morven.’ “‘Never more shall Calmar chase the deer of Morven with Orla,’ said the hero. ‘What were the chase to me alone? Who should share the spoils of battle with Calmar? Orla is at rest. Rough was thy soul, Orla! Yet soft to me as the dew of morn. It glared on others in lightning: to me a silver beam of night. Bear my sword to blue-eyed Mora; let it hang in my empty hall. It is not pure from blood: but it could not save Orla. Lay me with my friend. Raise the song when I am dead.’” [So they are laid by the stream of Lubar, and four gray stones mark the dwelling of Orla and Calmar.] [Sidenote: _Hæckel’s Visit to Ceylon_] Ernst Hæckel, in his “Visit to Ceylon” describes the devotion entertained for him by his Rodiya serving-boy at Belligam, near Galle. The keeper of the rest-house at Belligam was an old and philosophically-minded man, whom Hæckel, from his likeness to a well known head, could not help calling by the name of Socrates. And he continues:— [Sidenote: _His Rodiya Boy_]