Matchless in the days of their love were Lochallen and the daughter of Lorma. But their beauty has ceas'd on Arthula; and the place of their rest is unknown. The family of Lorma has fail'd, and strangers rejoice in his hall: But voices of sorrow are heard when the stillness of midnight is there; The stranger is wak'd with the sound, and enquires of the race that is gone. But wherefore thus doleful and sad, do ye wander alone on Arthula? Why look ye thus lonely and sad, ye children of the dark narrow house? Your names shall be known in the song, when the fame of the mighty is low. ALLEN. From what cloud of the hills do they look? for I see not their forms, O my father! LATHMOR. Why do'st thou tremble my son? thou hast fought in the battle of shields. They look'd from no cloud of the hills; but the soul of thy father beheld them. Lochallen return'd from the field, to the sea-beaten tower of Arthula. Five days he abode in the hall, and they pass'd like a glimpse of the sun, When the clouds of the tempest are rent, and the green island smiles 'midst the storm. On the sixth a cloud hung on his brow, and his eye shun'd the looks of his friends. He spoke to the maid of his soul, and the trouble of his bosom was great. Pleasant is the hall of my love; but the storm gathers round us, Orvina. I must go to the island of Uthal, and scatter his gathering force. But like a cleft oak of the forest, I'll quickly return to my love: When the hard wedge is drawn from its side, it returns to itself again. The daughter of Lorma was silent: she turn'd her fair face from his sight. Go to the war, son of Mora; and the strength of thy fathers go with thee. I will sit on the high rocky shore, and look o'er the wide foaming sea. I will watch ev'ry blue rising cloud, till I see thy dark vessels return. He gather'd his warriours around him; they darken'd the brown rugged shore. The rocks echo'd wide to their cries, and loud was the dashing of oars. Orvina stood high on a rock, that hung o'er the deep lashing main; Big swell'd the tear in her eye, and high heav'd the sighs of her bosom; As she saw the white billows encreasing between his dark ship and the shore. Her fixed eye follow'd its course o'er many a far distant wave, Till its broad sails, and high tow'ring mast but appear'd like a speck on the waters; Yet still she beheld in her fancy the form of her love on its side; And she stretched her white arms to the ocean, and wav'd her loose girdle on high.