Ev’n so, Malvina, my brave Oscar’s love! Like those we mourn for, we must soon remove; No trace of us on Selma shall be found, Save the green mound that marks our sleep profound. Soft are the slumbers of that bed of peace: Let then Malvina’s flowing sorrow cease; Nor weep for friends whose actions were so bright, Whose steps were mark’d with beams of heavenly light. MALVINA. Now night descends with all her dusky clouds, And ocean in her sable mantle shrouds; Yet night will soon resign her place to day, But my protracted woe must last for aye. The Gaelic of the last four lines runs thus:— Dh’aom an òiche le neoil, Thuit an ceo air an lear; Sinblaidh an oiche ’s an ceo, Ach tha mise ri m’ bheo gun ghean. The remaining poems are: _The Burning of Taura_; _Calava_; and _The Death of Art_. A very much quoted and admired passage which occurs in the lay of _Taura_ is here given:— AISLING AIR DHREACH MNA. Innseam pàirt do dreach nan reul: Bu gheal a deud gu h-ùr dlù: Mar channach an t-sléibh Bha cneas fa h-eideadh ùr. Bha a bràighe cearclach bân Mar shneachda tlà nam beann; Bha a dà chich ag eiridh làn: B’e’n dreach sud miann nan sonn. Bu shoitheamh binn a gloir; S’ bu deirge na’n ròs a beul: Mar chobhar a sios r’a taobh Sinte gu caol bha gach meur. Bha a dâ chaol mhala mhine Dûdhonn air liomh an loin. A dà ghruaidh dhreachd nan caoran; ’Si gu iomlan saor o chron. Bha a gnùis mar bharra-gheuga Anns a cheud-fhâs ûr: A falt buidhe mar òradh shleibhtean; ’S mar dheârsadh gréine bha sûil. _Translation._ VISION OF A FAIR WOMAN. Tell us some of the charms of the stars: Close and well set were her ivory teeth; White as the cannach upon the moor Was her bosom the tartan bright beneath. Her well-rounded forehead shone Soft and fair as the mountain-snow: Her two breasts were heaving full; To them did the hearts of the heroes flow. Her lips were ruddier than the rose; Tender and tunefully sweet her tongue; White as the foam adown her side Her delicate fingers extended hung. Smooth as the dusky down of the elk Appeared her two narrow brows to me; Lovely her cheeks were like berries red; From every guile she was wholly free. Her countenance looked like the gentle buds Unfolding their beauties in early spring; Her yellow locks like the gold-browed hills; And her eyes like the radiance the sunbeams bring. This _Aisling_ in the original is, like the teeth of its subject so “close and well-set,” that a good translation is not easily executed.