Three days, three sleepless nights, the chief For Oscar searched each mountain cave Then hope is lost: in boundless grief His locks in grey torn ringlets wave. * * * * * Days rolled along: the orb of light Again had run his destined race; No Oscar bless'd his father's sight, And sorrow left a fainter trace. For youthful Allan still remain'd, And now his father's only joy: And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd, For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy. She thought that Oscar low was laid, And Allan's face was wondrous fair: If Oscar lived, some other maid Had claim'd his faithless bosom's care. And Angus said, if one year more In fruitless hope was pass'd away, His fondest scruples should be o'er, And he would name their nuptial day. Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last Arrived the dearly destined morn; The year of anxious trembling past, What smiles the lovers' cheeks adorn! Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note! Hark to the swelling nuptial song! In joyous strains the voices float, And still the choral peal prolong. Again the clan, in festive crowd, Throng through the gate of Alva's hall; The sounds of mirth re-echo loud, And all their former joy recall. But who is he whose darken'd brow Glooms in the midst of general mirth? Before his eyes' far fiercer glow The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. Dark is the robe which wraps his form, And tall his plume of gory red; His voice is like the rising storm, But light and trackless is his tread. 'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round, The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff'd; With shouts the vaulted roofs resound, And all combine to hail the draught. Sudden the stranger chief arose, And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd; And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, And Mora's tender bosom blush'd. 'Old man!' he cried, 'this pledge is done; Thou saw'st was duly drunk by me: It hail'd the nuptials of thy son: Now will I claim, a pledge from thee. While all around is mirth and joy, To bless thy Allan's happy lot, Say, had'st thou ne'er another boy? Say, why should Oscar be forgot?' 'Alas!' the hapless sire replied, The big tear starting as he spoke; When Oscar left my hall, or died, This aged heart was almost broke. 'Thrice has the earth revolved her course Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight; And Allan is my last resource, Since martial Oscar's death or flight.' ''Tis well,' replied the stranger stern, And fiercely flashed his rolling eye; 'Thy Oscar's fate I fain would learn: Perhaps the hero did not die.