While Allan's soul belied his form, Unworthy with such charms to dwell: Keen as the lightning of the storm, On foes his deadly vengeance fell. 20. From high Southannon's distant tower Arrived a young and noble dame; With Kenneth's lands to form her dower, Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came; 21. And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride, And Angus on his Oscar smil'd: It soothed the father's feudal pride Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child. 22. 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. 23. See how the Heroes' blood-red plumes Assembled wave in Alva's hall; Each youth his varied plaid assumes, Attending on their chieftain's call. 24. It is not war their aid demands, The Pibroch plays the song of peace; To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. 25. But where is Oscar? sure 'tis late: Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame? While thronging guests and ladies wait, Nor Oscar nor his brother came. 26. At length young Allan join'd the bride; "Why comes not Oscar?" Angus said: "Is he not here?" the Youth replied; "With me he rov'd not o'er the glade: 27. "Perchance, forgetful of the day, 'Tis his to chase the bounding roe; Or Ocean's waves prolong his stay: Yet, Oscar's bark is seldom slow." 28. "Oh, no!" the anguish'd Sire rejoin'd, "Nor chase, nor wave, my Boy delay; Would he to Mora seem unkind? Would aught to her impede his way? 29. "Oh, search, ye Chiefs! oh, search around! Allan, with these, through Alva fly; Till Oscar, till my son is found, Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply." 30. All is confusion--through the vale, The name of Oscar hoarsely rings, It rises on the murm'ring gale, Till night expands her dusky wings. 31. It breaks the stillness of the night, But echoes through her shades in vain; It sounds through morning's misty light, But Oscar comes not o'er the plain. 32. Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief For Oscar search'd each mountain cave; Then hope is lost; in boundless grief, His locks in grey-torn ringlets wave. 33. "Oscar! my son!--thou God of Heav'n, Restore the prop of sinking age! Or, if that hope no more is given, Yield his assassin to my rage. 34. "Yes, on some desert rocky shore My Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie; Then grant, thou God! I ask no more, With him his frantic Sire may die! 35. "Yet, he may live,--away, despair! Be calm, my soul! he yet may live; T' arraign my fate, my voice forbear! O God! my impious prayer forgive. 36. "What, if he live for me no more, I sink forgotten in the dust, The hope of Alva's age is o'er: Alas! can pangs like these be just?" 37.