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IV.
CONNAL, CRIMORA,
Crimora.
WHO cometh from the hill, like a cloud tinged with the beam of the west? Whose voice is that, loud as the wind, but pleasant as the harp of Carryl? It is my love in the light of steel; but sad is his darkened brow. Live the mighty race of Fingal? or what disturbs my Connal?
Connal.
They live. I saw them return from the chase, like a stream of light. The sun was on their shields: In a line they descended the hill. Loud is the voice of
the
