Who is this whose head is white with
  age ， whose eyes are red with tears， who quakes at every step ？ It
  is thy father ， O Morar！ the father of no son but thee. He heard of
  thy fame in war ， he heard of foes dispersed. He heard of Morar's renown，
  why did he not hear of his wound？ Weep ， thou father of Morar ！ Weep，
  but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead ， low their
  pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thy voice ， no more awake at thy
  call. When shall it be morn in the grave， to bid the slumberer awake ？
  Farewell， thou bravest of men！ thou conqueror in the field！ but the
  field shall see thee no more， nor the dark wood be lightened with the
  splendour of thy steel. Thou has left no son. The song shall preserve
  thy name. Future times shall hear of thee they shall hear of the fallen
  Morar ！
  "The grief of all arose ， but most the bursting sigh of Armin. He
  remembers the death of his son， who fell in the days of his youth. Carmor
  was near the hero ， the chief of the echoing Galmal. Why burst the sigh
  of Armin？ he said. Is there a cause to mourn ？ The song comes with its
  music to melt and please the soul. It is like soft mist that， rising
  from a lake ， pours on the silent vale ； the green flowers are filled
  with dew， but the sun returns in his strength， and the mist is gone.
  Why art thou sad， O Armin， chief of sea-surrounded Gorma？
  "Sad I am ！ nor small is my cause of woe ！ Carmor ， thou hast lost
  no son； thou hast lost no daughter of beauty. Colgar the valiant lives，
  and Annira， fairest maid. The boughs of thy house ascend ， O Carmor ！
  but Armin is the last of his race. Dark is thy bed， O Daura！ deep thy
  sleep in the tomb ！ When shalt thou wake with thy songs？ with all thy
  voice of music？
  "Arise， winds of autumn， arise： blow along the heath. Streams of
  the mountains ， roar ； roar ， tempests in the groves of my oaks！ Walk
  through broken clouds ， O moon ！ show thy pale face at intervals； bring
  to my mind the night when all my children fell， when Arindal the mighty
  fell—— when Daura the lovely failed. Daura， my daughter， thou wert
  fair， fair as the moon on Fura ， white as the driven snow ， sweet as
  the breathing gale. Arindal ， thy bow was strong ， thy spear was swift
  on the field， thy look was like mist on the wave ， thy shield a red
  cloud in a storm！ Armar， renowned in war， came and sought Daura's love.
  He was not long refused ： fair was the hope of their friends.
  "Erath， son of Odgal ， repined： his brother had been slain by Armar.
  He came disguised like a son of the sea ： fair was his cliff on the wave，
  white his locks of age， calm his serious brow. Fairest of women， he
  said， lovely daughter of Armin ！ a rock not distant in the sea bears
  a tree on its side； red shines the fruit afar. There Armar waits for
  Daura. I come to carry his love ！ she went she called on Armar. Nought
  answered， but the son of the rock. Armar ， my love， my love！ why tormentest
  thou me with fear ？ Hear ， son of Arnart， hear ！ it is Daura who calleth
  thee. Erath ， the traitor， fled laughing to the land. She lifted up
  her voice —— she called for her brother and her father. Arindal ！ Armin！
  none to relieve you ， Daura.
  "Her voice came over the sea. Arindal ， my son ， descended from
  the hill， rough in the spoils of the chase. His arrows rattled by his
  side； his bow was in his hand， five dark-gray dogs attended his steps.
  He saw fierce Erath on the shore； he seized and bound him to an oak.
  Thick wind the thongs of the hide around his limbs； he loads the winds
  with his groans. Arindal ascends the deep in his boat to bring Daura to
  land. Armar came in his wrath ， and let fly the gray-feathered shaft.
  It sung ， it sunk in thy heart ， O Arindal， my son ！